She gripped the prow as an unexpected rush of lust tore through her and breathing once more increased. Christ, this was about the last place she should be having erotic thoughts. But she was. And they were far more intense than any before. Megan slowly traveled down the long length of the prow. Thoughts of what she’d read in the manuscript surfaced as readily as bubbles from her oxygen tank.
Naðr had dragon blood in him.
He could shift into a dragon.
History told that the dragon or serpent head on the prow was typically detachable. Superstitious, Vikings believed that the head would frighten away sea monsters. They’d then remove the head when approaching land so they didn’t scare off friendly spirits.
But not this ship.
Wherever it went, so too did its dragon.
Megan stopped, ran her hand along the dragon-prow neck, closed her eyes and drifted down. There was no such thing as dragons. That part of Naðr was purely fictional. The stone nestled between her breasts, that was real…and somehow most definitely part of him.
When her feet at last hit the ship’s floor, she opened her eyes. It was as impressive if not more so from this angle. Megan tilted back her head and looked up at the mast and what looked to be about thirty-eight hundred square feet of sail. God, what had this looked like above water as it crested waves with the sun bursting over it?
She sunk until she sat at the prow’s base and simply stared in awe. How many men had oared this ship? Better yet, how many knots did she travel with the right wind? Yet even as Megan stared, the white light faded away. She shook her head but remained calm. To see the ship in its entirety in this darkness shouldn’t have been possible to begin with.
Flipping the dive light into her face, she briefly focused on its glow before looking away. She knew damn well that if a ship sunk to this depth it would more than likely land on its side not belly up as though intent to keep on sailing. Though entirely mesmerized by the ship she was beginning to comprehend its very absurdity.
Megan took a deep breath. It was time to surface and clear her head. Would she tell them about this ship? Not if they didn’t mention it. But her tank was getting low and it was time to go. She set her hand down to push off but met with something that rolled away from her. Curious, she angled her light down.
It was a metal cylinder.
About the circumference of her arm and maybe a foot long, it was, like the ship, covered in Nordic symbols. Megan picked it up and studied both ends. It was tightly sealed and obviously encased something. Well then, this would be her treasure this time down.
The ship?
Her secret until she found out exactly how much Nathan knew.
Tucking the cylinder under her arm, Megan launched upwards into the darkness. Though it hurt to leave such a ship behind, she was eager to see what she carried. She didn’t know how she knew, but there was something very important in this. Yet even as she worked toward the surface a part of her speculated it was likely a log kept by the modern day sailors who’d lost this vessel to the sea.
But what if it was something more?
What if it had to do with her Viking king?
Megan stopped swimming for a second and drifted in the sunlit waters beneath the surface. When had she started thinking of Naðr Véurr as her Viking king? She swallowed and looked down into the darkness and the peace that it had offered. No, Megan, there was no Viking king down there…she looked up…nor there. She clenched the metal tube tighter as she surfaced the water. This was hers and nobody would look inside it before her. Intent to say as much when she boarded the yacht, Megan tore off her mask and gulped fresh air as she looked at the boat.
Or not.
Treading water, she turned a few times. Where was Nathan’s yacht? Better yet…why was there a mountainous shoreline? She licked her lips. When a splash resounded behind her, she turned. Guardian? Crap! Her dog was swimming toward her. What was going on? Where was the boat and why was Guardian out here with her?
Happy face intact, Guardian swam to her, but Megan navigated her in circles around her. Hell. They were way too far offshore and a dog, never mind a human, had only so much strength to stay afloat in waters that were slightly colder than what they’d been before. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’d somehow managed to tear her wetsuit. But she couldn’t worry about that right now.
Megan stopped over thinking and went into survival mode for them both. She lost the oxygen tank as well as all extra gear, kept the wet suit and swam fast, saying, “Come on my wolfy girl, let’s race!”
