“Her name is Lorraine, and you’re shit out of luck. She came to Ireland by herself.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Who the hell ventures off to another country alone? I mean, that makes about as much sense as you naming your nags after Norse gods.”
Leif straightened from brushing Freyja’s belly. “Don’t call my horses ‘nags.’ And if you had any balls at all, you’d ditch the harness and carriage and ride Thor like a real man—on his back. Then you’d know he’s rightfully named once you hear the thunder of his hooves beneath you.”
“In my defense,” Kristoff said, catching the set of grooming combs tossed his way, “I don’t believe the good Lord gave me balls so I could feel a horse beneath me.”
Leif shook his head. “For once, I can’t argue with you.”
He thought he’d ended their conversation, but Kristoff continued to loiter. “So, where are you taking her today?”
“Don’t you have some honeymooning tourists who need to get to the ferry in a few hours?”
“I see how you are. Dismissing me. Just like you did the other night.”
“I’m going to assume you’re referring to the chest we found.”
“Indeed. As much passion as you’ve had for tracing your ancestors I figured you would’ve done something with it by now, instead of letting it gather dust in your bedroom.”
Leif methodically worked on righting Freyja’s saddle and securing the girth. When finished, he patted her rump and eyed Kristoff curiously. “I know what you would like me to do with it. And I can appreciate that. But this chest is not about fame or fortune.”
“You’re sitting on a gold mine, Leif, and you expect me to turn my back on that? Wouldn’t you like to see your name credited with an incredible find instead of just being on the team of unmentioned diggers? Seriously, Leif this is huge! Viking graves are rare in Ireland and—”
“I’m well aware of that,” Leif said calmly. “But I don’t think we stumbled onto a gravesite. Where’s the sword? Or a shield boss? Or coins? There was nothing of the sort buried with it.”
“It was storming and near midnight when we unearthed the chest! We couldn’t see the broadside of a longship if we wanted to that night. Your entire house could be sitting on a warrior’s gravesite for all we know, just waiting to be discovered, and yet you’re content to do nothing.”
“You may think I’ve done nothing, but while you’ve been gallivanting with female tourists at the pubs every night, I made a trip to Dublin a few days ago and used my credentials to score access to the original manuscript of the Annals of Ulster in Trinity’s library.”
Kristoff held his emotions in check. “Go on…”
“In that document, it dictates countless historical events about the Norse invasions in Ireland, particularly the Irish chieftains who attempted to unite and banish them from their lands.”
“So, what does this have to do with the chest?”
“I found a snippet of text suggesting that one king refused to join the campaign. It doesn’t give specifics, but there is mention of a truce offering between him and an unknown heathen foreigner.”
“And you’re thinking the chest might be—”
“I’ve no idea. I’d like to believe I’ve unearthed their little token of peace, but until the carbon data comes back from the lab, it’s all speculation. Now, my gut tells me there’s greater significance with the chest than just an allegorical peace offering. Unfortunately, any trace of a legendary chest dating back to that era is miniscule at best. There’s little to no evidence one even exists.”
Kristoff planted his hands on his hips. “And you quit there? You’re so close,” he exclaimed in frustration. “You could have evidence proving that the Norse who inhabited this isle were not here by force, but by treaty. And yet, you gave up?”
Kristoff was right. He could be sitting on an extraordinary historical find, one that could change the views of historians and history books forever. It could very well help to prove that his ancestors arrived and settled the harsh Aran Islands because both parties sought an alliance and continued to live with the Gaels hundreds of years before the Viking Era died out. Truth be told, he was eager to do more research on the chest and even conduct a thorough clandestine dig beneath the crawl space of his cottage, but since Lorraine walked into his life, his attention had been sharply diverted. Surely Kristoff, his overly sexually active brother, of all people, could appreciate that.
“Look,” Leif defended in a low voice. “I have every intention of continuing my research. But right now, it’s come to a screeching halt.”
