"That is beside the point," Finn evaded. "Mayhap I will be like you. Marry late in life and breed a horde of bratlings."

"I did not breed a horde. I was married as a young man and lost both my wife and two daughters. Katherine already had four children when we wed, and we had only one babe betwixt us."

"Five children? Five? Shouldn't you be home caring for your large family?" Medana asked.

"Yea, I should," Bolthor replied, slicing her a glare with his one good eye, "except someone waylaid us. Someone prevented Thork from going home and getting himself a bride. Someone delayed me from returning to my home and a wife who will have my head on a silver trencher."

So the brute is betrothed. Why that seemingly irrelevant fact should matter to her was a puzzle, but somehow it did. " 'Twas not I who captured you men," she said defensively. Her excuse sounded weak even to her own ears, and both men arched their brows at her mincing words.

" 'Twas you who demanded ransom for him," Finn pointed out.

To hide her discomfort and to feed her continuing hunger, she made quick work of eating another piece of bread and meat.

When she'd finished her short meal, Bolthor handed her a ladle of water. That, too, she gulped down. When he inquired, "More?" she nodded, and he refilled the ladle from a nearby rain barrel that they must have dragged up the mountain.

Bolthor and Finn watched her intently.

"What?" she asked.

"Are you tired, m'lady?" Finn asked.

What an odd question! "Nay. Why should I be tired? I have done naught but lie about for half a day." Something occurred to her. "You are worried that I might have tainted the drinking water with sleep herbs, aren't you?" She yawned widely and loudly. "Perchance I am ready for bed, after all. Suddenly, I feel like I could melt down to the ground in a puddle and sleep like a hibernating bear."

"Why are your eyes blinking?" Bolthor asked.

"Because she is lying," Thork said in pa.s.sing. He'd already ama.s.sed a pile of clothing and linen cloths. To Finn, he asked, "Did you bring any soap?"

Finn nodded. "In the sack under the sleeping bench on the far side of the hearthstone."

Thork began to leave again, never once asking if she needed anything. Like more food, or an opportunity to relieve herself. He did stop to address Bolthor, though. "Keep an eye on the sly witch lest she slip away afore I can torture her secrets out of her."

He'd already said he knew about the pond. What else did he think she was hiding? "You already know all my secrets," she griped.

"I doubt that mightily. Besides, I need to practice one of my best torture methods. Pulling out toenails with my teeth."

Bolthor and Finn barely stifled their chuckles.

She shivered inwardly but raised her chin. "Put your mouth anywhere near my feet and you will get a knee in your most precious body part. And I do not mean your winsome face."

Thork let out a hoot of laughter and tipped his head at her as if giving her credit for a good response. But what he said was "You like my face? And that is not even my best feature."

How he could make jest in the midst of such dire circ.u.mstances-dire for her, leastways-was indicative of his still wild character, in her opinion. Not that she would voice it, or that anyone would care. The grin on his too-pretty face boded ill for her. And, yea, the lout was pretty with that silky blond hair, sun-bronzed face, finely sculpted nose and chin, high cheekbones, and the best feature of all, his green eyes. Not that she took notice of such things. Usually.

Once he was gone, she remarked to no one in particular, "He really is a loathsome lout." And she did not mean that in a nice way.

Chapter Twelve.

Rub-a-dub-dub, baby . . .

The level of the pond had already dropped the length of a big man's foot by the time Thork arrived there with Medana. Bolthor and Finn stood guard a short distance away, keeping an eye on the women warriors who attempted to approach.

"Tell your women to go back. Tell them you are safe," he demanded.

"Am I safe?"

He shrugged. "As safe as you can be, as long as you obey orders."

"You seem to be under the mistaken notion that you are in charge. This is our island."

"Believe me, M'Lady Pirate, I am in charge. And you would do best not to rile me further."

"Blather, blather, blather," she muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." She turned to address the dozen or so worried women who hovered a short distance away. "Go back to the village. Take them back, Gudron. All will be aright by morning."

"An optimist, are you?" Thork inquired once they were alone again.

"A realist. I cannot see how keeping me for an extended time would be to your advantage."

"Do you not?"

They'd arrived at the pond, and Thork dropped his pile to the ground. While he began to remove his belt, he asked, "How long does it take for the pond to drain?"