Whenever she used the command word ‘wolfy,’ Guardian knew it was genuine competition time. ‘Wolfy’ was her go word. It meant act fast and think twice as fast. It meant listen. So when Megan started swimming not recreationally but professionally, counting between breaths, Guardian would smooth sail too. She even tossed aside the cylinder. It would only slow her down. They were out way too far in waters that would cripple a dog fast and swimming swiftly might be her dog’s only hope. Good thing Guardian was her world beyond boat building and she’d trained her well or they both might be screwed right now.
Guardian could have outpaced her quickly but kept with her. She could have, should have, left Megan behind but she wouldn’t. And that made Megan swim all that much harder. She’d be damned if her dog died trying to save her. But it wouldn’t go that way. If Guardian sank, so would she.
Megan tuned out the fact her surroundings made no sense and swam for Guardian’s life.
They were only a few hundred feet out when her dog’s pace changed and she slowed, nose just above the heavier swell of waves as they drew closer to the shore. So Megan started the pep talk first. “Let’s go girl. You can do it!”
Every muscle in her body burned at this point so she could only imagine what her dog was feeling. When Guardian slowed more and more, her desperate eyes on Megan, she paced alongside, command sharper. “Come on, wolfy girl. Let’s go!”
Guardian got a little extra pep, but it didn’t last long. The waves were getting rougher and rougher to handle especially since they were already exhausted.
It was best for them both that she remain stern and keep swimming. Be a good trainer…and friend. So Megan kept going. “Now or never, wolfy girl. Let’s do this!”
This seemed to give Guardian renewed strength.
Until it didn’t.
When she looked back, her dog was plunking her paws down in the waves, desperate to keep up, wild eyes locked on Megan before a big wave caught her and pulled her under. The moment she saw her dog go down everything went numb.
Hell no.
She wouldn’t leave her behind.
The tear in her wetsuit had grown. Now it was a hindrance that would likely slow her down beneath the water. Though hard as heck, she managed to get out of the thing faster than most. With limited time before hypothermia set in, she dove.
Arms and legs pumping hard, she pushed down into the murky depths of the wave-churned water. The sea was getting far rougher. Still, she kicked hard and ignored the sting in her eyes as she searched for Guardian. She had to be here somewhere.
Yet the more she tried to swim, the more the waves tumbled her.
She was going to lose her dog.
But there was no way Megan would surface until she had her. So she searched and searched, desperate. Even when her lungs burned and her vision started to dim, she searched. But there was no sign of her and the panic she refused to acknowledge was surfacing.
Suddenly, an arm grabbed her around the waist and started pulling her. Megan tried to flail against whoever held her, but she’d grown too weak. By the time she was dragged onto the shore, she had no fight left in her and flopped down on the grainy dirt. Sea water stung her eyes so badly the world was a blur.
“I’m coming lass,” a man’s voice said as it grew further away, as if heading back toward the ocean.
Lass? Megan coughed out some water and rubbed the water from her eyes as she struggled to sit. Her words were a
weak croak. “My dog. Please.”
The world swayed and tilted but slowly righted itself as a woman’s voice came closer. “I’ve got the wolf.”
Wolf? A surge of hope shot through her as Megan’s vision cleared. Guardian!
“Thank you,” she said hoarsely as Guardian was set down beside her. Though clearly weakened and bedraggled, her dog was breathing. She stroked her fur and whispered reassurances in her ear.
Megan was about to thank whoever had saved them, but the words died on her lips. Was there some sort of medieval costume fair going on in the area? There had to be. With pale blond hair sporting numerous small braids, the woman wore a long linen dress ripped off at the knees. She suspected it was done to make swimming easier. And while she knew the woman’s clothing wasn’t right, it was the man’s appearance that had her completely confused.
Bare-chested, he wore nothing but…a kilt?
Clearly seeing her confusion, he crouched and nodded. “I’m Valan.” Then he gestured toward the woman. “That’s Meyla. She saved your wolf.” Then he nodded at Guardian. “She’s tired now but do we need to worry about her attacking once she gains strength?”
