by Sandra Hill
“Okay, buddy, how do you know she’s involved with Cage?”
“I saw them embracing. That same night, Cage went out on a date. And now they are in Minnesota together.”
“I admit that looks bad, but don’t rush to judgment.”
“So, you think there’s a chance he is not swiving her?”
“Hell, no! But if it makes you feel better, you can be dumbass hopeful. And, by the way, around women you should say making love, not swiving or tupping. And never, ever ask a woman to give you a blow job or to eat her. You say flowery things, like, ‘I want to taste you, baby.’ And you refer to it as ‘the most intimate kiss.’ ”
“Why?”
“Why? Why? Why? You’re worse than a child.”
“I would feel stupid asking a woman to give me a ‘most intimate kiss.’ What’s wrong with saying, ‘Blow me’? Short and descriptive. It’s not like saying, ‘Take me in your mouth and suck me dry.’ ”
Torolf rolled his eyes. “It’s too crude.”
“Sex is crude.”
“Women prefer to romanticize sex.”
“Does Hilda romanticize sex?”
“Of course, and, frankly, Finn, so do I when it comes to my wife. I make love to her.” He grinned at him, then added, “And on occasion I swive and tup her, too. You would not believe what Hilda can do in front of a full-length mirror to turn me on. Whoo-boy!”
“Pfff! Now you are a self-proclaimed master in the art of loveplay?”
Instead of answering, Torolf made much fuss over pushing his chair back, folding his arms over his chest, and closing his eyes. A deliberate attempt to shut him up, no doubt. Well, he could fix that.
“Does Hilda ever pole dance for you . . . naked?”
To his great satisfaction, Torolf’s eyes shot open, and he turned very slowly to gaze at him.
He was bloody hell not thinking of Thorfinn as a child now.
Chapter 15
“Let’s rumble,” sayeth the Vikings . . .
There was a famous Anglo-Saxon saying that Lydia had read in a history book one time. “Oh, Lord, from the fury of the Northmen, please protect us.”
How true!
She set about doing the lunch dishes, while her dad, Mike, the hired hand Lanny, and his son Itchy were out in the barn, mucking manure. Her mother was gathering eggs, and Cage was over at the Denton farm. Lydia heard the sound of a car pulling into the lane, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized it was probably Finn.
She opened the front door and went out on the porch, then plopped down with shock onto the top step at what she saw. It wasn’t just Finn. More than a dozen men emerged from the limousine and two rental SUVs. Navy SEALs, some of whom she recognized, and honest-to-God Vikings, if their attire was any indication. All of them were bickering about one thing or another, as would be expected when grown men were confined in small spaces for too long.
“Where’s my AK-47?” Sly grumbled. “If my weapon is back at that frickin’ rinky-dink airport, I’m gonna kill someone.”
"Holy shit, F.U.!” Geek exclaimed. “Why did you bring a grenade launcher? We’re hunting for one tango, not a herd of buffalo.”
F.U. said his name back at Geek.
“I have my broadaxe, but where’s my battle-axe? Do you have it, Rolf?” One Viking man was speaking to another Viking man; they were both older men, dressed in belted tunics over slim pants with cross-gartered ankle boots. Their hair, threaded with gray, was long, with thin braids on either side of their faces, like Finn had worn the night she’d first met him.
Her eyes shot to Finn then. He stood in the background, just staring at her. She walked up to him and whispered in an undertone, “Who are all these people?”
“Your private hird of soldiers,” he said with a shrug. Taking her by the forearm, he led her over to the three older “Vikings,” who were still arguing over swords. “Lydia, these are my uncles: Rolf, Jorund, and Magnus.” And to the uncles, he said, “This is Lydia Denton.”
“Greetings,” the three replied.
“The rest are my cousins . . . Magnus’s sons. You can meet them later.” Said sons were carting boxes up to the porch. Some clearly holding wines from Blue Dragon Vineyard. Another containing something called Gammelost . Fresh grapes . . . purple, green, red, and blue.
She nodded to the young men, who nodded back, a few with more than casual interest, which caused Finn to glare at them, and them to just grin back at him.
Then the third of the older Vikings, Magnus, who she recalled ran some winery in Sonoma Valley, sighed, “This is a wonderful farmstead. Do you have cows?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Three hundred of them.”
“I noted vast ploughlands, as well.”
“Four hundred acres.”
He clapped a hand over his burly chest as if she’d just announced that there was a pot of gold in the back pasture.
“He is a farmer at heart,” Jorund explained with a grin.
“Has manure in his veins,” Rolf added, also grinning.
Magnus shoved the two of them so hard they almost fell over, then walked away with a long sigh, presumably off to find a cow.
Geek walked up then and told her, “Half of us are going over to the Denton place, half will secure the perimeter here. The cavalry has arrived, baby.”
She gave a little wave to Sly and F.U., two other SEALs she did not recognize, Ragnor, three more of Magnus’s sons, and the two uncles, who crawled back into the two SUVs and took off, following the limo, which was presumably returning to the airport.
“What’s going on?” she asked Thorfinn then.
“The SEALs are here because of Dave Denton, and they will stay ’til the miscreant is caught and ’til the honoring ritual is over.”
