The Very Virile Viking

by Sandra Hill

Just then there was a shout of, "Hey!" The guy at the dart booth had fortunately ducked in time, but Njal had apparently almost hit him in the head with a dart. Torolf rushed up and grabbed both boys, apologizing profusely to the game-booth owner.

  "I did not get my prize yet," Hamr was shrieking to Torolf, who had him and Njal by the upper arms, dragging them away.

  "I will give you a prize… on your puny little arse," Torolf said.

  Kirsten and Dagny were standing some distance away, red-faced and pretending not to know their brothers. The girls looked especially pretty today in matching, though different colored shorts and tank-top sets. Instead of their usual braids, their long blond hair hung loose down their backs almost to their waists. Lily had already commented on the pretty color of their hair, referring to them as Loxies… as in natural blondes in the vein of Goldilocks, as compared to Boxies, which were blondes born of boxed color.

  Juan was staring at Kirsten with too much interest, but so were some younger boys who passed by. Angela wasn't worried about Juan. He was a good young man who would respect the invisible age taboo. Besides, he had a girlfriend. When Kirsten turned eighteen and Juan was twenty-two, that might be a different matter.

  For the next few hours they walked around admiring the exhibits, everything from dried flower arrangements to fruit and vegetable preserves to fine needlework. Lida fell asleep in her stroller right away. When Angela fingered the finely crafted quilts, Magnus decided to buy her one in a star-and-heart pattern.

  "This is much too expensive a gift," she said, even as he was paying for the item, and the woman was wrapping it in tissue.

  "We Vikings love to give gifts more than anything else… well, almost anything else." He pinched her butt to show what he meant… as if she were clueless… as if any female over the age of twelve could misinterpret the hot look in his eyes. "Some say we are generous to a fault betimes, but methinks we get back what we give in life. And even if we do not, there is joy in the mere giving."

  "So what you're saying is, 'Shut up and accept the gift.'"

  "Something like that," he replied with a laugh. "Or, 'Shut your teeth and give me a gratitude kiss.' "

  She did just that, gladly.

  "You are so embarrassing, Father," Kirsten said in a mortified whisper. She had come up behind them with Dagny and Lily, who were hooting with laughter. "Men your age should not be interested in kissing… and, like, stuff."

  "Men my age?"

  "Old men," she said with disgust.

  "Old? I am not old. Besides, men and women never get too old for kissing… and stuff." He lifted her by the waist then, twirled her around twice, then kissed her soundly and loudly on the mouth.

  Kirsten just giggled, then hugged her father warmly.

  "Can I get twirled, too?" Dagny asked.

  "For a certainty," Magnus said, and gave the younger girl equal treatment.

  What a father! Angela thought, and immediately added, What a man!

  After that they ate and ate and ate. Hot sausage and meatball sandwiches. Corn dogs on sticks. French fries and onion rings. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. Funnel cakes. Popcorn. Lida, who was awake by now, favored cotton candy and cherry slushes, though she was given only a tiny taste of each.

  Storvald found a woodworker who showed him how to use razor-sharp scalpels to create different effects on cherry-wood panels. His father promised to buy him a similar set.

  Torolf kept winning at the anvil-and-bell game until he had six stuffed animals and a request from the operator to please move on.

  Magnus almost had a heart attack when Hamr and Njal came over and discreetly dropped their shorts to show him the tattoos on their behinds. Fortunately they were removable ones. The boys danced away, laughing, when their father reached out to swat them. Those two really were little devils.

  The others were off riding the amusement rides. A small Ferris wheel, which Magnus declared "for demented people only." A merry-go-round. A mixer. A loop-the-loop. And bumper cars.

  She and Magnus moved on to the fresh produce displays. How a man could be so interested in turnips and carrots and string beans was beyond her, but Magnus surely was. Angela took a now-restless Lida out of her stroller, changed her damp diaper, then let her walk around as Magnus stopped at stand after stand to speak with the farmers displaying their wares.

  "How do you get beans this size?

