My Lord Viking

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “My vow is my vow, Linnea. I told Freya that I would see the man who kept me from doing as I pledged would pay for that with his life.” Gripping the knife, he drew it from the sheath. “Nothing Tuthill can say will persuade me to spare his life.”

  Linnea stepped between him and the door. “You cannot kill him.”

  “Do not get in my way. You cannot understand.”

  “Because I am a woman?” She folded her arms in front of her. “I thought you said a Viking woman had rights and knowledge to match a warrior’s.”

  “You cannot understand because you are a part of this time when honor means so little.”

  “How can you say that?” she cried, her serenity severing to reveal her pain. “You know that I care as much about my family’s honor as you do. That is why...” She hid her face in her hands.

  “Unnasta,” he whispered.

  When his hand stroked her hair, she looked up at him. “Nils, I love you.” There. She had said it. The words that had filled her heart until she feared it would burst had been said.

  She waited for him to smile, but he scowled. “You say that and yet you are willing to give yourself to a most dishonorable man and tarnish the name Sutherland.”

  “Do not change the subject.”

  “I thought Tuthill and his dishonor and the dishonor he will heap on you were the subjects.”

  Linnea shook her head slowly. “No, the subject is why you cannot kill Randolph. I beg you to heed me.”

  Sorrow dimmed his eyes. “I did not realize that you cared for Tuthill so much. You say that you love me, but do you love him, too?”

  “‘Tis not how I feel about Randolph that matters. ‘Tis the fact that he is not your prey. He is not the one who kept you from finding this knife.” She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “I am.”

  He held her chin in his broad hand, a smile returning to his expressive lips. “I know you wish me to heed your gentle heart, unnasta, but you, who have not denied me the secrets of your soul and the sweetness of your lips, would never deny me the chance to succeed in doing as I had pledged.”

  “But I have.” Stepping away from him, but staying between him and the door, she whispered, “I told you the knife was in London.”

  “You said you believed it was there. It was nothing but a mistake in your efforts to aid me.”

  “Then I found it here. If you had not come here as you have to discover me with it here...” She wanted to close her eyes and escape the accusations in his.

  “You would not have told me?” He spoke the words as if he could not believe them himself.

  “I do not want you to return to your own time.” She ran her fingers along his cheek as he had hers so often. “I love you, Nils Bjornsson. You are the one who makes me whole, the part of me that has been missing for a thousand years.”

  “But I cannot stay here. I must complete my vow. The only reason I am living now is that Freya heard my pledge and saw it as honorable.”

  She took the knife and drew it from its sheath. Handing it to him, haft first, she said, “Then do what you must.”

  Nils looked from the blade to Linnea’s eyes that glowed with courage. And with love. She yearned for him to remain with her here in this time, but she loved him enough to let him go back to the life that should have been his.

  “Unnasta, I vowed to slay the one who kept me from returning this to my chieftain.”

  “I know.”

  “Yet you aver that person is you.”

  “Yes.”

  His arm swept around her waist as he brought her to him. She tensed, and he knew she expected him to slay her. How could she not see the truth? His lips over hers must tell her.

  When she pressed closer, he held her, the flat of the blade against her, so it would do her no harm. He looked down into her eyes, her loving eyes, and saw the resignation there. He had sacrificed his chance to join the heroes in Valhalla, but he had found a new life. She was willing to forfeit everything to give him his final chance at honor and that seat in Valhalla.

  He groaned as he dropped the knife onto the settee and slanted his mouth across hers. Her arms tightened around him, and he knew she was kissing him good-bye. No! I cannot repay you for all that you have done for me by killing you.

  He must have spoken those words aloud, because she whispered, “You have made a pledge, Nils. A blood-oath.”

  “But the blood was not meant to be yours.” He swore and looked toward the north wall of the room. “This is Loki’s doing.”

  “Is it?” She tilted his face back toward her. “Or is it nothing more than the cost of saving your family’s honor?”

  He kissed her again and again and again, as if he could memorize the shape of her mouth, the flavor of her lips, the scent of her flesh. As her hair tumbled down into his fingers, he buried his face in it. No memory would be as magnificent as this woman who enticed him as no other had.

  “What in hell do you think you are doing?” came a furious shout from the doorway.

  Linnea gasped as Nils turned to face Randolph. She started to answer, but Nils said, “I would think it was quite obvious what we are doing.”

  Randolph stamped into the room. Trying to push his way between her and Nils gained him nothing, because Nils refused to move. Randolph put his nose close to hers and snarled, “Whore!”

  Nils’s arm was around his throat, the dragon knife against Randolph’s ear before Linnea could react. “Apologize now, Tuthill, or you will not hear her accept your apology.”

  “Nils, please don’t,” she begged.

  Shoving Randolph aside, Nils lowered the knife. He handed it to Linnea. “Guard it well, unnasta, for I fear I shall be tempted to repay this cur for what he has said.”

  She nodded, knowing he would have slain Randolph right here if she had not halted him.

  Randolph rubbed his ear and grimaced when his fingers came away dotted with blood. “Barrington, are you planning to steal from my exhibit case as well as from my bed?”

