Down and Dirty

by Sandra Hill

  Rolf inhaled sharply. “Why would you do that?”

  She had not told Rolf she was increasing. She would have to soon. Being five months gone, she did not yet show much because of her height and size, unless she was naked, and she had not been naked in many a month. Not since…I must stop myself from dwelling on the past. ’Tis not healthy for me or the babe.

  “’Tis only fair that I share with Angelique. I owe her much.”

  In truth, marriage to Rolf might not be so bad. And speaking of fairness, she had not given him a chance. She leaned up and gave Rolf a gentle kiss, to test the waters, so to speak. Both of their lips were ice cold.

  Rolf was surprised, but not for long. He was a Viking, after all, and Viking men did not have to be invited twice. When she started to pull away, he yanked her into a tight embrace, taking command of the kiss, which was no longer gentle but devouring.

  Britta tried to be objective, which was telling in itself. It was not a bad kiss. His breath was sweet. Fresh-shaven, his skin smelled of hard soap and the outdoors.

  And she felt nothing.

  She was not repelled, but she was not aroused, either.

  Had Zachary ruined her for other men?

  That thought caused her blood to rise, and she shoved Rolf away gently. Truly, not only had Zachary got her with child, but now it appeared she would never find joy in the bedsport with another man.

  Rolf’s head was tilted to the side in question. “Come back to my bed furs with me, dearling, and we will warm each other up.” He was not being forceful in his request. More like inviting, as any virile man would do in the circumstances.

  Britta thought briefly of telling Rolf of her pregnancy to test how great his yearning was to wed with her, but, really, it made no difference. She would not have him in any case.

  She shook her head. “I am sorry, Rolf.”

  He was about to argue but then caught himself. Pride was great in Norsemen, and he was no different.

  She watched him go, then decided to walk down to the fjord. It was a clear day, and exercise was supposedly good for breeding women.

  Was it really only five months since she had last seen Zachary? Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Hah! A man as pretty as him would have women lining up to take her place. Not that she had had a place, precisely, other than as a bedmate.

  Aaarrgh! Always it comes back to Zachary. Placing both hands over her stomach, where even now a part of him grew, she wondered if motherhood would be enough. Well, it would have to be.

  A niggling thought tugged at her mind, though. Zachary had laughingly said that he had “wish-prayed” her to the future.

  Could I do the same?

  Nay, I could not risk the babe. Whether in the womb or already born, a human life would be in her hands. Whilst she could step freely into the magic of time travel herself—not that she had a clue how to do that—a child was frail and dependent on her. It was selfish of her to be unsatisfied with her lot. A small part of her wondered if mayhap sometime in the future, when her child was born, they might both travel to the future. But, nay, that was wishful thinking, and she must needs be practical, resigned to her fate.

  Tears filled her eyes, a common and vexing malady of her pregnancy, and she decided she’d best go back to the keep where cook would have a hearty broth prepared. Angelique, who loved Everstead already, was doing inventory of all the supplies for winter.

  And yet she lingered, miserable beyond bearing.

  Britta eased down to her knees and did pray then, whether to the One-God of the Christians or to the Norse gods, it mattered not. In truth, they were probably one and the same.

  “Please, God, help me. I know not what to do. A miracle, that is what need. Barring that, help me to be content with my lot.”

  She stood and, as if in a trance, began to walk closer to the water’s edge. In fact, she placed a booted foot into the icy water and shivered. What kind of lackwit put a booted foot into a winter fjord?

  But wait, it did not feel so cold. It was rather warm. And soothing. Without thought, Britta walked into the water, which first seeped over her ankles, then knees, then hips and bosom.

  Have I finally, truly gone barmy? Am I going to take my own life? The babe! Remember the babe. I must go back.

  A voice in her head whispered to her, You are taking your own life, yea, but into your own hands. Go home, Britta. Take the babe home with you.

  Where is home?

  You know, Britta, the voice said. You know.

