Dark Viking

by Sandra Hill

  “What in the gods’ name are you up to now?” Steven asked.

  His eyes about bugged out at the sight of Sigvid’s red-clad bottom, which she had raised in the air as she attempted to get up. She was laughing so hard that the hiccups miraculously stopped.

  “Helping Sigvid get rid of her hiccups,” she said, laughing along with the woman sitting beside her now, tugging her gown down over her knees.

  “You are being punished. What part of punishment do you not understand? Laughing and conversing with every single person passing by is not punishment.”

  She looked up at Steven’s stern face. “What? Afraid your men might think you’re not harsh enough with me?”

  “Do not push me, woman.”

  “Ruff, ruff!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m learning to be a dog.”

  “That is ridiculous.”

  “I don’t know. You oughtta see me wag my tail.”

  She almost got a smile out of him. Almost, but not quite. “Sigvid, go back into the keep and find something to occupy yourself other than bothering my . . . my thrall.”

  “But—”

  “You heard me.”

  “What she’s trying to tell you is that Lady Thora banished her from the keep.”

  Steven put both hands to his hair and tugged on the cute war braids intertwined with clear colored beads. “Aaarrgh!” Then he told Sigvid to give Lady Thora a message from him. It was a very crude message.

  “I could ne’er say that!” Sigvid exclaimed.

  He ignored Sigvid and wagged a finger at Rita. “Do not make me come back here again, or you will be sorry.”

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “Do not talk back to me. I mean it, Ree-tah. Any more trouble, and you will not like the consequences.”

  So she sat, leaning against her pole, with nothing to do but think, and think, and think.

  There were two scenarios that occupied her most. One: what to do if she were stuck here in the past? Today’s happenings didn’t bode well for her place in this society. Or two: what to do if she was able to go home? Because, frankly, she was beginning to think that WEALS wasn’t her fate, either. Oh, it was all well and good as a way to pay off her debts, and she certainly had the physical capability to survive its strict regimen, and she was as patriotic as the next guy. Still, this time-travel experience marked a turning point in her life. If she only knew what it was!

  No time to think any more on that, though. Here came Oslac, baited for bear . . . or rather, baited for she-who-wore-a-slave-collar.

  He stood before her, arms folded over his chest, legs spread in a typical male stance of aggression. Like Steven, he wore no shirt, and sweat gleamed on his very fine body. With his blond hair, height, and Nordic features, he was pure Viking. Too bad he was such a prick. Oops, I’m not supposed to use foul language anymore. Well, maybe it’s okay when I just think bad words.

  “You better scoot away, Oslac. Steven doesn’t want me causing any more trouble, and you look like trouble to me.”

  He snorted his opinion of her warning.

  “Well, spit it out,” she said when he just continued to glower at her.

  “I have something to say to you, wench.”

  No kidding. “Did Steven send you?”

  “Nay, he did not.”

  “Your face is going to freeze like that if you’re not careful,” she remarked when he still just continued to glower at her. “You have enough furrows in your forehead to grow wheat.”

  “You make jest of me and my people at your peril, but know this: I will not allow you to destroy him.”

  “Him who?”

  “You know very well who. Steven.”

  “Destroy? Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”

  “This family has known too much pain, Steven most of all. One by one members of his family have disappeared or died. He carried Norstead and Amberstead during the times when his brother was too grieved to care. He nigh died himself of the heartache when Thorfinn went to the Other World.”

  Other World is one way of thinking of twenty-first-century America.

  “And now you come here promising to lift his heavy burden.”

  “I never promised to lift anything. And if you bring up that light business, I just might puke. I never asked to be sent here.”

  “Betimes the Norns of Fate have other ideas, and who are we humans to resist what the gods ordain?”

  “I’m Christian. I don’t believe in gods or norns, whatever they are.”

  Oslac waved a hand dismissively. “One-God. Many gods. It matters not. What does matter is you, wench. Someone or something guided you here to light Steven’s way.”

  “Me? A guiding light? Like a soap opera? I don’t think so!”

  “I must needs leave here soon. My father is ill and needs me back in Norsemandy. But I cannot leave lest I know your intentions.”

  “Here’s the deal, Oslac. I respect your friendship with Steven and your concern for his well-being when you’re gone, but I honestly don’t know what role I’m supposed to play in his future or that of Norstead.”

  “The time-travel nonsense?”

  She nodded. “One thing is for sure, being tied up like a slave today isn’t the best way to ensure my cooperation.”

  He shrugged as if that was of little concern. “Just know this . . . if you abandon him, I will search you out and kill you. No matter where you are. And it will be a slow death, I promise you.”

  “Abandon? Abandon?”

  He had already turned and was stomping away.

  “How could I abandon someone who never asked me to stay?”

  But what if he did?

  She had no chance to ponder that question further, because she was about to have another visitor. Really, she felt like the target of the Viking Welcome Wagon. Or was that the Unwelcome Wagon?

  A young man carrying a big bow and several arrows was heading toward the keep when he noticed her. Looking back to the field where Steven was busy in a huddle with several men, examining a broken lance, he hesitated, then veered to the right and came to stand before her.