  “Randolph!” she gasped again as Nils’s hand reached for the knife he wore beneath his sedate coat. “You should not speak so.”

  “Why not? ‘Tis the truth, isn’t it?” He snatched the knife from her. “This knife belongs in the exhibit case over there.”

  “He did not steal it.” She raised her chin as she had to Nils. “I took it out to look at it.”

  “So you will steal from me and give what you take to this man you have fallen in love with.” Randolph’s lip curled. He tossed the knife toward the settee, but it missed, falling to the floor. She saw Nils wince, but looked back at Randolph as he asked, “Do you think he will love you more than he does his studies of long dead folk?”

  “Love?” she retorted, hurt that he had spoken first of the knife. Mayhap he had known it was here as he watched like a miser over every valuable he had inherited. “I thought you said less than an hour ago that love was of the least concern in a reasonable marriage.”

  Nils said quietly, “That is why he decided to court you after he missed his opportunity to marry your sister Dinah. It does not matter to him which one of you he wed. What matters is the connection he could have to your father and his brilliant acumen for making business investments.”

  “Is this true?” she asked, staring at Randolph.

  “You would believe this stranger over a man you have known all your life?” Randolph fired back.

  “Answer me!”

  Randolph swore, for once not apologizing for his language. “I have known both you and your sister all your lives. Either of you would have made a good wife. When Simmons set his cap on Dinah, I saw no reason to contest him for her, because you were unwed, too.” He glared at Nils. “Now you flounce about like a harlot with this man.”

  “I love him, Randolph.”

  “Love?” He sniffed. “What good is love? I could have given you a comfortable life here in Tuthill Hall. You would have been close to your family, and we would have joined them for dinner reg
ularly.”

  Nils added in the same hushed tone, “So you could gain any information you could from her father and brother about their business ventures. It is unfortunate, Tuthill, that you wasted all your charm on Lord Sutherland and his heir. If you had saved a bit for Linnea, she might have been willing to forsake love to marry you because she so wanted to be in love as her sister was.”

  “All this talk of love. What good is it? Can it repair a roof? Can it pay the tailor? Can it fund a household?”

  Pity flooded Linnea, and she glanced at Nils. He had been right. She had pitied Randolph. First for the debts left to him with his title, and then for the shallowness of his heart that held no love for anything but financial security.

  “Love may not be able to do any of those things,” she whispered, “but it can make the impossible possible. It can go anywhere—It can go anywhen to reach the other heart it wishes to share. That is what I want for you, Randolph.” She put her hands over his. “I want you to find the one person who fills your every waking thought and walks through your dreams. I want you to have the joy of seeing someone’s eyes light up for you as they don’t for anyone else. You have always been a good friend to my family, and you have been patient with me, but you do not love me. Why would you deny yourself the happiness that should be yours?”

  “The dowry your father promised—”

  Nils said quietly, “The bridesprice Lord Sutherland would have given you is less than what you could receive if you sell these items to Dr. Foster.” He pointed to the open case. “He would be very pleased to have these Viking artifacts in his collection, and I suspect he would gladly pay dear for them.”

  “Really?” Randolph picked up the ragged bag. “For this?”

  “It is a veski, the pouch a Viking would have worn at his side. I doubt if many have survived until this time. Dr. Foster should consider it of great worth, for I doubt he has anything like it.” He glanced at Linnea, then went on, “You should speak to him about it, Tuthill.”

  “I shall. Without delay.” He bent toward the floor. “If this small bag is so valuable, think what this knife must be worth.”

  “Yes, think of it,” came a deeper voice from the doorway.

  “Papa!” Linnea cried.

  Lord Sutherland picked up the blade before Randolph could. “It is clear that you have cared little about the value of this until now when you believe you might be able to get some of the realm’s gold for it, Randolph.”

  “I never suspected these old things my father kept in a box on top of the tea chest had any value but sentimental.”

  “Sentimental?” Lord Sutherland appeared about to explode, but released his breath and frowned. “If there is any sentiment attached to this knife, it comes from my family.”

  “Your family?” Nils asked. “Why yours?”

  “Because this knife once belonged to our family. It was stolen from the Sutherlands during the upheaval of the Civil War nearly 150 years ago.” He frowned at Randolph. “Do not look so shocked. You know as I do that it was a member of the Denner family who stole it.”

  Randolph stared at the floor like a naughty child. “Yes, but because—”

  “The reasons why it was stolen and the reasons why the Sutherlands did not demand it back at the conclusion of the war mean nothing now,” Lord Sutherland said in his sternest tone, the one that all his children had learned to heed.

  Apparently Randolph recognized it as well. He hung his head farther and nodded. “That is true. King Charles I is long dead.”

  “As were those who rose against him. The past should be buried along with those who lived it.”

  Linnea grasped Nils’s arm as he flinched. She wanted to reassure him that Papa was not speaking of him, but how could she comfort him without revealing the truth?

  “And,” her father continued, “we should be thinking of the future. It seems right to me that in the future this knife should be where it belongs. There are ancient Sutherland family legends that speak of this blade being stolen from our family once before. Centuries ago. When the Vikings were prowling these shores, but apparently it was found again after the Conquest.” He looked at Nils. “I would like to speak to you and Dr. Foster about that, Barrington. You may be able to help me sort out the facts from the legend about the Viking chieftain who came here to attack, but fell in love with an Englishwoman and stayed.”

