by Sandra Hill
Signe just shook her head at Thorkel’s hopelessness, but Hauk could see that a smile was twitching at her lips.
Hauk took Signe by the elbow and led her away from the others. “So, Signe, tell me what happened to Kirstin.”
“I do not know. She was here one moment and a short time later she was nowhere about. I think she may have gone with Egil.”
“What makes you say that?” The last night he’d spent with Kirstin had been wonderful, for both of them. He was shocked that she would leave him, without warning, after that. But he had to ask, “Did she say anything to you that morning? Was she unhappy?”
“Nay. If anything, she appeared to have a secret smile on her face.”
Of course she did. In truth, I had, too. “What makes you think she went with Egil then?”
“Well, she did go down to the boat before Egil left. Actually, she spoke to Egil out in the courtyard. She seemed to be alarmed about what he said, then ran into the keep and into the bedchambers to look for something. A short time later, she was screaming at Egil, who was already on the longship, as she ran toward the fjord, demanding that he let her board.”
“All this you witnessed?”
She shook her head. “Some I saw with my own eyes. The rest I pieced together from what others said.”
“And she left with Egil on the longship then?”
“I think so, but I wasn’t watching at the time. I’d gone back into the keep to gather laundry.”
“Did anyone actually see her on the boat as it left?”
“I do not think so.” Signe furrowed her brow as she searched her memory. She frowned then. “Another thing. My Lady Kirstin was excited about the soap-making we were planning for that afternoon. Why would she leave if that was her intent?”
“Mayhap it was a last-minute decision,” he offered.
“Egil should be back any day now. You will find out then.” She shrugged and went back to the racks where she’d been hanging strips of venison for drying.
In truth, Hauk was hoping that Kirstin had gone to Hedeby with Egil, for whatever demented reason she might have, like a sudden need for beeswax, or fine fabric to make her strange undergarments, or more poultry to make chicken slop.
Otherwise, she was gone. Really gone.
His heart ached so much at that prospect he had to bend over to catch a breath. It had only been a few sennights since he’d first met her. How could he be so affected?
If this was love, he wanted nothing to do with it.
Who let the dogs out?...
Kirstin felt Hauk kissing her face. Wet, sloppy kisses. Playful.
She smiled.
What a way to wake up! She kept her eyes closed and turned her face a bit, giving him better access. She’d been sleeping and was only half-awake now. Hauk must have returned from the hunting trip.
She stretched and yawned, feeling that continuing ache between her legs, a not unpleasant reminder of last night. She hoped Hauk ached, too, if that was possible for a man. She smiled some more.
Just then, she noticed an odd odor. Well, Hauk had been on a hunting trip and was no doubt a little ripe. Maybe they could go to the bathing hut together, like they had that other time.
But no, this wasn’t BO.
It was…wet dog.
Her eyes shot open and she saw Loki and Baldr, her father’s golden retrievers, whose damp fur was evidence of a recent dip in the pond. Which she could see over their backs. Their lolling tongues and wagging tails spoke of their happiness to see her. The dogs started to bark, loudly and continuously, ran away, continuing to bark as they ran, then came barreling back to her, yipping as if to give her some message. They ran away again and returned with her father, who was stunned at first sight of her.
Her father was almost sixty years old, and he wore his usual jeans and Blue Dragon T-shirt, but he could have passed for a Viking anywhere. With his long, gray-threaded, brown hair hanging in war braids on either side of a Nordic sculpted face, not to mention a tall, still buff body, he looked like an older version of the actor playing Rollo on that History Channel’s Vikings series, which made her realize that if her father had been the one shot back in time, he would fit in the Nordic atmosphere perfectly, almost as if he’d never left twenty years ago.
“Sit!” her father ordered the two yapping pets, who did as he ordered, immediately, though they continued to bark. “And shut the bloody hell up!”
Whimpering to get the last “word” in, Loki and Baldr splatted out, putting their faces on their front paws, looking at him contritely.
“Dumb dogs,” her father muttered, then turned to her again. “Holy Thor! Is it really you, Kirstin? We have been so worried.”
By now, she was standing, equally stunned. When her father opened his arms to her, she rushed into his embrace. He held her tightly and asked one question after another, not waiting for a reply.
“Where have you been, sweetling?
“Are you all right?
“Did you go back in time?
“Of course you did.
“The Viking in a cage…was he there? Did you rescue him?
“Torolf wanted to travel back to help you, if he could, but Helga said it would be over her dead body.
“Did you go back to our homestead, by any chance?
“But all these questions can wait. Come, let’s go up to the house.”
Her father pulled back to look at her then. That’s when she burst out in sobs, crying, knowing that her heart was breaking. Yes, she’d managed to come back home, but that meant she would never see Hauk again.
They said that love transcends time. It appeared she would have a chance to test that theory.
Chapter 20
Heartbreak Hotel, or Heartbreak House…um, Longhouse…
Kirstin was not with Egil when he returned the next day.
