Vanquishing A Viking

by Nancy Dillman

  “Even if you succeeded, you’d eventually be someone else’s bed slave. Better to take your chances here.”

  “I couldn’t sleep with Magnus.”

  “You wouldn’t have an opinion on the matter.” Ulla got to her feet and stretched her arms above her head. “I’m tired. It’s been a very long day.”

  Esme rose as well. “Are you going to check on Stein?”

  “Yes.” Ulla put on her shawl. “I will go. If he has taken a turn for the worse, I’ll send for you. Now, get some rest.”

  “Where do I sleep?”

  Ulla waved her hand toward the curtain divider. “In Stein’s bed, of course.”

  “Well, goodnight then.” Esme walked toward the curtain. “I’ll pray some more for Stein and the others.”

  Ulla was at the door. “I hope your one god will hear you. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” Esme entered the back room and stood next to Stein’s bed.

  Would he ever sleep there again? Would they once more share their passion beneath the furs or was it not meant to be, after all? Perhaps Stein had been a thrilling diversion from her real purpose as a time traveler, whatever that was.

  Not bothering to remove her dress, she crawled into the alcove bed and snuggled under the fur coverlet. Burying her nose in Stein’s pillow, she breathed in his woodsy, masculine scent.

  Please, God, help Stein and the others. Let them recover, and bring him home to me and his mother.

  It still surprised her that she could be so attracted to a male chauvinist like Stein. He was the antithesis of the kind of guy she usually liked. The men she was drawn to respected her opinions and treated her as an equal. Stein's caveman routine was completely alien to her worldview.

  On the other hand, he was a product of the culture in which he lived. Although Viking women had more rights than most females in the medieval world, Viking men still ruled the roost. Female slaves especially lived at the lowest level of their society and were expected to obey their masters without question. In this time and place, Stein had every right as her owner to order her around. Even put an iron collar on her.

  She was certain his hard exterior covered up some very painful feelings. Given the circumstances of his wife's death, it was only natural he’d protect himself with emotional armor. Ulla was right. He needed Esme’s understanding.

  But did he want her love? Or was it only her body he craved?

  Against her better judgment, and despite every logical argument, she was falling for him, hook, line and battleaxe. She’d tried to deny her growing attraction to him, but it was useless. Sparks flew whenever they were in each other’s presence. Sparks so hot, the air itself nearly combusted.

  But, their attraction was more than sexual. Their spirited interaction had tripped some kind of inner switch and roused the dormant strength within her. Like a tightly closed rosebud that unfolds to face a new world, she was blossoming and becoming the confident woman she’d always wanted to be.

  She inhaled his scent again. Did fate mean for her to fall in love with him? She didn't have a clue, but she was sure of one thing: she'd never wanted a man as badly as she wanted Stein.

  She closed her eyes and said another prayer for him, Erik and Magnus.

  Then she said one for herself.

  *****

  The next morning Ulla jolted her awake. “Wake up, lazy girl,” she said, shaking Esme’s arm. “Wake up.”

  Esme bolted upright. “Is it Stein? Is he all right?”

  “Yes, he’s doing well. I spent all night tending to him. He’s awake and calling for his breakfast.”

  “That’s a good sign.” The tightness in her gut eased. “Why don’t you rest. I’ll take the food to him.”

  “Thank you. First, wash your face and hands there.” Ulla pointed to a basin of water sitting on a nearby table, then turned and left.

  Esme splashed cold water on her face and neck and ran her finger over her teeth and inside her cheeks. What she wouldn’t give for an electric toothbrush. Or a toilet.

  She poked her head through the curtain. “Excuse me, but where do I...uh...pee?” Last night in desperation she’d sneaked outside and relieved herself under a pine tree.

  “There is a communal toilet next to the bath house down the shore to your left.”

  She made her way to the little wooden shack. Oh, goody. Just like Girl Scout camp, but without the chemicals.