"About two hours. At its full depth, it is the height of four men, standing atop each other, feet to shoulders. About four fathoms. And about thirty paces across, if one could walk on water, as you can see."

Thork studied the steep-sided pond as he began to disrobe. Because the pool was not slanted along the sides, the depth was the same throughout. Thork figured that he would have more than an hour of a good depth for swimming . . . or bathing.

"What are you doing?" She gaped at him.

"Taking off my braies." He'd already toed off his boots and pulled his tunic over his head. "It defeats the purpose of bathing if one does so fully clothed. Besides, I need a clean tunic and braies if I want to survive my own stink. Same goes for you, by the by."

She was staring at a particular part of his body and therefore didn't respond, at first.

"That . . . that . . ." she sputtered, pointing to his c.o.c.k, bared now that he'd shimmied out of his braies; it was already halfway enthusiastic. Much more staring by her, and he would be into a full-blown c.o.c.kstand.

"Do not take it personally. My fifth limb salutes at the least thing. Once, I got aroused watching a bowl of leavened dough rise. Resembled a woman's b.u.t.tock, it did."

He could see her by the full moon, but not too clearly. He would bet his best sword she was blushing, though.

Abruptly, she spun on her heels, away from him, gazing at nothing in particular.

"Take off your garments, Medana, whilst the water level is still high."

"Um, methinks I will bathe later."

"Um, methinks you will bathe now. Fully clothed or naked, I care not, but you will be in that pond forthwith."

"Can you not leave me my dignity?"

"Like you left me mine? I seem to recall male body parts being held over a ship's rail to p.i.s.s."

She waved a hand airily. "Men are not so squeamish about such things."

"Mayhap so, but a man's male part has difficulty distinguishing between s.e.x and p.i.s.sing when a female hand is holding it. Lots of c.o.c.kstands were visible during the ship's sailing, you must admit."

She looked at him as if he'd said something particularly vulgar. Hah! If she thought that was vulgar . . . Enough! Picking her up from behind, by the waist, he tossed her into the pond and jumped in after her.

The water was cool and refreshing, and, yea, slightly salty. When he rose to the surface and shook his hair off his face, he observed Medana struggling, her arms flailing as she tried to swim toward the edge.

"Can you not swim? A pirate who cannot swim?" He pulled her up, and her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. Her hair was wet and stringing about her face, her garments a sodden mess.

"Yea, I can swim, you loathsome lout, but not with the weight of wet clothing and boots to pull me down."

"You called me a loathsome lout," he pointed out, meanwhile liking the feel of the slim woman in his arms. A particular body part liked her particular body part as well, as evidenced by a continual rising of enthusiasm that pressed against her thighs. Thus far, she hadn't taken note of that fact; when she did, she would probably have a screaming fit. "Must be you like me, as my mother inferred."

"Like? Like? At this moment, my sentiments are just the opposite, you . . . you . . ."

"Odious oaf?" he offered, and pushed her back against the far side of the pond and extended her arms to each side to hold her up. He didn't hear her response because he'd ducked under water and yanked off one of her half boots, then the other, not an easy feat when she was attempting to kick him. He rose to the surface, gave her a quick kiss-why, he had no idea; because he could, he supposed, or mayhap just to halt her harangue-and went under again where he commenced to tug down her braies, baring her lower body, which he could unfortunately not see. He would later, though, he promised himself. Just because he knew it would annoy her. Or so he told himself.

"You took off my braies and smallclothes, both of them at once," she charged, as if he didn't know what he had done.

"Yea, a talented fellow I am at removing female clothes, though I cannot say I have taken breeches off a woman afore."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant," and before she could fathom his next step, he grabbed the hem of her tunic and raised it up and over her head and off her arms. Arms that immediately returned by necessity to the pond's edge to maintain her balance or risk sinking under water again.

Which left her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and upper body exposed to his scrutiny.

And scrutinize her, he did.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were not too big, and not too small. Just right. Round like plump peaches, with tiny berry nipples. He fancied small nipples, truth to tell, no doubt due to the time he got a rash from being with a woman who had nipples the size of candle stubs. Not that the two things were related, but still, men tended to make a.s.sociations like that. And there was not a bit of sag in Medana's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, considering her age, though that might be because of her position, arms stretched out, causing her back to arch.

