" 'Tis dust on the wind."

He arched his brows. The morning sun beat down with not even a light breeze. Although he did get a faint whiff of salt water. Hmm. "When are you taking us back to Hedeby?"

"Soon." More eye blinking.

He noticed the longship was already up on trestles, and women in men's attire appeared to be working on its underside. How they'd gotten the boat inland without water access remained a puzzle. One he would solve soon. In addition, there was another half-completed longship on another trestle. Female shipbuilders? "What's wrong with your vessel?"

"Nothing of importance. The usual recaulking and small repairs."

"Do you have other longships, as well?"

She smiled, and her teeth were not horsey at all, by the by. White and even and scarce any receding gums. "Just the one that is seaworthy." No eye blinking this time. So presumably the truth.

"If there are no major problems with your longship, then we should be under way shortly," he said. When she didn't immediately agree, he grew suspicious. "If you are thinking about keeping us here until you have swived us silly, think again."

She bared her teeth at him but said nothing, a clear attempt on her part to restrain her temper. Good to know that he could rile her so easily. "Any swiving to be done will be initiated by you or your men. My women have orders."

He almost laughed. Even in this short time since he'd regained his senses, he could see many of the women strutting about with the widened necklines of their gunnas half falling off their shoulders to expose the tops of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, even those carrying weapons. Those wearing braies must have used crowbars to help pry their a.r.s.es into the tight confines. Some even had berry-stained lips and cheeks, like painted harlots.

Not Medana, though. She wore a plain brown tunic and braies with her blonde hair hanging in a long braid down her back. If she only knew, her modest attire, compared to the others, only gave her more allure, even at her advanced age. A Viking man with experience, like him, would be wondering what she hid beneath. Not that he was considering her as a bedmate. Nay, his visions of her involved dungeons and whips and feathers. Nay, nay, nay! I did not think feathers. I meant fetters.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, lady, you really do not want to know." He studied her and was amazed to see not a lick of fear in her incredible violet eyes. "Were you dropped on your head as a babe? Do you not have the sense to quiver with fright now that I am free to throttle you?"

She shrugged. "I have two hundred women here, give or take. You have already seen how quickly they come to my defense. You might succeed in killing me, but your fate would be the same within minutes. So save your brutish urges."

"Save your brutish urges," Thork mimicked under his breath as she led him to a longhouse where he and his men were soon a.s.signed temporary quarters. Another woman showed them a place beneath the waterfall where they could bathe. Although not large, the timber building was not an uncomfortable dwelling, with one central hearth fire and sleeping pallets lining both of the long sides. After a serving maid set pottery jugs of ale before them and a cook roasted several rabbits over an open fire and put them on platters, along with flat circles of manchet bread, they were left alone, except for the guards outside.

"Pirates! We have been captured by female pirates!" Jamie grinned, as if announcing some wondrous event.

"They want us for one purpose only. Our man seed," Thork pointed out.

They all grinned then, except Thork.

And except for Bolthor, who constantly bemoaned the overlarge number of children he already had. Plus, "Katherine will kill me if I dare to lie with another woman. She'll say I planned this all so that I can fornicate and claim no responsibility."

And except for Jostein, who harbored sour feelings toward all women because of the dispute with his wife. Jostein's one and only wife, by the by, the man never having practiced the more danico, or multiple wives.

"Spare us your disapproval, Thork. Have you never fantasized about being a love slave?" This from Henry, who should have the least interest in slavery of any kind since his mother had been a thrall.

"Never." But now that you bring it up, it does have a certain allure. Nay, nay, nay, it does not. I cannot fall into that trap.

"Did you see the one named Lilli? Hair like wet sand, green eyes, bosoms out to here. She has been following me around like a besotted puppy." Henry sighed and cupped his hands out, far out, in front of his chest to demonstrate.

"Just because a wench wags her tail does not make her a docile pet. A dog is a dog. Beware of b.i.t.c.hes. In the end, they all bite." This jaded view was expressed by Jostein, of course. What had his wife done to turn him so sour? Thork wondered, recalling a time, not so many years ago, before his marriage, when Jostein had been merry of heart.

"I canna think of aught better than taking a woman dog style," Jamie said.

By the runes! What has one to do with the other?

"What is dog style?" Brokk wanted to know.

Jamie proceeded to explain in detail, including an explanation of how that position allowed a man to strum a woman's "bud of paradise" whilst tupping away.

Jostein made a snorting sound and muttered something about never having heard of such strumming.

"No wonder your wee wife left you," Jamie concluded, ducking as Jostein attempted to punch him in his laughing mouth.