  She emerged from the outhouse holding her nose, but feeling better. Maybe she could get used to it...maybe. She hurried back to the longhouse and quickly rewashed her hands.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she said cheerfully.

  Ulla handed her a wooden tray with a tankard of ale and a plate of fish fillets and cheese.

  “Take this and tell him I’ll be along in a while to check on him.” She handed the tray to Esme and leaned towards her. “Make sure he is comfortable.”

  Esme nodded and wondered if Ulla was playing matchmaker. She took a reality check. Peacemaker was more likely.

  She walked to the longhouse-hospital. Sigrid stood outside the door holding a large basket containing dirty pewter plates and empty tankards. Her haggard face bore the evidence of a long night without much rest.

  “Good morning,” Sigrid said. “It is good you have come. Stein is hungry.”

  “What about the others?” Esme asked. “How is your husband?”

  “All will recover. My mother-in-law is an excellent healer.” She opened the door for Esme. “Go on in.”

  A much happier scene greeted her than the one she beheld the previous night. Magnus, his face and hands covered with scratches and cuts, sat at a small table, finishing his meal. He seemed alert and in good spirits despite having his left leg and left arm swathed in white bandages.

  A big man with a powerful if somewhat fleshy build, he wore his graying, light brown hair loose about his shoulders. His beard, mostly red in color, was full and groomed into two cone-like halves, each tied at the tip with a small piece of black cord.

  She guessed he was somewhere in his late 50’s or early 60’s and, except for the unorthodox beard, he was a handsome older version of Stein. His son had lighter hair, but their eyes were the same lovely shade of blue. How could Magnus doubt Stein was his son? All he had to do was look at him, for heaven’s sake.

  Magnus didn’t speak, but he stared at her over the rim of his tankard, and his eyes followed her as she moved past him. A little shiver settled over her shoulders as she realized he was checking her out, undressing her with his eyes.

  Erik was still prone on the table, but he was awake and conversing with his mother. Gudrun looked up as Esme passed, her gray eyes peering suspiciously at her, as if Esme were some kind of alien intruder. If she only knew.

  Stein was sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed. He wore trousers, but his torso was bare. His shoulders and left side bore several nasty burns, while an assortment of bruises and small cuts spread across his back and chest. The burns glistened with a thick layer of salve. As she approached, she detected the distinct odor of honey.

  “I’m so glad to see you’re better,” she said, setting the food tray on the table beside him. “How do you feel? Your mother says she’ll be in soon to see you.”

  He scowled at her. “It’s about time you brought me something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Well, good morning to you, too.” She fought down her natural inclination to tell him where he could stick his breakfast and instead smiled sweetly. “Is there anything else I can do for you, master?”

  Why did he provoke her so easily? She should really cut him some slack. He probably felt lousy.

  He swallowed a fish fillet. “I can think of only one thing you could do for me, but we’re not alone, and I don’t wish to shock Gudrun.” He swung the tankard to his lips and gulped the ale noisily. “Now, since you have no other business here, I suggest you leave.”

  “What?” Her temperature jumped to boiling. “There’s no reason to be rude.”
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  He leaned toward her, his jaw tense. “You’re my bed slave, Esme. That’s the only way you can be nice to me.”

  She fought the urge to slap his face. “You’re a first-class jerk, you know that?” All eyes were on her as she backed away from him, wishing the ground would open up to swallow her.

  Cool blue eyes speared her. “Go home.”

  Thrusting her chin in the air, she pivoted briskly on her heel and straightened her shoulders. She tried to ignore the stares of the others as she marched back to the entrance, but it was impossible.

  She accidentally made eye contact with Magnus. He looked pleased by what had just passed between her and Stein. Did he hate his son that much?

  Damn, Stein! Why was he upset? Was he hiding behind more emotional armor or was he in pain and couldn’t help it? She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he made it hard. She should march back in there and... No, Esme, leave it.