  "Do you use fresh fertilizer? Do you prefer cow manure over horse or pig shit?

  "Do you save your kitchen garbage for the pigs, or do you put it back into the soil? Compost? What is that?

  "When is the best time to plant spring onions? How about winter wheat?

  "What effect does the hot temperature here have on your produce? Is there enough rain?

  "Can a man make a living as a farmer?

  "Farm supports? What are they?… What? Your government pays you not to grow certain crops? That is insanity… surely, it is."

  On and on Magnus went, asking question after question of the farmers, who loved talking about their work and their products. Angela could see that Magnus was in his element here. His questions were intelligent. His interest was genuine.

  After that they entered the animal barns. And she might have thought Magnus had entered heaven… or his Viking Valhalla.

  He touched each of the cows and examined them closely, calling them by name. Their names and those of their owners were on wooden plaques above the stalls. Messy Bessy. Madonna. Surfer Girl. Guernsey Girl. Holstein Hannah. Lucky Lady. Sylvia.

  In one barn, modern-machine milking as well as old-fashioned hand milking was taking place. Magnus was incredulous over the milking machines and wanted to know all the details about the kinds and amounts of milk produced by the different breeds of cows.

  Then there were the bulls… mean-looking dudes, these were. Brutus. Elmer III. Seventh Son. Brown Boy. Black Beauty. Cool Bull. Samson. Bull's-eye. Fred.

  The animals had ribbons of various colors beside their stalls to denote how they had been judged in the various events at the fair. Many of them had been raised by youngsters as 4-H projects.

  While Magnus mooned over the cows and discussed milk production, new breeds, and prices with the owners, Angela had a bigger job with Lida: keeping her from stepping in cow poop.

  A little boy, about eight years old, was weeping over a calf at the end of one barn, where his father was trying to console him. Apparently the calf—which had been born at the fair—was ill and might have to be put down.

  Magnus stepped forth and asked what was wrong.

  The father looked at him askance, but answered nonetheless: "The calf is starving to death. Won't take milk from its mother. Won't eat any of the special feed we mixed for her." He shrugged, and the message was clear: this calf was dying.

  Magnus knelt down in the straw beside the reclining calf and said, "Let me take a look."

  While he pushed the calf's eyelids back, opened its mouth and examined its tongue, even smelled its breath, the boy's father asked her, "Is he a veterinarian?"

  She shook her head. "Nope. Just a farmer. A good farmer."

  The man knelt down beside Magnus then and the two of them talked seriously while Magnus continued to examine every inch of the ailing animal. "The calf has mold disease in its stomach. 'Twas probably passed on by its mother. The disease has little effect on the adult cow, but is too much for the little one to fight," Magnus finally pronounced. "It must needs get a hot gruel mixture… a cupful at a time every hour till it will feed on its own. Force it down, if necessary." He then told the man exactly what ingredients should be in the gruel.

  The man appeared skeptical.

  "What have you got to lose?" Magnus said.

  They both stood and shook hands. The young boy reached out his hand to Magnus, too, and whispered tearfully, "Thank you."

  After that they moved on to pigs. Her favorite was a huge pig called Mud Stud. His "girlfriend," the sow in the next stall, was called Dirty Mary. According to Magnus, V
ikings ate a lot of pork and used all parts of the animal, including the hide and bones—even the hooves and nostrils. That was true of the cows, too. Yech!

  Next, they visited sheep, goats, chicken, and ducks.

  At the "New Age" barn, they also saw ostriches, buffalo, trout, snakes, and alligators, which were also farm animals to some. Magnus couldn't believe his eyes. He laughed with delight. He talked excitedly. He shook hands and exchanged stories.

  This was a new Magnus, one she had never seen before. Here he was in his element. Here he did not hesitate. Here he held himself with pride and authority. Here he acted as if farming was a noble profession… which, of course, it was.

  If she hadn't known it before, she did now.

  Magnus, the man she loved, was a farmer… plain and simple.

  A man of many talents…

  "Would you like to see me plow?"

