“A priest?” Grandma Rose and Juanita suggested at the same time.
“A God man? Hmmm. That might work. Since vows are usually made in the name of the gods, or a specific god, like your Christian One-God, I assume that a representative of that god would be the man I need. Where might I find such a person?”
“There’s one in the village. Father Sylvester at Saint Agnes Church.”
“Ah, I recall passing it on our way here.”
“Have you discussed this…uh, vow business…with Angela?” Grandma Rose inquired.
“Not yet, but you can be sure that I will.”
Grandma Rose practically swooned at his words. She must need a toe-back-hoe stick, she was acting so strangely. “See, Juanita, I told you my novena would work.”
“I did not tell you, Rose, but I have been saying novenas, too,” Juanita admitted.
“Do you think it would be too soon to plan a ceremony for September, right after the harvest?” Grandma Rose was tapping a forefinger against her closed lips, as if deep in thought.
“That would be perfect, but all the planning! Ay-yi-yi!”
“Would that be enough time?” Grandma Rose asked him.
“Huh?” He had no idea what these two were talking about. All he was concerned about was his celibacy vow. But what he said was, “Sure.” That was a shortened way that people in this country denoted, “For a certainty.” He liked that word almost as much as whatever! He stood, not about to waste any more time prattling about unimportant matters when he had to see a priest about a vow—a vow that could affect the rest of his life. “Well, I am off to see the priest, then.” He began to walk away. Grandma Rose and Juanita barely noticed, so busy were they with planning some ceremony…to celebrate the harvest, he presumed.
“That church is at least five miles away,” Torolf reminded him. Apparently the thorn was still sticking to his backside.
“Go away.”
“You are going to walk that far?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“If you were not such a half-brain, you would know. Because a priest is God’s representative on earth. I need to speak with someone in authority about vows.”
“And the breaking of them?” Torolf asked with a laugh.
“That, especially,” Magnus conceded. “If I have traveled through time, hard as that is to believe, and endured all the rigors and hardships of such a mind-boggling journey with nine bothersome children, including one especially bothersome, insolent sixteen-year-old, I must deserve some compensation.”
Torolf was still laughing as his father stomped off.
Goin’ to the chapel…uh, rectory…
“Are you the God-man?”
The man sitting on a stone bench in the backyard of Saint Agnes’s rectory reading a Bible practically jumped out of his monk garb at Magnus’s simple question. “Ga…ga…ga…” he sputtered, looking up the long length of Magnus’s frame to his impatient face. He did not appear frightened by his size, just stunned. “God man?” he finally got out.
“Yea, I am looking for the priest named Father Sylvester…the God-man.”
“Oh. That would be me. Ha, ha, ha! What can I do for you, son?”
“I need advice on vows.”
“Sit down, please. I’m getting a crick in my neck.” The priest motioned for Magnus to sit on another stone bench facing him. “Now, tell me, what kind of vows do you have in mind? Baptismal vows? Wedding vows?”
“Holy Thor, nay! A celibacy vow.”
“Aaahhh,” the priest said. “You are considering taking religious orders and are not sure if you can handle the celibacy vows. Well, I can only tell you of my own experience and that of my fellow priests.”
“Huh?”
“As a first step, I would suggest making an appointment with the bishop of our diocese. After an initial interview, he may or may not recommend a seminary for you. I personally like—”
“Halt, halt, halt, halt, halt!” Magnus held both palms out in front of him to stem the priest’s words. “I am not interested in entering the priesthood. For the love of Frigg, I have bred thirteen children of my loins. ’Tis a little late to consider such a path in life.”
“Thirteen children! Well, well, well! You certainly take the church’s ban on birth control seriously, don’t you?” The priest laughed jovially. Bloody hell, even priests know about birth control. Am I the only person in the world who did not? Then the priest added, with another laugh, “Thirteen children and you now want to take a celibacy vow? Isn’t that like closing the barn door after the horse has fled?”
“Sarcasm ill suits your priestly role,” Magnus snapped. “Let me explain myself better. I made a celibacy vow after having all these children because I did not want to have any more. At that time and place, ’twas a wise decision. I had no knowledge that there was any other method of birth control besides abstinence.”
“Where have you been living, boy? Another century?”
“You could say that.” Magnus explained further, though not bothering to tell of his time-travel theory. He was having trouble believing it himself. What might a stranger think?
The priest nodded his understanding of the situation thus far. “Go on, my son.”
“My question is, Can a vow be broken when the circumstances surrounding the vow have changed?”
“Surely you do not expect me, a priest, to say that it is proper to practice birth control. You know the Vatican’s rule on that, don’t you?”
Actually, Magnus did not, but that was neither here nor there. “I do not come to you soliciting your sanction of birthing control. I merely want to know how the gods—your God in particular—feel about vows. Are they ironclad?”
The priest pondered for several moments, then said, “I will tell you the same thing I tell my parishioners on many subjects: God can be stern, but more than anything, he is a loving father. He wants what is best for us. He wants us to be happy, within his rules. And if the best thing for us requires flexibility, bending the rules on occasion, I cannot believe that God would be offended. Mostly our actions should not hurt others. So, in my humble opinion, when you must question whether some decision is right or wrong, ask yourself if anyone will be hurt.”
