by Sandra Hill
“Me? I did nothing. Truth to tell, she probably heard about your presence here.”
“Why would that bother her?”
“She probably fears you will take me away from her.” Did he sound pompous? Of course he did. Bloody hell!
“Well, good heavens, Steven. You’re all hers. Do you want me to assure her?”
He barely restrained himself from smacking her on her rump. He did pinch her arm, though. “Do not dare.”
After introductions, Steven sat next to the king, who was indeed scowling, with Rita on his other side, and Joy and Brandr beside her. On the king’s other side was Isrid, who cast a weepy smile his way. To his surprise and eternal gratitude, Oslac sat on Isrid’s other side, patting her arm with sympathy. Best Oslac beware, or he would find himself betrothed, instead of him.
Dinner was an excruciatingly painful process that seemed to last forever. The only really alarming part came when Rita had begun to gag, not at sight of the sviâ, which was a nauseating food offering, even to him who had been known to eat the awful gammelost on sea voyages, but at the eels, which appeared to be swimming in a dill cream sauce. They had not really been swimming. It was just that the trencher in which it was served was wobbly. King Olaf, sensing Rita’s discomfort, deliberately asked that the eels be placed before him, and he proceeded to down several of the slimy buggers.
“I hear that you give safe harbor to witches here at Norstead,” the king said suddenly.
Steven could feel Rita stiffen at his side. Reaching under the table, he squeezed her hand.
“They are good witches,” he assured the king.
“Pfff! There is no such thing as a good witch. Burn them at the stake, I say. Or drown them.”
“In the absence of any healing men here at Norstead, Kraka and Grima help my people. They raise herbs, nothing more.” He crossed his fingers superstitiously at the lie.
“Mayhap we should have the Althing council decide their fate,” the old slyboots suggested.
“Lest someone has a proven complaint to lay at their feet, the ladies do not have to appear for questioning.” Oh, gods, I hope the well digger is still gone. Or the trader who grew hair on the bottom of his feet after insulting them. Or the priest whose holy water turned bloody after being caught ogling a young boy. Or . . .
I am in deep trouble.
Rita squeezed his hand in return, as thanks.
Do not thank me, m’lady, he thought. We are not out of the woods yet.
He could tell that the king did not really care about the witches. He was using that as an excuse to rattle him afore bringing his real issues to fore. Like the betrothal to his daughter.
As if reading his mind, the king said, “Would you like to take my daughter for a walk in your gardens?”
Huh? What gardens? But, whoa, he knew what this was about. The king hoped to put him and Isrid in a compromising situation where he would be required to offer marriage. In truth, he did not know why he resisted so. He suspected that Lady Igorsson, a fellow time traveler, might give Rita advice on how she could go home. She might already have set her departure in motion.
Home? That word struck an unwelcome chord in him, because he did not want her home to be elsewhere.
“Well?” the king prodded.
“What?” Oh, he had not answered the king, he realized. “Nay, ’tis best I stay and entertain my guests.”
The king was not happy with his response. Neither was Isrid, who was pouting to Oslac with a rambling discourse. Over her shoulder, Oslac rolled his eyes at him.
“Look,” Rita said, standing suddenly and addressing the king, which was not acceptable protocol. “We’re all dancing around the same tree here. You want Steven to marry your daughter. Your daughter wants to marry Steven. And you all somehow think I’m standing in the way. Well, I’m not. Go for it. I for one have to go pee.”
A half dozen eyebrows rose at her outrageous words, and he was left holding the bag, so to speak.
Turning to King Olaf, he said, “Ree-tah is correct. We need to talk, but not here. Let us retire to the solar with cups of mead where we can be private and honest in our words.”
The king nodded.
Before he left the dais, Steven turned to Lady Igorsson. “Please, go to Rita until I am able to join you.”
Lady Igorsson stood and regarded him with distaste. “She needs you, not me, you clueless baboon.”
He looked to Brandr then, arching his brows in question.
Brandr just shook his head at him. “I am as clueless a baboon as you. Whatever a baboon is.”
Oslac did not even wait for him to turn his attention his way. He murmured behind his hand to Steven, “Something is amiss with Isrid. I think she has a lover.”
Well, that would certainly solve all his problems.
“Find out,” he ordered Oslac.
“How?”
“I do not know. Seduce her.”
“Whaaat? Nay. You will not shove her off on me.”
As he started to follow the king, Brighid stopped him, which was unusual. Brighid rarely left her kitchen during a feast.
Face ruddy with embarrassment, she blurted out, “The maids want ta know if we will be line dancing t’night? And kin the men join us?”
Of all the bizarre things that had happened today, this capped them all. But then he laughed and gave his consent with a cheerful, “Why not?”
Chapter 19
Rock-a-bye and be gone . . .
Rita was in hiding. From everyone.
Instead of going to the witches’ tent where she knew Steven and the others would look first, she made her way to an abandoned cow byre she had passed in the woods on the way to the witches’ cottage last week. With her she carried a blanket and a short sword. The blanket because she knew it got chilly at night. And the sword because she had no idea if there were wild animals about.
