Vanquishing A Viking

by Nancy Dillman

  “I believe you. Let us speak no more of it."

  She nodded. “Then we can start over?”

  A hazy sensation swept over him as his mother’s potion began to work its magic. His arm grew heavy, and he let it drop onto the bed. “I’m so tired.” He stretched out on his back and rested his head on the pillow.

  “Of course, you are. Sleep now. We’ll speak again later.” Her voice seemed so far away, as if she were talking to him from the next room. His eyelids fluttered and closed. His mind wandered. To hopes and dreams, to possibilities.

  “Stay with me?” he murmured, his words slurring.

  “Yes, Stein. I won’t leave you.”

  “Come with me to Iceland?”

  “Iceland?” Her voice was so faint, he could barely hear it.

  It was hard to speak. “Don’t tell Mother. Magnus must not know.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Promise me you won’t be alone with him.”

  “Yes, Stein, I promise.”

  His brain was shutting down, and like a stone in quicksand, he sank gratefully into the warm ooze of sleep.

  *****

  Esme studied her handsome Viking warrior as he slept. His long blond hair spread over the pillow like the feathers of an exotic golden bird. He was something to look at, all right. Her gaze traveled over his face, from the scar on his cheek to his strong nose, to his square stubbled chin.

  She’d forgiven him for his tirade the other morning because she knew now what it was. All that huffing and puffing had been an act to shield his heart. A heart more tender than he cared to admit. Ulla was right. He did have a huge capacity to love. He might even love Esme. She was pretty sure she loved him.

  Then it's too bad you've just told him a big, fat lie.

  He could forbid her all he wanted, but she had to see Magnus again. He had the map. And if it meant being alone with the lecherous old reprobate, then so be it. She’d escaped his grasping hands last time. She’d do it again.

  Her conversation with Stein had been a bit perplexing. What was up with Iceland? She could understand him wanting to break from Magnus, but Iceland? Couldn’t he just wander over the mountains or set sail to Denmark? She’d have to think long and hard about that one. If she even had a choice. The time vortex hadn’t given her an estimated departure date.

  She wandered into the other room and sat down at the wall loom. She had a good start on the linen cloth she was weaving and, if no one interrupted her, she could finish today. Fortunately, Ulla was outside stringing up fish for drying. For a while at least, Esme could weave and think in peace.

  She picked up the merlot-colored linen thread and threw herself into her favorite activity. As she wove the weft threads through the stone-weighted warp threads, she thought about her next meeting with Magnus. She hadn’t yet worked out her cover story, but she was determined to see it through, no matter what. The map was just too important.

  It would be a risky mission, and not only because of Magnus. If Stein found out she’d gone to his father, he’d neither understand or forgive her. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up like the bristles on a hedgehog.

  It was certainly going to be a memorable night. She hoped it would end peacefully.

  *****

  That evening Stein was feeling well enough to join them for supper. Ulla had made his favorite dish of turnips and lutefisk, cod that’s been soaked in water and lye for two weeks. A staple food in Minnesota, Esme had never cared for it, but Stein ate heartily, a good sign he was recovering.

  Ulla kept the conversation going, sharing gossipy, but good-natured, tidbits about members of their community. While she kept them entertained, Esme and Stein exchanged enough fleeting glances and tiny smiles to reassure her that peace between them had been restored.

  Despite the pleasant atmosphere, however, Esme did not eat heartily. She was too nervous thinking about her forthcoming secret mission and how it would hurt Stein if he found out.

  Following supper, Esme gathered the pewter and wooden dishes and utensils while Ulla poured hot water into a basin.

  “Esme, tell us more about your homeland,” Ulla said. She turned to Stein. “She told me there is a cream that women put on their bodies to remove hair.” She turned back to Esme. “What other wonders can you tell us about?”

  Stein lifted his left eyebrow. “Yes, tell us about this mysterious place you come from.”

  “Really?” Esme didn’t know how much she could share without freaking them out.

