by Fabio
Tears spilled from her eyes, and when he tried to reach out to wipe them, she jerked away. "You told them of Futuregard."
"Yes, Reyna, I already admitted that I did."
Her voice catching on a sob, she demanded, "Did you also tell them our vision of our son?"
He smiled tenderly. "So it's our vision now, is it, darling?"
She shoved him away. "Call me not 'darling,' and answer my question, son of Hel!"
He whistled.
"I am waiting!"
"No," he said gently. "Of course I did not tell them our vision of our son."
She heaved a great sigh, but still her voice rang with accusation and hurt. "But you told them our stories of Futuregard!"
"Reyna, why are you so angry?"
"Because you did not ask me!"
"I should have asked?"
"Yea! They were our own special sharing—and you broke our trust by telling them.”
Viktor felt so touched by this evidence that Reyna held sacred the sharing between them that he wanted to pull his proud, magnificent bride into his arms. But when he reached out, she again flinched.
Drawing a heavy breath, he said, "Reyna, I told the stories to bring a greater peace to Vanaheim."
"You did not ask!"
He took in her gleaming eyes, heaving chest, and clenched fists, and realized he could never really make her understand. But he could empathize with her wounded feelings and her sense of betrayal.
"You are right," he said. "I should have asked. And I humbly apologize."
She eyed him, clearly wavering. The stories are mine."
He smiled. "So they are."
She moved closer. "You are mine, Viking. "
"Of course I am." He hauled her into his arms, drew her fingers to the front of his leggings, and whispered devilishly, "Don't forget that this is yours, too."
"Do not you forget it, Viking."
"How could I?" He nuzzled her cheek and whispered, "Please don't be mad at me."
Exasperated, she tried to shove him away, but he held her fast. She stamped her foot, but he only chuckled.
"Why do you call me mad? she demanded. "I am not mad—only angry."
"And perhaps a little jealous? " he suggested.
"I do not like being left alone every night," she burst out.
Viktor began rhythmically stroking her spine, smiling when she began to relax against him. "What if you come listen to the stories, too? Would you stop being mad—er, angry—over my telling them?"
She chewed her lower tip, her expression ambivalent. "Your warriors will never abide having a female attend council."
He grinned. "My warriors are being taught a new order. Besides, they will be given no choice. And you will be the only woman allowed."
She hesitated, reaching out to toy with a strand of his hair.
"Well, Reyna? If you are there, may I tell the stories?"
"You will not tell of our vision?"
He pulled her close and kissed her trembling lips. "Never, darling."
"Very well," she conceded. "You may tell the stories. But only if I am present/'
"Good." He playfully swatted her behind. "Now let's go to bed and kiss and make up properly."
Her expression petulant, she pushed him away, "Nay. I am not yet of a mind to kiss and make up."
He raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you scolding me recently for breaking our rule? Don't we leave our pride and anger at the door?"
Haughtily, she lifted her chin. "You break our rules when the fancy strikes you. So will L I am not finished being angry."
Pulling her close again, Viktor moved his hand low on her belly and caressed her through her garment. Reyna gasped as the rough wool abraded her wickedly.
"I know a place where you are never angry," he whispered. "Only mad with desire."
Even as she staggered against him, Viktor sank to his knees before her and began lifting her skirts. She squirmed and tried to jerk away until she felt his lips low on her bare belly. She panted and swayed against him, only heightening her own delirious pleasure. Soon she was brazenly holding up her skirts to give him greater ease.
Viktor parted the folds of her velvety flesh and gazed at her in fascination between soft kisses. He saw much more than her moistness, tasted much more than her unique flavor, for he was forever conscious of every tiny change in her body. In the past few days he had noticed that the tender petals of her womanhood had grown darker, as had her nipples, while her breasts had become fuller and more sensitive. Given the fact that she had not bled since they had married, Viktor suspected she was already carrying his child. Did she instinctively know this, too? Would she trust him enough to tell him?
No matter. He loved her so much and was so proud of the miraculous secret they had yet to share. He cupped her bottom with his hands, arched her high, and kissed her deeply ...