  Trudging back to Stein’s longhouse, she was overcome with home-sickness. Images of her father and Mr. Darcy swam before her eyes, making her heart ache. If she’d been sent to the Middle Ages for a reason, then why couldn’t she just get on with it? And what did Stein Magnuson have to do with it anyway?

  She didn’t need this crap. And she certainly didn’t need him.

  *****

  Stein almost called her back. Instead he hung his head and stared at the ground, ashamed at what he’d just done. He instantly regretted lashing out at her, but his mouth had acted on its own and spit out the venom before he could stop it.

  His injuries made him irrational and irritable. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. But, by the gods, she drove him to distraction. Or was he driving himself crazy? Wanting her, needing her, but afraid of being hurt again?

  He felt like an old man as he laid back down. The constant push-pull on his heart was wearing him out. Clearly, he had lost control of his emotions. He breathed deeply and tried to sort out his feelings.

  Esme was a conundrum. Passionate and sensual, curious and brave, she was a mysterious, beautiful woman, who charged him with sexual excitement so intense he could think of almost nothing else. But it was more than that. From their first moments alone together, he’d felt a bond with her that he’d never had with anyone. Not even Margit. He couldn’t explain it, but Esme was connected to him in a fundamental way, like she was part of him.

  Of course, they clashed wills regularly. Thor’s beard! The only time she didn’t fight him tooth and nail was when they were in bed, where they seemed made for each other. Perhaps her stubbornness came from her strange notions about women’s rights. Maybe her beliefs compelled her to stand up to him. But, one thing he was certain of: she was as sexually attracted to him as he was to her. No doubt she was just as confused.

  He slammed his fist against the table. In less than three days, she’d turned his world upside-down and gotten under his skin so deeply, a white-hot lance couldn’t cut her out.

  “Bring me more ale, wife.” Magnus’s gruff voice shattered Stein’s reflections, and jealousy sliced through his roiling insides like a cold blade. His father wanted Esme, too. Stein had seen it in his eyes as the old man watched her enter and leave the longhouse. The degenerate drank in her fresh, young beauty like it was the elixir of life. Damn him! He’ll be a dead man if he tries to take her from me.

  Stein moaned, but not from pain. Things would be so much simpler if he could return to his old life. Surely hate and self-loathing would be easier to deal with than his turbulent feelings for Esme.

  Yes, you lackbrained idiot, go back to being miserable and lonely, the ragged shards of your heart forever bleeding dry.

  Could life with Esme be any worse than that?

  CHAPTER 13

  More than a day had gone by since Stein and Esme’s infuriating confrontation. She’d distracted herself with her weaving and refused to go to the hospital-longhouse despite Ulla’s hints. She’d rather die than face any further humiliation.

  Why was he so angry? She’d submitted to every one of his demands, even calling him ‘master’ once in a while. If anybody had the right to be pissed off, it was she. She stomped her foot. Damn it! She meant nothing to him. She was just his latest sex toy. He’d said so himself.

  She sat down on a three-legged stool in front of the warp-weighted loom attached vertically to the wall. It wasn’t that different from a floor loom, and she’d taken to it right away after Ulla had shown her the basics.

  Taking a skein of wine-colored linen thread, she passed it between the two layers of similarly dyed wool warp threads. Next she grasped the wooden batten and rammed it upwards to secure the first row of linen weft threads. Then she repeated the process. Soon she’d have a lovely rectangle of cloth.

  Immersing herself in the soothing, elemental labor, she tried to put aside thoughts of Stein and the whole weird trip she was on. Weaving made her happy. Stein made her miserable.

  The door opened, but she assumed it was Ulla and didn’t turn around.

  “You are wanted,” a creaky, unfamiliar female voice said behind her.

  Spinning around on the stool, she saw the same elderly woman she’d stood next to in the bucket brigade. Her white-gray hair peeked out from beneath a simple white hood, framing a face that bore the wrinkled roadmap of a very long life.

  “Yes?” Esme asked. “Can I help you?”

  “You are wanted by the master. Come with me.”

