With the cell still pressed to her ear, she stood gazing out the window. From her cottage, she had a spectacular view of the island’s beach, with Leif’s house and barn nestled in picturesque charm between the rocky shoreline and the grassy fields. The horses grazed within the lush green pastures, fenced by ancient dry stone walls, while purple and yellow flowers sprinkled the turf with dustings of color. As she took in the beautiful scenery of today, bygone imagery slowly emerged before her eyes. Where horses grazed, cows and sheep dotted the fields. Where the ocean lapped upon the shore, dragon prow longships now lined the banks. And where Leif’s homestead existed, a community of longhouses replaced it.
She gripped the sill, leaning in for a closer look. “What are the chances…” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
She heard the stark concern in Patrick’s voice. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything is just perfect. Like it was meant to be.”
“You’re not making any sense, Rain.”
The stern quality of his voice should’ve curtailed her excitement, but in visioning the Norse settlement spread across the rugged Erin landscape, she was about ready to leap out of her shoes. “Patrick, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t imagine you trumping the reincarnation card with something more outrageous?”
“How about Leif’s cottage sitting atop Dægan’s longhouse?” she challenged. “If I remember correctly, his longhouse was positioned in roughly the same place as Leif’s. It might have been rotated a bit, but I’m almost sure of its placement. What if…”
The words dangled on the edge of her tongue. The likelihood of anything still existing after a thousand years was slim to none. “Do you think something could have been left behind?”
Patrick roared with laughter. “You mean like an artifact from your king’s chest? A piece of its carved wood buried beneath his home?”
“Well, yeah. What’s so funny about that? Artifacts are found every day in lots of ordinary places where one would least expect.” Her defensive side came out. Her need to justify all rationale spilled forth like a bucket full of bouncing balls. “Leif’s an archeologist. Maybe that’s why he’s there in the first place. He’s discovered something along the shoreline and is keeping it on the low key until he unearths something big, something noteworthy. Or better yet, he’s drawn to this place for some reason and needs my assistance to uncover the locations of—”
“Rain, you’re reaching.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Like a distended balloon popping, her lofty aspirations burst into thousands of pieces. Patrick’s finality shot it down. Her spirits plummeted. “I guess I am.”
“Look, you can’t go snooping around the guy’s house looking for buried treasure. He’ll drop you like a hot potato. Can’t you just get him to fall in love with you, naturally, and be happy with that? So, what if he doesn’t recognize you from his past. You’d still have him in your life.”
“But—”
“No one is going to believe you like I do, Rain. If you try to convince him he’s your long lost husband from the Viking age, he’s likely to think you’re off your rocker. And he’ll want nothing to do with you. You said yourself, he’s extremely credulous. Is making him remember things he’s doubtful to recollect in the first place worth losing him?”
The sharp pain of that dreadful scenario pierced her heart. The last thing she wanted to do was lose Leif forever. She couldn’t. She’d never pull through the heartache. It would be like losing him in death all over again. Her tender heart wasn’t strong enough for that.
“You’re right,” she said glumly. “I have to take this as it comes and hope the connection he says he feels toward me remains.”
Patrick didn’t reply. He neither backed her up nor played devil’s advocate. His unusual passiveness drove her to desperation. She needed to hear everything was going to be all right in the end. That no matter what happened in the last few days of her vacation, she and Leif would be inseparable. Where was that damn cliché reference when she needed it most?
“Patrick? Do you think what Leif and I have is strong enough to hold us together? Should I do more?”
“I think you should be yourself.”
She hung her head. Not the cliché she was looking for.
Chapter Twenty-one
Six hours later, Lorraine sat aboard a horse-drawn carriage, leaving the bustling island village of Kilronan and heading back to Leif’s house with a bag full of groceries, wine, and a present she’d bought in one of the tourist gift shops along the street.
The wind had picked up and, on the scenic trek along the upper road, the sky grew dark. She pulled the collar of her brand new authentic Aran Isle sweater up higher and tucked her nose down inside. The tightly woven cream-colored wool served as a great insulator beneath her coat and although she was glad for its warmth, it wasn’t what sold her on the garment. The selling point had been the unique vertical hand-stitched patterns characteristic of the Aran-style stitching, each one as exceptional as the next. Since it was difficult to pick her favorite, she had bought several; one for herself, one for Patrick, and one for Leif.
“Are you certain you’ve sent me to the right address, a mhuirnín? This’d be the home of Mr. Dæganssen…and his brother.”
Lorraine looked up from beneath her sweater cocoon, the disdain in the driver’s voice unmistakable. “Aye, ‘tis, Mr. Flanagan.”
He pulled the cart to a gentle stop and eyed her inquisitively, her dark hair garnering most of his attention. “Are ye family, then?”
She smiled warmly. “Nah, I’m just a friend.”
He glanced at the bottle of wine sticking out of her bag. “Friends bring whiskey to a gathering. Lovers bring wine.”
She gathered her belongings and stepped off the carriage. “Interesting theory, Mr. Flanagan. I’ll have to keep that in mind the next time I attend a party.”
“Two people isn’t a party though. It’s an engagement of the heart conducive to intimacy.”