Egil told Hauk that he hadn’t seen his wife since she’d disembarked from his boat here at Haukshire a sennight or so ago, carrying her stolen necklet and arm rings, along with a sack of Hauk’s purloined treasures. Hauk told Egil not to discuss Kirstin’s whereabouts with anyone or add to the speculation. Let them think she’d left Hauk by going to Hedeby and probably to her own land beyond that. Otherwise, Hauk would have to explain time travel, or try to.
Egil nodded and squeezed Hauk’s arm in sympathy.
The tiny thread of hope that Hauk had been holding onto snapped, and he had to accept that his wife had time-traveled, away from him.
The only good news Egil had to impart was that Zoya was also gone, finally and forever, now in the hands of her brother. The Hedeby samovar merchant, who was not happy with his sister, would undoubtedly make her life miserable, or more likely, she would make his life miserable.
As the days and then sennights went by, Hauk became more and more woeful. Drinking to the point of drukkinness was not helping. To his shame, he realized he had been hoping she would return, magically, but time and her continuing absence convinced him otherwise. After that, fury filled Hauk, that his wife had deserted him, even though she’d promised she would not leave, leastways not without warning him first. Pfff! He felt like a fool. A cripple. Less than a man.
Women! Who can trust them?
The skalds would probably be telling tales of his humiliation, along with all those sagas about a caged Viking. He did not care.
He wished he could say he hated her now, but he didn’t. In fact, in his more sane moments, he knew she was better off, safer, in those later times, under her father’s protection. But in his less sane moments, which was most of the time, he was filled with a boiling rage. And, unfortunately, it spilled over to everyone who gave the least offense. He’d noticed how many people avoided him of late, even Egil, who approached him last night. “It’s been almost three months now. How long are ye goin’ to have this burr up your arse?”
“As long as it takes,” Hauk had snarled.
Other than Kirstin’s betrayal, and that’s how he regarded her departure, he
had many reasons to be happy, or at least gratified these days. Thanks to additional hunting, fishing, and birding expeditions, more than enough provender had been stowed in the cold cellars, the storage rooms, and the barns, even if the gods should give them the harshest weather ever. Egil had brought back a bull and another milk cow, six dozen chickens, and two of the most vicious goats, all of which provided even more sustenance for the winter which was already upon them. In fact, snow flurries were coming down now, and he expected the ground would be at least knee-high by the morning. He stomped his boots at the entrance to the kitchen, he stiffened when Frida called out, “Ye do know that the yule season is almost upon us?”
“Um…yea,” he answered tentatively. “And so?”
“What plans have ye made?”
“Huh?”
“What kind of yule feast are ye plannin’? Will ye be wantin’ the hall decorated? Gifts fer all the children and coins fer all the Haukshire folks? How ’bout guests? Will ye be havin’ any yule guests?”
“Huh?” he said again.
Frida rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?”
She mumbled something again.
“Come now, Frida. You’ve never been afraid to speak your mind before.”
Frida clapped her hands together over the table where she’d been doing something with oat flour, probably making the flat, circular breads with the hole in their centers, to be stored on a pole by the hearth, once baked. They were much favored by the Norse people because they required no leavening. Then she put her hands on her hips, and turned to glare at him. “If ye’d quit feelin’ sorry fer yerself, and moved yer arse to see what yer people need, ye wouldn’t be dawdlin’ over the yule feast. Moonin’ about like an orphaned calf, ye are.”
If he wasn’t in such a bad mood, he would laugh at the amusing picture she made. A woman of more than fifty years who was a head shorter than him, skinny as a broom handle, with flour dusting her face and hair. Even the brooches that held together the shoulder straps on the long, open-sided apron were covered with flour. She picked up a long ladle and shook it at him like a weapon. Was she threatening to knock him on the head with it if he didn’t heed her words? ’Twould be like a puppy facing off with a bear.
“Move my arse, huh?” He arched his brows. “Have I not repaired all the cotters’ homes? Have I not filled all the storerooms with more provisions than anyone has seen at Haukshire in many a year? Have I not been a fair judge in matters of dispute? Are we not at peace with our neighbors, or leastways not at war?”
She waved the ladle dismissively. “Yea, ye are to be commended fer doin’ more than yer father did.”
“Thank you so much for your wonderful compliment!”
“Doan be plyin’ me with yer sarcasm. I jist meant that ye need to get yerself in order and stop with yer drinkin’. Another thing…”
He was the one rolling his eyes now.
“Mayhap ye need to find yerself another woman to plow. Mayhap ye shouldn’t have sent Zoya away, gods forbid.”
Nay, he did not regret Zoya’s absence. And he was far from ready “to plow” another woman.
“Another thing—”
“Oh, please, not another thing,” he tried to joke.
She didn’t laugh. More waving of the ladle to get his attention. “Ye need to find someone to perform a weddin’ ceremony. Mebbe during that feast ye haven’t yet planned.”
“Whose wedding?”
“Thorkel and Signe.”
“What? He never said anything to me.”
“And why would he when ye’ve been too fuzzy-brained and snarly these past sennights?”
He was about to argue that Thorkel had had plenty of opportunities to approach him, and that he wasn’t fuzzy-brained or snarly all the time, but just then he was distracted by Gorm huffing and puffing as he dragged a huge, obviously heavy bag across the threshold from outside. His unruly hair and grubby tunic were covered with snow flakes. Someone needed to show that boyling the bath hut again.
