Her maid nodded. Picking up her knitting, she went down the stairs.
Linnea faced him again. “Speak of this without thought when others are listening, and you may find that you have more help on your quest than you wish.”
“Finding my chieftain’s knife matters only to me.”
“That knife is nearly a thousand years old. I suspect there are many collectors who would be eager to find such a relic.”
Nils frowned. “I had not given that idea any thought.”
“Along with all the others you did not think clearly about.” She walked back toward him. “I agreed to help you finish your quest, Nils. When you find your missing knife, you will be on your way back to your own time. Your life will go on as it has before you came here to Sutherland Park, and mine will do the same. It is something you should keep in mind.”
His arm was around her waist, bringing her to him, as if it had a mind of its own. A mind which shared his thoughts, because the seductive caress of her breasts against his chest was the very posset he needed to ease the sickness within him when he had seen her with Tuthill.
She put up her hands to halt him as he tilted his mouth to kiss her. He refused to be stopped. She had not pushed Tuthill aside, and she would not do that to him. Her lips were intoxicating beneath his. Slowly, as he deepened the kiss, her hands unclenched against him. Her fingers spread across his chest, sending a savage need ripping through him, urging him to satisfy his craving with her.
She stiffened abruptly. Jerking herself away from him, she pulled aside his shirt. “How did you get that knife back?”
“Jack brought it to me.”
“He should not have.”
“Why not?” He stroked her arm and watched her eyes glow with the longing he suffered.
Then her gaze hardened. “Because you are most certain to do something stupid and ruin your recovery as well as your chance to do as you vowed.”
“I will do nothing stupid.”
“No? Kissing me just now was very stupid.”
Nils scowled, but she did not look away. “I will try to remember that, and not be so stupid again. However, you shall not persuade me to return this knife to you.”
“Have it your way.” Linnea stamped to the top of the stairs. “I know I am a mere woman, and an English one at that, but you might—just once—acknowledge that I may know more about something than you do.”
“Linnea!”
She squared her shoulders and went down the stairs.
He jammed the crutch under his arm, then tossed it aside as he hobbled toward the steps. When Jack stood at the bottom and looked at the door where Linnea’s shadow was all that remained of her, Nils turned back toward the window. The white of Linnea’s gown flitted like an earthbound cloud through the wet greenery of the garden.
The sweet flavor of her lips remained on his. He wanted her, and he wanted to finish his quest in a blaze of success. Why couldn’t she understand that?
“She cannot because she is not like the women you have known, Nils Bjornsson. She is of this time and this place.”
Nils slowly turned away from the window to stare at the woman in the middle of the room. Her hair was like plaited gold, catching its fire from the sunlight that was piercing the clouds. The embroidered silver and copper robes draping her voluptuous body emphasized every curve, drawing his eyes along them with their motion which suggested a gentle breeze was wafting through the pavilion. But the air was still.
The woman was exquisitely beautiful, so beautiful that he knew he was in the company of a goddess. Freya was desired by every god, every giant, every creature who lived in the earth, on it, or above it.
Save for Nils Bjornsson. Even the temptation of the greatest temptress ever known could not steal his mind from his quest...and from the woman who held the key to redeeming his vow.
Bowing his head, he said, “I am honored to greet you, Freya.”
She laughed, the sound like the first precious trickle of water freed from the ice with the coming of spring. Bending, she put a pale gray cat on the floor. He had not noticed the creature until now. Her fingers lingered along it, and its purr filled the room.
“I was not so sure of that, Nils Bjornsson.” She ran her fingers along his shoulders as she had her cat. “Why did you make such a vow and deny yourself the amusements and glory of Valhalla? You would have earned a place high at the table for your deeds that were worthy of saga. Even Thor would be entertained by the tales of what you have achieved in service to your chieftain.”
“I could not think of myself when my service to my chieftain remains undone.”
“But you do think of your pleasures.” Her eyes became as calculating as the cat she picked up again and held to her full breasts. “Your thoughts are no longer focused totally on that pledge.”
“I think of getting hale once more.”
“And you think of spending time with the woman who found you by the sea.”
Nils knew it was useless to argue with a goddess who might know his thoughts before he did. “I cannot travel far when my arm is broken and I know nothing of this place. She professes to have seen the knife I seek. I will use that knowledge she possesses to complete my pledge to find my chieftain’s knife.”
“Broken arm? Is that and your sprained ankle all that keep you here?” She laughed, the sound like water rushing from beneath the ice with the coming of spring. “Eira will attend to it.” She glanced to her left.
As a form appeared as if stepping from a thick fog into the clear, Nils bowed his head toward the woman whose hair was as red as a wound. He recognized Eira, the goddess who was also a healer. Unlike Freya, her clothes were simple and without gaudy decoration. Her gown hid her shape rather than accenting every sensual curve.
“Nils Bjornsson, in this time and place,” Eira said, her voice sounding as if it came from a distance, “your arm should not be broken.”
He waited for Eira to say something else or wave her hands or do something. She turned and walked toward the steps. Whether she descended them or simply vanished he could not tell.
“Well?” asked Freya in a jeering tone. “For what do you wait, Nils Bjornsson?”