She was beautiful. And it wasn't just her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

How could he have not noticed afore? Oh, he'd not considered her witch ugly, but on the other hand, he would not have considered her more than pa.s.sable in appearance, especially for a female so long in the tooth, p.r.o.ne to wearing men's garments. Even with her hair plastered about her face and the frowning expression she cast his way, even with the sheep smell that still lingered on her body, she was the most tempting morsel of femininity he'd viewed in a long time. If ever.

And that was alarming.

"Lecherous lout!" she said, noticing his regard, and turned, trying to lever her arms and crawl up the side.

Which gave him a view of her a.r.s.e. Two rounded globes of white ivory, like an inverted heart, the point being her narrow waist.

A sharp jab of l.u.s.t shot through his body.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder and couldn't help but see what he was admiring. Which caused her to scramble even more to get away from him.

"Nay, nay, nay!" he said with a joyous laugh. "You are not getting away from me so easily." She was out of the water up to her knees and attempting to crawl forward, but he grabbed her legs and pulled sharply, causing them both to fall backward and into the pond. He heard Bolthor and Finn laughing in the distance.

He still had a hold on her, by the waist now, when they both came up in the center of the pond.

She was sputtering and spitting out water. So it took a moment for her to realize that they were treading water, front to front. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his shoulders. His c.o.c.k was a lance between her knees. For a moment, he feared that he might shoot his enthusiasm out like an untried youthling, unable to control his pa.s.sions.

He motioned to Bolthor and Finn to make themselves scarce. Medana would not enjoy an audience to her nudity, or what he was contemplating. The two men laughed as they moved away.

He knew the instant she realized how close he was, and how aroused, because her eyes widened, her wantonly full lips parted, and her entire body stiffened. Quickly, he cupped her b.u.t.tocks with his big hands and drew her flush against his body, giving her no means of escape.

She gasped.

He gasped.

Then he smiled and nipped at her lower lip, pulling back quickly before she did more than nip him back with her own teeth.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he suggested against her ear as he moved his shoulders back and forth so his collarbone would brush against her nipples.

"It does not feel good," she protested, and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, which only caused her nipples to get more abraded.

To his immense satisfaction, he noticed her eyelashes fluttering. She lied. It did feel good to her.

Giving her no time to contemplate his next move, he brought his mouth to hers, slanting his lips this way and that, creating a moist, warm path of carnal pleasure. At first his kiss was soft and coaxing, but when he deepened the kiss, demanding more, she moaned softly, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her mouth and, pray G.o.ds she would not bite off the tip.

She didn't. Instead, she moaned again and opened wider.

Not one to waste an opportunity, Thork thrust deeply, in and out. Wet sounds of arousal were created by both of them. At first, Medana was tentative in the deep kissing, as if unfamiliar with that carnal exercise, but soon she was partic.i.p.ating fully, giving as good as she got.

His manpart was getting equal exercise, between the tight s.p.a.ce between her lower thighs. It wanted desperately to be somewhere else, up higher, and tighter.

He drew away slightly to look at Medana. She stared back at him, as if stunned. "What are you doing to me?"

"You know what I am doing, sweetling. You are no virgin."

He realized his mistake immediately, even before she flinched as if he'd struck her, and said, "That was cra.s.s, even for an a.s.s such as you."

She'd claimed to have been raped. Perchance that had been her only s.e.xual experience. Under those circ.u.mstances, his remark had been cra.s.s. Cruel, even.

"I apologize, Medana," he said as quickly as he could get the words out.

She turned away when he attempted to kiss her again. Opportunity lost! For the moment. He hadn't even touched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Yet. Or other intriguing body parts. But he would. A seasoned warrior knew when to retreat and when to advance. This was retreating time.

He reached a long arm over to grab a square of hard soap sitting on the pile of garments and sundry items he'd brought with them. It was not the harsh soap made of lye and wood ashes suitable for laundry, but a unique scented soap perfected by women of Thrudr for sale in the markets of Hedeby, Birka, Kaupang, and Jorvik. This particular one smelled like honey. Others were flower, fruit, pine, oats, even b.u.t.ter scented.