She needed time alone to think.
With the arrival of Joy, a fellow time traveler, and her news about JAM returning to the future, she had a clearer idea of what could be done if she chose to leave Norstead. There were no guarantees, but she was pretty sure that if she really wanted to go home, the answer was to go to the joining of Ericsfjord and the North Sea, to stay there and pray until something happened. Maybe she didn’t even need to go there. Maybe all it took was a decisive request to end her visit in the past.
It all boiled down to Steven.
And not just because she might be pregnant.
She loved him. She couldn’t explain why. She just did.
But he did not love her in return. If he did, he would have asked her to stay and put a definitive end to any talk of a royal wedding with Isrid.
Well, he had ordered her to stay on several occasions. But there had always been the unspoken caveat, “for a while.” Not forever.
She was pretty sure that if she decided to stay, there would be no chance to reverse that decision later.
Her head ached with all the questions rattling about in her brain, and every creaking branch or hooting owl had her jumping with fright. It seemed like hours before she finally fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, she was awakened not by animal noises but the feel of a cold body slipping under the blanket with her. A torch was stuck into the ground just outside the byre.
Before she had a chance to reach for her short sword, Steven said, “’Tis just me. Go back to sleep, heartling. I am cold and tired from hunting for you, and, in truth, I have drunk enough ale to sink a ship.”
That was for sure. She could smell the ale on his breath as he spooned his thankfully clothed body behind her, pulling the blanket up over both their shoulders, but she welcomed his presence. She could not deny that fact.
“Steven, what is going to happen?”
“Shhh. We can discuss everything tomorrow. I must be up afore dawn to go meet Brodir and give him safe escort to the Althing. So much to be done!” He yawned widely.
She couldn’t help herself. She
had to ask. “What about Isrid?”
His chest shook behind her.
Laughter?
She turned in his arms. “What’s so funny?”
“Isrid is pregnant.”
“What?” She attempted to slap his face, but he grabbed both of her wrists.
“The babe is not mine, you silly goose. It appears that one of the king’s hersirs broke the royal maidenhead. The king had hoped that Isrid would seduce me into the bed furs and be wed afore the Althing was over. Hah! She will be wed, but not to me.”
“Well, that is good, then.”
“More than good. Can you see me as a father? This was a close call. No weddings or babies in my future, I will tell you that.”
And that sealed Rita’s future.
Forget Johnny Depp, this pirate was HOT . . .
The next morning, Rita awakened early, but she was alone. When she got back to the castle, she had time only for a sponge bath and didn’t even change her clothes. Sigge was so excited she could barely stand still. “Hurry, hurry,” she kept urging her. The soldiers would soon be returning to Norstead with the famous pirate.
Joy met them as they left the castle proper and headed toward the crowds that lined a roadway of sorts. Already, she could see the returning troops, all on horseback.
It appeared as if Norstead troops, at least three dozen of them, protected the pirate contingent. First, there was Oslac in full military gear. Then came a black-haired woman, dressed in noble Viking attire, riding sidesaddle. She was haughty and beautiful, as Rita would have expected a member of Steven’s family to be. Then came Steven, also in battle attire. Beside him rode the pirate Brodir.
Every woman in the crowd, including herself and the highly pregnant Joy, sighed. Brodir was probably the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Long blond hair down to his shoulders with thin war braids framed a face with perfectly sculpted features. Oddly, black brows and thick lashes highlighted caramel-colored eyes.
The pirate rode the horse like a Viking prince . . . back straight, staring straight ahead, one hand resting casually on the pommel, the other on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
“Oh, my God!” Joy said. “Have you ever seen anything like him before?”
“No. I’ve said that Steven looks like a young George Clooney, but he’s nothing compared to this man. And believe me, I’ve been exposed to some of the most handsome men in the world in Hollywood.”
Just then, Steven passed by. Hardly turning, he winked at her.
And she blushed.
Brodir, sensing the direction of Steven’s attention, winked at her, too.
Immediately, she heard Steven address the pirate in sharp tones, but they had already passed by, and she was unable to hear what was said.
“I wish we could attend the Althing and hear what will be going on,” Rita said then.
“I think I know a way,” Sigge said, quickly explaining how they could pretend to be serving maids, replenishing the supplies of ale.
“Are we going to get in trouble for this?” Rita asked.
“Probably,” Sigge said, biting her bottom lip with indecision.
“Good!” she and Joy said at the same time.
He wasn’t Judge Judy, but he was okay . . .
Steven was beginning to get bored. They had been debating Brodir’s case for three hours now. Everyone wanted to break for the first meal of the day, but still the king and the law council members droned on.
Just then, strumming his fingertips on the table before him, he noticed one of the serving maids at the back of the tent, carrying a tray of ale-filled wooden mugs. It was Rita. His eyes widened with shock. Did the woman have a death wish?
Brandr, on his right side, elbowed his ribs. “Can you believe that?”
“I know. Rita defies me at every turn.”
