Viking Unchained

by Sandra Hill

  “Some of this ritual I am making up as I go along,” he whispered to her.

  “No kidding.” She grinned at him.

  Then he took the knife in hand.

  “Oh, no. Not the cutting business again!”

  “Shh.” He drew blood from both of them, tied their wrists with a gold cord, and said, “As my blood melds with yours, Lydia, so shall my seed. From this day forth, you are my beloved.”

  And she said back to him, “With this mingling of our blood, I pledge thee my troth . . . and my everlasting love. And don’t you ever cut me again.”

  Magnus spoke up then. “Who presents the mundr, or ‘bride-price,’ on behalf of Lydia?”

  “I do,” her father said, handing Thorfinn a rolled parchment.

  When he opened it, Thorfinn scowled at Lydia. It was the deed to half the farm, postdated twelve years hence.

  “This is my morgen-gifu for you, Lydia,” he said, a wicked grin twitching at his lips. “This ‘morning gift’ is not to be opened ’til the morrow, following tonight’s swi . . . uh, consummation.” He could not wait to see her reaction. It was the last gift he’d had from his brother Steven . . . the polished marble harem wand. I cannot wait to see MY reaction.

  “Who acts as witness to the handsal, which thus seals this wedding contract?” Magnus inquired, and five men stepped forth: Torolf, Ragnor, Geek, Cage, and Slick. It should have been six, but Thorfinn had demanded that empty space to represent his missing brother. And he was . . . sorely missed.

  Torolf handed Thorfinn his sword then, and, placing a plain golden finger ring on the tip of the sword, Thorfinn offered it to Lydia, stating, “I give you this ring to mark the continuous circle of our unbreakable vows, and this sword to hold in trust for our sons.”

  “Did you buy that at Home Depot, too?”

  “Shhh, wench.” He chucked her under the chin. “Do you accept?”

  She nodded, with tears filling her eyes, and repeated the ritual words with a male finger ring for her groom.

  With one hand each on the hilt of the sword and their other hands joined, Magnus motioned for their witnesses to step forth. Then he said, “We declare ourselves witness that thou, Lydia of Mill Pond Farm, and thou, Thorfinn of Norstead, do bond to each other in lawful betrothal, and, with the holding of hands, dost promise one to the other love, honor, and fidelity as long as blood flows through your veins.”

  “Are you ready, wife?” Thorfinn asked with a wink.

  “Yes, I’m ready, husband,” Lydia replied, having been forewarned. With a screech of delight, she ran for the barn, lifting her gown knee-high. It was the brudh gumareid , or “bride-running.”

  Thorfinn chased after her, followed by the entire wedding party, laughing and cheering. In the end, he waited for her at the barn door, grinning, with the sword laid across the entryway. Normally, it would have been at the entrance of his keep. If she stepped over the sword, it was the final proof that she accepted her change of status, from maiden to wife.

  She did, to the raucous cheers of all.

  Thorfinn whacked her across the arse with a bare palm then, for all the trouble she had put him to.

  She pinched his arse, for all the trouble he had put her to.

  Once inside the barn, Thorfinn plunged his sword into the central beam, putting a deep scar into the supporting pillar of the barn. About a hundred cows mooed their disapproval. The depth of his cut was an indication of virility. His cut was very deep.

  After that was much feasting and drinking of the honey-mead, something Vikings excelled at, as they told one and all as the day wore on. That, and something else, Thorfinn whispered to his wife when the reception seemed never-ending.

  “I cannot wait,” she whispered back.

  “Well, why did you not say so afore?” With that, he picked up his new wife and carried her off for a private celebration.

  Where was a ghost-buster when you needed one? . . .

  In the secluded cabin where they would honeymoon, Thorfinn made love to his wife two times afore succumbing to sleep. It had been a long, exhausting day for both of them. Plus, he had drunk a tun of mead.

  But he was awakened by the strangest dream.

  A man sat on a cloud, grinning down at him. There was no doubt in his mind who it was. David Denton.

  “Go away,” he said, rolling over to press his face into the pillow. It must be the alehead affecting me.

  The dream was still there.

  “So, you and my wife, huh?”

  He checked to make sure Lydia was still asleep. She was. “She is no longer your wife. You are dead.”

  “Semantics, my man. Just semantics.”

  He had no idea what that word meant and wasn’t about to ask. “Are you here to haunt me? If so, forget about it. I am not leaving Lydia.”

  “Why would I haunt you? I sent you.”

  “Huh? Are you an angel?” Or a jest of that joker god Loki?

  “Not yet. But know this—I was there in Baghdad when those tangos attacked you.”

  That is just wonderful. “Why did you not help me?”

  “That’s not the way it works, buddy. And I was there when the SEALs brought you back to Coronado. I was there at the Wet and Wild the night you met Lydia; in fact, I had to push you mentally to even go. And I was there the first time you made love.” He paused for so long, Thorfinn thought the dream had ended. But, nay, the specter cleared his throat and spoke again. “That was hard, watching Lydia with another man, but I want her to be happy. And Mike needs a dad.”

  Thorfinn sat up, and the dream continued. Was he sleeping in this position now? Please, gods, let me be sleeping. He checked to see if he had awakened Lydia, but she slept on. “Are you saying that you approve?”

  “I need to give my blessing before I can move on to the other realm.”

  “And do you?” Like I care!

  David nodded and a tear slipped from his eye and slid down his almost translucent cheek. “Take care of my family, Viking. Take good care, or I will haunt you forever.”

  He nodded, touched beyond words. And, yea, I do care.

  “God bless . . .”

