The Angel Wore Fangs(49)

All the men, except Cnut, clucked their tongues at the unreasonable expectation.

“I for one need to get some sleep,” Cnut said with a wide yawn. “Tomorrow may prove to be even harder than today.”

And it was.

Can anyone say wild boar?

Next time Cnut went on a hunt he was not going to pray for God’s blessing on their mission. Or mayhap not so hard. A classic case of “Be careful what you pray for.”

There are breadwinners, and then there are bearwinners . . .

Andrea was tending her sourdough starter, which was coming along nicely, when she heard a loud commotion outside in the back courtyard, if the flattened dirt area could be called that, of the castle. While the wooden fortress sat atop a motte, or flat-topped hill, from the front, leading down to the farms and villages, the back of it ran into the steep, heavily wooded mountain that began about a half mile from any of the outbuildings.

Everyone went outside to see what was going on. It was from that forest that the loud whoops and hollering could be heard.

Fortunately, it was that brief period of day where there was some light. So they could see clearly.

Cnut and some men were dragging a wooden contraption on which there was a huge mound. All of the men wore white skins of some kind—wolves, maybe—with the animal heads atop their own heads and the skins draping their shoulders. Two men carried a long pole from which hung a wild pig by its hindquarters.

Food. That’s what Andrea and the others concluded with smiles and cheers of welcome.

It was too cold to remain outside without a coat or outer garment; so Andrea and some of the others returned to the kitchen. Although it was midday and the next meal wouldn’t be served until this evening, the men would be cold and hungry. Without being directed to do so, Andrea moved the hearth crane so that last night’s soup would reheat. It was made with the hated trout bones, as well as some cod and various other varieties of fish. Heads, tails, skin, and all had been cooked, then strained for bones, and the good meat picked out. Andrea had to be careful not to get the soup too hot or it would scorch. She still wasn’t proficient in cooking over an open fire.

Girda was pulling out circles of manchet bread that had been baked that morning, a slab of butter, some applesauce, and a huge bowl of mashed turnips. Andrea broke stale bread into small pieces to be used like crackers.

Girda glanced over at Andrea, and they smiled at each other. Comrades in Food who’d proven two cooks could survive in one kitchen.

Cnut was the first to come bursting into the kitchen. “We got a bear,” he announced with a huge smile. He usually didn’t smile so broadly because of his pointy teeth. He shouldn’t worry. He had a beautiful smile.

He was looking at Andrea when he made the announcement.

And she smiled back at him. “And some wolves, too,” she said, looking pointedly at the animal on his head. “Is it some kind of hunting ritual?”

He put a hand to his head with surprise, having forgotten he was still wearing the carcass. “No,” he said with a laugh. “We couldn’t put any more weight on the bear sledge without it breaking, so we skinned the wolves and . . .” He let his words trail as he pulled the wolf off and threw it on a nearby bench.

She saw then that his face was bristly with whiskers, as well as the shaved sides of his head. The braid that ran down the center of his head was half undone. But his blue eyes danced with joy, and she felt her heart leap and her skin tingle. Even from across the room, she smelled peppermint. How was that possible when he was covered with a long, heavy, wool cloak and layers of other clothing? In addition, with all the blood and gore the men had undoubtedly been handling, and lack of bathing or washing clothes, the men reeked. Thank God for peppermint!

“We got a bear,” he announced again as he shrugged out of his cloak and did a little fist-pumping, hip-thrusting dance toward her unlike anything these gap-jawed, incredulous Vikings had ever seen, but would be good competition on Dancing with the Stars. Who knew the big guy could dance like that! If he put the wolf head back on, he could call it Dancing with Wolves.

She set down the ladle she’d been using to scoop flour into her sourdough mix, and he lifted her by the waist high in the air. Flour scattered from her hands, which were braced on his shoulders for support. He laughed and twirled her about, then kissed her full on the mouth. A delicious, wet, peppermint kiss.

She would have protested, or kissed him back, but he’d already set her down, and was doing the same to Girda. Well, maybe not a wet kiss and not directly on Girda’s mouth. “We got a bear! We got a bear!”

“A bear fer the yule feast? What luck! Mayhap it will be a happy Jól, after all,” Girda said, back on her feet.