"I for one never noticed the one named Lilli. You can have her, but I get first dibs on Solveig, the rudder master," Finn said. "There is something about her that bespeaks experience in the bed furs." Thork couldn't help but notice that Finn had somehow managed to trim his beard and mustache already, probably after bathing in the pond. The rest of them were clean but decidedly scruffy-looking, while Finn managed to look like he'd just prepared for a royal feast.

"You do not want a virgin?" Brokk asked Finn. "Everyone says the best s.e.x is like guiding a sleek longship down a narrow fjord, even if a dam must be breached first."

Everyone blinked with surprise at the obviously untried boyling.

"Brokk, Brokk, Brokk!" Finn patted his shoulders. "The best bedsport comes with a woman who knows what to do with a . . . a longship."

"I'm saving myself for Ianthe," Alrek said.

"Hah!" Finn snorted. "You have as much chance with her as I have with Isobel."

Alrek and Finn had fallen head over lackwit a.r.s.es in love with the two women on a recent trip to Miklagard, the golden city known by the Greeks as Byzantium. Neither had been favored with reciprocated feelings from the two women, who now lived in the Saxon lands.

"I have not given up hope," Alrek said, raising his chin defiantly.

"Hope is the salvation of all men," Bolthor proclaimed, about to launch into a saga, no doubt.

Luckily, or not so luckily, Jamie continued with the previous conversation. "Personally, Siobhan, the bonnie Irish la.s.s with the lush bottom, is more to my taste. I do like something to grab on to when taking the wild ride."

Thork had to smile. "Jamie! Forget about her b.u.t.tocks. Siobhan is older than you by ten years at least. Plus she is in charge of all the outdoors, including the gardens and plough fields and animals, like pigs and cows and chickens. Do you see yourself as a farmer now?"

Jamie pretended to shiver at the prospect.

"There is naught wrong with a few gray hairs. In fact, I wrote an ode one time to my wife's nether hair, like pepper and salt it is."

"Thank you for reminding us about that," Thork said. He would have that image in his head every time he met up with Lady Katherine, especially if Bolthor kept repeating it.

"I do not know why Katherine was so upset," Bolthor went on. "My nether hairs are all white, and I would not mind if someone wrote an ode about mine."

"Thank you for sharing that," Thork said. Now, he would have that image, too.

"You know what I mean, Finn," Bolthor said.

"Me? Why me? I am a young man yet. Not yet thirty and two," Finn protested.

Bolthor gave Finn a meaningful stare with his one good eye.

"The time you saw me plucking it was only one gray hair. One. Only. One." Finn couldn't be more affronted if Bolthor had accused him of having a needle c.o.c.k. Well, mayhap that would have been worse.

"Och! If not Siobhan, then Bergdis," Jamie compromised.

Thork had to laugh. "Bergdis is a rower on the longship. She is mistress of buildings and woodworking. I doubt you know how to even hammer a nail straight. And chopping firewood, now that's a job I'd like to see you do, day in and day out. By the by, did you notice her shoulders? She could pick you up and slam you down in a trice."

Jamie shrugged and winked at him. "Dinna fash yourself, laddie. A little pain ne'er hurt a Scotsman, especially when the gain is so sweet."

"What pain? What gain?" Brokk asked.

"Boyling, you need to learn a few facts of life," Jostein said to Brokk, but not unkindly, to Thork's surprise.

"Men in eastern lands often favor women with a little extra fat on the bone," Henry proclaimed with a slight slur to his words. He must have imbibed too much ale. Already? "A cushion for the ballocks, or some such thing. Plus their bellies make good cushions for sleeping."

Yea, definitely drukkinn.

"Besides, Jamie, did you not notice that Bergdis has a front tooth missing?" Thork asked.

"Weel," Jamie drawled out with a chuckle, " 'tis nae so bad a thing if a woman is missing teeth," Jamie replied with a chuckle. "The better to blow a man's horn, mind ye."

"Hah! You have a very slim horn if it can fit in the s.p.a.ce of one missing tooth," he countered.

"Pay no mind to Thork, Jamie. Everyone knows 'tis best for a man to find an ugly woman," Bolthor said before belching loudly. "They are more appreciative of any male attention they can garner that they will do anything."

Now, that would make a good saga. One Bolthor best not ever recite in front of his wife.

"Like ugly women being more likely to take a manroot down the throat?" Jamie inquired with a decided mischievous gleam in his Scottish eyes.

"That and other things," Bolthor said, surprising Thork. Usually, Bolthor was not so inclined to lewd talk, lest it be accidentally so. Like his not realizing it was lewd to talk about his woman's parts in front of one and all.

