Page 97 of Viking in Love

“’Tis boring. If I were sitting at the other end of the hall, some lusty man would have his hand up me robe, or I would be tickling his manpart under the table.”

Caedmon burst out laughing, then looked at Breanne.

“Do not dare!”

“Oh, well, I kin always practice me exercises ’til this bloody dinner is over.”

“Do not ask,” Breanne said.

At the same time he did just that. “What exercise would that be?”

Ignoring his question, Amicia addressed Breanne, “Yer face looks red. Are ya practicin’ yer exercises, too?”

“You both look like your bowels are blocked,” Caedmon grumbled, irritated at being ignored.

But then Amicia, to Breanne’s dismay, told him in graphic detail exactly what exercise she referred to. His jaw dropped lower with each word.

Breanne buried her face in her hands.

An idea came unbidden to him. Caedmon knew what his second bridal gift to Breanne would be. A candle.

His fruit was yummy…

There was good news, and there was bad news the next day.

Good news: The archbishop was leaving Larkspur.

Bad news: She and Caedmon were going with him to Heatherby.

Good news: Lady Amicia was staying home.

Bad news: A betrothal ceremony would be held within a few days if Breanne’s father did not arrive, which he would not, since he had never been summoned to begin with.

Breanne drew her horse up beside Caedmon’s as they rode out of Larkspur, twenty guardsmen accompanying them. Northumbria was still a wild, ungoverned land where villains and reivers abounded. Thieves had no qualms over killing a person for a few pieces of gold, no matter that they be high church officials.

Caedmon was a handsome man, no doubt about it. Looking out one of the arrow slit windows this morn, she had seen him practicing swordplay with his men on the exercise fields. He must have bathed afterward before dressing in a tunic of finest dark blue wool, held in at the waist with a wide leather belt, over black, brushed-hide braies. He was clean shaven and his still-wet hair had been trimmed yet again.

Noticing her scrutiny, he asked, “Is something amiss?”

She could not tell him that he made her tingle just looking at him. “What a mess you got us in now!” she hissed. Even though the archbishop and his retinue rode in the forefront, she would not want anyone to overhear.

“Me? I am not the one who said we could not be formally betrothed until your father arrived.”

“Perchance you could pretend to get some deadly illness.”

“Why do I have to be the one to get sick? Besides, knowing Dunstan, he would perform a deathbed marriage, followed by Extreme Unction, just so he and the king could get a portion of your dowry.”

“Even if we were getting married, I would not be willing to give any of my dowry to them.”

“You would have no choice.”

“Methinks Britain is not a hospitable land for women.”

“’Tis no worse here than any other country, and in truth, I am not given a choice in all things, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Until my uncle died and deeded me Larkspur I was a landless knight with no prospects. You cannot know what it is like to finally have a home when you had none.”