Megan shook her head and had to listen closely to understand because his brogue was so thick. Was there a Scottish festival in the area then? No. She would have heard about it. Regardless, she was grateful if nothing else so she looked at Meyla. “Thank you so much.” Then her eyes returned to Valan with his dark hair and notably good looks. “And thank you for saving my life.”
They nodded and Meyla wrapped a fur over her shoulders. Beyond numb and more worried about Guardian than anything else, she’d forgotten she wore nothing but a one piece black bathing suit. A moment of panic went through her. The stone. She pressed her hand against her chest. Phew. It was still there.
She was about to thank Meyla for the fur when her eyes were ensnared by the horizon.
Better yet, what was on the horizon.
A ship.
But not just any ship. She rubbed her eyes and blinked several times. She had to be seeing things. Because what was sailing inland was truly impossible, truly baffling…
The same monstrous Viking longship she’d just left behind at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Valan’s eyes turned to the ocean. “Och, he’s back.”
“What the hell’s going on,” Megan said, so confused she could barely think straight. “I just saw…I mean…on the seafloor…how is that ship…”
“Enough.” Meyla’s tone changed entirely from moments before. “We need to get back. Father will be expecting me.”
Huh? Father will be expecting her? That ship must have been another built alongside the first. And she must have drifted a ways north in Maine to a more mountainous area. But even Megan knew that nothing along Maine’s coast looked like what she’d witnessed when she first surfaced from the ocean. She grew more and more stunned as she tried to make sense of everything.
Maybe she was in some sort of shock induced coma.
Maybe she’d died beneath the water and this came after death.
But none of it really mattered in the least when Valan muttered his next words…
“Aye, Meyla, we must get back. After all, King Naðr Véurr has returned.”
Chapter Four
Scandinavia
877 A.D.
“Naðr Véurr,” she whispered, heart thundering in her chest as she gazed at the ship angling in toward the shore. “Impossible.”
But had she not just met a woman named Meyla? A woman’s name that had, in fact, been mentioned in the manuscript as being the Viking king’s daughter? Megan tried her best not to hyperventilate.
“She sounds like your futuristic friends from Scotland,” Meyla said to Valan as she helped Megan stand.
“Aye,” Valan said, but his scowling expression remained locked on the ship.
Right. Scotland. The main setting for the manuscript. This was getting crazier by the moment, but she made no mention of it. Besides, she didn’t recall coming across the name Valan. But then again, pages were missing from the book.
Megan did her best to stand though her legs shook. While her muscle weakness was assuredly from her strenuous swim, she knew it had every bit as much to do with information overload and downright disbelief.
“I need answers,” she said, voice as firm as she could manage. “Now.”
Meyla cocked a brow at her as she wrapped a fur over her shoulders. “You think to demand answers?”
Megan squared off with the other woman. Well, really more of a teenager. Eighteen or nineteen max based on her appearance.
Yes, Megan was frightened but it wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way. Too many times she’d gone up against powerful people in order to get what she wanted. The only difference now was that she didn’t have the facts to make any sort of assessment let alone argument.
Somehow she’d gone adrift and wasn’t where she belonged, so needed answers. Yet she wasn’t about being overly confrontational without explaining her circumstances. “I went on a diving expedition off the coast of Winter Harbor earlier today. When I surfaced, I was here which is obviously not where I started. I need to know where in Maine I am…please.”
Meyla’s eyes had narrowed more and more as Megan spoke. When her answer came, it was almost condescending. “Do you not know then that you’ve traveled through time?”
Megan opened her mouth to speak then snapped it shut. What?
“We need to go,” Valan said. “We’ll work this out back at the fortress, aye?”
Megan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fortress?” But then again, she was watching a Viking longship cruise ever closer. So whatever sort of dream she was having remained consistent…save a Scotsman being here. But that was the least of her concerns.
Meyla eyed Megan for another long moment before she started walking with Valan. “Keep your wolf well tamed or her fur will be put to good use.”