“Well, I’ll be,” a familiar voice broke in behind Lorraine. “Paddy Flanagan not only steals my clients out from under me with cunning, but blows intellectual smoke up their arses at no extra charge.”
Lorraine whirled around to see Kristoff, coming out of the barn, a wry smile testing his lips as he wiped his hands on a dirty, paint-stained rag.
“Kristoff,” Mr. Flanagan uttered with gross contempt. “It’s not considered thievery if the competition has taken the day off.”
“I’m painting my carriage,” Kristoff defended. “When it’s finished, it will look a whole lot better than that splinter box on wheels you’ve got hitched behind your nag.”
“You can put silk on a goat, but it’s still a goat.” Mr. Flanagan rapped the reins once, urging his horse onward at a slow walk. Before he left, he kindly tipped his hat at Lorraine and said, “May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, the foresight to know where you're going, and the insight to know when you're going too far. Slán go foill, a mhuirnín.”
“Slán, a Flanagan a chara,” she called after him. “Is go raibh maith agat!” By the time she turned around, Kristoff was already at her side.
“Here, let me carry that for you,” he suggested, slinging the rag over his shoulder and taking her grocery bag from her. He smelled of fresh paint and turpentine, lending proof that he was, indeed, painting something. Peeking inside, his face brightened. “What are we cooking tonight?”
“Parmesan-crusted chicken,” she said, glancing back at Mr. Flanagan as they climbed the steps to Leif’s porch. “So, what was all that about?”
“Nothing but a little friendly rivalry. Paddy and I go way back...”
Though she never asked, Kristoff explained how he and Mr. Flanagan first met in a Dublin pub during the World Cup finals where his team beat Ireland in an upset match. “…four years later, we met again, only this time the upset
was over a woman.”
“Who was the victor on that bout?”
He gestured toward his overall self with a free hand before opening the door for her. “Do you really think I’d lose?”
Lorraine had to laugh at his incredible arrogance. “You know, good looks aren’t as important to a woman as you might think.”
“Tell that to Paddy when his girlfriend went home with me that night. I don’t think he’d agree with you.”
“You stole his girlfriend?” Lorraine asked as they walked together toward the kitchen. Kristoff set the bag of groceries on the table and pulled out the wine, eyeing the label. “She was gagging for it. But blimey O’Reilly, that red-head had a set of lungs on her. On….multiple…occasions I thought the windows would shatter.”
Lorraine rolled her eyes at Kristoff’s obvious emphasis on the word multiple, as if he felt inclined to disclose the sordid details of her numerous orgasms. “It’s a wonder how Flanagan hasn’t hired a hit man for you by now.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Kristoff said, handing her the bottle. “He still owes me.”
“Owes you for what?”
“For roughing up a few bevvied tourists who tried to stiff Flanagan after he’d carted them around all day. Flanagan was about to consume a knuckle Reuben when I showed up.”
“Didn’t know you had it in you, Kristoff.”
“Well, it was three against one. I had to even it up a little bit. Besides, no one picks on Flanagan but me.”
“Is that why you came out of the barn, instead of Leif?”
“Lucky for you I did. Flanagan was pulling out all the stops with that poetic Irish codswallop, blithering on and on.”
“I sense some underlying hostility,” she said, putting the wine in the refrigerator. “Let me guess. The fiery red-head preferred the poetic codswallop and she went running back to Flanagan.”
Every muscle in Kristoff’s face clenched. “That was the word around town, but who knows for sure.”
Lorraine burst out laughing, but realized it was far too enthusiastic. Kristoff may appear to be the vain self-absorbed womanizer on the outside, but inside he had feelings. Though he shrugged it off and laughed along with her, she saw the damage the fickle red-head had left behind. “Sounds like she doesn’t know what she wants. Do you really want to waste your energy on a woman who’s that indecisive? I’d think your type of woman has strength in her character and she needs to be confident with herself in order to keep up with you. Besides, a good set of lungs is overrated.”
Kristoff seemed to enjoy her joke. It was the first time she’d ever witnessed his humble side and she hoped he’d bring it out more often around her. “I should get back to the barn,” he thumbed over his shoulder. “Leif’s probably thinking I’m hitting on you by now.”
“Thanks for helping me carry all this stuff.”
“You’re welcome.” His smile was kind, as if he truly enjoyed assisting her and didn’t have a hidden agenda behind the gentlemanly demeanor.
“Hey, why don’t you stay with us for dinner,” Lorraine suggested as she unloaded the bag onto the counter. “I know I’ll have plenty, that is if you like Italian.”
He fidgeted nervously. “I love Italian. And I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass. I may not be as poetically versed as ol’ Flanagan out there, but I have a clever saying I often refer to on moments like these.”
“Oh,” Lorraine said, her interest peaked. “What is that?”
“Three’s a crowd,” he winked with a smile. As he turned to leave, he added, “I’ll let Leif know you’re here.”
“Actually,” she called out. “I’m a bit early and I’d like to take the extra time to cook the meal and get ready.” She reached into her backpack and lifted a little black dress by its spaghetti strap, biting her lip as she surrendered her plans.