“Oh, Viktor! Viktor!" she cried, her fingers tearing at his hair.
He held her to the exquisite flicks of his tongue, heedless of her cries of pleasure and pleas of desperation. He continued relentlessly until the rapture grew so intense that she collapsed onto her knees beside him, kissing him with fierce love. When she pushed him down on his back and returned the favor with her own mouth, she drove him to even greater heights of frenzied passion ...
While Viktor and Reyna coupled, Wolfgard received his spy. The two men faced each other over the fire in the central chamber of the longhouse.
"Four of your kinsmen have turned traitor," the man announced.
"You lie!" Wolfgard retorted in fury.
"Nay. King Viktor has mesmerized his warriors with tales of Futuregard—"
"What is this 'Futuregard'?"
"It is a tenth world where Viktor claims he lived another life. His stories are fantastical, and all the men listen, as docile as lambs. The two spies you recently sent stole into the council chamber and, when they were caught, swore fealty to King Viktor just to hear the stories. As for the assassins you sent to kill Reyna, all three were brought in, and after they heard the tales, only Dirk remains faithful to you."
Wolfgard trembled in rage. "And what of Reyna?"
"Viktor has tamed her as well."
Wolfgard uttered a curse.
"You must understand—all of Viktor's warriors revere their jarl. They believe he has been blessed by the gods with supernatural powers, ever since his return from Valhalla and Futuregard."
"He is but a man!" Wolfgard bellowed. "As soon as our longship is readied, we will cross the fjord and carve out the traitor heart of my stepdaughter. And when we return, 'twill be with her husband's head dangling from our mast!"
THIRTY-THREE
Several weeks passed, and mid-summer began to embrace Vanaheim with its long days and mild weather, brightly blooming tundra and fully leafed trees. The days of the midnight sun approached, when twilight would linger well into the evening.
Viktor continued to spin stories each night, while the ranks swelled in the council chamber. He found much of his free time consumed with creating moral tales to convince his people to take a more peaceable path.
After some initial protests, Reyna was allowed to attend each session at her husband's side. At first, Viktor's warriors heckled her when she appeared, but she defused their anger by not responding to the baiting, and even thanked each of Viktor's kinsmen for allowing her to remain. One evening when Nevin fell ill and could not replenish the men's ox-horns, Reyna poured mead for the men! Viktor was amazed by these signs of maturity in his wife, just as he was moved by this proof of how much she loved his stories, of the lengths to which she was willing to go to ensure that she was accepted by his kinsmen and could enjoy the tales with them.
Viktor was growing increasingly concerned over the threat from Wolfgard. Ottar and Svein still ventured forth on their spying missions, and informed their jarl that Wolfgard could sail across the fjord almost any day now, since his ship was finished, save for the caulking of its seams. After receiving this daunting
news, Viktor again increased the number of sentries stationed at the fjord and outside the longhouse. He also planned strategies for repelling an attack without due violence, and was even designing some machines that could be helpful in this respect. While in college in Italy back in the present, Viktor had belonged to a medieval reenactment society, and he still remembered how to construct crude siege warfare devices such as the petrary and the trebuchet. He intended to use the contraptions in an inventive way that would minimize bloodshed.
When Svein informed him that the time for the annual meeting of the Vanaheim Thing was close at hand, Viktor decided to give Wolfgard one final chance: He would invite his enemy to attend the meeting, there to air their grievances. He decided to send his message with Dirk, the one captive who had remained loyal to Wolfgard.
Viktor went to speak with the man at the shieling cottage where he was kept captive. Stepping inside, he spotted the burly warrior hunched on the floor, unshaven and filthy, eating mutton stew from a crude bowl. On spotting Viktor, the man set down his food and eyed the jarl with distrust.
"Good morning," Viktor said.
Dirk was silent, glowering and taking a gulp of buttermilk.
Viktor stepped closer and crouched near him, grimacing at his offensive odor. "Dirk, I know your loyalty remains with your own people, and that I do respect. However, I am willing to offer you your freedom if you will do something for me in return—"
"I will not betray my jarl!" the man cut in fiercely.