  And she did.

  Standing stock-still, she was like a statue, unmoving, as a wave lapped up and covered her head. There were no waves in this fjord, or never had been before.

  Amazing!

  With a sigh, she sank into a deep, seagoing sleep.

  And that was that.

  God was calling her home.

  I see dead people…

  “I saw Britta today.”

  “What?” Zach slammed on the SUV’s brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. They were on their way to the grocery store, but that could wait. “That was not funny.”

  “I wasn’t jokin’. The school bus was goin’ down that road by the sea, and I saw this lady walk out of the water. She was soakin’ wet, an’ her hair looked like snakes, an’ she wore this long fur coat, and—”

  “Stop it, Sammy! Just stop it!”

  Sammy awakened from dreams at night on occasion, crying. Apparently, Britta was alive and well in those dreams and holding out her arms for him to come to her. But those were dreams. Was he now fantasizing in the daytime? That was not healthy. “Britta is gone.”

  Sammy ducked his head. “I know,” he said in a small voice.

  “Besides, no one could survive a dunking in the cold Bering Sea, even for a short period. It’s frigid.”

  “I know,” he repeated, “but it sure looked like her. Honest. She even had a frowny face on, like she did sometimes.”

  Zach shook his head but couldn’t suppress a grin. Britta with her frowny face. Yeah, Sammy had gotten that right.

  “Maybe it was just a walrus.”

  Yeah, right. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Can I have a dog?”

  The ice woman thaweth…

  For two days Britta lay shivering in a cot piled high with woolen blankets.

  At first she feared that the babe would die from the shock of the ice-cold near-drowning, and she believed she was back in the Everstead keep. But neither of them died. Nor was she at Everstead.

  Britta had walked out into the Norse fjord, but she came out of the Bering Sea in another part of the world, frozen nigh solid. Out of her mind with fever at first, she’d eventually discovered that she was in a land called Alaska, which was part of America.

  A wonderful couple had taken her into their home…Daryl and Dottie Woolever, lawyers here in Alaska. The young couple had even called a doctor to come care for her. To everyone’s surprise, she had not only survived her foolish dunking, but she had not even gotten hypo-therm-ia, a condition where body appendages often fell off. She was rather fond of her fingers and toes and especially her nose.

  Once the confusion of her fever wore off, Britta realized that she had time-traveled forward again and survived, along with her unborn child. And if she had her way, this time-travel business was ended for her, in either direction.

  The bad news was that she was cut off and isolated from anyone and anything that was familiar to her. Why she was sent here to Alaska, she had no idea, but then she had had no idea why she had been sent to Coronado, either. Mayhap Zachary was here, and he’d wish-prayed for her again.

  Almost immediately, she discarded that foolish notion. Already she had asked Daryl and Dottie to inquire if there was a Zachary Floyd or Sammy Floyd anywhere in the region. There was not. The only Sammy was a child named Sammy Smith, and his father’s name was Frank.

  “It’s Thanksgiving, Britta, we should celebrate,” Dottie said as the two of them set the dining table
.

  “I am thankful. I just wish I had been able to contact Zachary by now.”

  Daryl and Dottie had helped her dial Zachary’s telephone number, which she had remembered, thank the gods, but when she called, someone told her, “This number has been disconnected.” Her friends explained that it meant he had probably gotten a new number.

  Everyone else that Britta tried to call had unlisted numbers: Hilda, Madrene, the other SEALs.

  Daryl knew someone who knew someone at a telephone place, and they told him that there was no new number for Zachary, that he must have moved, whereas the other numbers were merely unlisted for privacy and safety concerns.

  So her only choice was to travel to California next week, with the aid of her new friends, and see in person what was happening. In the meantime, she was tired all the time, weepy, hungry, and ready to relieve her bladder every other moment.

  After a fabulous turkey feast, Britta needed a nap. She was still sleeping on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the solar when Dottie shook her shoulders gently. “Britta, it’s time to get up. We’re going to the dance.”