  “Well, let’s see. The countryside is very much like this, with rolling fields of crops and lots of forests, at least up north. We have tons of lakes and rivers, but no mountains.”

  “I'm sure your homeland is beautiful, but I want to hear more about the wonders,” Ulla said, rinsing the dishes in the hot water.

  “The wonders...” Esme rubbed her chin, playing for time. “Well, we have medicines to cure all kinds of ailments. And we have ‘doctors,’ people who study the human body for years and years so they can help others stay healthy.”

  “What kinds of medicines?” Ulla asked.

  “We have anti-biotic crèmes and pills to prevent infection.” She smiled at Stein. “I wish I had some to give to you.”

  “What else?” Ulla asked.

  “Um, we have medicines to prevent conception.”

  Ulla pulled a face. “We have that, as well.”

  “I told you,” Stein said, grinning.

  “I bet your herbs don’t stop conception before it happens,” Esme smirked.

  Ulla's eyebrows flew up. “There is such a thing? How is that possible?”

  “It’s called a ‘birth control pill.’ A woman takes it during her monthly cycle. It’s almost 100 percent effective.”

  Ulla stared at her wide-eyed.

  “You failed to mention this the other night when you put up such a fuss,” Stein reminded her.

  “I’m not on the Pill.” Esme blushed. “I had no reason to be...until recently.”

  “What is this ‘pill’ made of,” Ulla asked.

  “I have no idea, but you won’t find the ingredients here.”

  “What else?” Stein prompted.

  “We have wagons and carts that move by themselves.”

  Stein’s brow furrowed. “That is impossible."

  "No, indeed. We just turn a key and away we go."

  "You don’t need a horse or a goat to pull them? How does it work?”

  “I can’t tell you exactly. I’m not an engineer, but the process involves combustion.”

  “I don’t understand,” he went on. “How could burning wood propel a wagon?”

  She shouldn’t have mentioned it.

  “Are you making this up?” He scowled at her.

  “No.” She straightened. “Look, I told you I don’t understand the actual process. I just know it’s true.”

  Ulla clucked her tongue. “Stop it, you two. No more arguments.”

  Stein snorted. “I guess it’s in our nature to argue, eh, Esme?”

  She laughed. “Never a dull moment.”

  Ulla yawned. “Let’s finish cleaning up. Stein needs to rest, and so do we.”

  He rose. “I’d like to hear more of your stories, Esme. They are food for the imagination.” He headed for the curtain. “Will you join me when you’re through?”

  A little thrill scooted through her nether regions, but she had important business to conduct before she’d again share the furs with him.

  “Sure,” she lied. “You go on ahead. I'll be right there.”

  Ulla reached for a small clay jar and poured the contents into a pewter cup.

  “Drink this before you go to sleep, son,” she said, handing it to him. “You need to rest, not play the lover.”

  Thank goodness. “Yes, do what your mother says,” Esme chimed in.

  “I have no choice but to obey.” He smiled at his mother, but gave Esme a decidedly naughty grin.

  She smiled bac
k, but her insides were quivering with anxiety rather than desire. If she messed this up, her relationship with Stein would blow up like an atom bomb: there'd be nothing left to salvage and the fallout would be permanent.

  *****

  Finally Nótt, the goddess of the night, enfolded the farmstead within the dark shadows of her ink-black gown, and the house was quiet. Stein and Ulla both slept soundly thanks to the potion. Esme had urged Ulla to take some herself, and she had obliged, saying the excitement of the fire and Stein’s injuries had worn her out.

  Esme got up from her stool at the loom. It was time to play secret agent.

  She gently lifted the lid on the built-in chest where her modern clothes were stored and searched for her jeans and sweater. Not only did she need to find her phone, but she needed clothes that would conceal it. Her grey shift had no pockets, and she had no underwear, either modern or medieval.

  She located her jeans and thrust her hand into the front pocket. To her relief, her fingers closed around the familiar rectangular shape of her cell phone. She changed clothes quickly and stashed her slave dress in the chest.

