The Angel Wore Fangs(53)

“That makes as much sense as this whole ridiculous situation.”

“It is what it is.”

“I hate that expression.”

“It is what it is.”

She swatted him. “If we’re going to have to stay here for a while, I would appreciate it if you would stop doing that thing you do to me.”

“And you say I don’t make sense!”

“Tingle. Every time you come near me, I smell peppermint, and my skin gets all tingly. Look.” She drew up the long sleeve on her gown to show him her forearm where the blonde hairs were standing on end. “See. Tingly.”

He grinned at her, not taking her seriously at all. Or so she thought. Until he extended his own forearm to show her the dark blond hairs raised like a field of erotic antennae.

“Coconut tingles,” he explained.





Chapter 13


A VIKING FEAST (just a little one)


Filet of venison, thin sliced in drippings

Slow-roasted bear flank with horseradish glaze

Poached bear brains in curdled milk sauce

Deer foot jelly

Bass in garlic butter

Turnips and mixed livers in onion butter

Turnips in bear marrow aspic

Mashed turnip custard

Honey-glazed doughnuts

Oh, the appetites of a virile Viking man! . . .

Cnut couldn’t stop thinking about Andrea, ever since he’d returned. Who was he kidding? Before that, too.

He loved the way she’d stepped right up to help him with his problems here at Hoggstead. Girda said she had no airs about her and was willing to take on even the most menial tasks in the kitchen, not just her own culinary creations.

He loved the fact that she hadn’t gone hysterical, like many women would, on realizing what had happened to them. Well, except for the constant swatting and calling him an idiot.

He loved her coconut smell. He wondered if she smelled that way all over. Forget that! He wondered how she tasted. All over.

He’d spent most of the day in the midst of blood and guts, cutting up all the carcasses, putting some pieces in the smokehouse, salting down others, and just hanging some parts in the root cellar to dry and age . . . unless they needed the meat before then.

The other hunters had come in this afternoon with a small amount of game, but they would all go out again tomorrow. Best they get in all the hunting they could before the big snows came.

“Give me an idea of how much we need to survive the winter,” he said to Finn, who was at his side on the low dais that evening, enjoying a better meal than any of them had enjoyed for a long time. It had probably been unwise to release a whole deer and quarter section of bear for roasting, not to mention a ten-pound bass Arnstein had brought in today, but Cnut figured his people needed some reward for all their suffering. They would resume rationing after tonight. Ulf was given the bear heart, roasted but still oozing its juices, because his had been the final shot to bring the massive animal down. It was so big, he’d shared it, though. Glutton that Cnut was, or is, he probably would have gulped down the whole damn thing himself.

“Not counting the villagers and farmers, or the oats for the cows and horses, we would need at least fifteen boar; two dozen red deer, or reindeer; a hundred or so rabbits; an elk or another bear would be nice; all the fish we can catch to supplement the main dishes. Dried fruits if we can buy them somewhere. And vegetables—anything except turnips. Another milch cow or two would not be turned away. And another ten barrels of flour, or the barley or rye to grind our own. Otherwise, we will be making flour out of acorns like some of the villagers already do.” Finn sighed as if it were impossible. “Of course, there are different ways of working those numbers. Less boar, more deer, that kind of thing.”

Cnut put his face in his hands, but then he raised his head and assured Finn, “We’ll make it.” Somehow he knew they would. Even if it meant praying for manna from heaven.

Andrea had been elusive all evening, declining to sit and dine with him. Instead, she was bustling about, helping to bring full dishes in and take dirty trenchers out. He noticed some of the men, and women, too, snickering as she walked by, which caused Cnut to bristle. After all she’d done for them!

“What’s that about?” he asked Finn.

Finn glanced where Cnut was staring pointedly and laughed. “Oh, ’tis just a jest of sorts. Your woman wore a shert with a message on it, which some women took offense to, but the men consider an invitation.”

“What message? What invitation?”

“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”

At first, Cnut couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“A cowboy is a man who rides a horse and tends cows,” Finn explained.

“I know what a cowboy is,” Cnut snapped.