Kristoff nodded in understanding. “I see.” The smile he boasted eventually faded into a concerned look. “Can I ask you something?”
Lorraine felt the jolt of Kristoff’s serious tone. She was almost afraid of his open-ended question and her heart kicked up in pace. She released the dress to let it fall back into its hiding place and crossed her arms. “Sure.”
“You’re here for two weeks on holiday, correct?”
His query leaned toward the peculiar side, but she answered it, not yet knowing the direction of his interrogation. “Yes.”
“And after that, you’re heading back to the States.”
Honestly, she hadn’t thought that far in advance. She didn’t want to return to Kentucky once her vacation was over in hopes she’d have made some headway with Leif by that time. She figured she’d cross that bridge when she got there. Given the exceptional circumstances of her former relationship with Leif, it was best to let Kristoff believe she didn’t have ulterior motives during her stay in Ireland. “My flight leaves in ten days.”
“Ten days,” he repeated. “And what are your plans in those ten days?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?” Lorraine knew exactly what he meant, but for the sake of borrowing time, she wanted to hear it straight from his mouth.
“I mean, what are your plans with my brother?” He casually wrapped his knuckles on the kitchen table, his eyes continually averting from hers. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but Leif is into you. Seriously into you. No woman has ever been able to…” he struggled to find the word, “…interest him. He’s not the kind of man who falls easily. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him, and I thank you for coming along when you did. Sometimes, I think he’s too wrapped up in his work. He’s got some over-excessive need to find out about his ancestors. To find out who he is. It’s like he’s not satisfied just being Leif Dæganssen, son of Lars and Ingeborg of Trondheim. But, with you stepping into his life all of a sudden, those obsessive ambitions have all gone to the wayside. At least for the moment anyway. You’ve given him something else to focus on. That being said, he is my brother and I don’t want to see him get hurt. Trust me, I’m all for noncommittal relationships and fly-by-night promiscuous affairs. But that’s not Leif. If you plan to live it up with him like your American spring flings in tropical paradises, perhaps you should find someone else.”
Lorraine found it difficult to face Kristoff. It pained her to know he thought so little of her, yet at the same time, she understood exactly where he was coming from. She had no intention of “living it up” with Leif and leaving him behind like a typical run-of-the-mill college fling. He meant too much to her.
But how does one convey a deep sense of adoration and respect for a man she’s only met a few days ago without sounding like a pitiful, easily swooned, desperate female on the hunt? “I can’t predict the future, Kristoff, nor can I say where Leif and I will be at the end of my ten days, but I can assure you I have no intention of hurting your brother. I suppose I should admit I’m falling for him too, though I’m not sure it helps matters.”
Kristoff gave a little chuckle. “That’s cute.”
Lorraine looked at him, puzzled. “What is?”
“Leif is falling…and so is Rain. Falling is what leaves and rain inevitably do, right?”
The play on words had Lorraine laughing with him. “I never thought of it that way.”
“All right,” Kristoff said, turning on his heels. “Enough of this. I’ll go back to the barn with Leif and pretend you’re not here. I assume you’ll be making an entrance?” he asked, gesturing toward the dress in the bag.
She bit her lip again. “If I must.”
“I think he’d like that. Besides, I’d like you to come out and see the project we’re working on. I don’t think you’ve seen a boat quite like this.”
Lorraine smiled, accepting Kristoff’s candid invitation. “When dinner is finished, I’ll come a calling.”
Kristoff hesitated at the kitchen doorway. He brought his hand up to the frame, gripping it for support before facing her again. “If you don’t mind, I’d like this conversation to
remain here, between us. Leif would be sorely pissed if he knew I intervened.”
“Of course,” she agreed. He nodded once and then he was gone.
****
“About time you came back,” Leif said from behind the hull of the boat.
“Hey, a man’s got to take a leak sometimes,” Kristoff retorted as he entered the barn. “And since when are you timing my urination hiatuses?”
“Since they’ve become half hour intervals. Seriously, what the hell took you so long?”
Kristoff snatched the rag from his shoulder and threw it at him. “I’ve been blessed with a huge bladder. It’s equivalent to the other sizeable components of my lower half.”
Leif rolled his eyes and discarded the rag. “Spare me.”
“You asked.”
Leif stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the two wooden obstacles in his spacious barn. To his left stood a newly painted horse carriage complete with a shiny black leather driving harness. To his right, a rough replica of a hand-hewed Viking longship in serious need of a good sanding. “We got a lot done. I’d say in a few more days, we could have this drakkar sea worthy.”
Kristoff touched the side of the ship and ran his hand along its gunwale, as if the boat itself were a desirable mistress. “She’s going to be beautiful.”
Leif couldn’t argue. Though he hated the long, painstaking hours spent hand-hewing the planks as his Norse ancestors did and attaching them to the keel with wooden dowels, the product of their year-long undertaking was emerging into a remarkable work of art before his eyes. “That she is.”
“Think we can finish the sanding tonight?” Kristoff asked eagerly.
“Well, if you don’t run off on another pissing intermission, I’d say we could. But no matter what, I’m quitting at seven. Rain’s making dinner tonight.”
“She is, huh?”
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 82
