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Ceolmund I am a man. Maybe then I can live another life ...
    If any woman could weaken a man and distract him from his duty, Llyrica could. Even now her presence made the crewmen of the OnyxFox slow their rowing to closer observe their ealdorman, judging his dealings with her. They would soon learn of Byrnstan’s arrangement. Perhaps they awaited the supreme male moment when Slayde upheld their ideal of man and coldly bedded the wench, then sent her packing in tears.
    Or God forbid, they considered that she, a Danish whore, would be the one at last to soften the stone heart of ealdorman Slayde of Kent, diminishing his prowess. A man to be pitied, he would disappoint them with his fall from virile perfection. 
    He must set a precedence, here on his ship, before all, and put the woman in her place. None must doubt that the StoneHeart ruled his own emotions and body. Goading him now, dead Ceolmund’s voice sounded in his head. Each event in life is test of manhood.
    Very well. Let the test commence.
    Slayde bent, took Llyrica by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, leaving her wrapped in linen and taking her in his arms for the second time in an hour. The drape of fabric fell from her head, exposed damp flaxen hair and a lovely upturned face he was not prepared for. She showed not fear or surprise, but wonder, painted in a pale palette of twilight colors - lips and cheeks, a peach horizon. Irises, an aqua sky. Eyelids shaded of dusk violet. And skin, the color of the moon.
    He looked upon her dispassionately. “Take care, little vixen. With me, you may find after all that a sennight is too long and my house too small for comfort.”
    Her lips trembled slightly. “You will not even know I am there.” 
    Aware of the many eyes upon him, Slayde guarded his response to the supple form in his embrace and instead concentrated on the dynamics of the procedure, which was, after all, the purpose of this test.
    Then he lowered his mouth to hers.
    Slayde kept his lips slightly parted and pressed firmly as he cradled Llyrica’s head with one hand, pulled her closer with the other. She gave no resistance, nay, quite the opposite, allowed her soft flesh, from breast to thigh, to receive the unyielding contours of his body. No surprise, considering her profession, yet she achieved a convincing innocence, as beneath him, he felt her fall limp. Her lips surrendered sweetly, her small gasp sucking the breath from his lungs. This wrought a stunning effect. Like wax she softened in his arms in startling contrast to the hard ache of his arousal. His awareness of each enflamed place where their bodies touched ... thigh to thigh, breast to chest, lips to lips ... grew his desire to kiss every inch of her. She was made of wet silk, an agonizing allure. It drew from him a longing, deeper than sexual need, more akin to starvation for affection.
    He withstood this torment though, and timed the duration of the kiss to further induce submission and to prove who was in control. A sweep of his tongue across her lips concluded the event.
    He stepped back to survey the results, and left her swaying, eyelids fluttering, and leaning toward Byrnstan who quickly stood to catch her. A raucous cheer and stamping of feet sounded from his crew in appreciation of their ealdorman’s conquest. 
    But the hammering of Slayde’s heart roared in his ears, nearly drowning out the applause.
     

Chapter III
    Blessed babe in health do lie, your life be hale and long.
    Let Mother’s kiss console your cry and Father’s make you strong.
 
    Their haste allowed Broder only a glance back over his shoulder, though too much distance had been spanned to see any sight of her, or the disaster, even should he take more time. He did catch a last glimpse of the Saxon patrol ships lingering in the bay. They had chased their quarry to the shores of Danelaw, saw the tattered fleet moored, its foolhardy sailors disbursing.
    “Keep going lest they decide to pursue us on foot! It