“And you?”
He gulped several times as if searching for the right words. “I am here for you.”
She launched herself at him, then burst out crying. His neck was wet from her tears, but he just held her tight, running a soothing hand over her back, shoulders to waist, over and over, crooning, “You are safe now. No one can hurt you.”
When she finally calmed down, he stared at her and asked the question she had been dreading.
“Where is he?”
She didn’t need to ask who he meant.
Mike.
“Come,” she said, holding out a hand to link fingers with him. “I’ll take you to him.”
Now it all made sense . . .
He was about to meet the boy, who might very well be his own son, and he was more elated and frightened than he had ever been before.
They circled the side of the house, then walked toward the large barn surrounded by hides and hides of pasture. He could hear cows mooing, and he could smell the usual barnyard smells. Magnus was leaning against a railed fence watching some of the young calves chewing their cuds in the sunshine. A man about the same age, with short white hair, leaned on the fence next to him, talking, farmer to farmer, he supposed.
An older, gray-haired woman came out of a chicken coop and began to walk toward them, curiosity in her eyes. At the same time, the man talking to Magnus turned. They both appeared stunned.
"PopPop! I cleaned up all the cow poop. Now, can I—” Out of the open barn door, a boyling came skipping, his talk halting abruptly as he noticed Thorfinn approaching. He had black, rumpled hair, was missing two front baby teeth, and had scabs on his bare knees. He wore a tiny shert that read, GOT MILK!
Blood drained from Thorfinn’s head, passing in waves down to his toes. His knees felt like butter. He put a fist to his mouth to suppress a groan.
Screeching to a halt just before them, the boyling craned his head to the side, staring up at him.
It was as if time stood still as everyone watched him and the child face each other, but only he and Lydia understood the significance of the moment. Lydia gave a little whimper beside him.
“Who are you?” the boyling demanded.
“Thorfinn Haraldsson
,” he said in a croaky voice, a war of emotions rending him nigh speechless. He released Lydia’s grip on his hand and hunkered down to put himself at eye level.
“You’re big.”
“Yea, I am,” he said, smiling.
“Your eyes are the same as mine.”
He nodded.
“Wanna see the kittens in the barn?”
What he really wanted was to pull the child into his embrace and never let him go. Instead, he said, “I would like to see your kittens, above all else.”
With tears in his eyes, he took the boy’s tiny hand in his big one, and walked off with him, alone.
Five years of pain and grief were over. No matter what the future held for him, this was a moment of perfect happiness.
It was his son, Miklof. He did not care what anyone else said. He did not care what some modern dean-aye test proved.
Without a doubt, Mike was his lost boy, Miklof.
“Thank you,” he whispered, not sure if it was God, or the gods, or Lydia he was thanking. It did not matter.
This was why he had traveled through time.
Daddy knows best . . .
“Who is he?” her father asked as she entered the barn that evening for the second milking of the day.
“Magnus? He sure knows a lot about farming, doesn’t he?”
“No, not Magnus. You know who I’m talking about, girl. Your young man.”
“He’s not my young—” She halted at the disbelieving look in her father’s all-knowing eyes. “Thorfinn Haraldsson. He’s from . . . uh, Norway. He wants to be a Navy SEAL.”
Her father nodded at that. “For a second there, when you two were walking across the yard, I could have sworn he was Dave. Must have been the sun blinding me.”
She nodded, choked for words. That had been the reaction of everyone who’d met him so far today. Her mother, Lanny, even Itchy. She shuddered to think how Dave’s parents would react when they met him tomorrow.
One thing was for certain. She would never, ever forget the image of Finn’s face on seeing Mike for the first time. Oh, that every father had such pure love for his child!
“Mikey certainly took to him right off the bat.”
With good reason. “Yes, he did, but then Mike is a friendly boy.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Not that friendly.”
“What are you trying to say, Dad?”
“Don’t know exactly. Except somethin’s fishy.”
“I know we’re overrun with uninvited strangers, but don’t you want all these strong men here to help protect us and the Dentons? I for one would be a little leery of only having the four-man Farmdale police department protecting us.”
Already, the eight men staying here—some of whom would be sleeping in the house and some in the barn— had set up patrols around the clock. The house and farm certainly seemed to be secure now. Tomorrow everyone was meeting at the Dentons’ with the FBI, whose noses were a bit out of joint at the SEAL invasion.
“I’m not dumb enough to turn away good help.”
You have no idea how good, Pop. “That’s that, then.”
“One more thing, honey. Are you in love with the guy?”
I’m afraid so. “Maybe.”
Surprisingly, her father wasn’t surprised. He just nodded his head approvingly.
He thinks there’s going to be a wedding. He’s probably hoping we’ll come back here to farm. I can’t let him set himself up for disappointment. “There’s no future for us, though. Finn’s military, and you know I can’t go through that pain again.”
“Honey, that’s nonsense. Let me ask you this. If Dave were to suddenly come back, if his death were all a mistake, would you push him aside, just because he was military? ”
“That’s different.”
Isn’t it?
Lydia was so confused.
They did more than milk cows in that barn . . .