  Britta blinked to clear her head, then sat up, yawning widely. “Methinks I should stay here and tend the fire.”

  “Now, you promised,” Dottie cajoled.

  “Besides, I doubt anyone but you two would dance with me,” Daryl said.

  Britta smiled at the devilry in his dancing eyes. “I have naught to wear.”

  “Ta da!” Dottie tossed a pile of clothing at her. Another pair of Daryl’s den-ham braies, a white tea-ing shert, a flannel over-shert, thick wool hose, and a pair of Daryl’s boots. Daryl was her height and thin, whilst Dottie was short and well-curved. A pair of Dottie’s braies would come only to her calves.

  So it was that a resigned Britta went to her first-ever Thanksgiving dance in a barn. These Americans were very strange.

  Oooh, wait till I get my hands on you…

  Zach and Sammy had been at the Thanksgiving dance at the Grange hall for an hour, and he had to admit it was fun…the first time he’d smiled in what seemed like ages.

  Sammy was off chasing some of his friends, rather than dance to the country band playing what he called “dorky music.” Zach had been teaching Sammy how to dance the last few nights, and the two of them had laughed more than learned any new steps. Besides, Sammy said he wasn’t going to touch any stinky girls anyhow, not even their hands.

  Zach leaned against the wall and watched. There were at least two hundred people here, of all ages, and about half of them were out on the dance floor. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he saw Francine Doucet, Sammy’s schoolteacher. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  Okay. Zach had been a player for too long not to recognize the message given by her particular smile. In the old days, they would have called it a “come hither” smile. He called it a “come on over here, cowboy, and let’s rodeo” smile.

  He hesitated, then figured, “What the hell!” It was only a dance. He did in fact dance with her. Then he danced with her again, and again.

  Sammy came over to ask him if he could stay overnight with a friend. As he stood talking to the boy, his hand wrapped around Francine’s waist, tucking her into his side. It felt good to be with a woman again. And she got along well with Sammy. Not that he was planning anything…yet. He and Francine were both laughing at Sammy’s long-winded explanation for why he really, really needed a dog.

  In the midst of their laughter, he glanced across the room and saw a blonde woman dancing with a tall guy who had one arm around her waist, and her right hand held up to his chest in one of his hands. The woman matched the man in height, probably six feet tall. She was slim, but she filled out the tight jeans very well.

  Then she turned.

  And the blood drained from his skull.

  It was Britta.

  “Oh, my God!” He clutched Francine’s waist tighter.

  Francine asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry. I thought I just saw…”

  “…a ghost?” She laughed.

  “You could say that.” Zach’s heart was beating so fast he feared it might burst.

  Then the woman, who resembled Britta, but couldn’t possibly be Britta, noticed him, and she stopped dead in her dancing shoes…boots.

  He started to smile.

  She bared her teeth. And then she bolted.

  By the time Zach made his escape, rushing across the room and to the doorway, there was no one there. It couldn’t have been Britta. This woman had been pure Alaskan with her flannel shirt, heavy jeans, and boots. His eyes must have been playing games with him. Wishful thinking.

  But he had no heart for the dance, or Francine, anymore. After going in to give permission for Sammy to stay with his friend, and saying his good-byes to a clearly disappointed Francine, he left the hall and headed for home.

  He had thought before tonight that he was getting better, but he was right back to step one. He missed Britta so much he could almost cry.

  And, yeah, there were tears in his eyes.

  He almost hated her for how she’d ruined his life.

  Almost.

  Life does not always have happy endings…

  Britta was so miserable and angry that she could scarce keep her balance as she stomped along the icy road, heading toward the Woolever home.

  The lecherous, traitorous, slimy, fornicating maggot!

  Here she was getting bigger by the day with his child, and he had his paws all over that woman’s body. A painful thought occurred to her. Oh, my gods! Mayhap he has married the wench in the months since I have been gone. That hurt.