Brokk's jaw had dropped nigh to his navel.

Thork decided the conversation had gone way too far off track. "Take care, all of you. There are consequences to spilling your seed in any handy vessel. Do you want your sons . . . or daughters . . . raised by a hird of barmy women?"

"Barmy, for sure," Jostein interjected. "Do you know they've given themselves t.i.tles for everything? Each and every one of them is a mistress of something or other."

Jamie's eyes lit up. "I like the idea of that. Mistress of kissing. Mistress of fondling. Mistress of the tup. Mistress of the mouth swiving. Mistress of the best s.e.x this side of the Highlands."

"Lackwit!" Jostein replied. "Not that kind of mistress. They are mistress of weapons. Mistress of the hunt. Mistress of gardening. Mistress of hog swilling. Mistress of the scullery. Dozens and dozens of t.i.tles. Every one of these women has a specific job and t.i.tle, and they each claim to be equal. As if feeding chickens and swordplay require the same measure of talent!"

"Good G.o.ds!" Thork said.

"Now that you mention it, Lilli said something about being mistress of indoor stewardship, whatever that means."

"Just so I do not get seduced by mistress of the privy," Alrek said as he slapped a hand on his knee with glee at his rare venture into the land of mirth. He missed his knee and spilled ale all over the crotch and thighs of his braies.

Several of the men shivered with distaste at the idea of a privy mistress. Some even held their noses with distaste.

"I still say one of the t.i.tles might be mistress of s.e.x, especially mistress of s.e.xual perversions," Jamie insisted.

Jostein reached over and swatted him on the side of the head. "Dreamer!"

Jamie just grinned, taking no offense.

"Back to the subject of our being studs for their wicked ends." Thork tried to get back on track. "Will you risk never knowing if you have a child, let alone never seeing him or her?" Thork couldn't believe that he of the wild reputation was giving lectures on proper behavior.

Alrek, who had been responsible for his younger orphaned brothers and sisters from the time he was a mere twelve years old, clearly valued family. "They will not get my seed."

"What will you do when one of the wenches has your c.o.c.k in her hands and her thighs spread wide?" Thork asked.

Alrek's face bloomed with color under his sun-bronzed skin. "I will think of a winter storm on the high seas with ice crusting the oars and wind whipping at the sails. That should cause any c.o.c.k to wilt."

They all laughed.

"I realize that many men fornicate freely without regard for any children they might beget, but my father always taught me to take care that I do not spill my seed in fertile fields, lest I plan on caring for the harvest for many years thereafter." Forget lectures. Now I am quoting my father . . . after all these years of trying to put distance betwixt us.

"What makes you think we would be unable to return for any child of ours?" Finn asked Thork distractedly while cleaning under his fingernails with the point of his small knife.

"Do you know where we are?" Thork addressed his question first to Finn, then to the rest of the men.

They all shook their heads, as understanding came to them.

"There isn't a chance in Muspell that they won't do everything in their power to keep this location secret," Jostein concluded for them all.

"That is our first goal then. To discover exactly where we are," Thork directed. "We need a plan. As fighting men, we were taught from the time we got our first swords not to rush into battle. Study the enemy. Their strengths and weaknesses. What we can gain . . . or lose. What weapons we need to breach their fortifications. How to infiltrate their ranks." Thork knew that planning was not always a possibility, but it would seem they had more than enough time here to take care in how to proceed. "And what are our goals once we pinpoint where we are?"

"Escape, of course," Alrek said.

"Revenge," Finn added.

"Plunder," Henry further added.

"I think we should take them all captive and sell them in the slave marts," Jostein suggested.

"Wise words and worth considering," Thork said.

"Why not just lop off all their heads?" This from Bolthor, who had at one time been known as Bolthor the Berserker. The old man claimed to have long lost count of the number of enemy heads he'd lopped off with his far-famed battle-axe, Head Splitter.

"A bit messy," Finn remarked. As vain and prissy as Finn could be at times, he'd shed more than his share of sword dew in battle, but he preferred clean kills.

"That would be a lot of heads," Jamie also observed, though not with distaste.

"Eeew!" Brokk said, before catching himself. The youthling, whose skin had paled at the mention of beheading, was not blooded enough in warfare to become inured to the gross aspects of fighting.

"The eight of us might be able to overtake the women," Jamie said. "Make them the captives."

Not a bad idea, and they all pondered the possibilities.

"But would they then reveal all their secrets, once they are our thralls?" Thork asked.

"They will if we lop off a few heads," Bolthor said.