Petrie stared at the young woman, doing a fantastic impression of a fish as he opened and closed his mouth.
“Some Viking chieftain,” Sean remarked loudly, and the spell was broken.
“Regardless of the fact this is a woman, it still proves the elixir has worked!” Petrie declared, but the audience had seen too much.
“Put it out of its misery,” an older gentleman declared. Bobbie’s eyes widened with horror. The men of the Royal Society were talking as though the resurrected woman wasn’t human, when she so clearly was. All she needed was a hairbrush, a bath, and a nice gown, and Bobbie thought the woman might be quite pretty. And there was no sign she was miserable about anything other than waking up dead on a table in the middle of a theatre.
“Ugh, it’s grotesque!” another man jeered. Bobbie pressed her lips together and tried not to start an argument. Her rational side told her she needed to stay calm and see how this played out.
“I shall, indeed, return it to its death,” Petrie announced. He took out a rag and a bottle of chloroform, and the woman on the table must have sensed his malicious intent, for she got to her feet and lifted the table easily, then hit Petrie with it, all the while making the most animalistic noises. Petrie fell to the floor, dazed.
The people in the audience panicked. Most of them fell over themselves trying to get out of the auditorium, but a couple of braver chaps decided to try to subdue the woman. Bobbie decided she’d had enough.
She strode into the fray shooing the men who were trying to converge on the terrified woman, and when the woman growled at her, she took off her coat and held it out for her. For a split second, the woman stared at it, and Bobbie thought she might be about to attack again, but instead, she took the coat and put it on. The men hung back, uncertain of what to do, but then they rallied.
“She needs to be put out of her misery,” one of them declared. At that, Bobbie gave up trying to stay silent.
“Don’t you think she’d stop being miserable if you all stopped trying to kill her?” Bobbie snapped with all the force of her most headmistress-y voice. Then, Petrie pulled out a gun.
Bobbie blanched inside, but she steeled herself and stepped in front of the young woman, slowly reaching for her own weapon, and soon Bobbie and Petrie were in a standoff.
“Move aside, Roberta,” Petrie snarled. “I need to clean up my mess.”
“Go and whistle up a rope!” Bobbie retorted. “You’re bested and you know it.”
“What are you going to do with her? Return her to the fjords of Sweden?”
“I’m sure you’ll find out when you follow me on my next excursion and steal my finds once more,” Bobbie snapped.
“That’s a very grave accusation,” an elderly man, apparently oblivious to guns and resurrected Viking women, spoke with a voice like yellowed paper.
“But murdering a young woman is perfectly fine? Oh, you are all an utter disgrace,” Bobbie snapped. She wondered why she had spent so many years trying so hard to satisfy the entry requirements to become a member of the Society. Perhaps being ostracized from the upper echelons of antiquarianism was a mercy. If everyone was this cold and unfeeling, and so completely disinterested in the wellbeing of other people, Bobbie thought the lot of them were fit for kindling.
Before anything could happen, Sean stole up behind Petrie, picked up the drinking stein, and hit him on the head with it, hard. Petrie slumped over. Bobbie tried not to giggle. Instead, she pointed her gun at the other men trying to interfere. She was glad she wasn’t alone, here; not because she couldn’t handle this situation, but rather because it was refreshing to have someone on her side against London’s academics for a change. Not that she had ever anticipated a literal fight with the country’s leading scholars, when she had envisioned this evening.
“You will all allow us to leave the building with the young woman. She’s alive, now, regardless of what she was before, and I expect her to stay that way, or I’ll find each of you in the night and do terrible things to you. You all know the rumours about old girls from my school,” Bobbie warned. She knew that the older men of the Society still thought of women her age as girls, and many of them were deathly wary of children.
The assembled men backed off, and Sean joined her. Bobbie’s heart was full as she shot him a smile. In her peripheral vision, Bobbie watched Stuart approach the young woman and put an arm around her.
“Roberta Huntingdon-Smythe, you are now persona non grata at the Royal Society. You will never be a member,” an elderly man declared, as she turned to leave. Even one day ago, his words would have destroyed her, and made her doubt everything she held dear to her. But not now. She could see them all for what they truly were, and she didn’t want to be within a mile of them.
“Well, if all the events are as dull and self-serving as this one, I’m jolly glad. You’re all crashing bores.” Bobbie, Sean, Stuart, and the confused Viking all left through the stage door, and Sean swiftly summoned a taxi, which they piled into.
“King’s Cross, please,” Stuart said, then turned apologetically to the others. “It seems like the best starting point.”
“The peelers will be looking for us, soon,” Sean muttered. “What on Earth can we do with her?”
Bobbie was vexed. She didn’t want the poor Viking woman to get arrested when she hadn’t done anything wrong. If they could only get out of the city with her, they could probably hide her somewhere until the nine-day wonder was over. In time, people would start making the myriad excuses about what had really happened this evening, until no one believed this had ever taken place. But in the meantime, what was the best course of action?
Bobbie shook her head. “I don’t know. Here, let me try to talk to her.”
Bobbie turned to the young woman and spoke in Old Norse. “My name is Bobbie. What’s yours?”