"I do not expect you to do so," Viktor replied calmly. "I realize you must be devoted to Wolfgard."
"Yea!" Dirk retorted. He extended his right hand, and Viktor spotted on his third finger a silver ring fashioned in the image of a spitting dragon. "Wolfgard gave me his own dragon ring for my valor in a previous attack against your clan. I will not forsake my fealty to him."-
"I understand, and again, I am not asking you to betray him. I am only requesting that you deliver a message for me."
The warrior's blunt features twisted with lingering suspicion. "What message is this?"
"I want you to extend to Wolfgard my invitation that he attend a meeting of the Thing, several days from now. Please tell him I desire to air our grievances and settle our differences in a peaceful manner."
Dirk's laughter was scornful. "He will not attend."
"Even though his refusal will likely mean more bloodshed for both our peoples?"
Scowling, Dirk was silent.
"Will you at least deliver the invitation, in exchange for your freedom?"
The man considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Yea. I will deliver the message."
Viktor rose. "Good. I'll have a thrall bring you water for bathing and fresh clothing. Afterward, I'll assign a couple of my men to see you safely across the fjord."
As the days passed, the mellow period continued between Viktor and Reyna. They often talked throughout much of the night, he telling her more stories, she asking endless questions. Soon the queries grew more personal, as Reyna pressed Viktor for additional details of his life back in the present. He told her of his childhood in Italy, how he had fished and hiked with his father, how he had traveled and gone skiing with his family. Sometimes they would talk about the loved ones both of them had lost; they shared their grief and comforted each other with tender words and gentle touches. "We are family now, darling," Viktor would whisper, deep in the night. "We are everything to each other .. "
"Yea," Reyna would answer breathlessly.
Occasionally, she would ask him about the woman he had loved in Futuregard. "Reyna, please don't press me," he would plead. "You know it makes you angry to hear about her."
"Yea, I will go to Futuregard one day and claw out the eyes of the she-troll who dared to touch you," Reyna would respond. "You are mine, Viking."
"Unconditionally, darling. Now say that again, and kiss me ..."
Ah, it was so sweet!
Viktor's delight with his bride reached a peak the day the Thing met. The gathering—traditionally a day of both peacemaking and celebration—was held out on the tundra; the summer day was exceptionally mild, with a gentle breeze wafting through the wildflowers and stirring the sweet scent of the heather. Viktor and Reyna surveyed the festivities from atop a hillside, sitting side by side in throne-style chairs, languishing beneath the splendor of a crimson silk canopy constructed especially for the occasion. Reyna wore a regal dress of blue silk; a necklace of hammered gold charms graced her neck, and a brightly braided headband restrained her sleek hair. Viktor's tunic was of jade silk, pinned together with copper brooches; his leggings and boots were fashioned of soft leather.
The couple had left the foxes at home that day, except for three of the pups, which Reyna had brought along in a basket. At three weeks old, the plump, furry creatures were as frisky as kittens; Reyna spent a great deal of the day either chasing down the rambunctious animals or petting them in her lap. Viktor's wolves had also been brought along and were thoroughly enjoying the outing, racing around the hillside and barking with gusto at one and all. However, Viktor did find it odd that Hati, Geri, and Thor kept their distance from the fox pups, which they normally would have viewed as irresistible hors d'oeuvres.
For the day's entertainment, Viktor's men had wanted stallion fights—a barbaric traditional battle to the death between horses—and equally brutal duels between warriors. Viktor had vetoed the carnage and, through his various parables, had convinced his men to plan more peaceable activities. Now, beneath them in the valley, Rollo and Canute were busy mud-wrestling, while nearby, Ottar and Svein were engaged in an archery contest. Iva enthralled a throng of children as she rode around, crouched on the back of a black pony. Orm amused a group of housewives by juggling iron plates. In the distance, two warriors were embroiled in a mock joist, battling each other with wooden shields and swords. Closer to the canopy, the older children from the village were occupied with everything from a tug-of-war to arm wrestling to egg throwing to chess matches.