“What’s come to a screeching halt?”
Leif and Kristoff’s heads jerked simultaneously at the sound of a woman’s voice.
****
As Lorraine entered the spacious barn, she inhaled the familiar scent of weathered wood, leather, and horse. Pleasantly, it smelled like being home in Patrick’s barn and she welcomed the distinct countrified aroma.
While Leif’s handsome presence behind one of the stalls triggered an automatic smile on her lips, the other man left her bewildered. He was as tall as Leif, with a day-old shadow of a beard across his face, but nowhere near as enthralling. His jeans fit him snuggly around his thighs and by the wry grin that twitched at his mouth, she assumed he wore them more for a woman’s pleasure than his own comfort.
She looked between the two men and discerned for herself that she had probably walked in on a private conversation unfit for her ears. After a few moments of awkward silence, the man in the overly tight jeans spoke first.
“If you must know,” he offered with a smooth tone to his voice, “It’s Leif’s birthday celebration that has come to a screeching halt.”
Lorraine watched as the two exchanged peculiar looks. When Leif didn’t offer the back-up he was pulling for, the man finally ventured out on his own.
“It was supposed to be this Friday at Tí Joe Watty’s Bar, but since he has a guest now, we could always move it to a later date.”
Lorraine played along. “Why would you do that?”
The man shuffled his feet. “Because…your time in Ireland is limited. I’m sure your itinerary didn’t include drinking Guinness with a couple of Norwegians.”
Lorraine smiled, gazing deeply into Leif’s eyes. “Sounds like fun. I might be able to work that into my tight schedule of tourist attractions.”
“Well, there we go,” the man said, slapping his hands together. “The party resumes.
Leif cringed. “I suppose it does.”
“I’m Kristoff, by the way,” the coy man said, tucking the horse combs under his left arm and offering his other hand in a shake. “Leif’s brother.”
Incredulous, she accepted his hand “AKA partner in crime?”
Kristoff let out a short laugh. “Ah, looks like my reputation has preceded me once again.”
“Something tells me you prefer it that way.”
Leif tucked his chin to his chest, as if trying to keep his laughter from erupting. Kristoff noticed it too, but she doubted he took in the beautiful way Leif’s laugh lines framed his lips. Oh, how she’d love to be close enough to trace each one.
“I guess that was my cue to head on out,” Kristoff said, thumbing casually at the horse and carriage, hitched and ready to go in the aisle way of barn.
“Yeah, genius, I think it was,” Leif jeered, leaning against his mare.
Lorraine felt guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Trust me, Rain,” Leif cajoled as he stroked Freyja’s muzzle. “You won’t want Kristoff to stick around any longer than he has to.”
“He’s right,” Kristoff agreed, climbing into the carriage. “I’m boring as hell, I have two left feet, and I have this terrible habit of pleasing every woman who graces my bed and ruining her for every other man she meets. It’s a curse of mine. Truly, it is.”
“You’re also cursed with your head stuck up your arse
.” Leif waved his fingers in a gimme gesture. “My currycombs?”
Kristoff tossed the brushes to Lorraine. “Friday, then. Seven. You better be there.”
Lorraine finally exchanged looks with Leif, running her palm over the soft bristles. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter Nine
Lorraine took a deep breath as the silence between her and Leif lengthened. “I didn’t mean to berate your brother,” she said, inching closer to the stall gate that separated them. “Sometimes my loose tongue gets the best of me.”
Leif’s mind meandered over her choice of words. The subject of her tongue, and all the things it could do, clouded his brain. “No need to apologize. I enjoyed every blessed minute of it. Not many women can put Kristoff in his place.” He secured the throat latch on Freyja’s bridle and led her out of the stall. “Are you still ready to go on that ride with me?”
“Of course. Is this my horse for the day?”
“Indeed. Her name’s Freyja.”