He opened and closed his hand, amazed that the pain was gone. “It appears you have done me a great favor this time, Freya.”
“I have done you multiple favors, Nils Bjornsson.” Her smile took on a predatory seductiveness.
Nils knew he must choose his words carefully. Freya had a share of every fault found among the gods, for she was greedy and covetous and sure of her power over mortals. He did not flatter himself that she wished to add him to her list of lovers that would stretch from Asgard to here and back. Toying with him was her aim, although he had no idea why she had chosen him to entertain her and Loki. If their intentions helped him do as he vowed, however, then he would play this dangerous game.
“For all of your help, I am grateful,” he said, bowing his head to her more deeply than he had to Eira, for he knew Freya would demand a greater show of subservience from any mortal. “It is to gain your favor that all warriors aspire.”
“Is that your aspiration, or is it another’s favor you hope to obtain?”
“My chieftain—”
“I do not speak of a man, but of a woman.” She opened the shutters on the window and gazed out. “There.”
Nils went to stand beside Freya, although he knew what he would see. The satisfied curve of the goddess’s lips warned that she was about to prove her point.
Linnea was walking toward the pavilion, a basket covered with a brightly colored cloth over her arm. How much time had passed since he turned to face Freya? Linnea now wore a gown of the pale pink of the rising sun reflecting off new snow. Her bonnet was lined with flowers as realistic as the ones growing on either side of the path.
He tore his gaze from her to gauge the height of the sun. He was no longer shocked at the discovery that the sun was far past its apex. For him, time had lost its steady rhythm
, whirling forward in a flood tide and then slowing like waters eddying in a lazy stream.
Looking back at the verdant garden, he sucked in his breath as he fought the longing to rush down the stairs to show Linnea how he truly wished to hold her, feasting on her instead of the food she was bringing him for his evening meal. He no longer was restricted to a single hand to touch her soft skin.
When Linnea paused, Jack emerged from the part of the garden that was concealed from the water pavilion by the thick branches of the trees. She smiled at Jack, but what they spoke was lost in the distance. She laughed at something he had said. That sound reached Nils, tantalizing him with the yearning to have her in his arms.
“There is nothing to keep you from doing as you wish with her now,” Freya murmured. “You need not worry about your broken arm.”
“My arm, whether broken or sound, has nothing to do with any decision I make.”
She laughed. “I could show you what you are missing with the Englishman’s daughter, Nils Bjornsson.” She lifted one gem hanging from her bracelet. Twirling the faceted green stone, she held it in front of his eyes. “Look within, son of the Norrfoolk, and you shall see the gratification the two of you could share.”
“No.”
“You do not believe it would be a delight to hold her even more intimately than you have?”
“It is not that. I do not wish to experience that only through watching.” He put up his hand to keep from seeing whatever might be in the depths of the jewel.
Again she laughed. “Ah, it is as I thought. Your thoughts for her are lusty. Beware, Nils Bjornsson, for the price of satisfying all your desires in this place could be very high.”
“The only desire I must think of satisfying is my blood-oath.”
“So you say, but you look upon this Englishwoman with a craving that steals your thoughts as surely as the knife was stolen from your chieftain’s hand. Will you give into your desire for something that should be denied you as one of the Norrfoolk?”
Nils’s hands fisted. If a mortal stood before him, whether woman or not, he would demand retribution for such words. Freya was no mortal, and the words spoke of the shame he was trying to expunge with his vow.
“I will do as I must. Nothing will change that.”
“Nils?”
Freya laughed as Linnea called from the lower floor as she always did. “Does this daughter of England fear discovering you with another?”
“She offers me respect and honor.”
“Honor? You are a man who craves that, Nils Bjornsson. Is it all you crave?” She slunk around him, her fingers lingering along the bare skin at the neck of his shirt. “Be careful how you answer, for the words that cover your thoughts with others will not do so with me. I hear the truth of your longing for this woman. Take care that it does not waylay you from your goal.”
“Nothing shall do that.”
Freya laughed, but he could not mistake the anger in her eyes. “We shall see, Nils Bjornsson. We shall see.” She and her cat evaporated into nothing.
As Linnea came up the steps, Nils drew the sling back over his elbow. To reveal the truth now might convince her that he was mad. Maybe he was, or maybe everything that had happened since he woke on the shore was nothing more than a death-dream, the last thoughts of a mind vanishing into oblivion. He was not certain he wanted to determine which it truly was.
Twelve
Linnea rocked from one foot to the other, swaying with the melodies that were the perfect complement to the flowers erupting from pots on every table spread across the back terrace and down into the rose gardens. Here, in the shadow of an arbor, she smiled as she watched her sister being congratulated by her guests.
The wedding had been everything that Dinah had wished for. It had not been as grand as Martin’s wedding five years before, but he was the heir, and Dinah was the next to the youngest in their large family. Only 300 guests mingled among the tables set in the perfectly trimmed garden.