  “I am Armod, chief archer at Norstead.” The young man was not as young as she’d thought. Probably late teens, but he was only of mid height with a lean and wiry build. Not unattractive, if you disregarded the yellowed teeth and body odor.

  She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Armod. Forgive me if I don’t stand.”

  He sank down to his haunches before her, giving her yet another whiff of BO. She was definitely working on a deodorant first chance she got.

  “I saw you teaching the boylings. You were good.”

  “I used to compete in archery competitions. In fact, I won several blue ribbons at the World University Games.” Glancing at the broken arrow in his hand, she asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “No problem. I just need to have the carpenter prepare us more wood shafts and the arrow maker to attach the heads.”

  “I’m not an expert in aerodynamics or anything, but it seems to me that you could get more speed by working on the shafts, adding a few feathers, perhaps honing the arrowheads more narrowly.”

  She could tell she’d gotten his interest before he urged, “Explain, if you will.”

  She did, but once again added a disclaimer that she wasn’t an expert or even informed on arrows or bow making. “All I would suggest is that you experiment with several different designs and see which ones give you greater speed, durability, and lighter weight. Don’t make the mistake of thinking a heavier bow or thicker arrow is more desirable.”

  “I do not believe my eyes.”

  “Uh-oh!” She looked up behind Armod, at the same time the young man glanced back over his shoulder. She wasn’t as concerned about the fury on Steven’s face as she was by the horror . . . abject fear, actually . . . on Armod’s.

  “Armod, you know better,” Steven seethed.

  “I was just . . .”

&nbs
p; Steven raised a hand. “You know better.”

  Armod ducked his head.

  “No man dallies with what is mine, Armod. No matter how far the dalliance goes.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rita unwrapped her chains, which had been only loosely looped around the pole, stood, and walked up to Steven. He was so angry, his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. “First of all, I am not yours. Second, there was no dalliance. For heaven’s sake, he was just talking to me.”

  “Shut your teeth, wench, or you will suffer the same fate as Armod.”

  A cold chill ran over her spine. “What fate?” When he didn’t answer, she asked hesitantly, “You wouldn’t hurt him . . . would you?”

  Again, he didn’t answer her. Instead, he told Armod, “Go inside and wait for Geirfinn’s return from the fields. We will discuss your punishment before this evening’s meal.”

  Armod slumped off, casting an accusing glare her way, as if she was responsible for his being accused of a “dalliance.”

  “You are not going to punish that boy for nothing.”

  “That boy is a man, and he is most definitely going to be punished.”

  “And it’s my fault?”

  “Come,” he said, taking the end of her chain and tugging her to follow him.

  “Walk slower, you idiot, unless you want to choke me to death.”

  He slowed but did not look her way. She could see that he was fighting to control his anger as he walked along. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his neck was so stiff he could have swallowed a sword with no difficulty. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but not by much.

  “Where are we going?”

  Silence.

  “We need to talk about Armod.”

  Silence.

  “Why are you so angry about another man talking to me? Even if he was flirting with me, which he was not, that’s between the two of us. It has nothing to do with you.”

  Silence.

  “You know, this dark and brooding crap isn’t attractive to me. Oops. I vowed to cut my bad language. Let me re-phrase that. Your dark and brooding garbage isn’t attractive to me.”

  Silence.

  “Even if we were together, I wouldn’t belong to you. Unless you belonged to me, too. No, I don’t like the idea of possession. People should be together willingly. A partnership.”

  Silence.

  “I have to pee.”

  Silence.

  They were entering the stables now, which was a surprise to her. There were several dozen stalls to hold the warhorses, as well as riding horses. One of the riding horses was being led toward them, fully saddled with a leather bag strapped over the rump. He must have sent word up ahead.

  Without releasing the end of her chain, Steven mounted the horse.

  “Where’s my horse? Oh, good Lord, you don’t plan on me walking while you ride, using that chain as a lead? That would be the most barbaric thing you’ve done so far.” Quickly, she reached up and untied the back of the leather collar, letting it drop to the ground. “Don’t go getting bent out of shape over . . . What the hell . . . I mean, what the heck!”

  He’d leaned down and lifted her by the waist so that her bare feet dangled above the ground. “Put your foot in the stirrup and lift yourself behind me.” The stable hand came over and helped her up.

  “I can ride myself, you know,” she said to his back, even as he began to move outside, causing her to grab for his waist. “You could have given me warning,” she griped. “I could have fallen off.”

  “Oops,” he said. “Isn’t that your favorite word?”

  The horse was moving at a canter now, and they were headed toward the forest where he followed a path of sorts through the thick undergrowth. She was unable to speak then until they arrived at a clearing where there was a small waterfall spilling into a pond that veered off to a stream that probably ran through the Norstead estate down to the fjord.

  He dismounted and left her to get off the horse herself while he took the leather bag off the horse. Then he led the horse over to a grassy area where the animal immediately began to graze.