  Knuckling her eyes so that she could see better, she plodded on. She needed to get back to the Woolever home and make plans to leave as soon as possible. She could not stay within such close proximity to Zachary. She just could not.

  Her heart felt as if it were being crushed.

  It could have been someone else.

  Hah! It was him.

  Why would he leave the warm lands of California for this frigid place?

  Arsallah. He must be hiding from Sammy’s grandfather.

  He is not hiding that much, if he thinks naught of public displays of affection with a woman.

  The randy cur cannot help himself. He is a man, after all, a prisoner to his lustsome inclinations.

  I wonder if he gives her multiple orgasms.

  Of course he does.

  More tears flowed from her eyes. She had never been a weepy woman afore. It must be the pregnancy.

  Which prompted her to reach inside her fur-lined cape and cradle her small belly. It is just you and me now, baby. We must needs find a place in this new world.

  Mayhap I can go to Hilda and ask her for help.

  Nay, she would tell Zachary, and then he would feel obligated to come to me.

  Not if he is married to another woman.

  The headlights from a car came at her from behind, and she stepped farther off the road’s edge to give it room. After it passed, she continued her walk.

  Once she was calmer, Britta had to admit that she wanted to be here in the future, even if it was alone, without Zachary. She fingered the amber pendant hanging from her neck…one of the few pieces of her mother’s jewelry that had been left at Everstead. Mayhap it could be exchanged for coin so that she could set up a home for her and the child. Far from Alaska.

  Her heart was breaking, but that would pass, she promised herself. She was not about to sip the bane drink over the worthless whoreson. She had a child to think of. Enough!

  Yea, that was what she would do. No pining after the clodpole. No contacting Hilda or Madrene…leastways not till after the babe was born. She was proud, and she was strong. She would survive.

  A new chapter in her ever-chaotic life!

  There are the bonds of love, and then there is BONDAGE…

  Zach was halfway home when he passed the figure walking alongside the road. He should probably stop and offer a lift, but
he was in no mood for company.

  He had driven a mile farther when an unbelievable thought entered his mind. It was crazy. He was crazy. But still he turned his SUV around and headed back.

  Yep, there was the person still walking along the berm of the road. Which was nuts with the slippery ice. But then, in the clearer focus of his headlights, he saw that it was a tall figure wearing a long black cloak with a hood, which seemed to be lined with fur. An odd garment, even for Alaska.

  Holy crap, it was a woman, he realized, when a long strand of hair blew out of her hood. Blonde hair.

  What did Sammy say about a woman in a long fur coat?

  He felt almost light-headed as he drove a few yards past the woman, turned around, then came up alongside her. It was impossible to see exactly who it was. But his body was on red alert, and it had never let him down before.

  The woman refused to even glance his way or slow down.

  He pulled over to the side of the road and got out. Quickly he caught up with her.

  “Britta!”

  The woman didn’t even look at him but snarled, “Begone!”

  Oh, my God! Oh, my God! It is Britta. The how and why of it didn’t matter right now; he just knew that all his prayers had been answered. She was back.

  “Britta, honey, you’re back. Thank God, you’re back.”

  She muttered something that sounded like, “Slimy maggot.”

  “Britta, stop, you’re giving me a stitch in my side.”

  “I’d like to give you something, but it’s not a stitch.”

  “What’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me?” He was in front of her now, walking backward as he tried to see her face.

  She refused to answer him.

  “I have missed you so much.”

  Still no response.

  Finally, he caught her by the upper arms and made her look at him.

  She was crying. For chrissake, she was out-and-out crying.

  He didn’t even ask her what was wrong; he just pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly, not loosening his hold, no matter how hard she squirmed. But then she wasn’t squirming anymore. But he was still holding her.

  Leaning back to look at her, he said, “You’re back.”

  “Smart-brained, as always.”