My Lord Viking

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Linnea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Having Randolph call at the same time her mother was talking about Linnea’s future was not at all a good thing. Mama was as tenacious with her goal of finding all her children spouses as Papa was with his business dealings.

  A not-so-gentle jab by Mama’s elbow in her back sent Linnea forward a step as Randolph slowed his horse by the front steps. She waved away the dust that followed Randolph’s wild ride and coughed.

  “Ah, just the one I wished to see,” Randolph crowed as he took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Do speak with Mama while I—” She coughed again.

  “Lady Sutherland,” Randolph said in the same cheerful tone, “this is a double delight. I had not thought you were expected home until Tuesday.”

  “Today is Tuesday,” Mama replied.

  Randolph laughed. “So it is. I have quite lost track of time with these trips to and from London to finish the work on my father’s estate. I have made what I am glad to report is my last trip to Town for a while.” Turning to Linnea, he compressed her hand again. “I will be able to devote my time to other things now.”

  Wanting to tell him that she did not like being addressed as a “thing,” she said only, “I am glad to hear that onerous task is done, Randolph. It must have been wrenching and so sad for you.”

  “Yes, it was not easy.” He gave her a sideways glance. “It would have been much easier to bear if I had known my future was set as well as my past.”

  Linnea drew her hand out of his. How dare he speak so in front of Mama! “Your future might be settled for you in less time than you expect,” she returned, furious.

  “Linnea—”

  “Do not lather me with excuses for your tasteless comment. I liked your father very much, Randolph, and I do not like hearing him dismissed so out of hand.”

  “I did not mean to suggest any disrespect to my father or to you.”

  “Then you would be wise to select your words with more care.”

  The ruddy tint of embarrassment climbed up from Randolph’s stylishly high collar. He looked to her mother for assistance.

  “My dear young man,” Mama chided with a wag of her finger, and Linnea knew he had been wrong to try to get her mother to overrule her, “you should know by now that Linnea can be most stubborn when someone tries to back her into a corner. You would be wise to grant her some time to consider your suit.” Kissing Linnea on the cheek, she added, “After you have finished speaking with your caller, do come in and have tea with me, my child. I am eager to hear how you have kept yourself busy while I was away.”

  The color in Randolph’s face darkened to a shade that was not good for his well-being.

  Linnea wanted to assure him that her mother liked to take tea alone with her children whenever possible, but that would make Randolph feel even more like an outsider in the Sutherlands’ tight family circle. It must be lonely in his isolated house.

  Instead, she handed her basket to Jack, who had come to get Randolph’s horse. “Olive is waiting for this,” she said, hoping Jack understood what she could not say in front of Randolph.

  “Yes, my lady.” He lowered his eyes, but his face was stained nearly as red as Randolph’s. With guilt? Or was he simply trying not to chuckle about the secret they were keeping from the man everyone assumed would soon be her husband?

  “What is wrong with everyone here today?” Randolph grumbled as Jack led the horse toward the shade.

  “Wrong today?” she asked, not sure how to answer his question. “I was not aware that anything was amiss.”

  “Mayhap because you are acting more strangely than anyone else.”

  “As I said, I was not aware of that.”

  “You could start by explaining why you are having a stableboy take something to your maid. Does he always run errands in the house? I thought you had footmen for such tasks.”

  “Olive isn’t in the house. She is out in the garden.” When his eyes slitted, she hurried to say, “We were going to take advantage of the sunny day to do some sewing.”

  “For Lady Dinah’s wedding?”

  She laughed. “It is a bit late for that. Her wedding is at the end of the week. Mama would be outraged if everything was not ready. I fear our sewing will be far more prosaic.”

  “Then you need not hurry away.”

  Linnea motioned toward the bench set by the driveway. “Shall we sit?”

  “Here?”

  “Or in the garden.”

  “Yes, that sounds better.” He held out his arm, and she put her hand on it.

  When he led her toward the water garden, her feet faltered. She shook her head when Randolph again asked if something was wrong. Searching her mind for any excuse to go to a different part of the gardens, she could not devise one before he led her down the steps toward the pavilion.

  “This is nice,” she said, sitting on a bench that had no view of the door into the pavilion.

  “Closer to the pool—”

  “Dinah is fond of taking Lord Simmons there.”

  That was an inspired response, she realized, when he frowned and grumbled something under his breath. His irritation was not focused on her, but on Lord Simmons. Although she had seen that Randolph was not fond of her sister’s fiancé, she had never guessed that he disliked the man so deeply.

  When he sat on the bench, she edged farther along its length, keeping her hand between them. When he put his over it, she hoped he did not hear her sigh of relief. She would gladly let him hold her hand if it prevented him from drawing her closer.

  “There are a few things I wish to speak of to you,” Randolph said.

  “Of course.”

  Those were the last two words she had a chance to say as Randolph launched into a list of all the reasons she should not delay the announcement of their plans for the future. She listened, hoping that he would go on long enough for Jack to slip in and out of the water pavilion without Randolph noticing. If Randolph became suspicious of what Jack was doing, the whole tapestry of unspoken lies could fall apart.

  And then...