“I was not referring to your wench. I was referring to my wench.”
Yea, there she was, big stomach and all, laughing with some of the Bear’s Lair men at the back of the tent.
Brodir grinned at both of them. “Can you men not control your women? Methinks you need to take a few lessons from a pirate.”
“Meaning you?” Brandr scoffed.
“Precisely,” Brodir answered.
“You are not free yet,” Steven told the outlaw. “But, truth to tell, I have had enough.” Standing, he interrupted the lawspeaker who was going on and on about the ancient laws of outlawing, and rescinding an outlawing, and outlawing an outlaw rescinding. “With all due respect, Jarl Agmundr, I have given you not one but three witnesses who attested to Hogar’s crimes. Brodir acted as any Viking man would when his woman and child were murdered, even if that woman was not nobly born. I suggest we remove the outlaw levy, and assign a wergild for Brodir to pay to Hogar’s family.”
Brodir tried to stand and protest the wergild, but Steven shoved him back onto his bench, hissing, “Dost want to leave here today with all your body parts intact?”
The pirate grumbled but remained seated.
“Why do you smell like lavender?” Brodir asked.
“ ’ Tis my underarm deodorant. Dost have any objections?”
Brodir grinned and put both hands up in surrender.
A call was made for the vote, and the weapon clatter was almost universally in Brodir’s favor. They were probably just as bored as he was and wanted to get the case finished.
“Food is served in the hall,” Steven called out to all the attendees. “We will meet here again at noon to settle other business. Then the competitions will begin on the north field. Archery first, then wrestling and swordplay.”
Once the tent was emptied, except for him and Brodir, the pirate said, “Thank you, Steven. I owe you.”
He shrugged. “I did it for my brother as much as you.”
“How can I repay you, my friend?”
“I do not suppose you are looking for a wife?”
“The sea wench?”
“Nay! My sister.” Disa had already nagged him for an hour afore he insisted he had to attend the Althing. Mostly, she complained about Brodir.
“I would rather be outlawed,” Brodir said and stomped off.
Now Steven needed to find Rita. For once, he was the one who wanted to talk.
A forever kind of love . . . or not . . .
Rita was in her bedchamber that evening waiting for Steven. He did not arrive until close to midnight.
“Thank the gods, you are here. I have been wanting to speak with you all day but could not get away.” He could not fail to note that she was fully dressed. Not a good sign.
Still, he went up to her and hugged her in greeting. To his surprise, she did not shove him away.
“I have missed you, Ree-tah.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, but there was a bleakness in her eyes.
“What is it, dearling?” Mayhap he should tell her a joke, but, nay, jokes hadn’t worked to lighten his mood. Only Rita had.
“If I want to return to the future, Joy has told me what I must do. It’s not a surefire method, but it might work.” She explained what Lady Igorsson had told her.
He could swear his heart stopped beating for a long moment. “Do you intend to leave? Do you want to leave?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Do you want me to stay?”
“Of course I want you to stay.” He reached for her again, but she danced away.
“For how long?”
He frowned in confusion.
“How long do you want me to stay?”
“As long as you want.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand the question. You know that you’ll get bored with me soon, like you do with all women.”
He was not so sure of that. “What is your point?”
“The only commitment I can see you making would be for the greater good of Norstead. As in a suitable marriage.”
“If I wanted that, I would have wed Isrid long ago.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“I repeat, Steven. For how long?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” He could not help the iciness in his voice as he asked the question. He did not relish being backed into a corner like this, especially not by a woman.
“And if I was?”
He shrugged. “If that was what it took to keep you here, perchance I would.”
“Perchance? I’d like to perchance you.” She inhaled and exhaled for patience. “You are feeling like you escaped the executioner’s axe by Isrid falling pregnant to someone else, aren’t you?”
“Yea, I am,” he freely admitted.
“Would you have refused to marry her in favor of me?”
“That question is unfair.”
“Is it?”
“Ree-tah, I am weary. We are both exhausted. So much has happened in a short time. You have to admit that it is best not to make momentous decisions under such conditions.”
Her shoulders slumped, and he felt as if he had failed her in some way. Well, tomorrow when they were both rested, he would set things to right.
She let him undress her then, and when they were both naked, he snuggled up against her back. He fully intended to let her sleep, but when he tucked her closer against him, he felt a wet drop fall on his hand. She was weeping.
“Ree-tah!” he said, turning her. At first, he just kissed the tears away and caressed her shoulders and back in a soothing manner, but soon the need to connect with her in a deeper way overtook him. He made love to her. Gently. Adoringly. Beseechingly, though he knew not for what. Understanding, perhaps.
This was no fast and furious, blood-boiling frenzy to swive. It was a mutual kissing. Stroking. Murmuring. And when he finally joined himself with her, he felt an overwhelming emotion he did not recognize. In fact, its intensity frightened him.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Was that it? Was it love?
Unfortunately, he waited too long to speak his mind. She already slept.
And Steven was as confused as ever.
Love hurts . . .