  Angela wiped the soapy foam from her eyes and stared at him through the frosty glass of her shower stall. "Magnus! It's midnight, for heaven's sake! What are you doing here?"

  "All that exposure to farmers at the fair today reminded me where my true talents lie. I have come to show you my technique for… plowing."

  "Naked?"

  " 'Tis the best way," he said, stepping into the stall and closing the door after him.

  She gave his form a long, slow survey, from his head down to his curling toes, then back up to his favorite part, which was behaving impressively, if he did say so himself.

  "Great plow," she said, backing up slightly.

  "Wait till you see the straight rows I harrow." Magnus stepped forward, crowding her against the tile wall.

  "You'd better hope the ground is not too fertile." She combed the fingers of both hands through her wet hair to help remove the shampoo suds. Those motions caused her breasts to rise and fall in a very nice rhythm. In truth, there was a rhythm to her combing that set up a rhythm in his own body, down low.

  But her words are like pouring cold water on a hot faggot. Be careful, my lady, or I may just fizzle. "You are right. What I don't need is more… uh, turnips."

  "Turnips! Well, that's as good a word as any, I suppose. Where are the turnips, by the way?"

  "Some of the turnips are asleep… I hope. The others are on guard duty in the vineyard."

  "And how did you escape?"

  "I told Torolf I had to visit the bathchamber."

  "Ooookay."

  "It was not really a mistruth." Actually, Torolf had wanted to know why he couldn't just piss against a nearby tree, and he'd told him he had "more serious business" to handle, which was not a lie either. Making love to a woman was serious business, indeed.

  "You mentioned something about plowing, Farmer Brown."

  Laughing, he lifted her into his arms, naked flesh pressed against naked flesh under the warm shower spray.

  "Uh-oh!" Magnus said against her ear.

  "What?"

  "I sense some rough terrain. We must needs smooth it out afore doing any plowing. You would not want to break the tip, would you?"

  "The tip?"

  "The plow tip… you know, that iron-hard bit that is… well, you know what I mean."

  "And how do you intend to do that smoothin' thang, plowboy?"

  "Odd that you should ask. I just happen to have available two shovels," he said, holding out his big, splayed hands. Magnus took her wrists in his hands and arranged them high so that she gripped the shower head. Then he filled his hands with liquid soap and began to rub it into her "rough terrain." Hill and dale got equal attention. Rosy pebbles. Boulders. Limbs. Even "grassy" areas.

  She was making that little mewling sound deep in her throat that he had come to love. The more he slathered, the more she mewled. And when he moved the slickness on his hands to the slickness between her legs, she almost shot off the floor with a jerk. Lowering her arms, she shoved his chest and said in a low growly voice that nigh melted his… plow, "My turn, sweetheart. The farmer's lady has got to work, too."

  He couldn't argue with that.

  So he was the one raising his arms to circle the showerhead, and it was Angela who was soaping him up and he was the one gasping his pleasure. With an expertise known to women throughout time, she rubbed his shoulders and neck, the muscled planes of his chest, the tendons in his arms and legs, the hard flatness of his belly, the hard curves of his buttocks and even the crease between them. She left the most important part for last. With slow deliberation, she poured more soap into her palms, encircled him, and began to milk him like a true farmer's wife. She must have paid more attention today than he had thought.

  But Magnus was a simple man, and he could only take so much. "Enough!" he roared, and backed Angela against the far wall of the stall, lifted her off the floor, arched her hips outward, and entered her. He felt as if every bone in his body were red-hot and rigid. He felt as if the blood in his body had turned molten. He felt as if every hair on his body were standing tall. All this because of the intensity of his arousal.

  But then he looked at Angela, who was staring at him with wide eyes. And no wonder! Down below, her inner muscles were already contracting around him with the beginning of her "coming," as they referred to it in this land.

  He could not wait then. He wanted to—desperately—but it had been too long—a sennight, by Thor!—and she had excited him too much with her farmer-wife play… and so he began the hard, hard, hard strokes that pressed her backside against the tiles with a delicious rhythm that was enticing in itself.

