Vanquishing A Viking

by Nancy Dillman

  “That is not true.” She faced him, seized by the need to defend Stein. “He did not lose her. You took her away from him.”

  He twisted his mouth into a sneer. “I couldn’t have stolen her had she not been willing to leave.” He struggled to the edge of the bed. “Help me stand. I need to move. My leg hurts like hell.”

  She offered her arm and he heaved himself to his feet. Leaning on her for support with his good arm, he shuffled and limped toward the other side of the room, grunting each time he put weight on his injured leg.

  He pointed to the smoke-damaged chest. “I wish to see if the contents were damaged in the fire. Bring that stool so I can sit down.”

  She pushed the stool toward him, and he let out a loud ‘woof’ as he landed.

  “Do you want to see what’s in here, girl?”

  What the hell. It would keep his hands busy. “Sure.”

  “Excellent. The chest was saved from the fire, may the gods be praised. It contains many important heirlooms of my house.” He pulled out a bronze dagger with an intricately carved bone handle depicting two fighting dragons.

  “This belonged to Agnar, the founder of our clan,” he said, turning it over in his hand reverently. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she answered truthfully.

  “And this,” he took out a small wooden casket, “contains the brooch of Dagrún, my great-great-great grandmother.” He carefully undid the latch and opened the box to reveal a round, gold shield pin about two inches in diameter, embossed with a stylized animal of some kind.

  “She was a remarkable woman, a loyal wife and the mother of over a dozen children. Dagrún organized a brave defense of the family when it was attacked by a rival clan during a blood feud. Nearly all the men had been lured away from the farm by the enemy, but Dagrún saved the day.”

  It was beyond ironic that he praised Dagrún as a ‘loyal wife.’

  “That must have been something.”

  “Yes. Her courage is legendary.” He rested his hands on his thighs. “I gave Dagrún’s gold bracelet to Ulla, Stein’s mother. But that was before I discovered he wasn’t my son. Still, I let her keep it. She’s been good to me.” He winked. “And I still like to sleep with her.”

  Esme’s cheeks grew hot. “Ulla told me she was pregnant with Stein when your brother raped her. Why don’t you believe her?”

  “The boy looks just like Haakon and behaves the same way, too.”

  “I don’t blame him after what you did to him.”

  “I will not discuss this further. Now, be quiet.”

  He rummaged around a bit more before extracting a parchment scroll tied with a ratty blue ribbon.

  “Now, this is not so very old, but it is of particular interest, especially to an old sea dog like myself.” He untied the ribbon and slowly uncurled the stiff ivory-colored parchment to reveal a crudely rendered map.

  “What is it?” she asked politely, glancing down at the map. Holy Toledo! Her heart soared as her gaze was drawn to a familiar shape she’d seen dozens of times in her father’s papers. The unmistakable, club-like outline of the Gaspé Peninsula. Québec. Canada. She forced herself to stay calm and listen.

  “This drawing was made by my cousin, Thorwald Ericson, before he was killed in this land,” he tapped the parchment, “far away across the western sea.”

  Her blood raced, but her voice remained even. She dared not reveal her intense interest in his story. “Oh? What happened?”

  “He and his men explored the coast of this far land and then traveled many, many miles up this large river.” He traced the line with his finger. “They settled for a time at this place here.” He rested his finger on a spot marked with a tiny black circle.

  Her heart hammered against her rib cage. The circle was well up the St. Lawrence River at the point where it narrowed just past modern Québec.

  “Unfortunately, Thorwald and several of his men were killed by the local inhabitants, a fierce, red-skinned people, who didn’t want new neighbors. My other cousin, Thorstein, sailed there from Greenland to retrieve his beloved brother’s body, but he died before he could find Thorwald’s grave.”

  She wanted to shout her joy from the rooftops, but she forced herself to be calm. “I’m so sorry. That is quite a tragic story. How did the map come to you?”

  Fortunately, he didn’t pick up on her elation. “It’s my responsibility, as jarl and chieftain, to keep safe all important documents and relics of our clan.”

  “Yes, of course,” she managed, her voice tight with excitement.

  Here was the indisputable proof that her father’s theory of Viking exploration was valid. Norse explorers really had traveled far up the St. Lawrence River and established an outpost near Québec. She stared again at the map. There could be no doubt.

  She quivered with joy. If she could get this map back home, it would vindicate her father and ensure his legacy. Even if his cancer proved fatal, this piece of musty goat skin would prove to the world he’d been right all along.

  She had to have it. Her brain went into overdrive concocting various scenarios. She could steal it, of course, but Magnus might miss it, and he’d skin her alive if he caught her with it. Or she could copy it, but that would take too long. If she could only photograph it. Duh! Her cell phone had a camera. If the battery was still good, she’d figure out a way to sneak back and take a few shots.

  “This is very interesting to me,” she said, trying to hide her exhilaration. “Such a far off place.”

  “Yes, farther even than Greenland.” He curled up the scroll and retied the ribbon, then replaced it amongst the artifacts and closed the chest lid. “But enough of this. It’s time for other, more pleasurable pursuits.” He leered at her. “Take me back to the bed and then remove your clothes.”