“Freya,” she replied.
“What’s the last thing you remember, before being here?” Bobbie asked.
“I’d been wedded to the chieftain Ralagok, but then he died at the feast on our wedding night, so they put me in the cave with him.”
Bobbie thought it was curious that he hadn’t had a funeral pyre, but this wasn’t the time to bring it up.
“How old are you?” Bobbie asked.
“Eighteen,” Freya replied. “I was chosen to be his wife because his last one died in childbirth and I have good hips.”
“That sounds about right for men. Do you know where you are?” Bobbie asked.
Freya shook her head. “Is it some sort of afterlife?”
Bobbie wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s a different world to the one you are from. You’ve been asleep for over a thousand years.”
“What are they saying?” Sean asked.
“Beats me. I hope they’re not conspiring to overthrow mankind,” Stuart chuckled. Bobbie rolled her eyes and was about to playfully punch Stuart, but she stopped abruptly when she caught a sharp look from Sean. He was right, she decided. This wasn’t the time to fight, even in jest.
“Now, if we were going to do that, surely we’d wait until we had arrived at wherever we are going,” Bobbie interjected, switching back to English. “Her name’s Freya. She’s eighteen. The poor thing has had a thoroughly miserable time, even before Petrie brought her back. What can we do with her?”
Stuart glanced furtively at the taxi driver, who wasn’t paying them any attention, which probably meant he was hanging onto their every word. “I know where we can take her. Do you both trust me?”
Bobbie explained to Freya in Old Norse that they were going to get her somewhere safe, where men wouldn’t be trying to kill her. For the first time since Petrie had resurrected her, the girl smiled. Bobbie sincerely hoped they could get her out of London before the police tried to intervene. If nothing else, the girl deserved a long, hot bath after her ordeal, and she almost certainly wouldn’t get one before being dragged in front of a magistrate.
* * *
The taxi pulled up at Ki
ng’s Cross station and Sean was amazed by the way Bobbie had handled the whole situation. He’d known, of course, that she was good in a crisis in the field, when it was a race against time to put the seven-headed snake back where it belonged, but now, watching her take care of the young Viking woman, he was able to see Bobbie’s compassion.
From the tone of her voice and the way she looked at the other woman, it was clear that Bobbie wasn’t talking down to the young woman, as the men at the Royal Society had, or treating her like some sort of terrifying abomination, which most people would have done. She spoke to her like they were equals, and when Freya’s voice became agitated, Bobbie spoke in soothing tones that calmed her down.
When the police stopped them on the pavement before the entrance to the station, Sean was sure they were done for, but Bobbie calmly strode toward the lead officer as though she did this every day.
“Madam, we have reports of…” the officer paused and frowned, clearly not wanting to repeat what he’d heard, “…of a woman matching this girl’s description, coming back from the dead.”
“Is that a crime?” Bobbie asked calmly.
“Well… no. But she was nude in public…”
“The Royal Society is hardly a public place, Officer. And anyway, reports of her being brought back from the dead are utterly ludicrous. Did you ever hear of such a thing? Does she look like she’s been recently deceased?”
“No, she certainly appears to be alive, madam, but…”
The policeman didn’t stand a chance, and Sean was highly amused as he watched Bobbie talk the poor chap around in circles using logic and received pronunciation.
“Officer, do I need to remind you that it is Boat Race day? My poor Scandinavian friend has been the victim of a very cruel practical joke played upon her by William Petrie. I might add that he did declare his intent to murder her before a packed auditorium of several hundred Royal Society members. I and my friends here managed to intervene and are in the process of taking her back to my family home.”
“Attempted murder, you say? We’d best take a statement…” The sergeant went from about to arrest Freya for something he wasn’t sure was a crime, to having solid evidence that he could arrest someone else for something that was definitely a crime, and Sean watched his demeanour change as the man of the law found himself in more certain territory. Attempted murder was most definitely against the law, and all those witnesses would attest to the fact Petrie had said it. Sean wondered if this would stick, but even if not, the scandal of being arrested for such a thing would haunt Petrie for a long time to come.
He shook his head in wonder as Bobbie told the precise and exact truth in a way that cleared up any doubt about who had done what to whom. By the end of the conversation, the police officers were headed for a police box so they could telegraph the station nearest to the Royal Society to apprehend Petrie.
Bobbie took Freya by the arm and they chattered away in Old Norse while Sean and Stuart followed.
“She’s really something, aye?” Stuart nodded at the women.
Sean smiled. “Indeed. She’s truly one of a kind.” He couldn’t believe he’d been about to let her go back to her life without telling her how he felt about her. At the time, he’d thought it was best to let her find someone better matched to her in financial and social standing, but now, having seen her interacting with the men of her own station, he knew she would never be happy with one of them.
They reached the departures board and Sean cursed. “We’ve missed the last train back to Brecon.”
“But conversely, the sleeper to Fort William hasn’t departed, yet,” Stuart observed. “If Freya would be amenable, I think it would be better all-round if she stayed at my estate in the Highlands. My parents are far too infirm to notice a Viking woman about the place.”
Bobbie nodded. “I agree, although won’t you have difficulty with the language?”