Beside her sister, Lord Simmons was accepting the congratulations. Linnea would not speak to her sister of her suspicions that Harvey Simmons had offered for Dinah because he wanted Papa’s business acumen to revitalize his shipping lines as much as Dinah for his wife. The war had cut deeply into the Simmons family’s profits, and Lord Simmons made no secret of his hopes that his new father-in-law would open his own businesses so that Harvey Simmons might be able to invest in them.
Linnea smiled. This morning, when she had gone to the water pavilion to bring Nils his breakfast, she had seen the gardeners working to make sure not even a twig ruined the flawlessness of the grass. No drooping blossoms were left where any guest might view them. Chairs and tables were placed to be in the shade as the afternoon gathering began in the wake of the wedding ceremony.
All was as it should be.
Almost...
She glanced in the direction of the pavilion. Its roof was visible through the trees. She hoped no young couple would go there to have a tryst far from the eyes of their elders. Edging to her left a step, she was glad to see all the windows were shuttered. No chance motion would reveal that Nils was within the pavilion.
Forcing her tense shoulders to relax, she reminded herself that Nils would not want to be seen by anyone else. He had been sitting by the table, watching Jack shuffle some cards while Olive worked on the shirt she was remaking for Nils. Such a tranquil scene should keep her from worrying.
But she could not.
Since the harsh words she and Nils had traded when Jack returned the knife, Nils had been distant. Jack’s apology to her had been less than heartfelt, and she wondered what reason Nils had given the good-hearted lad to bring the knife from the stable. It must have had something to do with her, because Jack had hemmed and hawed when she asked him to explain. The lad never lied, which had made keeping Nils’s presence in the pavilion even more difficult for Jack. As she thought back on that troublesome conversation, she was not sure if Jack had given her an answer. All she knew for sure was that the lad had taken the knife back to Nils without asking her.
Having the two of them as allies would have been, under other circumstances, a wonderful solution to her problem of trying to assist Nils. Jack could easily escort Nils to London. She could send with them a letter of introduction which would open doors throughout Town. That would grant Nils all the time he needed for his search, and she could...
Linnea wrapped her arms around herself as an icy shiver cut through her. The day was warm, but her thoughts were taking a decidedly cold turn. She hoped that Nils would heed her warning that doing anything with all these guests here could be perilous.
“Linnea! Linnea!” Dinah waved wildly to her.
Glad that she could escape her uneasy thoughts, she went to her sister. She took Dinah’s hands and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You are glowing with happiness.”
“I am so happy.” Dinah hugged her. “I want to keep pinching myself to be certain this day is truly here and not just another dream.”
“Don’t pinch yourself. People will start to talk if you show up at your wedding breakfast all black and blue.”
“Have you talked to Randolph?”
Linnea tensed, although she tried not to. “No, I have not seen him.”
“He was looking for you.” Dinah hugged her again. “Even if he had not had such ideas before, this wedding has clearly persuaded him that he wants a wife of his own.”
“It would be wise to give Mama a few weeks to recover from all her planning for this one.”
“Mama would love to plan your wedding soon. She told me so herself this morning.”
But not to Randolph, Linnea wanted to argue. She held her tongue. It was possible that Mama had changed her mind, even though she had said nothing to Linnea about it. Letting her smile return and become more sincere, she told herself that she was worrying needlessly. “Dinah, I believe your devoted husband is eager to speak with you.”
Dinah took one glance to where Lord Simmon
s was holding out his hand, then gathering up her skirt, ran to him.
In her wake, Linnea could not keep from sighing. Dinah truly had a tendre for her new husband, and he seemed to dote on her. Even if he had wed her foremost to obtain Papa’s help with his investments, that did not detract from the kindness Lord Simmons showed her sister.
How Linnea wished for the same! In the midst of all the work for Dinah’s wedding, Linnea wondered if anyone had paused to consider that Linnea did not even have a hint of calf love for Randolph. But did anyone comprehend how she longed to be truly loved by a man who set her heart to fluttering with every beat?
She refused to look toward the pavilion. Nils might set her heart beating faster, but more often than not, it was because he had infuriated her. His kisses were splendid, yet any woman who thought she would be first in Nils Bjornsson’s life while he was upon his quest soon would discover how mistaken she was. If she had an ounce of wits left, she would send him with Jack to Town posthaste.
“That is a very serious expression for a wedding day,” came her father’s voice.
Linnea turned and smiled. Papa looked as elegant as any of the young men there. His hair was silvery and thinning, and his waistline was broader, but his happy expression hid the wrinkles except for the ones about his eyes. He held a glass that was filled nearly to the brim with wine.
“Weddings should be time for serious thoughts,” she replied, her tone as playful as his. “Mama urged all of us to think deeply before we committed ourselves to walking to the altar to be wed.”
“Your mother is a very wise woman. She married me, after all.”
“Definite proof of her wisdom. Although I think she has questioned it several times during the past few days when she dealt with one matter or another of Dinah’s wedding.”
Papa laughed. “I have grown accustomed to being either the father of the bride or the father of the groom. Your mother still frets herself endlessly that each ceremony will be less than perfect.” He took another sip. “If you will not share this with your mother, I can tell you that the wine I drank before the ceremony eased any worries I had.”
My Lord Viking Page 13