  Like a thief in the night, she tiptoed past Ulla to the heavy oak door, inched it open, and slipped into the darkness. Before heading to Magnus's longhouse, however, she dashed to the privy, the only place where she’d have complete privacy.

  Gagging from the stench, she turned on the phone and watched the green bar edge across the bottom of the tiny screen as the unit booted up. As soon as she heard the musical ‘on’ signature, she switched to ‘silent’ mode. So far everything was A-OK. Fortunately, she’d recharged her phone right before her date with Myles. There should be more than enough power to take several shots of the map.

  Jamming the phone back into her jeans pocket, she stepped outside. The bright full moon was nice, helping her navigate in the dark, but it also exposed her to watchful eyes. She slinked past houses and animal pens like a wraith.

  Arriving without incident at Magnus’s longhouse, she hid in the shadows near the door. She contemplated her next move and prayed her acting skills were up to the task. In order to gain access to the chest, she had to convince Magnus that she’d come back to offer herself to him. The thought made her nauseous, but she had no choice. Destiny had sent her back in time to find the map and help her father prove his theory. And to meet Stein, of course. She was sure now he was part of the plan.

  She heard voices inside.

  “I tell you, Magnus,” Gudrun said, “Sigrid doesn’t know everything. I’m going back over there and, if I have to, I’ll spend the night taking care of my boy.”

  “You do what you think best, Gudrun. I’ll be fine. That potion you gave me has helped considerably. My pain is tolerable now, and I am quite sleepy.”

  “Good. You need a restful night’s sleep, husband. Tomorrow you’ll feel like your old self. I’ll see you in the morning, Magnus.”

  Esme watched Gudrun leave the longhouse and head for her son’s dwelling. She took a deep breath and pumped herself up. She could do this. She was Esmeralda Maureen Pederson, the kick-ass heroine of her own romance novel, and the woman who had captured the heart of a Viking warrior. She could do anything.

  Pasting a fake smile on her face, she sauntered through the door like a gunslinger entering a saloon. “Good evening, Magnus, ole' boy.”

  Magnus lay on his bed, propped up on pillows like an eastern potentate. “Aha!” He laughed from deep in his belly. “My strange, little cabbage flower has returned to me. You couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  “No, indeedy. I found our conversation earlier to be so stimulating, I just had to come back for more.”

  “Good, but I want more than conversation. Come here, girl, so I may see you better.”

  She stepped closer to the bed.

  “Why are you wearing those strange clothes? You look like a man.”

  She began her performance. “I thought you would be amused.”

  Magnus’s eyes sparkled even in the low light. “Yesss.” He drew out the ‘s’ into a long hiss. “I see what you’re trying to do. You wish to titillate me with your strange dress and manner. You want me to find the woman beneath the disguise. Clever wench. Well then,” he motioned her with his hand, “come here.”

  She stood in front of him and stretched to her full height, thrusting out her chest like a good soldier. After all, this was war, and he was the enemy. She would do whatever was necessary to achieve her goal.

  Magnus reached for her. “Take off that tunic and those odd leggings and get in here.” He patted the rough linen sheets. “My leg may be injured, but my cock is just fine. It’s already hard as a sword.”

  Ooookay, here we go. Smiling like a pro, she went into her striptease act, prancing around and making googly eyes at her audience. She even threw in a few ‘bum-bum-de-bums’ for good measure.

  She pulled up her sweater, exposing her breasts. “Well, what do you think?”

  He licked his lips. “I like them very much.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” His erection poked the front of his trousers like a tent pole. Like father, like son.

  She pulled the sweater over her head and flung it on the floor.

  “Yes, yes, very nice,” Magnus said, stroking his cock. She almost laughed at his expression. With his wide eyes and gaping mouth, he resembled a love-crazed trout.

  She unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them, eliciting more appreciative groans from her audience. She tossed them on top of her sweater, then did the same with her glasses.

  “Ta-da,” she sang, “all done.”