“She can learn English. She’ll need to, if she’s sticking around. Do we know when that resurrection stuff wears off?” Stuart asked.
“No idea. I’ll do some research and find out, but it’s probably worth assuming that she’s here to stay, unless we find out otherwise.” Bobbie’s words made sense, and once more Sean was amazed by how quickly she was able to puzzle through this situation.
More than anything, he wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with her. As they bought tickets, then piled onto the Caledonian Sleeper to Fort William, Sean decided he was going to propose to Bobbie just as soon as he had a moment alone with her. He could clear it with her parents later. While he didn’t want to disrespect her family, he knew that if Bobbie wanted to marry him, she would find a way around them.
Chapter Seven
When Sean had proposed on the way back to Brecon, after they’d helped Freya settle in with Stuart at his vast country estate in the north of Scotland, Bobbie had been surprised, but she had said yes straight away. Now, however, all sorts of uncertainties were popping up, and she didn’t know how she felt about it all.
Bobbie didn’t want to be apart from Sean for even a moment; they’d shared so much together, but she knew the life of a pampered wife wasn’t for her. She had seen enough of her friends getting married to be well aware of how it happened: A chap inevitably fell in love with a young lady for her vivacity and wilder qualities, then he married her, took her to his home, and suddenly it was five years later, she had at least one child hanging onto her skirts, and the last time the poor woman left the house was to go to an aunt’s funeral. Bobbie shuddered. No, that life wasn’t for her. She wanted to continue adventuring for years to come.
Over the next few weeks, Bobbie’s parents made all the cloying, pedantic arrangements for a society wedding. They had agreed to the match readily, despite Sean’s difference in income. Suddenly, Bobbie was surrounded by relatives and attendants who expected her to not only understand which flowers were appropriate for a wedding, but to have formed an opinion regarding which, of that narrow selection, she would prefer.
After the third discussion that day about bunting, during which Bobbie’s mother and Adeline Wolstanton’s mother almost came to blows over the telephone, Bobbie slipped out to the potting shed and tried to breathe carefully.
“Shortage of air in the main house, aye?” Sean’s cheerful Scottish voice made Bobbie’s heart leap. She turned and beamed.
“When did you get here?” Her eyes drank in the handsome Scotsman.
“First train, so, barely an hour ago.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to come until the night before? Not that I’m complaining, mind.” She wanted to take his clothes off and make love to him right here, but the prospect of being caught by Grimes, the gardener was unsavoury to say the least.
“Aye, well, I had this feeling that if I left it until then, I might be minus one bride-to-be.”
Bobbie flushed a furious red as she realized he knew her better than she knew herself. She nodded. “I had half a thought to hop it to Zanzibar until the fuss blew over.”
“I thought as much. Although, the Seychelles would be a better choice.” Sean stepped closer and Bobbie inhaled his masculine scent.
“But fewer ships travel that way,” Bobbie countered, leaning in. All of a sudden, Sean grabbed the back of her hair and his fingers tightened amongst the strands, controlling her head. He drew her face to his and nibbled her lower lip with his teeth, making her gasp, before he kissed her, teasing her mouth with his tongue.
When he broke away, she gasped for air.
“I think we dinnae need all these frifferies, like bunting and a hundred doves. Let’s just head up to Scotland, to my local church, and get married in a simple ceremony.”
Bobbie frowned and shook her head. “Elope? Oh, I couldn’t possibly. It would be like stealing my mother’s only moment of happiness across my entire adult life; the only time my family will ever approve of anything I do.”
“Ye can still invite them… but I think the distance and the
short notice will put paid to all their scheming to make you complicit in covering their dining chairs in various styles of fabric in the name of matrimony.”
Sean was, once again, speaking a lot of sense. And if Bobbie even heard the words ‘seat covers’ again that day, she thought she might tear her hair out. She nodded and grinned.
“Do you really think we can get away unnoticed?”
“Aye, it’ll only take us a wee minute.”
When they were in a car and speeding toward the train station, Bobbie frowned and turned to Sean. “I thought you were supposed to stop me from doing anything my parents didn’t like. What changed?”
“Nay, lass, I never wanted that. My job has always been to protect you. And it will continue once we’re married. On this occasion, I decided that protecting you included keeping you safe from being suffocated by your family’s marriage plans.”
Bobbie giggled as she realized the full extent of what Sean was saying.
They reached the train station and disembarked. Sean paid the driver then they queued for tickets.
“I say, you’re not stealing me away to Gretna Green, are you?” Bobbie asked. Sean guffawed loudly at the mention of the town renowned for its eloping couples.
“Not a chance, lassie. We’ll have a respectable pairing in Rosslyn Chapel, and then we can go back to the house I bought a few years back. I haven’t seen the inside of it very much since I’ve been protecting you, so I wonder if my servants will still recognize me!”
Bobbie squealed with delight at the mention of her favourite church in Scotland. Getting married in a place with so much history and such intricate decoration seemed about as unlikely as taking up residence amongst the clouds. She barely believed Sean had organized it.
Protected by the Scotsman (Stern Scotsmen Book 2) Page 10