  “Yes...yes, I would be happy to,” Nils replied.

  Lord Sutherland put the knife beneath his coat. “I came to tell you that we are about to take our leave. Minnie is not feeling well.” A smile nearly exploded across his face. “I should let her share the happy news, but it seems she is going to have a baby. She needs to be resting quietly.”

  “We will be right there, Papa,” Linnea said.

  While Randolph trotted after her father like an eager puppy aiming to please, Linnea faced Nils. “Now you know why,” she said, “Minnie could not travel with us to London.”

  “This is the secret you were keeping?”

  “It might not have been a vow as grand as a blood-oath, but it mattered to me. I did what I vowed to do.”

  He stroked her cheek. “As I did what I vowed I would do. I saw the knife that my brother stole in jealousy returned to my chieftain.”

  “What?”

  “I told you that my chieftain was sometimes called Suthrland.”

  “I do not remember that.”

  “You may not remember because it was when you were trying to save my life, and I was making yours miserable.”

  “And succeeding very well.”

  His smile broadened. “My chieftain’s name was Suthrland, but it might have become Sutherland as the years unfolded. The names are almost the same, so, in playing a part in bringing the sax back into your father’s possession, I have returned the knife to the man who has the closest claim to my chieftain in this time.”

  “I do not understand. Papa said the knife was already returned to my family so many years ago.”

  “True, but then it was stolen again.”

  “By Randolph’s ancestor.”

  “By a Denner.” He rubbed his chin, then grinned when he realized he was copying Dr. Foster’s pensive pose. “Denner may very well be a name that came from the word ‘Dane,’ which was what the Norrfoolk often were called by the English during the reign of Ethelred. If his family line comes from a wayward Viking who remained here to escape the fury of his countrymen...”

  “You think one of Randolph’s ancestors was your brother?” she asked, guessing the course of his thoughts.

  He shrugged. “It is possible. Or even Kortsson’s son’s son, down through the centuries. I doubt if we will ever know for certain, but it would make sense that I was brought to this time rather than when the Normans came to claim the English throne. Then the knife was recovered, but it was destined to be taken again. Maybe by my brother’s seed. It was not until this time that the knife could be found by me and returned to my chieftain, once and for all, to serve my oath.”

  “So now you can go back to your own year.” Her eyes grew heavy with tears, and she did not wipe them away as they fell onto her cheeks. “Once I hoped your time here would be brief, Nils, but I wish you could stay.”

  “Linnea, I—” With a curse, he pushed her behind him as a flash of light filled the small room.

  The light glittered off the glass case and threatened to blind them as Nils had been at Sutherland Park. When Linnea tried to move, he kept himself between her and the glow that was ebbing to reveal a woman she had never seen before.

  “‘Tis Freya,” he whispered. “The light is coming from the splendid necklace about her neck. It is the Brisingamen, the necklace that she bedded four dwarfs to possess.”

  “Your quest is complete.” Freya held out her hand. “Your reward awaits you in Valhalla, Nils Bjornsson.”

  “No!” cried Linnea, for the goddess was speaking in English. To taunt her? Linnea did not care what Freya’s reasons were. Not when Fre
ya was offering to take Nils away to a place where Linnea would never see him again. “His reward for his fealty should not be death.”

  Freya’s lip curled in derision. “Be silent! You are not of the Norrfoolk. You may have some of their blood, but your thoughts are those of an Englishwoman. You do not understand the honor done to him in offering him this seat at the right hand of Odin.”

  Hearing Nils’s sharp intake of breath, Linnea bit her lip. She loved him. She had told him that she loved him, that she was willing to sacrifice herself to allow him to return to his time. How could she stand between him and this glory that he had aspired to from the moment he took his warrior’s oath?

  “Why do you say nothing, Nils Bjornsson?” asked Freya, her voice once more a satisfied purr. “She does not understand the honor awaiting you, but you do.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Linnea glanced at him again, tearing her eyes away from Freya’s unbelievable beauty. His voice was as unemotional as if he were speaking of the weather. Less, for he had exulted in the play of the wind around them, always aware of how a breeze could send his ship across the waves.

  “So come with me, Nils Bjornsson.” Again Freya offered her hand.

  “I asked you to send me your handmaiden to help me complete my quest, Freya.” He bowed deeply. “I thank you for heeding my plea. You have brought Linnea into my life, and I thank you for that as well.”

  “You thank the wrong one,” said a warm voice.

  Linnea stared as another form took shape beside Freya. This woman was tall and had thick blond hair. She wore a simple gown that was decorated with the complex pattern of embroidery that belonged to the Norrfoolk. At her waist were a set of iron keys hooked to a simple chain, but she wore a necklace even more glorious than the one Freya had.

  In amazement, Linnea realized she had seen this woman before...every time she climbed the stairs leading up from the front foyer of Sutherland Park. “You are the woman in the oldest portrait hanging in my father’s house!”