VANQUISHING A VIKING
by Nancy Dillman
A Time Portal Romance
The distinction between past, present and future
is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.
---Albert Einstein
Copyright © 2013 by Nancy Dillman
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are created from the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material
My deep gratitude goes to my husband, Helfried. Without your support, I'd never have put fingers to keyboard. Many thanks also to Amy, Claire and Bon for being great beta readers and for your love and encouragement. Special thanks also to Bobbi, Linda and Jena for making me a better writer.
The author wishes to acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners for the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
The Twilight Zone - CBS Broadcasting, Inc.
Nair - Dwight & Church Co., Inc.
Tootsie Roll Pop - Tootsie Roll Industries, LLC
Tinker Bell - Disney Enterprises, Inc.
Velcro - Velcro Industries, B.V.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
VANQUISHING A VIKING
CHAPTER 1
North of Túnsberg, Norway, 1025 A.D.
Thwack! Stein Magnuson slammed his axe into the soft flesh of the towering pine, inflicting a mortal blow.
Killing trees was easy. Not killing his father was hard.
Pain shot up his right arm, stabbing the freshly healed battle wound in his shoulder like a finely edged dagger. He grimaced. The agony would pass. It was the white-hot anger searing his soul that would last a lifetime.
He held his breath and waited for the tell-tale snap that signaled the tree’s surrender. Crack! Groaning like a wounded animal, it toppled over in slow motion and smashed to the ground with a heavy thud, shaking the earth and scattering needles, dirt and branches. The blended scent of pine and raw wood, the tree’s last breath, invaded his nostrils.
A movement to his right caught his attention. Emerging from the gloomy forest was his half-brother, Erik, his axe slung over his shoulder. His awkward gait was more exaggerated than usual.
Damn Magnus! His father had punished Erik too harshly when he was barely out of breech cloths, leaving him with a deformed limb and ill-equipped to face their unforgiving way of life.
Stein shouldered his axe. “Are you finished for the day, brother?”
The corners of Erik’s blue eyes crinkled as his face cracked into a broad smile. “Yes, I’m sick and tired of chopping down trees. I also need to give my leg a rest,” he said, hobbling toward his brother. “Karl and his son can bring a wagon tomorrow to load up what we’ve cut.”
“Tell him to bring along a slave,” Stein said, angling his head toward the towering pyramid of logs sitting next to a jumble of leafy branches and twigs. “I cut more than I expected.” He rubbed his sore shoulder.
Erik laughed, his breath vaporizing in the crisp spring air. “How is it you can spend the entire day cutting down trees and still look as if you had enough strength to fight a dragon?”
Stein snorted. “It’s not hard. I think of each tree as our father’s neck. Each blow of my axe cuts deeper and deeper into his flesh until his head is severed.”
“Don’t joke about such things,” Erik said, frowning. “He wouldn’t hesitate to hang you from the tallest tree if he heard you speak thus.”
“Let him try. It would give me a reason to fight back.” Stein clenched his fist, digging the nails into his palm. “I can’t contain my anger much longer. It festers and smolders inside me like burning peat. You’d feel the same had it been your woman our father took to his bed and murdered.”
“It was an accident. He didn’t mean to kill her.” Erik leaned on his axe. “Nothing I say can wipe away your anger, brother. I understand it, but what’s done is done. It’s been six months now. You must overcome your hatred before it consumes you.”
Stein slashed the air with his hand. “How can I? He took my wife as his mistress and deliberately shamed me before you and the entire clan.” He lowered his arm slowly until it hung by his side like a limp battle flag. “He’s despised me all my life, questioning my judgment and doubting my loyalty. I’m only his bastard, Erik. One of many. I have no rights, no standing. I’m just another warrior for his raids. A good horse has more value to him than I do.”
Erik’s face sagged, and he nodded slowly. “It’s not easy being his son, bastard or no, but let me tell you this. Though he may not hold you in high regard, I do.” He clapped Stein on the back. “You’re not only my brother, you’re my closest friend, and that’s why I’m concerned. It’s not just Margit’s betrayal that haunts you. There is something else on your mind. What is it?”
Stein hesitated, scuffing the needle-covered ground with the toe of his boot. A wisp of pine and loamy earth curled upwards, the soothing perfume of the forest.
“Tell me, brother,” Erik repeated.
How could he tell Erik he’d give his right arm to leave the clan and be free of Magnus forever? It was pointless even to think about it. He could never leave. His mother and brother needed his protection from the wolf pack that was their family.
He would share a different truth instead. “I long to avenge my honor, brother. With each passing day, my humiliation grows, but I dare not challenge Magnus to single combat. You know what would happen if I killed him. And kill him, I most certainly would.”
Erik nodded slowly. “The last thing we need is a clan blood feud. Haakon is itching to be Magnus’s heir. He tells everyone I’m not fit to be chieftain and jarl because of this.” He tapped his crooked leg. “He’d challenge me before Magnus’s body was cold and, truth be told, I could not beat him in a fight.”
