My Lord Viking

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  He laughed, the bronzed skin beside his eyes crinkling. “Your surprise was an amusement for a man who has had nothing to amuse him for too long.”

  “I am glad I was able to provide that.”

  “Ah, sarcasm. You use it as a weapon when you wish to hide your true emotions.” He curved a finger beneath her chin and tipped it up. “But your words are futile, Linnea, when your eyes expose the truth. Can it be that I saw anxiety on my behalf?”

  “You are a guest at Sutherland Park. I should—”

  “Be honest.” His finger stroked her cheek lightly, the touch an invitation to explore the emotions in his eyes...if she dared to.

  She wanted to fire back another quick answer, but she was imprisoned by the warmth of his gaze. This was outrageous! She had scurried away from Randolph’s kiss like a churlish child. Now she was delighting like a strumpet in Nils’s audacious caress.

  “I thought you might have sneaked away,” she whispered.

  “And that thought upset you?”

  “I feared you would injure yourself more. Kortsson seems to have paid a call at Randolph’s house and stolen supplies from him. That means your blood-enemy is still near Sutherland Park.”

  “That was all you feared for on my behalf? And on yours?”

  She shook her head. “Ask me nothing more. This conversation will lead to places we should not go.”

  “Because of your betrothal to another man?”

  Linnea sank to the bench beside the book. “You would be wise not to heed all the gossip you hear.”

  “I do not, but this tidbit intrigued me.” Moving the book to the other side of the bench, he lowered himself to the smooth slats. “You say so little about yourself, although you ask endless questions about me and my time.” She must have flinched because he went on, “You can deny the truth all you wish, Linnea, but it does not change it. I have been brought to this time which is not mine, and I have been brought to you. There must be a reason.”

  “I found you on the beach. Anyone could have done the same.”

  “But you were the one who did find me when you wandered the strand alone.” His hand curved along her nape as his fingers sifted up through her hair. “Just as you came here today knowing that we would be alone for the first time since that moment.”

  “I came here to show you what I had found in the house.”

  “For that reason alone?” He bent toward her, and she could look nowhere but into his eyes. “Did you, perchance, come here now knowing that we would be able to speak plainly?”

  “I always try to speak plainly to you.”

  “Do you?” His mouth brushed her cheek as his palm cupped her nape, tilting her face toward his. “I speak not only of your words, but of the thoughts that glow in your eyes and wait upon your lips.”

  The quiver within her would not be smothered. It urged her to surrender to her longings and his. Then she was kissing him. Had he moved closer or had she? It did not matter as her hand swept up along his uninjured arm to his broad shoulder. This was madness and this was dangerous and this was a betrayal of her family which believed she longed to marry Randolph. But she ignored all that while she relished the bold warmth of his mouth.

  When his lips left hers and coursed along her face, she closed her eyes and smiled. She wanted only to think of this delight. Why had no one told her how luscious a man’s kisses could be? He moaned, and, for a moment, she thought he had hurt his broken arm that he held at an odd angle so he could press her closer. Then, his mouth found hers again, telling her that the desperate sound had come from his longing for this. Her fingers curled on his back when his tongue slipped between her lips, brushing hers in an invitation to far more intimate frolic.

  He leaned her back on the bench, introducing her to his hard, masculine body as he slanted across her. A pain slashed the middle of her spine. When she yelped, he released her, amazement on his face.

  Sliding away, she picked up the book she had brought from the house. She started to put it on the floor, then faltered. She set it on her lap. It was Papa’s book. What would Papa think if he discovered her here in this stranger’s arms? Fire flared through her again, but now an icy flame that swept away the sweetness of Nils’s kisses.

  “Linnea?” Nils touched her face gently.

  “It would be better if we talked and did nothing else.”

  “Because you are promised to another?”

  Linnea stood, holding the book in front of her like a shield. “Because of what you are and what I am.”

  “You are the daughter of Lord Sutherland.”

  “Yes.”

  “An English lord.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I am of the Norrfoolk.”

  “From a thousand years ago.”

  His eyes twinkled as he hoisted himself to lean on the crutch. “I can assure you that some things are unchanged no matter how many centuries have passed. Your kisses are sweet, whether in this time or if I had met you in mine.”

  “If you had met me in your time, you would not have stopped when I protested.” When his eyes slitted as his mouth straightened, she looked away.

  He caught her face in his broad hand and forced it up so her gaze met his. “I have never raped a woman. My blood-enemy never shows such restraint, but my duty here is—” He blinked and muttered something she could not understand. “My duty here was to serve my chieftain while he did our king’s bidding to conquer this island.” His voice grew husky. “So you do not think I could have persuaded you to kiss me if we had met in my time?”

  “It is a moot question. If we were in your time, we never would have met. I would have been hidden by my family far from the Viking rampage.”

  “A true tragedy that would have been.” His fingers against her cheek became a tantalizing caress.

  When she was about to lean toward him and his captivating lips, Linnea stepped back. She must not show him how many more ways she could be foolish. Going to the table by the stairs, she set the book on it. She hoped Nils did not notice how her fingers trembled as she spread them across the cover. Until Olive could return here, Linnea must keep a distance between her and the temptation to sample just one more of his intriguing kisses.