  Angela's contractions were never-ending as he plunged in and out. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. Her legs tightened around his hips. And still the ripples of pleasure in her inner walls tortured him with their clasping and unclasping till he thrust deep and hard and cried out his ecstasy.

  For several long moments they both panted into each other's necks, neither noticing that water still sprayed over them, cold by now.

  Finally, taking great joy in the passion daze that still covered her face, he leaned forward to give her a soft kiss of thanks. There was nothing he could say that would express how deeply she touched him with her response to his lovemaking. So he just kissed her softly once again.

  "Have you naught to say, dearling?" he asked in the end, beginning to be alarmed by her silence. Mayhap he had misinterpreted her quiet. Mayhap she was offended by his hard and quick loveplay.

  She studied him for a long moment and said, "You are some farmer, Magnus."

  Relief thrummed through him at her playful retort, which was surely a sign that she had been pleased. Still, he had to ask, "I plowed straight and true, then?"

  "And deep." She laughed.

  But not for long.

  Reaching behind him, he turned off the faucets, released Angela so that she sank weakly to the floor, then immediately picked her up in his arms.

  "Now that you know about farmers, methinks you need a lesson in farm animals." He was carrying her into her bedchamber, which adjoined the bathing chamber. They were both very wet, especially their sopping hair, but neither noticed.

  "Farm animals? That sounds kinky to me."

  "Definitely kinky," he agreed unabashedly. What is kinky?

  He dropped her to the bed and lay down on top of her. Angela would have some explaining to do to her grandmother the next day about the wetness of the coverlet, but he could not be concerned about that now. He was too aware of the wonderful naked woman beneath him.

  "So what animals are we talking about here?" she inquired friskily, even as she combed his hair behind his big ears with the fingers of both hands. He did the same to hers.

  "The stallion and the mare," he replied without hesitation.

  Instead of shrinking back with revulsion, Angela surprised him once again with her laughing reply: "Yippee!"

  Chapter Fourteen

  A family Thing…

  In the Viking culture, matters of great importance were settled at a meeting called a Thing, or an Althing. Everyone had a vote in the
se assemblies, though the chieftain's opinion usually carried extra weight.

  Magnus decided the next day that it was past time to call a family Thing to discuss this time-travel dilemma in more detail with his children. He wanted Angela present, too.

  So gathered that afternoon in the gazebo were Torolf, Kirsten, Dagny, Storvald, Njal, Jogeir, and Angela. He figured that the other children were too young to understand, or to keep a secret. In truth, Hamr would no doubt take great delight in announcing to the world that he was a "free-can time traveler" who had damn well better get a bow and arrow "free-can soon."

  "Does everyone concur on this point at least… we have time traveled to another country and a thousand years into the future?" Magnus asked.

  No one immediately replied, which did not surprise him. It was hard to accept such a bizarre notion.

  After a few minutes, though, each of them nodded reluctantly, except for Angela.

  "What other explanation can there be?" he asked her.

  "I don't know, but I live in a society that probes for scientific explanations for everything… and usually there is a sound, logical reason for even the most unusual events. But this…" She just shrugged.

  "I think I know what happened." It was Kirsten speaking, and every one gaped at her with astonishment.

  "My grandmother, Lady Asgar, was a Christian. She always said that she could not accept all the Norse legends and mystical ideas, like dragons and trolls and such, but she did believe in miracles. She said her One-God could do anything. That is what I think happened to us."

  "A miracle?" Torolf scoffed. "For what reason?"

  Kirsten shrugged. "That is not for me to answer."

  "Why would the papist God care about us Vikings?" Njal wanted to know.

  It was not such a ludicrous question.

  "I suspect that God doesn't differentiate between cultures and peoples as much as we do," Angela said. "And I must tell you all, my grandmother has been praying a novena for a miracle for some time now… some knight in shining armor to come save the Blue Dragon."

  "And she thinks I am that knight?" Magnus was horrified and pleased at the same time.