“In other words,” Magnus interpreted, “this is a decision between me and God.”
“Precisely.”
Magnus stood up, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“One other thing, my son…”
“Yea.”
“If my instincts are correct, and you are headed in the direction I think you are, I would suggest your taking vows of a different sort.”
“And those would be?” Magnus smiled broadly. He was in a cheery mood now that the priest had given him a dispensation of sorts from his vow.
“Wedding vows.”
Magnus’s smile disappeared.
Oh, Lord, spare me from the fury of a Norseman….
It was nine o’clock on the second night since Angela had left the Blue Dragon. Only a day and a half, but she missed everyone miserably—not just her grandmother, as usual, but all nine of the “Viking” children, each in his or her own way, and most especially Magnus, the most endearing of all to her. The only way she’d been able to handle her loneliness was to bury herself in work. As a result, she’d just returned from the office with a briefcase loaded with “homework.”
That was when she heard a loud banging on her door.
Looking through the peephole, she saw nothing but the chest of a very tall man. Uh-oh! She knew only one person who was that tall. Magnus.
How did he get here?
How did he manage to get past her doorman?
Had something happened back at the Blue Dragon…something so bad it required personal delivery of the news? Oh, God! Oh, God! Please don’t let it be Grandma…or one of the kids.
Quickly she opened the door. It was open only a crack when Magnus shoved it wide. With barely a glance in h
er direction, he stormed past her and into the living room, leaving her to close the door. Was it ominous that he was back to wearing his Viking attire—wide-belted tunic and cross-gartered ankle boots? The only thing missing was his sword.
“Magnus! Is something wrong at the Blue Dragon? Is someone hurt?” Angela followed him into the living room, where he was pacing like a caged animal. He’d placed an old overnight bag of her grandfather’s on the floor. He slammed the leather fanny pack that Grandma had bought him several days ago onto the coffee table. It looked as if he was planning an extended stay. “How did you get here?”
“I paid a friend of Juan’s to drive me here. In his Jeep. My ears are still ringing from the heavy iron music on his raid-he-oh.” He cast her such a look of hostility that she reeled. “Nothing is wrong at the Blue Dragon, and no one is hurt…except me.”
“You? You’re hurt? Have you been to a doctor?”
He waved away her concern. “Not that kind of hurt.”
Reaching for his fanny pack, he unzipped it and asked her in a cool voice, “Have you ever heard of birthing control, Angela?” Before she had a chance to answer, he held up a very long strip of foil packets. Condoms. At least two dozen of them.
She tilted her head to the side in question. “Of course I’ve heard of birth control. Who hasn’t?”
“I have not.”
“Oh, come on, Magnus. Everybody over the age of puberty, and even those younger, have heard about birth control—pills, IUDs, injections, the works.”
“I have not,” he repeated. If looks could kill, the one directed at her then would have done just that.
“Magnus, I don’t understand any of this. Why are you so angry? Why are you pretending to be unaware of stuff that is common knowledge everywhere in the world?”
Instead of answering her question, he asked, “Do you take pills that prevent conception?”
She nodded. Even though she hadn’t been sexually active for a long time, it was a habit she had never dropped.
He appeared to breathe a sigh of relief, despite his continuing fury. “I cannot believe that you have tortured me these past few days with all that half-sex nonsense when we could have had whole sex anytime.”
“I thought you liked the way we fooled around,” she said, more than a little bit hurt at his criticism. “You said you were satisfied with almost-sex.”
“I lied. Or else I was muddle-brained with frustration.” He arched an eyebrow at her sardonically. “I like half-sex. I love whole sex.”
“But what difference does it make? You took a celibacy vow. That was why we couldn’t have sex.”
“Are you really that lack-witted, lady? I took the vow because I did not want to have more children.”
“Why didn’t you just practice birth control?”
“Aaarrgh!” he said, pulling at his own hair, which was tied back into a queue. “How could I practice what I did not know existed?”
“You’re really confusing me, Magnus.” And, frankly, scaring me a bit, too.
“Do men use these cone-domes”—he shook the foil strip in her face—“at the same time their women take birthing-control pills?”
“Not necessarily…usually only when they are with new partners and they fear the transmission of some disease.”
“I have no disease. I tell you that now…just in case you might be interested.”
Angela was totally baffled. “Magnus, there have been so many things this past week that have surprised you and your children. Normal, everyday things. And now birth control, which has been around for a very long time all over the universe. How is it possible that you don’t know all this stuff?”
“That I will explain to you later. It is an unbelievable story, one I just learned about yestermorn, but I have a more important task to take care of now.” He undid his belt and sat down on the couch to remove his boots. Then he stood and drew his thigh-length tunic over his head. All that was left was his jockey shorts.
Be still, my heart. If Magnus decides not to take an acting job, he can always model underwear. He’d do Michael Jordan out of a job any day. “Wh-what important task?”
“Tupping.” He was already moving toward her on the other side of the room, and there was a determined glint in his eyes.