  Not on your life, you old lecher.

  “Here, let me help you,” she said sweetly, taking his arm as he struggled to rise. Hell would not only freeze over, it’d turn into an Antarctic glacier before she’d sleep with him.

  As she helped him shuffle back to the bed, she saw her chance. Passing the fire pit in the middle of the room, she deliberately tripped over the stone rim, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

  Magnus clutched his wounded leg and howled. “You clumsy fool! My leg! Oh, the pain! Gudrun! Gudrun, where are you?” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Crawling behind him, Esme massaged his shoulders and the back of his neck. “I am so sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to cause you more pain.”

  “Stupid slave. Go fetch my wife,” he jabbed his finger at the door, “and tell her to bring something to ease my suffering. Go, now!”

  “Yes, sir. Right away!”

  Esme jumped to her feet and flew to the exit. Except for the dull ache in her knee, her escape had been easier than she expected. Throwing open the door, she ran smack-dab into Gudrun, nearly knocking her over.

  “Watch where you’re going, you stupid girl.” Gudrun held up a small clay pot. “If I had spilled this, I’d have beaten you to a pulp.”

  “Gosh, I’m so sorry,” Esme mumbled. “I was just coming to get you. Your husband is in a lot of pain.”

  “Then this should help him.” Gudrun narrowed her eyes. “What were you doing in there?”

  “He summoned me.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.” Thinking her answer a bit flip, she gave Gudrun a little bow and fled.

  She could hardly contain her enthusiasm. Oh, Daddy, you’d be so thrilled!

  Here was proof the Vikings had settled near Québec. Because it hadn’t been written up in the Icelandic Sagas or any of the usual sources, the stodgy historians who dictated what was or was not acceptable in the world of Viking history had scoffed at her father’s theory. Several years ago, during a visit to Montmagny, he'd found an artifact, an axe head, that he was certain was Viking-made. But, after writing about it in a scholarly journal, he'd been ridicule
d and his ideas dismissed.

  Well, guess who would have the last laugh? She’d now seen definitive evidence, and she’d make sure every so-called expert in Viking history would see it too. That is, if she ever got back home.

  In the meantime, she’d find a way to remove the map from the chest and snap a couple of photos with her cell phone camera. It was clear now the light vortex had brought her here to find the map, but that also meant it might return at any time to take her home. She’d better snap those photos as soon as possible.

  Rushing into Stein’s longhouse, she heard voices in the back half of the dwelling, behind the curtain. It was Ulla and Stein, who’d apparently been moved back home.

  “It’s only me,” she called out. She stuck her head through the curtain and looked at Stein. “I see you’re back. How do you feel?” She deliberately kept her voice neutral and didn’t smile.

  Stein was propped up in his bed, covered from the waist down by the fur coverlet. His bare chest, so beautiful the day before, now carried the awful aftereffects of the fire. No matter what his mother or Gudrun said, his wounds looked serious.

  He shot her a fierce glower. “Where have you been? Mother has been looking everywhere for you.”

  Esme stepped through the divider. “Nice to see you, too.” She gave him a fake smile. “I was with your father.”

  She knew that might set him off, but he looked absolutely thunderstruck, like he’d just seen a terrible accident on the interstate. Fury, disbelief, pain, all were visible in his stormy face.

  “What were you doing with him?” he growled through clenched teeth. His jaw was so tight she was amazed he could talk at all.

  Ulla looked at her son, then at Esme. “Magnus summoned you?”

  “Yes.” Still smarting from her last encounter with Stein, she wanted to hurt him right back. “He wants me to be his bed slave.”

  Stein slammed his fist against the wooden wall of his bed alcove, splitting the board in two. “Never!” His face was crimson with fury. “He’ll have to kill me first.”

  “Stein, calm down,” Ulla urged, rushing to his side.

  Esme felt her blood surge. “Why do you care? That’s all I’m good for, right?” She spun on her heel and zipped through the curtain.

  “Come back here!” he shouted. “Now!”

  “Esme, come back,” Ulla seconded, rushing after her. “Go to him, please. I know he’s bad-tempered and disagreeable, but he needs you.”

  Esme wrapped her arms around her waist. “Really? Well, I don’t feel like having sex right now, and apparently he doesn’t want anything else from me.”

  Ulla touched her arm. “That’s not true. He needs your compassion and understanding.” She hesitated. “He needs your love.”

  “Love? I don’t think so. He treats me like dirt or haven’t you noticed?”

  “You’re wrong, Esme. Yes, the two of you have done nothing but argue since you’ve been here, but that is often the way men and women express their attraction when they’re afraid to admit they care for each other. I’ve seen how you look at him when he’s not paying attention. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Esme harrumphed. “Yes, so have I, but I wouldn’t call it ‘love.’”

  “You know what’s happened to him. He’s afraid.” Ulla placed her hand over her chest. “We have an old saying: a bashful heart cannot be broken.”

  “You’re saying he’s hiding his true feelings because he’s afraid that I’ll hurt him too?”

  Ulla nodded slowly. “I know my son well. He has an enormous capacity to love, but he’s been deeply hurt, and it’s shaken him to the core. It’s made him doubt himself. That is a fatal flaw in a warrior.”

