The Angel Wore Fangs(54)

“’Tis comparable to saying, ‘Save a Longboat, Ride a Viking,’ I am told.”

Cnut choked on the ale he’d just swallowed and splattered drops of the liquid all over the front of his tunic.

“I think she meant it as a jest. A lewd jest.”

When she passed by next time, Cnut said, “Stop and rest a minute. I want to talk to you.”

“Not now. I have a surprise for everyone. I’ll be right back.” And she scurried off to the kitchen again.

“I think I’ve had enough surprises for one day,” he murmured.

Apparently not.

Because Andrea and Girda and Dyna were carrying in trays heaped with what he could swear were doughnuts. Glazed doughnuts. “Be still my Krispy Kreme heart,” he exclaimed.

“What?” Finn asked.

“Be prepared for a real treat,” he said to Finn, even as he gave the beaming Andrea a little salute. Somehow, she’d managed to use her pastry chef talents in a Dark Age kitchen. Turned out she’d concocted some sourdough starter, which she’d used to raise the doughnuts in lieu of yeast or other raising agent, and instead of sugar, they were glazed with watered honey. Magic! Well, not magic magic. He knew about sourdough starter because he’d watched it being made on one of those Alaska homestead shows on TV.

And so he discovered another thing he loved about Andrea. Her doughnuts.

And so did more than fifty Viking men who not only envisioned their sexual appetites being met by becoming Andrea’s own private horse, but her satisfying their sweet tooth appetites as well.

Cnut needed to have a talk with Andrea. Or something.

After he ate another doughnut.

Ting-a-ling-a-ling . . .

Andrea was so pleased with herself. She’d finally sat down beside Cnut, sipping at a cup of bitter ale, and she relished the exhaustion of a day well spent.

Her doughnuts were a huge success. Even if they hadn’t risen as much as they should and were heavier than lead sinkers, and even though the honey glaze wasn’t as sweet as she wanted, everyone claimed them to be food from the gods, which made Cnut cringe (the mention of multiple gods, that was), him being an angel of sorts. Supposedly.

At least it had shut the mouth of some of the men who’d been making sexual innuendos to her all night about her T-shirt.

“I give a good ride, m’lady. All the wenches say so.”

“Wouldst care to try my saddle?”

“My longboat goes in and out, in and out, for a smooth ride in the waves.”

“Forget a smooth ride. My longboat can take rough waves. Up, down, up, down.”

Men! Andrea just ignored the lot of them. Most meant no harm, except one man who’d gone too far, touching her breast. She’d kneed him in his “longboat,” which wouldn’t be leaving its harbor anytime soon.

“Did you really wear a shirt that says ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ to the ninth century?” Cnut had asked with a shake of his head.

“Well, how was I to know I was going to the ninth century?”

“You have a point there. Was it any better carrying that message to a ranch with cowboys?”

She’d blushed but countered, “For all I knew, they were all terrorists there, not cowboys. And, as it turns out, beasts with tails, too. Believe me, I had no interest in riding them!”

That conversation had been hours ago. Now she took another sip of ale and sighed. There was a festive air in the hall tonight, unlike anything she’d seen so far. Girda and others had assured her that this was not a feast, like would be held at Jól, which was similar to the yule season for Christians, or when there was visiting royalty, or one of the Norse days of revelry. Just a minor celebration of thanksgiving for a good hunt and fishing.

It seemed pretty feast-like to her, though she wouldn’t even taste the bear brains, even with the tangy mustard condiment that accompanied many of the meats. Andrea had eaten some strange foods in her culinary history, but brains was pushing it for her. She had promised Girda to make some dish with the bear and deer tripe tomorrow, as long as it wasn’t soup.

When he’d first entered the hall, before he sat down at the “high table,” Cnut had raised his hands and said, “Let us give thanks to God for the good hunting and fishing which has come our way. May He bless this food we are about to eat, and be with us in the future as we work to end the agony of famine. Amen.” He’d raised his horn of ale then and smiled. “Cheers!”

There had been much murmuring at Cnut’s words. Why weren’t they thanking Odin, or the other gods? Why was their master suddenly a Christian? Next they would be having a priest sitting at a high place in the keep. Despite the grumbling, most of the people had joined in on the toast. Andrea suspected that the Vikings wouldn’t be converted just because Cnut wished it so. If that was even his intent.