  She did not know what would happen then.

  * * * *

  “Lady Linnea asked me to give you this.”

  At Jack’s voice, Nils looked up from the picture in the book that Linnea had brought from the house. He might not be able to read the words, but he could learn much from looking at the pictures of the city where his chieftain’s knife might be. The strange buildings were so different from what he recalled from his single trip to London, although the winding streets appeared much the same. The river was unchanged, although when last he had seen the Thames, it had not been as crowded with such grand buildings made of stone. He wondered where the old Roman ruins had gone.

  Jack was holding a basket. As Nils reached for it, he asked the young man, “Why did Lady Linnea not bring this herself?”

  “She is not here to run errands for you, sir.”

  Nils closed the book and set it and the basket on the table. Jabbing the crutch under his arm, he stood. “I know that. However, I was asking only out of concern for her well-being.”

  “She looked fine when she gave me this basket and told me to bring it here.” Jack rubbed one boot against the back of the other. “It may not be my place to say so, sir, but she has done more for you than anyone should expect.”

  “No, it is not your place to say so.”

  Jack’s usually cheerful face tightened into a frown. “I don’t know who you are, Mr. Bjornsson, but I do know one thing. You cannot guess how hard she has been working to make sure you are tended to. She hasn’t told me why she didn’t send you to the stables to recover as other vagabonds have been allowed to or why she wants no one else to know you are here. But I do know that those decisions have added to her burden to help you get well and on your way.”

  “Are you through?”

  The lad flinched at Nils’s cool, tranquil tone. “I guess so.”

  “Good, then maybe you wil
l listen when I tell you that I appreciate wholeheartedly all that she has done for me. Just as I appreciate all that you and Olive have done for me as well. However, it is not your place nor mine to say what she should or should not do. That is Lady Linnea’s right.”

  Jack’s eyes grew saucer-wide with astonishment. “I thought...I mean...I’m sorry, Mr. Bjornsson.”

  “It would be easier if you would call me Nils, as Lady Linnea does.” He did not add that he was tired of hearing how the English failed to speak his name correctly. His ears strained for the sounds of his own language when he was awake. During the time he slept, he hoped he would not hear it. He did not want another visit from Loki until he had learned more about what was going on here.

  Shaking his head, Jack said, “I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.” He walked toward the stairs.

  “Jack, I need you to do something for me.”

  Nils watched Jack turn. The lad was totally loyal to Linnea and her father. Nils admired that fealty, but it would not suit his purposes now.

  “Lady Linnea gave you my sax.” Nils did not ask, for he had no doubts about who had ordered that the blade was to disappear. That she had brought Jack with her to carry him from the sand made it clear that she had asked the stableboy to hide it for her. The only question was where it was.

  “Your what?”

  “My knife. She gave it to you the day she came to ask your help in assisting me from the beach.”

  “Yes.” The single word was reluctant.

  “I want my knife back.”

  “I shouldn’t.” Jack squared his shoulders. “Not without Lady Linnea’s say-so.”

  “I don’t want her to know I have it.”

  “Is that so?” He walked again toward the stairs, halting once more when Nils called his name.

  “Jack...” Nils cursed his leg that nearly folded beneath him on that single step. Locking his knee in place, he paid the devastating pain no mind as he went on, “I want to have it to defend her if the need arises. I do not want her to guess she is in peril.”

  “She knows.” A sneer pulled back Jack’s normally smiling lips. “How many times have you—?”

  “I do not speak of me.”

  “Then whom?”

  “The man she calls Randolph.”

  “Lord Tuthill?” Jack laughed. “He wants to marry her. Why would he wish to hurt her?”

  Nils smiled coldly. “I did not say he would harm her. I said she was in peril.”

  Jack’s expression hardened again.

  Nils waited for the lad’s answer which would reveal if Jack shared his disquiet over Tuthill. The fingers of his right hand flexed at ready by his side. He almost laughed. As battered as he was, he doubted he could keep Jack from doing anything he wanted. Yet Jack did not worry him. Tuthill did.

  Not long ago, Nils had seen Tuthill ride toward the house at a reckless speed. It was not the first time he had observed the man’s comings and goings here at Sutherland Park. What he had noted was that each time the man’s chin had jutted farther. Tuthill was resolved to get what he had come here for, and Linnea’s words had revealed it was her.

  Just Linnea, or was Tuthill after a share of Lord Sutherland’s wealth? Olive had suggested that might be so, but had refused to answer any questions after the one inadvertent comment.

  That single comment had been the reason Nils had been trying to regain his strength with even more speed. It had spurred him to push his ankle until he could walk across this small room without having to pause to catch his breath. His arm was healing, and then...

  To delay here and get more ensnared in the lives of these people would be stupid. He had his vow to complete. The visits from Loki were a reminder of his obligations and the honor that had not yet been restored. He swallowed his groan at that thought. Nearly a millennium of shame on his family because he had been ripped from his time and brought here for a reason that he could not understand.

  If this was simply Loki’s idea of a prank...Nils swore under his breath. This was too cruel even for that immortal trickster.

  “Mr. Bjornsson, did you hear what I said?”