“What is that?” Hauk asked.
“I found this.” He wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his tunic. “Over by the place beyond the boats…you know, where all them purty flowers grow.”
Hauk looked at Frida to see if she understood what Gorm meant.
“There’s a pretty damp patch over by the upper fjord where flowers seem to thrive, without any care. One of yer grandmothers planted them flower seeds years ago.”
This was all news to Hauk. He walked over to Gorm and dumped the contents of the bag on the floor. There was a gold chalice, one of his favorite belts, a handful of coins, and some sodden fabric.
“Thass the stuff that Zoya stole, isn’t it?” Frida asked.
Hauk nodded slowly. This must be the bag that Kirstin had supposedly been holding when she got off of the longship. “Show me where you found it,” he told Gorm. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in foreboding.
Shortly after that, they arrived at the spot that Gorm indicated. While snow was coming down more heavily now and starting to stick on the ground, this area was somewhat sheltered by nearby trees. So, at least for now, the mossy ground was bare, but the flowers long dead. There was nothing here. Certainly not the necklet and the two arm rings that Egil had said Kirstin was carrying, along with the bag, when he’d last seen her.
Hauk’s heart dropped.
This was the place where Kirstin had left him, leaving behind the heavy bag that belonged to him. He didn’t know why this particular spot would be Kirstin’s point of return to the future, but he was convinced that it had been.
It was final then. Kirstin was gone. And she would not be returning.
So much for love!
This is what she’d wanted. Wasn’t it?...
Her father helped her walk across the lawn to the house. She felt kind of weak and leaned against his broad shoulder for support. While she no longer sobbed, tears did leak from her eyes.
She wasn’t sure why she was crying. Well, yes, she did. It was Hauk.
I will never see him again.
What must he think about my disappearance?
He will think I left, deliberately.
After he told me that he loves me.
It must seem like a slap in the face to him.
And I told him that I love him, too.
He’ll think I lied.
“Oh, Daddy,” she moaned. “It is such a mess.”
“Now, dearling, it can’t be that bad. You are not to worry. We will fix everything. Just you relax and let your father take care of you,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
If only he could! Like he did when I was a child. But I’m not a child anymore, and some problems are too big to fix.
As they approached the side of the old Victorian house, Kirstin noticed the warmer weather, compared to the cooler climate she’d just left. Being November, or at least it should be, the air was balmy, even for winter in northern California.
They walked up the steps to the wraparound porch and her father ordered the dogs, who’d followed them, “Stay!” They plopped to the floor in a sunny spot, while she and her father crossed the porch and entered the kitchen..
Her stepmother, Angela, was standing before the commercial-sized gas range, stirring what smelled like her famous Shrimp Carbonara. Despite being more than fifty years old, Angela still looked as trim and professional in a designer track suit, her black hair perfectly coifed into a short bob, as she had when she was a Hollywood PR person.
“What was all that barking about, darling?” Angela asked, without turning around.
“Look what the dogs found down by the pond,” her father said.
“Those dogs better not have caught another skunk. Last time they brought a dead skunk inside it took me a week to get rid of the stink.”
Her father chuckled. “No, they found something better.”
Angela turned around, a wooden spoon in her hand. Seeing Kirstin, she screa
med, dropped the spoon, and ran toward her, giving her a huge hug and refusing to let go, despite her father laughing and saying, “Hold off, Angie, you’re going to crush Kirstin.”
Angela backed away, finally, but didn’t release Kirstin totally. She held her shoulders with extended arms and said, “Oh, my dear, we have been so worried!” Kirstin had been fourteen years old when her father married this kind woman, whose family had owned Blue Dragon vineyard for generations. Her father had been a farmer back in his old country. He liked to say that love turned him from turnips to grapes. “Are you all right?”
Kirstin nodded, and her father pulled out a chair at the table for her to sit down. He sat on the chair closest to her and took one of her hands in both of his. Angela put a glass of water in front of Kirstin and sat on the chair on her other side. She poured iced tea for herself and her husband.
Kirstin drank greedily, not having realized how thirsty she was. God bless Angela for noticing. Angela also handed her a tissue.
“Tell us,” her father urged.
Kirstin started from the beginning in the great hall of Uncle Jorund’s Rosestead, leading to her entry in King Aethelred’s Saxon castle. She told them that the arm rings that Storvald had made for her seemed to be the trigger for her time travel.
Her father gazed at the arm rings with some trepidation that she might somehow be shot back again. He was probably right to think she should be cautious; so, she picked up a dish towel sitting on the table and used it as a buffer to remove the rings and place them on the table.
She continued the story about how Hauk got out of the cage, and started to describe their escape from the castle and how they met up with Sweyn Forkbeard.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, did you say you got married?” her father asked.
“Well, yes, but I’m not sure how valid it was…is. I mean there’s no law regulating trans-century marriages. Ha, ha, ha,” she tried to joke.
“Married?” Angela said, wide-eyed. “To a man in a cage?”
