Page 9 of Viking in Love

Back to Gerard, he hesitated to ask, “Any problems with the children?”

Gerard rolled his eyes, then put two fingers in his mouth and let loose with a whistle that caused Caedmon to nigh jump, the dogs to bury their heads betwixt their paws, and, amazingly, ten children to scurry forward and stand in a line, at attention, like a troop of grubby little soldiers. There were ten of them—Ten!—ranging in age from one to twelve, or was it thirteen? Gerard introduced each of them in turn, as if Caedmon would not know their names, which was a distinct possibility.

It was an impressive exercise…Gerard calling Caedmon’s children to order with a whistle. He would have to try it himself. So angelic did the wee mites look, he would not be surprised if they burst into song.

But it did not last long.

First, nine-year-old Beth launched herself at him. He caught her about her tiny waist, and she clung to him with her skinny legs wrapped halfway around his hips. He could feel her tears wetting his neck. This oldest and only child of his first wife, Elizabeth, ever was the sensitive one. Elizabeth had died way too young, after being thrown from a horse a year after their marriage. Beth kept whimpering, “Father,” over and over. The sweet girling always was overly needful of affection.

One of the six-year-old twins, Alfred, or was it Aidan, clutched his thigh and held on tight, cutting off blood flow to an important region of his body. Much more and he would have no need of apples. The other twin kicked him in the shin. These were his second wife, Agnes’s, contributions to his flock before succumbing to the child-bed fever.

Eight-year-old Mina was an incredibly pretty, black-haired, cat-eyed girl, born of a brief liaison with an Arab houri, Nadiyah. Being a favorite of a sheikr, Nadiyah had not wanted the babe, especially with Caedmon’s blue eyes, for fear of losing her hierarchy in the royal bed. It had not signified that the sheikr was short, stout, and of a mean spirit. Reminded him a bit of a certain Saxon king, except Edgar was blond haired and much younger.

Piers, a one-year-old tow-headed rascal, was waddling around with a thumb in his mouth. He wore only little half boots and a sagging nappy. And he reeked. Sad to say, Caedmon could not even recall who his mother was.

Just then his eyes narrowed as he noticed his twelve-year-old son Hugh skulking away. His oldest, born of a serving maid prior to his first marriage, was supposed to be in Mercia, fostering with a distant cousin, Ealdorman Aldhelm.

And there were other children. Five-year-old Angus with flaming red hair and a temper to match. And wasn’t that name a clue? Caedmon seriously doubted that Angus was of his blood, though his mother swore that he was, before taking off for the Highlands. Highlands? Hah! Another clue! Likewise, two other boys and one girl, Oslac, Kendrick, and Joanna, all seven years old, born on almost the same day. They bore a striking resemblance to some former comrades-in-arms, all brothers from Wales, who had been visiting at the time. He would like to confront them about their responsibilities, but they had been conveniently absent of late.

And, God help him, there were even more children he could not name. Hell’s teeth! Someday they could make up his very own army.

While he had been perusing the children, they had been jabbering away at him.

“Father, I need a horse.”

I need a horn of ale.

“Father, I have a boil on my bottom.”

And you expect me to do…what?

“Father, Aidan hit me.”

“Father, I only hit Alfred because he ate my custard.”

My head hurts.

“Father, I want a sword.” This from five-year-old Angus.

For the love of God!

“Father, you need to change Piers’s nappy.”

Not if I can help it!

“Father, why do you have a frowny face?”

Because my head hurts.

“Father, how old do I have to be to tup a maid?” seven-year-old Oslac asked.

What…WHAT did he say?

“Oslac’s cock thickened one night,” Kendrick took delight in informing him.

He probably had to empty his bladder.

Oslac punched Kendrick for divulging that private fact, which caused Kendrick to punch him back. Soon they were rolling around in the dirty rushes getting dirtier than they already were.