Falling to the Viking

by M. Garnet

  Kathryn is bored with her job and in love with studying history, especially anything about the Vikings. What happens when she falls from modern times to open her eyes to a gorgeous actual Viking?

  Kathryn is bored with Denmark. Her aunt is old and talks about everything but what Kathryn wants to hear. Kathryn is tired and wants some fun, but they are far from Copenhagen with its spas and nightlife.

  Instead, they are at the edge of the sea, where Vikings used to live and launch their ships to rape and pillage. Now that would be more interesting than this going through another museum with Aunt Halla.

  What happens when Kathryn wakes up surrounded by Vikings?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Falling to the Viking

  Copyright © 2014 M. Garnet

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-824-8

  Cover art by Carmen Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  www.extasybooks.com

  Falling to the Viking

  By

  M. Garnet

  Dedication

  To the one I love the most my daughter who came up with this idea and gives me so many more ideas and encouragements.

  Chapter One

  Her adopted sister Margaret was actually yelling at her, saying, “What the hell are you talking about? No one goes to Denmark. People go to Sweden or Germany or London. But I don’t know of a single idiot that goes to Denmark.”

  Kathryn kept her voice calm as she went over her check off list again. “Margaret, I have explained this to you several times. It turns out that I actually have a relative on my father’s side. Our parents have always been so good to me. Even you have, except when we fought over my plaid coat. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, though. This woman has offered to pay for everything. She probably has papers and photos, maybe even background information, on my family.”

  When Kathryn couldn’t reach her adopted sister on the phone, she had left a message on the recorder, expecting a call in return. Instead, the hotheaded blond had driven over to confront her.

  Kathryn smiled, as her own red hair along with a sprinkling of freckles showed that she was the one with the temper. Yes, they had fought over that plaid coat and many other items growing up together in a house loved by two parents who had adopted both girls when they couldn’t have their own children.

  Their parents’ death had actually separated the women instead of drawing them together. They lived in different cities, working in entirely different lines of employment. Now, they went months with only an email or short note on Facebook.

  The brief visit from her adopted sister had finally calmed down with a nice dinner at a local Italian pub and a quick goodbye as Margaret drove back to her home.

  Kathryn promised plenty of emails and photos on Facebook of the trip to placate Margaret. Finally, she returned to her checklist.

  Kathryn was so tired, she could hardly hold her eyes open. A solid week of traveling, yet still her crazy great aunt insisted they go to some type of memorial museum tomorrow. This wasn’t the kind of tour of Denmark she had in mind when she agreed to visit her relative in northern Europe.

  She had spent most of her life in damp, cold Ohio, except for two short visits to Florida. A visit to damp, cold Denmark wasn’t high on her list. Still, her relative had paid for the whole thing. Kathryn had thought that the aunt was probably lonely in her old age for the last relative that was still around.

  Kathryn had been pleasantly surprised when the lawyer had contacted her about the distant great aunt in Denmark. She had enjoyed the letters they had passed back and forth for the last two years. They conversed about things that weren’t too intimate at first. Her aunt compared the weather that seemed to be the same but different.

  Kathryn had written as Christmas approached about the piled up, dirty snowdrifts pushed by the snowplows. She felt compelled to at least write a two-page letter to this unknown woman, but she didn’t know what to say, so she complained about the long cold damp winters along with the hot summers due to the great lakes dumping a lot of moisture on the upper Ohio area.

  Kathryn’s last name was Marksvens. The aunt was Halla Marksonvens. The attorney had assured Kathryn that they were related. He explained that the shortening of the name was something often done by the families when they came to America.

  Aunt Halla told of the winters being mild in Denmark except high in the rare mountains. She told of spring with rivers overflowing their banks from the snow melting in the mountains. She wrote of the natural first growth produced by the rich land. Halla described the long summers, cooled by breezes from the oceans on all sides. She also told of fall with abundant harvests and many festivals that celebrated the old time warriors as they made one last trip to plunder.

  Yeah, sure, Kathryn didn’t buy into all of that. She checked on a Google Map for the location of Denmark. There it was, in the northern seas. How could it not be damp and cold? Still, in the old movies those Vikings didn’t wear very much. Hmmm.

  Halla told her of the heavy rich forests. She mentioned the many hot springs that were scattered over the landscape. Okay, that was interesting. Kathryn did some more checking on the Internet. Well looky here, she found a lot of very expensive spas located around Copenhagen.

  She asked her newfound aunt about her family, especially about the ones who came to America, hoping to learn about her dead parents. Unfortunately, Aunt Halla just filled her letters with trivia about the old times in her memories, none of which were related to the family.