  Esme’s heart leaped in her chest. Stein had summoned her to his side. He was contrite. He cared for her after all.

  “Of course,” she replied, jumping to her feet. “Does he want or need anything? Can I bring him something?”

  “No, just you,” replied the old woman, her gray eyes twinkling.

  Esme followed her outside, but instead of going to the makeshift hospital, the old woman led her to another, smaller dwelling.

  That was odd. “Why aren’t we going to the hospital?” she asked.

  “He has been moved in here,” the old woman croaked, gesturing for her to enter.

  “Thank you,” Esme said. Good. They would be able to make up in a more private setting.

  Opening the door, she stepped into the dim interior. Like most longhouses, there were no windows, and the only natural light filtered in through the smoke hole in the roof. A stone oil lamp sputtered on the table, but there was no fire. She couldn’t see much, just a bit of dirt floor covered with rushes and furs and a large, soot-covered wooden chest. The lid was open, but she couldn’t make out its contents.

  Squinting into the smoky gloom, she saw the dark figure of an imposing man sitting across the room on the bench-like platform.

  “Stein? Is that you?” She took a tentative step towards him. “Did you wish to see me?”

  “Stein is not here,” answered a deep, resonant voice. “I wanted to see you. Come closer.”

  She could not make out his features, but the scant light of the oil lamp revealed a swath of white linen near the floor. Her stomach tightened as she walked toward him. It was Magnus.

  “Take off that...thing...on your face. I want to see you without it.”

  Dread washed over her as she removed her glasses. What did he want with her?

  “Come here, I said.”

  She stepped in front of him. “Here, sit beside me on the bed, girl.” He patted the place next to him. “Do you know who I am?”

  The butterflies in her stomach did a loop-de-loop. “Of course. You are the chieftain,” she said, sitting down at his side.

  He scrutinized her face from her hairline to her throat and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He looked like he was going to take a bite out of her.

  “Yes, I am Magnus Svenson, known also as Magnus Forkbeard.” He ran his hand down one of the cones of his beard, caressing it. “I noticed you yesterday and thought we should become better acquainted. Where are you from?”

  “Ah, far away to the west.”

  “England?”

  “Farther west than that.�
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  He nodded. “Yes, Ireland. I thought so.” He pointed to her glasses. “What does it do for you?”

  “My vision is defective. This helps me see clearly.”

  “Odd. I am widely traveled, but I have never before seen such an apparatus.” He put his hand on her knee, making her jump. “Let me see it.”

  She didn’t want to, but it wasn’t worth incurring his wrath. She handed him her glasses.

  “Yes, you are a very lovely young woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looked through the lenses, made a face, and handed them back. “You are too pretty for that weakling.”

  Her tummy did another belly flop. “You mean Stein?”

  How could he demean his own son that way? Stein hadn’t betrayed his family the way this man had.

  “The coward doesn’t deserve such a delicious young thing.” He patted her knee. “From now on, you will be my bed slave.”

  She sprang to her feet. “No. Absolutely not. No way, Jose.”

  His hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. “I’m not finished with you.”

  She sat back down, but he did not release her.

  “Please let me go. I don’t want to be anyone’s bed slave, not Stein’s, not yours.” She pulled her hand away. “I’m really a weaver.”

  “A weaver you may be, but Stein purchased you as a bed slave, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve already shared his bed?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and avoided his gaze. Discussing her sex life with a stranger was embarrassing, but there was no such thing as privacy in Viking society.

  He caressed his beard. “Is he a good lover?”

  “I’d prefer not to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m the chieftain. You will answer me, young woman.”

  She began to pick at her thumbnail, an old habit that had taken her years to break. “Yes, he’s...fine.”

  “Ha! I knew it!” Magnus barked, his face and thick neck flushing with anger. “Your lack of enthusiasm tells me all I need to know. The bastard has no skill with women.” He laughed scornfully. “It’s no wonder his wife tired of him and came to me.”