  The dream ended abruptly.

  Thorfinn ran to the window. He saw one single star flicker in the sky. Then go out.

  Reader Letter

  Dear reader:

  Well, another Viking bites the dust!

  I hope you liked Thorfinn, that you smiled at his cluelessness and felt a tug at your heartstrings when he grieved over his lost baby. I also hope you shared Lydia’s pain when she lost her precious husband.

  I’ve said it before, and will say it again: there is nothing sexier than a tormented man with a sense of humor, and that was Thorfinn, for sure. I also hope that you continue to enjoy the Viking Navy SEAL scenario; the similarities between ancient Viking warriors and modern-day SEAL operatives boggles the mind. SEALs even call themselves webfoot warriors.

  But please know this: the Vikings I depict in my books are my creation alone. I try to the best of my ability (years of research) to make the background of my books historically accurate; however, these stories are romantic humor, not historical novels. So, the Magnusson and Ericsson families are pure fantasy, based on bits and pieces of history. The ritual words are my spin on oral histories that are not always reliable. Hey, there wasn’t much written word a thousand years ago; in fact, except for a few rare cases, you would have had a hard time finding a book. It is an undisputed fact, though, that the Viking men were strong, brave fighting men who had an unusual sense of humor for their times. They had an ability to laugh at themselves like no other culture. And, yes, they were reputed to be very handsome and great lovers. That bit about all Norsemen being rapers and pillagers was a figment of some monk scholars’ bias . . . well, maybe not the pillaging. Vikings did relish going a-Viking, and if they picked up a few souvenirs along the way, well, those were the perks.

  If this is your first taste of my Viking Navy SEALs, you may want to go back and l
ook for others in this loosely linked series (which can be read out of order), including Rough and Ready and Down and Dirty. And look for another in 2009 . . . a contemporary woman going back to Viking times. I call it Private Benjamin meets Stripes because my heroine, after being jilted several times, finds herself in the middle of brutal training for WEALS, a female Navy SEAL program, wondering, “What was I thinking?”

  Please visit my website for news, videos, genealogy charts, freebies, and a complete book list.

  As always, I wish you smiles in your reading, and I thank you from the heart for all your support.

  Sandra Hill

  PO Box 604

  State College, PA 16804

  www.sandrahill.net

  Glossary—SEALs

  boondockers. Heavy boots.

  BUD/S. Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training.

  Budweiser. The trident pin worn by Navy SEALs.

  CENTCOM. Central Command.

  collateral damage. Inadvertent casualties and destruction inflicted on civilians in the course of a military operation.

  Coronado (California). The West Coast site of the U.S. Naval Amphibious Base and the Naval Special Warfare Center, where BUD/S are trained. The other SEAL training center is located in Little Creek, Virginia. Coronado is also home to the famous Hotel del Coronado.

  cover your six. Cover your back.

  DOR. Drop on request.

  FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition.

  Gig Squad. A punishment inflicted during BUD/S where a SEAL trainee is forced to spend hours, after the evening meal and a long day of training, outside the officers’ head-quarters, doing many strenuous exercises, including the infamous duck squat.

  grinder. The blacktopped area where PT takes place, along with the O-course, on the SEAL training arena at Coronado.

  high and tight. Standard military haircut.

  Look and See. Reconnaissance mission whereby the operators penetrate enemy territory, identify the targets, and depart without being seen.

  MRE. Meal ready to eat.

  NSW. Naval Special Warfare.

  O-course. Obstacle course on the training compound, also referred to as the Oh-My-God course.

  PT. Physical training.

  scruffies. Lowest of the low in military training.

  SEAL. Acronym for Sea, Air and Land, est. 1962.

  Sims. Short for Simunitions, paint bullets that emulate live ammunition, down to short-range ballistics and cyclic rates of fire.

  snafu. Situation normal all fucked up.

  SOCOM. U.S. Special Operations Command.

  SOF. Special Operations Forces.

  tango. Terrorist or bad guy.

  UA. Unauthorized absence, equivalent of AWOL in the Navy and Marines.

  WARCOM. Warfare Command, as in Naval Special Warfare Command.

  XO. Executive officer.

  Glossary—Vikings

  Althing. An assembly of free people that makes laws and settles disputes. It is like a Thing but much larger, involving delegates from various parts of a country, not just a single region.

  Birka. Market town where Sweden is now located.

  braies. Long, slim pants worn by men, usually tied at the waist; also called breeches.

  drukkinn. Drunk.

  gunna. Long-sleeved, ankle-length gown for women, often worn under a tunic or surcoat or long, open-sided apron.

  Hedeby. Market town where Germany is now located.

  hird. Troop, war band.

  Hordaland. Norway.

  jarl. High-ranking Norseman, similar to an English earl or a wealthy landowner; could also be a chieftain or minor king.

  Jorvik. Viking-age York in Britain.

  Jutland. Denmark.

  karl. One rank below a jarl.

  nithing. One of the greatest of Norse insults, indicating that a man is less than nothing.

  Norsemandy. Vikings ruled what would later be called Normandy. To them, it was Norsemandy.

  odal right. Law of heredity.

  sagas. Oral history of the Norse people, passed on from ancient history onward.

  sennight. One week.

  skalds. Poets or storytellers who composed and told the sagas, which were the only means of recording ancient Norse history, since there was almost no written word then.

  straw death. To die in bed (mattresses stuffed with straw), rather than in battle, which was more desirable.

  Thing. An assembly of freemen called together to discuss problems and settle disputes; forerunner of the English judicial system; like district courts of today.

  thrall. Slave.