Thorfinn was so confused.
He nodded to Lydia’s father, the hired man Lanny, and his son as they left the barn and walked up to the farmstead house. Dinner would soon be ready now that the nighttime milking was done. Lydia was still in the barn, and that was the direction he was headed. This was the first chance he’d had to find Lydia alone.
“Lydia.”
She jumped from where she was standing before a sink washing her hands. Who ever heard of running water in a barn? Bloody hell, they did not have running water in homes where he came from, even royal estates.
But that was neither here nor there. He had more important things to accomplish here. To seduce Lydia. After his talk with Torolf on the airplane, he was not sure he had a flair for finer skills. Mayhap I should just say, “Come here, Lydia. Let us reconcile with a good tupping.”
No, no, no! Behave yourself, Thorfinn. She needs to be calmed, like a skittish mare afore the mounting. Oh, bloody hell. I hope I do not blurt that aloud.
She dried her hands as he came closer, her eyes troubled and scared. Why? She had no need to be frightened of him.
Remember the mare, he told himself. Nice and easy. “He is my son, Lydia. You know that,” he said in as gentle a voice as he could manage.
She turned. “I don’t know what I know at this point.”
He patted his chest, over his heart. “I know it here.”
“Maybe it’s just what you want to believe. We can have DNA tests done.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “You can do all the testing in the world. I know what I know.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Now that I have Miklof, I will never be separated from him again. “I am not certain, but you will be involved in whatever that final decision is.” As long as it fits with my plans.
“Thank you,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
Oh, gods, now come the tears. That is usually my cue to leave, but I cannot bear my Lydia crying. Whoa! When did I start thinking of her as MY Lydia? “Do not weep. This is a joyous occasion.” He moved closer.
She backed up a bit.
Skittish, for sure. “I have not seen Cage today.” Another step closer.
“He’s over at the Dentons’.” She took another step backward and hit the barn wall. A nearby cow mooed its disapproval.
He stretched an arm out and pulled at the clip holding her hair back into a queue. Her black hair spilled over his hand like threads of silk. Leaning forward, he sniffed, relishing the flowery scent.
“Did Cage sleep here yestereve?” I will kill him if he did.
She frowned, whether at his question or the fact he was pressing against her, clearly aroused. “Why would Cage sleep here?”
Mayhap Cage will be spared . . . for now. “Why indeed? ” he murmured, running the backs of his fingers over her chest, watching with satisfaction as her nipples beaded. Her sap is rising just as mine is, he realized, but he recalled Torolf’s words of caution earlier today and was careful in choosing his next words. “Have you made love with Cage?” Holy Thor! My tongue has a life of its own. I did not intend to say that.
“Good heavens, no!”
Praise the gods and pass the mead! He smiled then, and without asking, “May I, please?” as Torolf the lackwit would no doubt advise, he had her shert off and over her head and her den-ham braies undone and down at her ankles. Only then did he allow himself to look at her. “Sweet Frigg! What is this?”
“Victoria’s Secret.”
“Whose secret?”
“Never mind. I bought it this morning at the mall when I knew you were coming.”
She wore a flesh-colored scrap of lacy material over her breasts, which seemed to be higher and squished together. Her matching undergarment barely covered her dark fleece, and left her arse cheeks almost totally uncovered. Slipping his fingers under the lace, far enough that his fingertips touched her pouting nipples, he said in a raw voice, “I like it.” Now that is an understatement if I ever heard one.
“I’m glad,” she whispered.
; Cupping her bare buttocks in his hands, he lifted her ’til her woman’s channel rode his erection. Then he leaned down to kiss her, murmuring against her mouth, “I have missed you, wench.” More than you can possibly imagine.
She could not answer because he was plundering her mouth with his lips and tongue and teeth, his hunger like a wild wave through his body. But she moaned, low in her throat, and he took that to mean she had missed him, too.
“Let me take off your shirt,” she said, while he moved to her ears, feasting with his wet tongue and hot breath. “I need to feel your skin against mine.”
Ah! A woman with her own mind! And a like mind at that. How did I get so lucky? He held her up, still with his hands under her buttocks, but leaned back a bit so she could remove his shirt and the scrap of lace off her breasts. Then she brushed her breasts back and forth across his chest hairs. They both groaned then.
“Lydia,” he husked out. What was it my cousin said about not being crude? “Wouldst like to have me inside you, or wouldst like me to first give you . . . um, the most intimate kiss?”
“What? Where did you ever hear that term? Have you been reading romance novels?” She was laughing so hard her breasts were bouncing.
“I am going to kill Torolf,” he muttered. Enough with the asking! I will do things my way. Her legs still clutched his hips with her ankles crossed behind his back. “Do not move,” he said, tearing at the sides of the scrap of silk and lace covering her woman’s place. It fluttered to the floor. “I am sorry. I will buy you another.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Her voice was erotically low and sensual.
While he was still leaning back, he reached down and undid his braies, releasing himself.
She was trying to move her hips so he would enter her.
Was there e’er a prettier sight than a woman in the throes of enthusiasm? But she would not be controlling this loveplay. Not this time. He took her hips in hand. “I must needs get a condom.”
