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of protection. In addition, I have made an enemy of King Edgar, my fourth cousin. He will order me to wed again. Soon. And I wager it will be with the most unsavory character, just for spite. Thus, I need a strong man for protection, and one with coin, to replenish the Wickshire coffers.”
    “So, you hope to usurp the king’s authority?”
    “In a way.” He could tell she did not like his choice of words.
    “Exactly what did you do to offend the king?”
    She grinned, and out came that blasted dimple, which he had the odd desire to lick. “He invited me to court  . . . one of those invitations that could not be refused, and when I refused to attend one of his drunken feasts, he remarked that I was too old and unattractive for his guests anyways. And I said something about the size of his  . . . man part.”
    Bolthor chuckled. “Yea, that would be enough to offend any man, let alone a king.”
    She eyed him speculatively. “Are you in the market for a wife?”
    For a brief moment, he considered lying to her. The woman was a tasty morsel. She would without a doubt make a good bedmate. But, nay, she  . . . and her children  . . . deserved more. “I will not wed again. Ever.”
    “Again?”
    “Most people do not know, but I was married many years ago. When my wife and two daughters died, I vowed never to marry again or have any other children. Thus far, I have kept that vow.”
    “That is ridiculous!”
    “You would not think so if you knew the manner in which they passed to the other world, and, nay, I will not discuss this further.”
    She seemed about to argue, but then shrugged. “So be it. I will just have to find someone else.”
    “Someone else?” he sputtered out. Why that surprised him, he had no idea. Did he think she would give up her quest just because he was not available?
    “Yea. There are many men here who would suffice. Mayhap you could help me narrow the field down.”
    Holy Thor! She wants me to help her find a man to marry. When Muspell freezes over! “I do not think so.”
    She shrugged again and stood, preparing to take the now restless John in her arms.
    “Just out of curiosity, who are these other men?”
    “Finn Finehair, for one.”
    “ Pffff ! The man is so vain he trims his manhairs,” he said without thinking aforehead about the appropriateness of such an observation, even if it was true.
    Katherine’s eyes widened. “Well, vanity does not rule him out as a good protector. Then I have been eyeing Sigurn the Destroyer. Certainly, he has a fine record for fighting.”
    “But have you ever smelled his breath?” Bolthor scrooched up his nose with distaste. “Smells like gammelost, it does. And he rarely bathes.”
    “Well, I ne’er heard of body odors being cause to exclude a groom. Surely, there is naught you can find wrong with Bjorn the Pole. Though what an odd name for a man!”
    Bolthor could not help but grin.
    “What?”
    “The pole referred to is his sizeable  . . . um, pole.”
    She made a huffing sound of disgust. She had John in her arms now and was patting his back as he whined in his half-sleep state.
    Bolthor rose, too, and was about to go outside and help gather firewood. A keep this size needed an endless supply to last through the winter.
    “Before I depart, I would leave this thought with you. Not that I have offered myself to you  . . . I am still assessing the market, but know this, Bolthor. Losing me may be your greatest mistake.”
    Long after she was gone, and he was out in the biting cold, her words haunted him. He already felt the loss.
    That evening, annoyed for some reason by Katherine flitting around, talking to one knight or hersir after another, Bolthor stood and announced that he had a new poem to recite to the crowds in the Dragonstead great hall. “Hear one and all, this is the saga of ‘Fickle Women.’”
Women are fickle, that is a fact.
They knock on your heart, then attack.
Starting in the Garden of Eden with Eve so