Page 2 of Mastered By the Viking King

He stood, wishing again that he could shake the cloak of dishonor his wife had laid there. He hoped she was afraid, cold, alone, hungry…

“Wench,” he muttered, striding to the first woman. “What is your name?”

“Bae.”

“Age?”

“Eighteen summers, my king.”

He walked around her, the sleeve of his wolf fur brushing her shoulders. “And you are from Halsgrof?”

“Just yonder, to the south.”

“Your father.”

“A hunter.” She wrinkled her nose and sneezed.

“A fine hunter?”

She sneezed again. “Aye.”

Njal peered closer at her face. Her eyes were misting as if about to weep and her bottom lip trembled.

She sneezed again, and again.

“What is the matter with you, Bae?”

“It is the wolf pelt, my king. It always… does this to me.”

He frowned, irritation warring with his other emotions. “What is this, Halfdan?”

“I do not know?” He held out his arms. “What shall I do?”

“Get her out of here.” Njal pointed at the door. “What good is a woman who sneezes in the presence of fur? My bed, the bed I wish to lay with her on, is covered in fur.”

“I am sorry, my king.” Bae stepped back, sneezing once more. “I don’t know why…”

“Get out!” Njal roared.

The woman seemed to jump within her own skin, then turned and melted into the crowd with her palm covering her face.

Njal held out his hand. “Mead.”

A full horn was passed his way. He drank then handed it back. This had not started well.

“You.”

The second woman seemed to shrink into her clothing.

“Name.”

“Mina, my king.” Her voice was naught but a whisper.

“And how many summers are you?”

“I do not know, my king. I cannot count them.”

“Which means you are of too many,” he roared with his face close to hers. “You will not give me sons, will you?”

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