Possibly. Possibly more.
All of which means I need to start deflating your ego now, before it’s too late.
Ben laughed in my head, and took my hand. We thanked Tallulah and Sir Edward for their time, after which I took Davide back to Tallulah’s trailer, making sure to pat the cat on his head since I knew he disliked it. Kindlier instincts prompted me to pull out a little bowl of chopped chicken that Tallulah said she was saving for him. He looked like he wanted to bite me as I gave it to him, but decided instead to adopt a righteously indignant expression meant to put me in my place.
“I don’t see the Vikings,” I said some twenty minutes later, as I arrived at where Ben sat on the corner of a portable picnic table in the common area. I waved the sausage roll I’d bought just before the food stall closed down, adding, “Normally I wouldn’t worry, but with the Faire closing down early for the big finale of the opera shindig in town, I suspect they’ve gone in to pick up women, and with them, that could be trouble. Did you get hold of David?”
“Yes.” Ben put his phone away in an inner pocket of his leather jacket and slipped on the latter. “He says he’ll meet us at de Marco’s house as soon as he can. Do you have your valknut?”
I touched my T-shirt. “I do, but the Vikingahärta is Loki’s valknut. Why do you think it will help us with de Marco?”
“It had its origins with Loki, but it’s yours now, and it’s you who is powering it. It protected you against Naomi’s attack earlier, so it’s my belief that it will do the same should de Marco try to harm you.”
“Aren’t we going to add Imogen to our posse? And shouldn’t we have the Vikings? I can call Eirik and find out where they are. I’m sure they’d be happy to help us make de Marco hand over my mother. They love a good fight.”
“I would like to avoid bringing a full-fledged attack force, since we simply intend to locate your mother. And I’d prefer Imogen to remain here. She’s vulnerable right now.”
“Vulnerable how?” I almost had to run to keep up with Ben as he hurried toward the parking lot, where he’d left his bike. There were a few stragglers left at the Faire, but most had left in the last hour, and the Faire employees were happily shutting up shop in order to watch the festivities. “Is Imogen okay? Is something wrong with her? And why are you running? I’m going to get a stitch in my side if you keep up this pace.”
“Nothing is wrong with Imogen, no. I’m hurrying because I just saw the time. It’s going to be a nightmare trying to get through the town to de Marco’s house.”
“Why? Oh, the parade.” The grand finale of the weeklong opera competition was a parade filled with floats, artists, and other performers.
“The sooner we get through the town, the better.”
I waited until he got on the bike, then slid on behind him, happily burying my face in the nape of his neck and wrapping my arms around him.
Not going to fondle my belly tonight? he asked as we bumped over the lumpy pasture ground and up onto the smooth asphalt of the road.
My hand moved downward in a bold gesture that surprised even me. How about I fondle you somewhere else, instead?
We almost crashed. By the time Ben righted us, brushed the gravel off his boots, and delivered to me a lecture about the follies of groping the driver of a motorcycle going fifty miles an hour on an unlit road, I was alternating between remorse and amusement.
You can’t tell me that you never had a woman grope you while you were riding a horse, I said.
What? He sounded confused.
If you remember, you told me it’s possible to have sex on horseback. I assume that meant you had practical experience in the matter.
A little blush of embarrassment touched his mind. Er . . . yes. And yes to your question, although I will point out that falling off a horse isn’t nearly as painful as falling off a moving motorcycle.
I said I was sorry. Are we going to do it?
Have sex on a horse?
Yes.
If you really want to, then someday, yes, I’ll show you how it’s done. Francesca . . .
Hmm?
I know you’re worried, but I will take care of you.
I hadn’t thought he could see into the hidden kernel of worry that poisoned my general sense of well-being. I know you will. It’s just . . . this is my mother we’re talking about, Ben. If de Marco is as powerful as Sir Edward says he is, how on earth are we going to convince him to de-thrall her, or reverse whatever it is that he’s done to her? We don’t even know why he’s done it in the first place.
We will find out. All will be well, Beloved.
I spent the rest of the ride into town silently contemplating Ben’s calm assurance, and my own worries that even he might meet his match in de Marco.