  Kathryn wondered if the old woman was losing her mind or was writing a history book. The letters began to include a suggestion that Kathryn come to see her in Denmark. At first, it was like a suggestion, then it was an appeal. At last, she held out the carrot. She was rich, Kathryn was her last relative, and she would leave Kathryn everything if Kathryn would just visit for a short time.

  Actually, Kathryn wasn’t interested in someone else’s money, but the lure of finding out about her family, plus having the trip paid by the aunt, was appealing. She put in for her accumulated vacation time, having to wait two months for everything to fall into place. During that time, she got her first real passport with a visa for Denmark. The attorney brought her a packet that included a lot more tickets than she expected.

  She had thought it would be a flight from Columbus to New York, then on to Copenhagen. Nope. It was Columbus to New York to London to Copenhagen. Still, Copenhagen was on the east side of the smaller island. It was a small commuter flight to the larger territory before boarding the first bus to ride up the coast. She didn’t even get a chance to do any shopping in the great stores or visit the spas in Copenhagen.

  Chapter Two

  The coast was beautiful, but by this time, her body was tired. She had been sleeping
on planes, in airports, in taxies and on the bus, but for the entire trip, there hadn’t been a planned overnight hotel stop. She hadn’t noticed this with a lack of itinerary, but in her enthusiasm of seeing Europe, she forgot to look behind the curtain. Live and learn—where had she heard that before?

  They were stopping again to change buses. This meant a couple of hours in an uncomfortable older bus station where she didn’t speak the language. She had no idea where they were, but the highway must have moved in away from the sea since they were deep within a heavy forest. The air had a clean smell, but a chill that made her glad she had a sweater to pull around her.

  Well, in some ways, the station was like one anywhere. There was a coffee machine with ugly tasting hot coffee. Beside it were a couple of half-empty candy machines. Yet, there was a difference. Outside, against the wall, was a table covered with some type of colorful shawl set up with an old woman accompanied by a young girl about ten years old , the table covered with some type of colorful shawl. The old woman sat behind it, selling items to the bus driver.

  Kathryn walked over with her nasty coffee to see what was happening. The old woman looked up with a smile as she held up a large heavy teapot. At least Kathryn assumed that tea was what it was. Kathryn looked at it for only a second before she threw out her coffee and held out the empty cup. Whatever was in the pot had to be better than what had been in the odd paper cup that the coffee machine had dispensed with gurgles and sputters.

  The little girl grabbed Kathryn’s cup, poured some water in it from a bottle, then rinsed it. The girl held it while the old woman filled it from the pot. The woman looked at Kathryn as she poured what looked like whole cream into the cup of dark liquid. She picked up from a bowl a chunk of what Kathryn thought might be dark sugar to drop it into the cup. The woman took the same spoon she had used in the bus driver’s cup to stir for a moment before handing the cup to Kathryn. The old lady seemed very pleased with this entire process. The little girl indicated a shallow bowl with some local coins laying in it.

  Kathryn lifted the cup to her mouth, cautiously. It was very hot, so she blew before she took her first sip. Oh, this was good tea. It was strong and the cream was rich with real cane sugar. She smiled over the edge of the cup at the woman as she placed a dollar in the small saucer next to the local money that was already there. Kathryn hoped it was okay.

  She finished the tea, finding that it helped her whole body relax. For the first time in hours, once in her seat on the next bus, she slept deeply.

  The next station was in the middle of a busy small town. This was where she had to board a ferry to go across a channel. She made her way to docks that were close to where the bus passengers unloaded. She found out there was only one ferry, surprised that it but surprisingly it looked was large and substantial. However, as she looked out over the water, she began to appreciate the size of the boat. She could not see the other side of the so-called channel. It was very wide.

  It took two hours of choppy water to reach the other side and she had to admit she was glad that she had not eaten anything. The boat docked by beside a busy marina at the edge of what looked to be a rather busy small city. There was a sign that read Hals.

  So…this is was where she was to meet her aunt. She waited for her travel bag and backpack. There weren’t any porters, but her items weren’t that heavy, so she just lugged everything through the small clean station and out the front door to stand on the wide sidewalk, where and then she got her first taste of culture shock.

  There were a couple of cars, but she had no idea what make or how old, but they were not new. She saw more horse-drawn wagons than autos and a lot of people walking. There were also quite a few bicycles.

  More than that was the colors. It was all so strange because the colors were on the buildings or within the food stands. The people were dressed lightly in the bright sunlight, but the items were mostly greys or browns, or washed out blacks.

  People spoke politely as they moved around her, giving her a big smile, whether it was a man or woman. She tried to move out of the way with her totes. Of course, she didn’t understand a word they said. Okay, tonight in her room, she was going over that dictionary she had purchased to learn a few simple polite words.

