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“Princess! You cannot do that.”
“I can and I will, Ivar. With all due respect, I am twenty and nine years old, well past the age for maidenly protection of my virtue.”
The shock on his face pierced her. “I promised your father to protect you, m’lady.”
“And you do so, well and good.” Seeing that he was unconvinced, she said something she knew she should not, but it preserved at least a bit of her self-respect and might convince her guardsman to relent. “Sidroc and I are betrothed.”
She was therefore in a stormy mood by the time dusk rolled around and she arrived, with Ivar, at Sidroc’s quarters. And, yea, Ivar would be standing guard outside the door all night. That was the concession she’d had to make to his demand that she allow him to speak to Sidroc first. She knew what “speaking” would entail. Fists, at the least. Blood, at the worst.
When she knocked on his door, Sidroc opened it immediately, raised his brows at Ivar’s scowling presence and raised them even farther when she shoved him aside and slammed the door behind them, leaving Ivar behind.
“That was rude.”
“Do not speak of rudeness, you arrogant lecherous libertine. Do not pretend to—” She stopped speaking on getting her first good look at the cad. He was wearing only braies, low slung on his hips, and naught else. Even his big bare feet with their narrow toes reeked sex. If she were not so blistering mad, she might have been tempted by his handsomeness. She might have put a hand to the light dusting of reddish-brown fur on his chest. She might have pressed a fingertip against his hard male nipples. She might have done so many wicked things. Instead she snapped, “Expecting a heat wave?”
“Nay, just you.”
She could tell he was amused by her fury, which had not been her intention. If there were a pottery pitcher nearby, she would hurl it gladly.
“Is Ivar going to stand out there all night?”
“Yea. Feel free to go out and remove him, if you will.”
“His presence does not bother me. Just do not do too much squealing with bedjoy, lest he think I am killing you.”
As if I even know what bedjoy is! She shot him daggers of revulsion.
He just smiled. “How did you convince him to allow you to come stay the night?”
“I told him we are betrothed.” She raised a hand to halt what she knew would be some insult or other about how he would not marry her now if she were the last female this side of Asgard. “Do not worry that I am deluding myself about your intentions. I will not be begging you to make a virtuous woman of me.”
“Virtuous?” he scoffed.
The donkey’s arse! “What do you want me to do? Let us get this farce over with as soon as possible.”
“You are so anxious for us to begin.”
“Nay. I am so anxious for us to end.”
“Sweetling.” He laughed. “We have at least nine hours to while away, by my guess. I have even lit a timekeeping candle so you can keep count. We have plenty of time.”
Drifa gulped, unable to imagine what could possibly last for nine hours. He was probably just teasing her.
“I thought we might start with a light repast,” he said, pointing to a low table where there was fruit, cheese, and a flagon of wine.
“My stomach heaves at the thought of sharing food with you at the moment.”
He should have been offended, but instead he just shrugged. “Perchance later you will have worked up an appetite.”
She hoped not.
He handed her one of the goblets of wine, though. When she tried to decline, he said, “Drink it, Drifa. You need to soften your sharp edges.” She was about to argue that her sharp edges were her only weapons against this untenable situation, but he put his fingertips to her mouth. “Enough. Come, let me show you around.”
Sidroc’s bedchamber was small, containing only a raised pallet with a thick mattress against one wall, several pegs on the wall for clothing, and a large chest. His bedchamber had another door, on the opposite side from the entrance door, which opened onto a bathing pool with floating lotus blossoms. It was situated in the midst of a small garden. There was also an antechamber with a table where soldiers could get massages to work out their weary muscles. Another table sat in the garden, this one for dining or playing the board game hnefatafl, which lay open as if a game had been interrupted.
“They give such splendid accommodations to all Varangian soldiers?” If her mind were not consumed with what was to come she might have enjoyed investigating the garden more thoroughly. Right now flowers were the last thing on her mind.
“Nay. Those in command of divisions, as Finn and I are, get separate quarters. And we share.” He pointed to five other closed doors arranged next to his in a semicircle.