  He curled his fingers and waved them in a ‘come-hither’ motion. “Come here, girl. Come and please an old man.”

  She stepped a millimeter closer to the bed. She was playing a dangerous game, but it was the only way to gain his confidence.

  “My dear, you are magnificent. I am overcome by your loveliness.”

  If only that were true. If only he would keel over dead, struck down by her blinding beauty. If only... She spotted the little clay pot she’d almost knocked out of Gudrun’s hands earlier.

  “Why, thank you, Magnus. I'm going to knock your socks off in a minute. Do you feel strong enough to handle me?” she half-whispered in her best Marilyn Monroe impression, tilting her head coyly and batting her eyelashes. “The pain in your leg must still be intense.”

  “My wife gave me an herbal potion.” He pointed to the pot. “Works like a charm, although it does make me very sleepy.”

  Thank you, Gudrun.

  “Maybe you should have some more now. It will relax you and make you more comfortable.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m already relaxed. Now come here. I want to fuck you.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the bed next to him, latching a meaty hand onto her right breast.

  She hopped out again. “No, I insist. In fact, I ran into your wife outside, and she made me promise to give you some more before we...you know.”

  “Gudrun arranged for you to share my bed tonight?”

  Esme bobbled her head. “Yes. She was adamant that I give you more painkiller before we had sex.”

  “She’s a good wife. Always looking out for me.” He crooked his finger. “Now come here.”

  “She’ll be very disappointed if I don’t give you more of her concoction.”

  He grunted. “Oh, all right. My leg does still ache a little.”

  “Great,” she said a bit too enthusiastically, then corrected herself. “I mean, that’s good. You’re being a very good boy.”

  She poured what was left in the pot into a pewter cup and filled it to the rim with the mead from the ewer on the table. She handed it to him.

  “Drink up, Magnus, old boy.”

  He gulped down the liquid and handed the cup back to her. “Mead makes anything palatable.” He belched loudly. “All right. Come here.”

  “Sure.” She crawled onto the bed and scooted behind him. “Let me relax you even more.”

  “
I don’t need any more relaxing,” he said, his voice rising. He loosened his trousers and pushed them down over his good leg, managing to free his enormous phallus. “Help me remove these trousers. The bandage on my leg is too thick.”

  She stared at his enormous erection. Oh, boy.

  “I said, help me get these off.”

  “Just a minute.” She massaged his shoulders and neck. “Doesn’t that feel wonderful?” she crooned. “Your shoulders are so tight. This will ease your stiffness and make you feel terrific.”

  He stroked his cock. “My stiffness feels just fine.”

  His shoulders began to loosen, but she didn’t let up. He yawned and blinked his eyes.

  “I’m getting sleepy,” he mumbled.

  Good. Maybe a lullaby would finish him off.

  She began to sing a ballad by the Beatles while continuing her massage.

  “That is a nice song,” he murmured as his chin dipped.

  "Glad you like it." Her ploy was working, so she decided to sing it again.

  Magnus didn’t speak during her recital, but every now and then he’d grunt like a little pig. She took that as a sign of approval, so she kept right on singing. At last he let out a big sigh, and the air went out of him like a spent balloon. His shoulders completely relaxed, his head sank onto his chest, and he slumped onto his side, out like a light.

  She smiled. I wonder what Gudrun put in this stuff.

  She crawled off the bed and gazed at the pile of clothes. Time was of the essence. She’d dress after taking the photos. If he woke up and she was still naked, she could make up some excuse for rifling through his belongings.

  She fished her phone out of her jeans and made a beeline for the chest. Slowly opening the lid, she cringed when it made a tiny squeak. She froze, terrified Magnus would wake, but thankfully he was down for the count.

  The scroll was just where he’d left it. She plucked it out, untied the ribbon, and placed the map on the floor. Then she grabbed a couple of large stones from the hearth to use as paperweights. Next she removed the oil lamp from the table and set it down next to the map. It wasn’t great light, but it would have to do.