  She knew her aunt spoke, English as all the communications had been in the plain old American type of words. She was remiss, though, in forgetting that everyone else around her probably didn’t speak anything but Danish. In Copenhagen, she had heard English and German in the announcements along with the signs posting the same languages.

  But, hell girl, you are not in Kansas anymore.

  At this point, she was aware that a man was waving at her from across the busy street. He was beside one of the older cars as he had the back door open. Okay, she didn’t need the interpreter to tell her this must be someone from her aunt.

  Since there was as much foot traffic on the road as there were animals and vehicles, she shouldered her backpack. She lugged her tote, thinking it would be nice if the guy would help, but he just stood, holding the car door. She carefully weaved through the polite traffic, smiling back at all the white teeth in return, and finally reached the vehicle.

  With a heavy accent, the man introduced himself. “I am Mikkel. I work for your aunt. I will take you to her home.”

  Well, that seemed to be the extent of his talking, because after he got her into the back seat and put her items in the trunk, he did not speak again. She thanked him, but then tried to ask a couple of questions. This all fell on deaf ears as he carefully drove through the slow, mixed traffic until it thinned out as they reached the edge of the small city.

  Even though she was very tired, the colors still fascinated her. The buildings and homes were either white or painted with bright colors where the sun reflected bright enough to hurt the eyes. It dawned on her about the clothes that were mostly homemade. Not the dyed-in-a-factory stuff sold at Walmart out of China.

  These clothing were strong and durable. The garments were supposed to be repaired carefully, then passed down to the next in line in the family. There was pride to say, I have my Grammy’s skirt, or I own my Uncle’s hat. It didn’t take many alterations to bring them up to date to meet what everyone saw on the TV. This was what they wore. If it was too old, they worked wore it to work in their gardens. If it was in good shape, they wore it in their shops. True, some industrious citizens wove on their looms in their homes in order to have extra income by selling the additional items.

  The buildings were bright colors. Her aunt’s home sat apart. It appeared to be larger than most of the local residences. It sat back against a ridge, with one side overlooking the channel that fed down to the sea. Inside, it was warm and tight. Evidently, generations of Marksonvens had lived here, adding to the size of the home as children were born and more room needed.

  Mikkel showed her to a bedroom on the second floor. He told her that dinner would be at seven. Great…he did know some more words. He was gone. She looked at her wristwatch, deciding she had enough time to catch a bath before meeting her last real relative. The bathroom was down the hall. It was somewhat modern in a nice old-fashioned way, with a bathtub on claw-shaped legs along with all the indoor plumbing she required.

  She didn’t mind that the cabinets were dark wood to match the floor. The towels might be a bit on the rough side, but they were very large. Beside the dim electric lights were also candles within glass holders that looked like they had been used recently. Okay, maybe the power went out now and then.

  When she finally came down for supper, she met Aunt Halla, who did speak English with almost no accent. She was a small, hardy looking woman with a trace of blond within her grey hair. Talking with her was a different problem. She did the talking. It was hard to break into her almost nonstop lectures that started from the time Kathryn walked into the dining room.

  “Well, you are late. Of course, that ran in your mother’s side of the family. It did not come from the Mar
ksonvens. The Marksonvens were up before the sun and worked until dark. They made their appointments on time. They finished every harvest, to be sure it came in first. I have been down here waiting. My mother taught me to come to dinner on time or preferably, a minute or two early. I was taught at an early age not to keep my elders waiting.”

  Kathryn smiled. “I would like to hear…”

  “Don’t interrupt your elders. My mother was a distant cousin so I have good blood on both sides. Her family fished. They worked a large boat, still do. Hard work, but brings in good money. The whole area appreciates the extra cash. Helps everyone.”

  During all of these words with the slight accent, a young girl brought in dishes full of food. Well she wouldn’t starve. There were bowls of potatoes and carrots. A platter of beef and dumplings with thick gravy was placed between where Aunt Halla who sat at the head of the table and Kathryn, who had been placed at the side. There were fresh hot yeast rolls and a saucer of fresh churned butter.

  Glasses of rich milk sat at each plate. Kathryn was amazed to watch the petite older woman put away a robust amount of all the food. How did this woman stay so trim?

  “Eat up. I don’t like to waste food. Besides, you will need the energy for the trip to the Fisherman’s Memorial Museum tomorrow.” Finally, Aunt Halla had to take a break as she stuffed a whole dumpling into her mouth.

  “Aunt Halla, I have so many questions to ask about my family, especially about my parents. I have been traveling nonstop for days and need some rest. Perhaps, we could just stay here at your beautiful home and talk?” Kathryn tried to make the question a soft request, hoping to reach the determined older woman.