“Isn’t that the name of a Norse goddess? Goddess of passion, love, and fertility?”
“Impressive.”
“Freshman English lit teacher. He was a big fan of mythology.” Lorraine looked the horse over. “She’s beautiful.”
Leif watched as she reached out and pet the horse’s muzzle, her dainty fingers running smoothly over its forehead. For once, he was envious of his mare, wishing he could feel the soft stroke of her hand on his starved body. He didn’t care where. At this point, he’d take an innocent caress across his own forehead too if it suited her.
He cleared his throat, trying to steer his thoughts to the plans ahead of them. “You hungry? I figured after we pay the good doc a visit, I’ll take you to Joe Watty’s and you can taste those famous fish ‘n chips I told you about—if you’re not opposed to eating lunch for breakfast.”
“I can eat anything, no matter what time of day it is,” she confessed. “But really, I’m fine. We don’t have to bother the doctor.”
“It’s not a bother. I promised you and that’s what we’re doing.”
“Seriously, there’s no need. I’m much better now.”
Leif’s inner voice argued against her. “And what if you get hurt on this horse today because your wits are still jumbled? I’d never forgive myself.”
“My wits are fine,” she stated soundly. “Test me if you don’t believe me.”
Leif’s mouth twitched in a grin, partial to the way she dared him. “All right,” he muttered, taking one step closer, his body inches from hers. “What day is it?” he asked, slowly leaning forward and tucking his nose just beneath her jaw. He took in a long breath, smelling the warm scent of her skin and letting his lips barely brush over her neck. To his surprise, she rattled off her answer with no hesitation.
“It’s Wednesday, June fifteenth, two thousand eleven, which means I have less than two days to figure out what I’m giving you for your birthday, if, in fact, the seventeenth is really the date of your birth.”
Leif pulled away and gazed into her eyes, taking in the clarity of their color. She stood before him confident, unwavering in her response. “Well done.” He hardly thought he could be as poised if she’d done the same to him. “But I’m still keeping my eye on you. One slip up and I’m dragging you to Dr. O’Donnell’s residence. By your hair, if I have to. Understand?”
“If you must.”
Leif liked her a lot. Everything about her made him crazy; her beautiful green eyes, her light airy scent, her feisty façade, her daring replies…every little thing enticed him to be brazen and bold. To forget his good manners and throw that cursed gentlemanly demeanor out the door.
Knowing better than to give into temptation, he fetched Thor from the other stall, the smell of her skin lingering all around him. Hell, if she smelled that divine, he knew she’d have to taste twice as good.
“You know,” Lorraine hummed dulcetly as she mounted, “for someone who’s supposed to have their wits about them, you sure act as if yours have slipped further than mine.”
Leif eyed her curiously. “What do you mean?”
She adjusted herself in the saddle and slipped her right foot in the stirrup without taking her eyes off him. “You never answered me.”
He mounted his horse in one swift motion, pondering her statement. “I don’t recall you ever asking me a question.”
“Technically, no, I never asked you a question. But I did make a statement that warranted a response. So, is your birthday really on the seventeenth, or is that just the day of the celebration?”
A slight chuckle escaped him as he trotted along side her. He tightened up on his reins, holding his anxious horse at bay. “My birthday is not the seventeenth. And no gifts are necessary.”
Lorraine urged her horse forward and cast a seductive look over her shoulder. “Do I get to know the date of your birth?”
“That knowledge is usually saved for my closest friends. So, we’ll see how the day goes.”
With a grin that would light up the darkest night, she planted her hand on Freyja’s rump and leaned forward. “Am I on a trial run or something?”
Leif returned the smile as he looked up to the sky, the weather appearing to cooperate with the plans he’d made. “Let’s just say you’re lucky I’m willing to overlook yesterday and start today on a clean slate.”
“Need I even ask how I’m doing thus far?”
Leif trotted forward, riding abreast of her. “So far, so good.”