  Again Jack’s voice drew him away from his own dolorous thoughts. “No, I did not.”

  “I said that if I were to return the knife to you, I would need your word along with the promise that I could trust it,” Jack said quietly.

  “I never break any pledge.” Nils fought not to smile. The lad must despise Tuthill even more than Nils had hoped. This might be the first good turn of luck he had had since he awoke here. This and having Linnea find him. He did not linger on that enticing thought, because he must concentrate on this conversation. “However, I can give you no reason to trust me other than that you must.”

  Jack jabbed at one of the stones with the toe of his boot. “I do not trust you.”

  “You are wise.”

  “But I do not trust Lord Tuthill, either.” Jack rubbed his sleeve against his cheek as he looked at the window that had given Nils a view of the road. “He seems to think that he is due the right to marry into this family, that Lady Linnea should have no choice of her own.”

  “Her father must be aware of Tuthill’s plans.”

  Jack’s vehement curse amazed Nils. “Lord Sutherland agreed to let Tuthill court her. I heard that Lady Linnea welcomed Tuthill’s calls, but she is smarter than that.”

  “Courting and marrying are two very different things. I doubt if women’s hearts have changed in a thousand years.”

  “A thousand years? What do you mean?”

  Nils chuckled. “Simply a turn of phrase. What I meant is that I am certain a woman heeds her heart now as she did a thousand years ago or two thousand years ago or back to the beginning of time.”

  “But a lady’s heart has no place in the negotiations for her marriage. That is left to her father and her suitors.”

  “True.” He lowered himself back onto the bench by the table. No matter how he tried, he could not reconcile spirited Linnea Sutherland with a woman who would docilely accept the man chosen for her by her father.

  “Can I ask one question, sir?”

  “Yes.” He added nothing else, unsure what Jack was about to ask.

  “When I bring you the knife, what do you intend to do with it?”

  “I do not intend to use it to separate Tuthill’s head from his throat, if that is what concerns you.”

  “It did not concern me.”

  Nils was amazed at what sounded like regret in the lad’s voice. Maybe this time was not so different from his, after all. There had been those in his century, his brother included, who preferred such simple solutions to problems, but Nils had followed the lead of his chieftain who saw bloodshed as necessary only when fighting a blood-enemy or for honor. Yet he could not hesitate to do what he must to be certain Linnea, his only ally in this time, was able to help him find his chieftain’s knife.

  It was all that should matter to him.

  He glanced toward the far window as he heard Jack speak Linnea’s name. Going to it, he looked out to see her sitting beside the man she called Randolph.

  All he should be thinking of now was recovering the knife. Yet his hand fisted on the sill when he saw the man next to Linnea take her fingers and kiss them fervently.

  Listening for Loki’s laugh, he suspected this was all another prank dreamed up by the wizard. Any other explanation was bound to create more problems.

  “Loki?” he called lowly, so his voice would not reach the man who was coming to his feet and keeping Linnea’s hand in his. “If this is your idea of a way to keep me from doing as I vowed, it will not work.”

  He hoped he was not lying.

  Eleven

  Nils took a tentative step, then reached for Linnea’s hand. Bowing over it, he fought not to fall onto his nose as he heard Olive’s superior sniff. The accursed ankle was bothering him more today than it had earlier in the week. Mayhap it was because of the rain rushing past the partially open shutters. The
dampness had arrived with the morning, and the day had grown only more gray and dismal with each passing hour.

  “This is stupid.” Nils sat on a bench, glowering at Linnea.

  “What is stupid?”

  “Kissing a woman’s hand when a man would rather kiss her lips.”

  “Nils!” She glanced away from him and toward Olive, who was sitting in her customary place by the window next to the stairs. Those windows were securely closed and locked, so Olive had to bend close to her knitting needles to watch the pattern of her stitches. Other than the one sniff, Olive had seemed to take no note of them.

  “Oh, do not get huffy, Linnea.” He bent and kneaded the aching skin along his ankle. “I was not speaking of you personally.”

  “I see.”

  He looked up. Her lips were pursed with indignation. “You do? It seems to me that you are quite blind to the meaning of my words.”

  “I do not believe so. You clearly consider any woman yours to pursue as you wish.”

  “That is a man’s prerogative.”

  She started to rise, but he reached across the table and grasped her hand, pinning it to the weatherworn boards. “Release me,” she ordered.

  “When you release your misconceptions.”

  “You were the one who spoke of kissing women.”

  “A merry pastime when one has the inclination.” He watched her color rise as he eyed her up and down. “I do admit to having kissed other women before you, just as you have kissed other men. Maybe the only difference is that you are the only one I kiss now, and you cannot say the same.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have eyes.” He gestured toward the shuttered windows and grimaced as raindrops left by a passing shower sprinkled through onto his hand.

  “Jealous ones, it would seem, although I do not know why you would act so.”

  Slowly he pushed himself to his feet. “‘Tis not jealousy that I feel. Nothing must halt me from doing as I must. For that, I need your attention focused on this quest.”

  “Olive,” she said as she stood, “the rain is easing. Will you go back to the house and get our luncheon? Jack will be here any time now.”