  When he came back to her, he gave her his full attention for the first time since his overreaction back at the hitching post.

  It was her turn to remain silent, and she did.

  “You are a great one for wanting a choice in all things,” he started out.

  Uh-oh! This was beginning to sound like one of those situations where what you’ve said in the past comes back to bite you in the butt. “Yes?”

  “I made a decision whilst riding here. It was my intention, originally, to come wash the sweat off my body . . . or the stink, as you put it so nicely.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “I am going to give you a choice.”

  “About bathing?”

  “Either I order a flogging for Armod . . . fifty lashes with the whip . . .”

  She gasped.

  “Or you make me the luckiest man at Norstead.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would. Your choice.”

  “Some choice! You would really whip a man for no reason?”

  “You misspeak me. My men, including Armod, knew not to approach you. If soldiers do not follow rules, there are consequences. Is that not so in your country’s military?”

  It was, and sometimes it was just as arbitrary and unfair, she had to admit. Take those soldiers court-martialed for defending themselves against civilian bombers in Tikrit. “You wouldn’t enjoy having sex with an unwilling woman.”

  “You would not be unwilling.”

  The arrogance of the jerk! “Exactly what would I have to do? I mean, just for today, right?”

  He snorted his opinion. “For as long as I want, as long as you are here, in any way at any time I want.”

  “You don’t want much, do you?”

  He shrugged.

  “I will hate you for this.”

  He shrugged again. “ ’ Tis a chance I am willing to take.”

  “Would I have to put on that blasted slave collar again?”

  Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he finally said, “Only if you do something wrong again.”

  “Well, hell’s bells, Steven, everything I do is wrong to you.”

  “Not everything,” he said, taking her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Talk, talk, talk.”

  “You never listen to me.”

  “I listen.”

  “No, you don’t. You still haven’t let me tell you about my visit with Kraka and Grima and their ideas about my time travel. I’ve tried to tell you I left Norstead in all innocence, thinking I would return shortly. You won’t even let me tell you what Armod was discussing with me. It’s as unjust to flog Armod as it would be Sigvid, or the children who approached me.”

  “Do all women blather endlessly?”

  “Only when they’re nervous.” And speaking to a brick wall.

  Silence.

  “Aren’t you going to say that I have no reason to be nervous?”

  “Nay, I am not.” He stopped abruptly and looked at her in a considering fashion. “I do not suppose you would take off your garments for me without argument.”

  “Hah! What do you think?”

  Then, without warning, he picked her up by the waist and dumped her into the pond, clothes and all . . . tunic, tights, and belt. When she came back to the surface, choking, she saw him toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his braies, after which he dove in after her.

  When he rose like a dolphin in front of her, she asked, “Now what?”

  “Now I get lucky.”

  Chapter 14

  There are Popsicles, and then there are Pup-suckles . . .

  Steven had never been so blistering wrathsome or so blistering lustsome at the same time in all his life.

  A dunking in the cold waters of the pond should be doing him good, except the wench who caused it all was crawling up onto the bank, arse upwards
, giving him an up-close view of her buttocks, clearly outlined by her soaking-wet braies.

  She glanced back over her shoulder to see if he was following her, then looked again when she noticed the object of his gaze. She made a tsking sound of vexation that women perfected through the ages and muttered something that sounded like “Men!”

  “Do not put a rump of boar roast in front of a starving man if you do not want him to salivate,” he called out.

  “A pig is a pig is a pig,” she called back.

  Whatever that means!

  She stood now on a huge flat-topped boulder, the lip of which protruded over the pond. With her short hair flattened to her head, her eyelashes clumped together, and the sodden clothing plastered to her slim body, she looked more like a boyling than a full-grown woman. But she was more desirable to him in that moment than the most voluptuous beauty.

  Which was amazing to him, he thought, as he looked downward through the clear water to his raging enthusiasm, undaunted by the cold. Weren’t men supposed to shrivel under such circumstances? Somehow, his body had gotten the signals mixed.

  Apparently she saw what he saw, because her face flushed, and she made another of those tsking sounds.

  “Get me a bar of soap from the saddlebag.” Then to soften the tone of his order, he added, “To remove the stink you so colorfully described earlier today.”

  She walked toward the grazing horse tethered to a tree, got the soap, then tossed it out to him where he stood waist deep in the pond.

  “Take off your garments, Ree-tah. There on the rock where I can watch.”

  Her chin shot up with resistance.

  He’d expected no less. “I refuse to play these games with you. Either you agree to my terms regarding Armod, or you do not. I will not warn you at every turn. It is not fair to me or to Armod.” In truth, this would be the only day for some time that he would be free to take his leisure, what with meeting Brodir on the morrow and the Althing mere days away. He intended to take advantage of every second of the freedom.

  “What about me? What’s fair for me?”

  He began to soap his body . . . his chest, arms, underarms, and neck, then his hair. The harsh lye soap did not lather much, but it did the job. Without answering her question . . . he was done discussing a completed deal . . . he ducked under the water and swam a short distance to the shallow end, where he soaped the rest of his body.