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She shook her head.
Just before they got to the outer door, he picked up a piece of rolled fabric. “Wouldst do me a favor, sweetling?”
“What?” She was immediately suspicious, as she should be.
“When I come back, we will resume our nightly visits, but I want you to do something for me.”
“What?” she said again. This time she had her arms folded over her chest.
“Wear this on my first night back.” He handed her the fabric, though she tried to shove it away, no doubt suspecting what it was.
“Nay, I do not want it.”
“But I want you to have it.”
“Nay.”
“Yea.”
The back and forth passing of the garment caused it to unroll and make a sound. Tinkling bells.
Beware of men with rat faces ...
A shame-faced and silent Drifa, the hood of her mantle pulled forward, walked beside Ivar back to her quarters. To her surprise, she was not the only one scurrying home through the silent corridors under cover of darkness.
She told her maid Anna that she needed no help undressing when she was back in her own bedchamber. Sidroc had marked her good and true inside, that was for sure. Gods only knew what marks he had had left on the outside of her body.
She would never be the same.
And she could not blame him. Not entirely. She’d entered this arrangement of her own accord to protect her secret, a secret she had no right to keep. And she could not deny she had enjoyed the lovemaking, both the dark and the light side. Sidroc had revealed passions in her she was not sure she liked.
For now, though, she fell into a deep, untroubled sleep and did not waken until noon when Anna reminded her that she had an appointment with the eparch today, and that both her hersirs and guardsmen awaited her.
Despite having purchased Greek garments, she wore her traditional long-sleeved Norse garb to hide the whisker and finger and even teeth marks on various parts of her body. A tight-fitting silver torque about her neck covered a red spot the oaf had inflicted on her with a sucking kiss. The worst part was that he probably carried as many of her marks, as well.
When she opened her door, Wulf grumbled, “What in bloody hell took you so long?” Then he looked at her and his jaw dropped.
Can I crawl back into bed and cover my head for a sennight?
Ivar, in his protective mode, frowned at the Saxon and said, “M’lady was out in the sun too long yesterday and ... and a bee stung her lips.”
The gods must be punishing me.
Jamie let out a hoot of laughter, then slammed a hand over his mouth.
Thork was not so shy about expressing himself. “Looks like someone got lucky at the tupping barrel.” Wulf clouted Thork at the side of the head with a palm but that did not stop the rascal, who continued, “Really, Princess Drifa, you should not be embarrassed. Many a Viking has done the morning-after walk of shame, not that you have anything to be ashamed of.”
Do you want to place a wager on that?
“Hah! We Scottish lads ha’ perfected the walk of shame, except ours is through the moors on the long way home,” Jamie added. “Have ye ever smelled heather on a heaving stomach?”
Huh? What do flowers have to do with ... oh.
“I crawled through me front door one time,” Farle, one of the guardsmen, said. “Me wife made me sleep in the cow byre for a sennight.” He beamed as if he’d done something to be proud of.
Men! “I have not been drinking to excess,” she protested.
“I know.” Jamie winked at her.