Viktor had suggested many of these activities, but Reyna had helped, too. It had been her inspired touch to propose that
Sibeal be invited along to tell fortunes; several people were lined up at the small table where the thrall sat offering her predictions to anyone who stopped by.
Surveying the busy scene and his exuberant clan, Viktor felt deep pride and gratitude that his people could be content to be involved in such peaceful activities. He smiled at his bride, who sat with one pup wrapped around her wrist, while another was balanced on her foot, gnawing on her copper ankle bracelet.
"Happy? " he asked.
"Never happier, my lord," she whispered back, and clutched his hand.
Viktor reached down to grab the third pup as it tried to leap out of the basket. He set the ball of fur on his lap, whereupon the pup began exercising its teeth on the sleeve of his garment.
Inclining his head toward the valley, Viktor grinned. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when Rollo and Canute would be content to sling mud at each other—or Orm to juggle dishes"
"You have tamed even your fiercest warriors, my lord," Reyna replied.
"And what of you, my Valkyrie bride?" he teased, winking at her. "Have I tamed you as well?"
She wrinkled her nose at him and did not reply.
At noon, everyone paused to share the feast of roast boar, mead, bread, and vegetable stew. Reyna and Viktor fed each other berries and nuts and tossed the pups scraps of meat. Viktor gloried in the celebration, but was nagged by a feeling of disappointment that Wolfgard had not appeared, although he realized there had never been more than the slimmest chance that his enemy would attend.
After the meal, the council session began. Viktor's attention became riveted on the long line of village people who stood before him to air their grievances. One villager accused another of insulting his wife, and Viktor settled the matter through the exchange of a small amount of grain. Another man complained that his dog had sired the litter of a neighb
or's bitch, yet he had been offered none of the pups. Viktor talked the neighbor into offering the affronted man his pick of the litter. Most of the grievances were of a highly trivial nature, but Viktor had already learned that in Viking society, the smallest slight could result in full-scale warfare and loss of life.
As the day lengthened, he became even more convinced that Wolfgard would not appear. Hope surged in him toward sunset, when he watched two strange warriors ride up, followed by three of the guards he had stationed at the fjord. The newcomers dismounted and strode up to the canopy, and the first man laid a round wicker basket at Viktor's feet.
"A gift from our jarl," said the warrior. "Wolfgard regrets he cannot join you today."
Viktor frowned at the basket. "I was hoping your jarl could attend himself."
" 'Twas not possible," muttered the man.
"Will you at least stay to break bread with us?" Viktor offered.
The two warriors glanced at each other; then the first man shook his head. "Nay, we are expected back ere nightfall."
Without even waiting to ask Viktor's leave, both men turned and hurried back to their mounts. The sentries would have stopped them, but Viktor motioned to them not to interfere.
Watching Wolfgard's emissaries gallop off, Svein rushed toward Viktor, who was reaching for the lid to the basket. "Nay, jarl, do not open it! This is surely a trick! Look how quickly Wolfgard's warriors flee! There could be a poisonous serpent in the basket/'
Reyna, her expression equally alarmed, reached down to restrain her husband's hand. "Heed the words of your kinsman, my husband. Do not open the basket."
Drawing a deep breath, Viktor nodded to Svein. "You are right that I should be more cautious under the circumstances. Come with me, and let us open the basket away from the others."
Viktor gingerly carried the basket to the top of a nearby rise. After he set it down, Svein, using the tip of his broadsword, nudged the top off.
"My God!" Viktor cried.
Both men stared at a bloody, severed human hand.
"Jarl, what is the meaning of this?" Svein asked.
Studying the amputated member more closely, Viktor ground his jaw in fury. "It is Dirk's hand. I can tell by the dragon ring. I sent him back with an invitation to Wolfgard to attend the Thing and settle our differences. This is his reply! I've heard of killing the messenger, but my God! That bastard Wolfgard would slay one of his own—indeed, his most loyal warrior—just to prove a point!"