Megan stared after them as they strode along the shore. Maybe she’d gone about asking for information wrongly because clearly none would be offered. Or at least she thought as much until Valan stopped at a small rocky outcrop and pulled something from a satchel. He held out a pair of odd looking leather shoes. “Put these on. When we get to the village dinnae make any eye contact and keep your cloak closed or ye’ll end up on your back with your legs spread.”
Again she was speechless. Was he serious?
Meyla’s blue eyes met hers, grim expression unwavering. “I’ll give you honesty. Make of it what you will because I’ve no further time to explain right now. This isn’t the first time Valan and I have dealt with your sort so I can tell you with certainty that you’ve traveled back in time. You’re in ninth century Scandinavia.”
Meyla paused and eyed Megan before continuing. “My guess is things are vastly different here than where you come from but only one bit of knowledge is important for you to remember. My father, Naðr Véurr, is king of this region and he’s been in a foul mood lately. Or at least he was before setting sail two fortnights ago. So though you are with me do your best to fade into the background.” Then her eyes again flickered up and down Megan. “Though it’ll likely be impossible with your appearance.”
Megan imagined quite a few expressions crossed her face at that moment. Was this girl serious? But she wasn’t about being passive and sitting back in the face of change so said, “Let me again say how grateful I am that you saved my dog. That said, are you out of your ever-loving mind? Number one, don’t ever threaten my dog again. Number two, you both have taken this reenactment too far. Number three, which sort of makes your reenactment fairly obvious…you’re speaking English. If you were from ninth century Scandinavia, you’d speak Norse, would you not?”
“Again, I don’t have time to explain this to her.” Meyla started striding along the shore again, words thrown into the wind. “We’re not speaking the same language. I’d guess we understand one another because of the stone in your cleavage.”
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Megan stopped, stunned as the two continued walking. There was no doubt that Valan had pulled her from the ocean and seeing the stone through her suit was possible. But how did Meyla know that? When Guardian whined, she ruffled her head and said softly, “It’s okay, girl. At least as okay as it’s going to get for now.”
One thing was certain, she could stand out here dressed as she was on a shore so completely unfamiliar or she could follow these strangers. Never a fool, Megan slid on the shoes, wrapped the cloak tighter around her and started walking. Though she tried to analyze the towering mountains and thick spruce forest to her left, her eyes were almost magnetically drawn to the ship drawing closer and closer on her right.
When the sun moved in and out of fast moving clouds, it rippled shadows across the sea, tossing the ship in and out of light. As sea salt and wind brushed her cheeks, so too did it push the big square sail billowing over the ship. It was as mesmerizing as she imagined it. The idea that Naðr actually captained such a sight made her steps grow heavier and her mouth turn dry.
What if she had somehow traveled back in time?
Honestly, how else could she explain this?
But Megan tried to deal in logic before all else so tore her gaze from the ship and kept her eyes on her surroundings. Good thing because they’d just rounded the bend and what appeared before her made Megan stop short and gasp. Good sized and sweeping, a bay was back-dropped by sharp mountains steeped in white clouds and what was most definitely a Viking ring fortress with ramparts, otherwise known as Trelleborgs.
At least ten long docks stretched out beside large boathouses. A sizeable fleet of ships was already at port including numerous broader based Knarrs, or ocean-going cargo vessels. Floating alongside were Byrding ships, those designed for lighter cargo. Then there were three types of longships including Snekkes, Drekkars, and Skeids that ranged in size from seventy to ninety feet long each. Then, of course, there were docks upon docks of smaller boats meant for everyday life, mainly fishing.
Megan had never seen such an astounding display of historical ships so sunk to her haunches and stared. Guardian sat next to her and waited patiently. She patted her dog’s head absently, dumbfounded. “I know this’ll sound cliché but I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto. If anything, with Viking ships like this, we’ve been dropped into my idea of Heaven.”
Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1) Page 5