She shrugged her shoulders as if mildly impressed. “Fortunate for you, I feel the same.”
He reached over and grabbed her left hand, raising it out of respect. He locked eyes with her and bowed slightly. “I am fortunate.”
****
Lorraine’s stomach twisted into knots and heat flushed her face as she felt the solid warmth of his hand beneath her palm and the strength of his fingers wrapping around hers. She was very thankful for the brisk island breeze rushing passed her skin. Not only did it cool the sensations of her thick, viscous blood coagulating in her veins, but it blew a few haphazard strands of her hair, blocking his view of her face. She blinked rapidly and drew in a slow steady breath, trying to settle her racing heart.
She had to find a way to get a grip. Fainting, falling flat on one’s face, and talking out of one’s head while blushing were not acceptable traits for a man like Leif. He was a self-assured, virile male who had better things to do with his time than spend his day placating her.
She straightened her back and pretended his gesture didn’t faze her. She did it once in the barn—God knows how!—and she’d do it again. Play hard to get, she reminded herself. Even Men’s Health magazines, that she stole from Patrick’s bedside table once or twice, claimed that men go ape-shit over a disinterested woman.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Leif said, jolting her back to reality. “Did I say something wrong?”
She waved him off. “I think I’m just hungry.”
Leif raised his finger, indicating he had something for that, and unzipped his cantle bag behind him. In seconds, he pulled out a granola bar. “Here, this should hold you until we get to Joe’s. Unless you’d like something else?”
She accepted it with a smile. “No, this is fine. Thank you.” She glanced back at his open, overstuffed pouch, seeing a few things that were not the normal saddle-bag items. “What else you got in there?”
He zipped it back up. “That’s for later.”
“Did I see a can of whipped cream?”
A cute eagerness washed over him, but he held his tongue. “I’m not saying anything more, so quit asking.”
Lorraine couldn’t contain her curiosity. What kind of horseman packs whipping cream in his saddle bag? It was definitely not the typical item found in the smart horseman’s pack in case of emergencies. Flashlights, beef jerky, leather, and a log of Duraflame Firestart—those were essentials. Whipped cream was for apple pie and sundaes, or for lovers trying to spice up their relationship. But neither
of them knew each other long enough to be lovers, nor did she think Leif was the type of guy to resort to using food-stuff as a way to liven a first date.
As far as she was concerned, Leif didn’t need any of that. Simply being with him was enough. She peeled the granola bar open and took a bite, trying to give her roaming thoughts a rest.
“What do you do for a living, Rain?”
His question caught her off guard and she purposefully took longer to chew and swallow. Leif was an archeologist. She was a bartender; not exactly the career she dreamed of. But considering the short amount of hours she put in weekly, she made damn good money. “I work at an Irish pub back in the States. I tend bar.”
“Really.”
“I know, it’s not the best career choice I could’ve made for myself, but the owners are like family to me.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
Lorraine thought back to the busy nights she had spent at Molly Malone’s, sliding pint glass after pint glass of Guinness and Irish Car Bombs across the lacquered bar to enthusiastic Reds and Bengal fans after a winning game day. Or the slower nights when she’d lend an ear to one of the regulars who was going through a lay-off at Procter & Gamble. And who could forget the crowds of Irish wannabees on St. Patrick’s Day?
Yeah, she loved it. It wasn’t about serving drinks. It was about being there for customers when they needed you. Sometimes, patrons came in to celebrate a new birth in the family or the graduation of a son who’d surpassed everyone’s expectations. Other times it was to grieve over the loss of a loved one, or the final signing of divorce papers. No matter what the reason, they came to that establishment for support, and she enjoyed being needed.
Needed.
Jack didn’t need her. He never did, come to think of it. Maybe that’s why she clung to the bar so tightly. It was the one place she felt in control and important, despite the many arguments he started because he wanted her to quit and go back to college. Get a job you can be proud of, he’d say.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 74