“I would be your champion, Erik. You know that.”
“If Haakon challenged me, he’d make sure you fell, as well. He wouldn’t think twice about slaying both of us and anyone else who stood in his way.”
Stein huffed. “At least then I’d be out of my misery.”
Erik put his arm around Stein’s shoulder. “Stop it, brother. Your melancholy shows me you’re in need of comfort.” He squeezed Stein’s upper arm affectionately. “Perhaps you should consider taking a new wife to soothe your wounds.”
“A wife?” Stein’s voice rose. “I doubt that would help.”
“Of course it would help. The right woman would ease your troubles and be a safe haven from the storm. More importantly, she would give you children. You need children, Stein. They are a man’s real legacy.”
Yes, they are. If he ever broke away and sailed to Iceland, as he dreamed, he’d need many sons and daughters to establish his own clan
. “You may be right, but how do I make sure Magnus doesn't lure a new wife to his bed? Tell me that.”
“Margit was an ambitious woman and a calculating shrew. She took advantage of your absence to advance her position within the clan. She saw Magnus as a means to an end, nothing more. She didn’t love him, and she didn’t love you. You’ll make a better choice next time.”
Stein stepped away. “Yes, a meek, subservient wife with no brains. Perhaps she should be homely, as well, so Magnus will leave her alone.”
“It doesn’t matter if she’s wise or witless, beautiful or ugly as a troll. What’s important is that she honors you and puts your needs above her own.”
Stein harrumphed. “A new wife. This is your best brotherly counsel?”
“Yes, and the sooner, the better." He looked skyward. "Perhaps you should ask the gods for their help.”
Stein jabbed his axe toward the heavens like a spear. “Do you hear him, Freyja?” he shouted. “Send me the perfect woman to warm my heart and my bed.”
Erik chortled. “Hah! Your bed has hardly been empty of late.”
“True enough. My mother takes pity on me and each night finds a bed slave to comfort me, but I tire of such couplings.”
“Perhaps you should amuse yourself with a fresh bed partner until you find the proper wife. The change would do you good. On your next trip to Túnsberg, visit the market and find a new plaything. Perhaps an exotic woman from an eastern land far, far away." Erik stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I've got it! Find yourself a pair of twins, and you'll have twice the fun."
"Two women? You must be mad!"
"You can handle it. You've got the stamina of an ox, brother." He whistled. "Think of it: two vaginas, four breasts, four hands, and two mouths. It makes me hard just to think about it."
Stein collected his water flask and the remains of his mid-day meal and stuffed them in his rucksack. Buying a new bed slave would neither ease his pain nor slake his desire for vengeance, but if he didn’t placate his brother, the discussion would go on all night.
"Stop fantasizing, Erik. One woman at a time is enough for me. Nonetheless, I shall consider your advice.”
“All right, then.” Erik raised his axe to his shoulder. “Come, let’s sample the new ale, and if Sigrid has supper ready, you may share it with us. We’ll ask your mother as well.”
The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees in narrow shafts of light, piercing the deep shadows that heralded evening’s imminent arrival. In the distance, the disjointed tapping of a woodpecker serenaded them as they walked the mile back to the farmstead.
“Thank you for the invitation. My throat is as dry as a barley husk, and I’m sure Mother would like to fuss over the baby.” They walked a ways in silence before he went on. “It pleases me to be part of your family. Sigrid is a good woman. You'd best treat her well or I’ll steal her from you.”
Erik raised his left eyebrow. “You jest with me, I hope?”
Stein clapped him on the back. “Of course, I do. She’s safe with me. It’s our father you need worry about.”
*****
That night when Stein retired, the slave woman sent by his mother was already in his bed, a sleepy half-smile on her pudgy, red-hued face. The faint odor of onions hung in the air, the remnant of an earlier meal, or more likely the aroma of the woman who lay before him.
He drew the wool blanket off her naked body and studied her. Though young, she was plump, with large, pendulous breasts and wide hips. He ran his hand over her body, fascinated by the soft, abundant rolls of flesh.
“What is your name, girl?”
“It is Neave, master,” she replied in broken Norse.
He bent over to take off his leather boots. “Yes, from our last Irish raid. You’ve shared my bed before.”
“Yes, master.” She gazed at him with hooded eyes and grinned.
He stripped off his tunic and loose leggings, and stood naked before her.
“You are...huge, master. Like a stallion, I think.” She giggled as she reached out to caress his erect organ.
“Yes, like a stallion.” He lowered himself over her fleshy body and positioned his cock at her entrance. “And you are my mare.”
With one hard thrust, he seated himself inside her to the hilt. She gasped at the force of his penetration, but then settled down, smiling placidly up at him. She was not a pretty girl, but her face was pleasant enough and her channel was tight.