  She bit her lip when the uneven sound of Nils’s crutch against the floor paused behind her. His warm breath brushed her back above her gown, twirling strands of hair about her in an invitation to a dance that needed no music except two rapidly beating hearts. Then he moved to stand beside her. She wanted to release her breath in a rush of relief, but that would disclose how deeply he unsettled her. She swallowed her terse laugh as she let the breath slide past her clenched teeth. If she thought he could not guess the course of her thoughts when she had opened her arms to him, she was a complete chucklehead.

  “What is this?” Nils asked, curiosity once more woven through his voice.

  “This is a book.” She looked at him. “Do you know what a book is?”

  “Of course. I have seen its like here in Britannia before. There was a monastery that stood on a small island not far from—”

  She put her hands over her ears. “Do not think to enthrall me with tales of your comrades’ bestial behavior when you overran that monastery and slew its residents.”

  Taking one of her hands in his, he frowned. “You again are assuming that you know what you cannot know.”

  “I know what you Vikings did to Lindisfarne. You sacked the monastery there and killed every living soul you could capture.”

  “The foray upon Lindisfarne took place in my grandsire’s grandsire’s grandsire’s time.”

  “Oh.”

  His smile returned. “I wish I could have been part of that early foray, one of the first upon this island.”

  With a grumble, she pulled her hand out of his. Dash it! This man gloried in killing. “It was your misfortune to be born too late.”

  “There is that sarcasm again. Linnea, you must not judge what you do not understand.”

  �
��I understand this.” She flipped open the book to a page she had turned down. Pushing up the corner of the page, she pointed to the drawing in the middle of it.

  He bent toward it and nearly toppled.

  “Sit,” she ordered. “You shall be able to see it more easily that way.”

  She thought he would refuse, then he nodded. Dropping heavily onto the nearest bench, he took a shuddering breath. Only now did she notice how pale his face was beneath his deep tan. He was trying to keep her from seeing that he still was weakened by his pain.

  Sitting beside him, she balanced the book on her lap. “This is a book displaying what happened when the Vikings invaded England.”

  Linnea was silent as Nils stared at the picture. The Viking warriors were pouring off their dragon-prowed ship with its square sail. The buildings in the village were topped by flames. Bodies were scattered in every direction, and at the far left of the picture a Viking was dragging a woman by her hair toward the shore.

  Looking from the horrendous portrayal of brutality to his face, she waited for him to say something. She wanted him to assure her that this was far worse than anything he had witnessed, that history had darkened the name of the Norse warriors, that he never would have been part of something like this.

  “This picture is wrong,” he said.

  “Is it?” Her heart bounced within her, elated that he was not a beast like those depicted in this drawing.

  He touched the helmet on a warrior stepping ashore. “This is not correct. No one among the Norrfoolk would wear horns protruding from a battle helmet. They would be knocked off with a single blow and make a warrior vulnerable to the jab of a blade.”

  “But otherwise?”

  “Otherwise, the drawing of that man could be a portrait of Gyrd.” He pointed to the man holding a handful of the woman’s hair.

  She swallowed her disgust as she asked, “Who is Gyrd?”

  “My cousin.” Tapping the center of the warrior’s chest, he said, “Gyrd wears such an amulet with Thor’s hammer, as I do.”

  “Like on your arm band?”

  “And like this.” He drew out the gold chain and pointed to the strange ornament. “This is Thor’s hammer.”

  Linnea looked from the picture to the charm he wore. They were identical. “So you recognize this?”

  “I just said so.” He pulled the book from her lap and tipped it on its side. With a grimace, he handed it back to her. “I may speak your language, but I cannot read its swirls. What is the name of this book?”

  “The Vikings in Old England.”

  “So this is why you call me a Viking instead of a Norrfoolk.”

  “The term is the one we are familiar with in this time.”

  “Viking is not what we called ourselves.”

  Linnea closed the book and set it back on the table. “I am sure you were called many other things by the English of that time.”

  “I have heard those names spoken in anger and in fear.” His mouth tightened. “However, what is not shown in this book is the attacks made by Ethelred’s men on the peace-loving people of the Danelaw.”

  “Danelaw?”

  He picked up the book and paged through it. Pointing to a picture of a village where children played while the adults tended to their tasks, he said, “The Danelaw was the eastern half of this island that had been ceded to the Norrfoolk. There, English and Norrfoolk lived in peace for many years until the English broke that peace with raids that left many dead. Not just warriors, but women and oldsters and children. Only then was it determined that all of this island must be brought to its knees before our king. The English could not be trusted.”

  “They only were trying to get back what the Vikings had stolen.”

  “The Danelaw was created by treaty between the kings of the English and the Norrfoolk. The English broke that treaty and showed their dishonor. Our leader was a daari to trust them.”

  “Daari? You said that before, but I do not recall what it means.”