Tupping. I know what that crude, archaic word means. I also know what its vulgar modern counterpart is. Should I be offended? Nah. Maybe later. “But what about your vow?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Magnus smiled, but it was a feral smile, and she was the target. Without thinking, Angela backed up a bit.
“I got a dispensation…sort of.”
“From whom?” she asked in a strangled whisper. Magnus had backed her up against the wall and was beginning to unbutton her blouse. The enticing fragrance of Old Spice deodorant enveloped her, along with Magnus’s very own male scent.
“The God-man at Saint Agnes,” he murmured against her ear, even as he pulled her blouse out of her skirt and off her shoulders, and tossed it aside.
“Father Sylvester?”
“The very one.” How he got the words out, Angela had no idea because his eyes were riveted on her breasts, which were encased in a flesh-colored lace bra. As he removed the bra it was obvious he had nonpriestly ideas dancing in his head.
“And he told you that you don’t have to obey your celibacy vow anymore?”
“Not precisely.”
Magnus shimmied her skirt down her thighs, leaving her in nothing but her panty hose and black pumps. Then he flicked the nipples of both breasts with his thumbs, sort of as an afterthought.
Oh…oh…some afterthought! She tried to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head and asked in as calm a voice as she could, “What, precisely?”
Magnus straightened and looked down at her, a small smile of satisfaction on his face. “The priest said it was a decision that I had to make with God.” He inserted the fingers of both hands in the waistband of his underwear and dropped them nimbly to the floor.
Oh, geez! Oh, boy! Wow!
Magnus was sporting nothing but his two silver armrings, as usual, and an erection that was anything but usual.
He grinned and did the same with her panty hose. The look on his face as he gazed at her was the highest form of compliment.
“And what did you and God decide?”
“Of course, I did not talk to God,” he chided her with a playful flick of his fingertips to her chin. “But I did hear a voice in my head…sort of.”
She had to smile at that. “And did the voice say, ‘Go for it’?”
“In so many words.” He returned her smile. “Or mayhap it was wishful thinking on my part. Whatever.”
She let her eyes roam downward again, unable to stop looking at the immense erection pressing against her belly.
Noticing the direction of her stare, he ducked his head sheepishly. “Do not expect such a spectacular show all the time, dearling. This one has been building for quite a while.”
Oh, good heavens! Is he really calmly discussing the size of his penis with me? But while he is on the subject… “Listen, Magnus, I’m sorry to be a spoilsport here, but it’s been a long time for me, and I don’t think I can take all—”
Before the words were out of her mouth, Magnus had lifted her off the floor by the waist, parted her dangling legs with his own, and entered her wetness with a surprising surge. To the hilt. I…do…not…believe…this. Apparently she could hold his impressive length and width, after all. Angela felt incredibly full, almost to the point of pain, but her inner muscles shifted and soon accommodated his size.
Meanwhile, Magnus had his head thrown back, and veins were sticking out on his neck. His eyes were closed and his teeth bared and gritted. Down below, he was imbedded in her, but unmoving.
Angela felt like a rag doll, pinned to the wall, bare shoulders to bare buttocks—not by a stickpin, but a spear…a most erotic, welcome spear.
Magnus opened his glazed eyes finally and blin
ked at her. Then he did the most outrageous thing. He pulled out of her, sank to the floor, and put his face on his arms, which were folded over his bent knees. She’d landed on her feet, but continued to lean back against the wall.
Oh, my God! He’s changed his mind. He doesn’t want me after all. Is it my body? Now that he’s really seen me naked, I’m probably not that desirable to him. “Magnus? What’s wrong?” She barely got the words out, so empty and bereft and, yes, still very aroused did she feel.
Without looking up at her, he said, “I came here in anger. I just realized that I do not want to make love to you in anger. Not the first time. Not ever.”
If I were a squealing kind of girl, I would be yelling “Yippee!” about now. Angela’s heart lurched at his words. Trying for a lighter tone, she asked, “How long do you think this anger will last?”
He turned his face on his arms without raising his head. “Why?”
Dumb, dumb, dumb! Does he really need to ask that? “Because I’m feeling a bit lonely and vulnerable standing here like a naked vestal virgin.”
“Naked vestal virgin, eh?” Magnus had raised his head and a small smile was twitching his beautiful lips. “Exactly what are you trying to say, wench?”
“I want you.” That was certainly blunt.
“Well, why did you not say that afore?” He threw his hands in the air with mock disgust. Then he stretched out one arm, gesturing for her to sit down on the carpet beside him. With an arm looped over her shoulder, he kissed the top of her head and said, “We make quite a pair, do we not?”
“Without a doubt. The vestal virgin and the virile Viking.”
He laughed, but then he rose smoothly to his feet, leaned down just as smoothly and lifted her into his arms, and began to carry her toward the bedroom. Just before he laid her on the bed, he whispered against her ear, “I hope you slept well last night, sweetling, because there will be no slumber this night.”
Angela thought that was the best offer she had had in a long, long time.
An-tic-i-pa-tion…
Magnus looked down at Angela, who lay naked on her bed, awaiting him, and knew he was blessed. If this was his destiny, he welcomed it.
Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 03] Page 16