  Esme took a deep breath. Ulla was right, of course. The best defense is a good offense.

  “He wants to love you, child. He just needs a little push.” Ulla gestured towards the curtain. “Forgive him, Esme. Go to him.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to be0 hurt either.”

  “You need each other,” Ulla said softly.

  She couldn’t stay mad at him forever. Besides, he was probably in a lot of pain, and that’s why he was all grinchy and everything.

  “Okay. I’ll call a truce, if he will.” She headed back to the curtain. “But he’s still a bully.”

  Ulla threw up her hands and looked skyward. “May the gods help us all.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Stein’s inner turmoil dulled the pain of his burns, but his chest ached right where his heart was. Perhaps it had already torn itself to shreds.

  He wants me to be his bed slave. Esme’s words echoed inside his head. His father was not content to steal one woman from Stein. He wanted Esme, as well.

  And, what about her? Did she want to go to his father? He wouldn’t blame her after the way he'd treated her the other morning. He still didn’t understand why he’d lashed out at her, but he knew he’d wounded her feelings badly.

  He rubbed his chest. She cared for him, he knew it, and he’d treated her poorly. In her mind, he was a tyrant interested only in her body. She hated the collar and shorn hair, but he’d had no choice. It was their way, and she was his slave. If he hadn’t done those things, the others would have thought him weak, and he’d had enough of that.

  She’d be wrong if she thought Magnus would treat her any better. If anything, he’d handle her more harshly, passing her around to his men as easily as a tankard of ale. Thor’s beard! It would crush her spirit to be used thus.

  No, he would not let her go. He knew now he could never share her with anyone. She was his woman and no one else could have her. His heart stuttered. By the gods! What was happening to him? Was he admitting he loved her?

  He massaged his temples. The turbulence in his brain had given him such a pounding headache, he was grateful for the distraction when the curtain parted and the two women entered. He stared at Esme, but her blank expression was unreadable. He wanted to know what was going on inside that head of hers, but he would not stoop to ask.

  “Come, Esme,” Ulla said, picking up a shallow soapstone dish from the table. “I have a job for you. I’ve just given Stein a sleep-inducing drink. It takes a few minutes to work, but he needs his wounds seen to before he sleeps. Take this and apply it to the burns. Gently.” She slanted Esme a stern look. “Then cover them with these linen cloths,” she pointed to a small pile of white squares, “and wrap them with the linen bindings. I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

  “Sure.” Esme took the dish and examined the sticky, yellow-green substance. “What is it?”

  “It’s a blend of herbs in a base of honey. It promotes healing.” Ulla touched her arm and made to leave. “He’s in your hands now. Treat him well.” She disappeared through the curtain.

  Esme rinsed off her hands and approached the bed. “Don’t take my head off, okay?”

  Stein didn’t reply, but a deep rumble escaped unbidden. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but doing so would be a sign of weakness.

  She sat down on a stool next to his bed. Dipping her fingers in the honey mixture, she gathered a glob and tentatively smoothed it over the burns on his left shoulder. It felt good to have her touch him again, if only to administer the medicine.

  “You look like you want to eat me,” she said, continuing to spread the balm, “and not in a good way.”

  He snorted.

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be your father’s bed slave, and I would never go to him of my own free will.”

  “Oh?” His heart soared.

  “In fact, I’ll do just about anything to stay out of his clutches.”

  Stein subdued his delight at her words. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to be with him." Her fingers deftly applied the medicine without hurting him. "I'd rather be with you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. That is, if you're nice to me. Now, let’s drop the subject.”

  “Fine.”

>   She applied the mixture to his other shoulder. “There, I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “No.” Her touch was gentle and soothing.

  She applied the ointment to the burns on his left side under his arm. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I hope this concoction of your mother’s will help you heal quickly.”

  “Hm,” he grunted.

  “You were very brave going into the fire like that.” She made direct eye contact with him. “You’re a hero for rescuing your brother and Magnus. Especially your father. I know about the troubles between you. I’m sure you were tempted to just leave him there.”

  “No.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  What could he say? He didn’t know the answer himself.

  “Stein?”

  His chest heaved, and he let out an exasperated sigh. “Duty.”

  “Yes, it was the right thing to do.”

  He grunted again. He should have let the old bugger burn to death.

  She finished and placed the dish back on the table. “Are you still angry with me?” She picked up several of the linen squares and placed them over his wounds.

  A pause. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? What kind of an answer is that? I said I won’t be your father’s bed slave.”

  “Esme...”

  “Are you going to get over it and be nice to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Good.”

  She wound the long linen strips over his shoulders, under his arms and around his chest. “From now on, are you going to speak to me only in monosyllables?”

  He couldn’t stop his lips from curving into a smile. “Yes.”

  Her lovely green eyes sparkled playfully. “I don’t believe you.”

  He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. “Esme...” He kissed her as gently as he could, yet firmly enough to make a point. Her soft, warm lips yielded to him, as he hoped they would.

  She stroked the side of his face. “I’m sorry I upset you. How can I convince you I would never sleep with your father?”