Pumping in and out of her, he imagined Margit beneath him, the tendrils of her flowing red hair teasing her small pointed breasts, her green eyes glowing with passion. Beautiful in face and body, she still filled his dreams and ignited his desire. What a shame such beauty hid an ugly soul. That he had loved her in spite of it proved he had no judgment when it came to women.
But, fool though he was, he needed a wife. If and when he left for Iceland to start over, he would need an obedient woman to give him sons and daughters, enough to work the land and found his own family. Perhaps Erik was right. It was time for him to move on...if only he could.
Visions of Margit and Magnus swam before his eyes, and a shaft of exquisite pain pierced his heart. Like a wound that refused to scab over, the agony of their betrayal was as sharp and fresh as it had been six months earlier.
The girl moaned, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. Grasping her upper arms, he leveraged himself against her, and drove his cock like a sword in and out of her fleshy mass. His mood black with pain and misery, he willed himself to release his seed, but it held little pleasure for him.
Over the months, he’d sought comfort with an army of bed slaves, but meaningless sex had left him feeling emotionally dead. It was not the women’s fault. Forced into sexual slavery, they bravely tried their best to please him, but they could not ease the pain that clawed at him from the inside.
Breathing rapidly, the girl gazed up at him with a question in her eyes. “Have I not pleased you, master?”
He withdrew from her body and reached for a nearby cloth.
“Yes, yes, you pleased me.” He wiped himself. “The fault lies with me. I am not myself tonight.” He tried to smile kindly as he tossed her the rag. “Here, clean yourself and then leave. I’d like to be alone.”
“But, master, your mother told me to spend the entire night.” She gazed at him with pleading eyes as she swiped the cloth between her inner thighs. “I don’t want her to be angry with me.”
He stood and pulled on his leggings. “Do not be afraid. I’ll make sure she understands.”
The girl scrambled off the alcove bed and grabbed her coarse woolen shift, quickly pulling it over her head. “Thank you, master. Will you ask for me again?”
He forced a smile. “Yes. Now go, please,” he said gently.
“Thank you, master.” She bowed several times, then scurried from the room.
Poor girl. He’d been so occupied with his own needs, he'd paid no attention to hers. He usually tried to please his partners, but tonight he had nothing left to give.
He walked to the nearby table. Leaning on it with outstretched arms, he sagged wearily as his chest constricted. Would this pain never disappear? A constant reminder of his own failings, it bubbled up from the depths of his being, hot and deadly, endless and unstoppable, like the lava of an erupting volcano.
And so did his hatred of his father.
He snatched a small clay bowl from the table and hurled it with all his strength toward the back wall of the longhouse. It shattered to bits against the massive pine logs, making him feel worse.
He collapsed onto a stool and held his head in his hands. Was there no way out? Desperation gripped him as he prayed out loud.
“Freyja, great goddess, grant me strength and calm the fury in my soul.” He was interrupted by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. How odd. There was no evidence of a storm brewing. Perhaps she really was listening. He continued. “Heal my wounds and stay my hand. Do not let me slay my father.”
CHAPTER
2
Asgard, Minnesota, Present Day
Esme Pederson snaked the wooden shuttle over and under the grey wool warp threads of her loom, interlacing the mauve weft threads that would make up the border of her rug. This was the happiest part of her day. She’d escape to the basement for one or two hours to lose herself in her art, put on a Black Eyed Peas CD, and forget her troubles. She’d be in seventh heaven if she could afford to quit her job at the college library and weave full-time, but it would be a bold move, especially now that her father needed her.
“I think this will be really pretty. What do you think, Darce?”
Mr. Darcy, her irascible Maine Coon cat, yawned and thrust his butt high in the air, stretching his long body like a taut rubber band. He jumped up on the old stuffed sofa near the stairs and searched for the best spot to lie down. Finding the perfect location for a nap, he kneaded the worn upholstery a few times, curled into a ball and buried his nose under his lush tail.
Esme started to get up, but sat back down when she heard footsteps on the creaky wooden stairs. “Everything okay, Daddy?”
“Sure, honey. Myles just called to say he’d be here in twenty minutes.” Professor Thor Pederson steadied himself on the handrail, his once handsome face now ashen and drawn from weeks of brutal chemotherapy. “I thought I’d better remind you.”
“I didn’t forget, Daddy. Time just flies when I’m weaving. I’ll be up in a jiffy.”
“Okay, honey.”
It pained her to watch him labor back up the stairs. A one-time cross-country ski champion, he was a pale shadow of his former robust self. Colon cancer had sunk its deadly claws into his once-strapping physique, ripping away his vigor and his dignity, until all that remained was a frail body and a wounded spirit.
Esme sucked in her breath and stiffened her shoulders. “I’ll be right up, Daddy,” she called out as he reached the kitchen. She turned to her cat. “Oh, Darce, it kills me to see him this way.”
Vanquishing A Viking Page 1