  “It means fool.” He ran his fingers over the picture of the quiet village. The pain on his face was not from his broken arm or his ankle. Instead there was a dullness to his eyes, as if he were hurt in places no one but he could see. “All of us were fools. We did not expect Ethelred to denounce the treaty of his fathers. So many died.”

  “On both sides of the battle.”

  Raising his head, he met her eyes steadily. “Save for Nils Bjornsson for whom death has been denied.”

  “You think you can’t die? That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard.”

  “I mean only that I was not granted a warrior’s death in my own time, that I was brought here. If Kortsson finds me here before I am healed, I know he can slay me.” He closed the book. As she set it on the table, he took her hand and drew her back to sit beside him. “I know you find this difficult to believe.”

  “As you do.”

  He nodded. “As I do. However, I cannot deny the truth that is before me. This is not the year I was in when I closed my eyes upon making my prayer to Freya.”

  “The goddess?”

  “The one who takes the dying warriors to the Valhalla and their reward for their service and bravery. I asked her to help me complete my vow to my chieftain.”

  “To find a knife?”

  “You remember?”

  “How could I forget something so ludicrous?” Linnea asked, then wished she had not when his eyes became violet slits.

  “There is nothing ludicrous about a blood-vow. I need to find the knife that belongs to my chieftain, so I can return it to him.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “It might not even exist any longer.”

  The hint of a smile tipped his lips as he touched her cheek lightly. “It must, or I would not have been brought here. Although I would like to think that you are my reward, unnasta, it—”

  “What did you call me?”

  He chuckled. “Some Norse words do not translate easily into your language.”

  Linnea ignored her curiosity. When his laugh took on that playful tone, she had learned that he would not give her a reasonable answer. He was enjoying teasing her.

  Standing, she said, “I find it difficult to believe a knife would survive for a thousand years when it was lost to begin with.”

  “Not lost. Stolen. It is possible that Kortsson has it now.” He held up his hands about eighteen inches apart. “The knife was this long, and it was made by a master. Its haft was gilded to accent the outline of Loki and a dragon that spiraled along it, its tail becoming the blade. Two red stones glistened for its eyes, and its tongue was painted a midnight black. Only when one looked closely could the tiny dwarves be seen holding up the coils of the serpent.”

  “Tiny dwarves? A trio of them on either side?”

  “Yes!”

  “I have seen that knife.”

  “You have?” His eyes brightened with anticipation and other emotions warning that anyone who had challenged this fearsome warrior had been a fool. “Where?”

  “I am not sure.”

  “Linnea, I must know.”

  “In London it must have been. When we visited there during the Season before Dinah announced her plans to marry.”

  “We must go to London before Kortsson learns of this. I had thought he might have it, but if you have seen it, he does not.”

  She frowned. “You cannot travel now.”

  “I will heal. Then we shall go there. You will lead me to the knife before Kortsson can find it, and I shall take it to my chieftain as I have vowed.”

  “Back through time?”

  His shoulders sagged as she never had seen them do before. “I had not considered that. There must be a way for me to satisfy my oath. Otherwise, there is no logical reason for me to be here.” His jaw clenched. “Even Loki would not be so cruel.”

  “The god of mischief?”

  “You are learning quickly, Linnea.”

  “I must if I wish to help you.”

  He
looked up at her in amazement. “You wish to help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She sat again beside him. To speak the truth of the obligations she had would only magnify this unbelievable situation. To speak of how she wished to see his eyes glitter with joy as they did when he drew her close would be foolhardy. To speak of how she could not trust herself when she was in his arms would be even more imprudent. The wisest choice she could make now was to believe they had been brought together so she could assist him in his quest.

  “You must do what you vowed and be where you belong,” she replied.

  “So you will help me, even though the danger of the past may still be lurking here in this time?”

  She did not hesitate. “Yes.”

  Seven

  “So you think it will be that easy, Nils Bjornsson?”

  Nils raised his head from the pillow that was more comfortable than any in his time. Too easily he recognized that voice. It belonged to Loki.

  Sitting, he rested his splinted arm on his knee. He wiggled the toes of his other foot. Pain jabbed him, but not as savagely as it had even this afternoon. The crutch Jack had brought him was allowing him to stretch his cramped muscles without adding more injury to his ankle.

  He met Loki’s gaze evenly. As before, the wizard-god was perched on the windowsill. Moonlight washed him nearly into silhouette, but Nils could discern the sparkle of mischief in Loki’s eyes. Or maybe Nils only thought he was able to see it, because that glitter was rumored to be omnipresent.

  “No blood-oath is ever completed with ease,” Nils replied.

  “Yet you believe with the Englishwoman’s assistance, you will succeed.”

  “I will succeed, and I will use whatever means I must.”

  “Does she realize that?” Loki laughed as he jumped down from the sill. “You have convinced her that you have the soul of a poet, not the heart of a warrior.”

  Nils snorted his disagreement. “She knows I am a warrior.”

  Loki squatted next to him and tapped his finger against his nose. “Do you know that when she is near, Nils Bjornsson? Freya was not pleased to hear you call an Englishwoman unnasta. That term is meant only for those among the Norrfoolk.”