Ivar: A Time Travel Romance (Mists of Albion Book 3)

by Joanna Bell

  The urge to anger was there, burning in my chest, but I could not let it out with one of my Jarl's wives. I coughed, frowned, sat back in my seat. She noticed, of course, because she had that womanly characteristic of noticing every damned thing.

  "My suggestion angers you, Jarl. I do not mean to make you angry. I only mean to let you know, clearly and truly, that the people of the North do not wish to keep you from the woman you love."

  The two of us fell silent for a short time, as my thoughts flew in a maelstrom through my head and Paige sat, as self-contained as a goddess, with her hands on her swollen belly. I did not dare to allow myself even to imagine seeing Sophie again. I did not dare to dream of the feeling of taking her in my arms once more. Or did I?

  "I am from the same place where Sophie is from, you know," the Jarl's wife said a moment later.

  "Yes, I know it."

  "You were there, weren't you? My husband says –"

  "Yes, I was there. The people fixed my arm – a wound that would almost certainly have killed me here. It is not the same as it was, but I have my life. I –" I stopped then, to see that Paige's eyes swam with tears.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, brushing them away. "I've chosen to be here, with my father and my husband and my children – but – Jarl Ivar, do you ever feel homesick?"

  "Homesick?"

  "Yes, it just means missing your home. Not the way you miss it when you've been away for a few nights, but the way you miss it after being away for many, many moons, and also after knowing that you will never go back. Perhaps you feel this way about your homeland?"

  I nodded, because I knew exactly the sentiment of which she spoke. "Yes, I know the craving in my heart for a lost place, a lost home. Sometimes during the early part of winter – at this time of year, in fact, when the heating fires begin to burn again into the night – a certain type of wood is thrown into the flames whose scent puts me in mind of my childhood, of being in the roundhouse with my mother and father as they cooked and laughed and told me stories. Sometimes it's enough to steal the breath from my chest."

  Once again, Jarl Eirik's wife took my hand, and stared fervently into my eyes. "I'm not much younger than you, Jarl Ivar, and if there's one thing I know after leaving everything of my old life behind – and when I speak of my old life you have some understanding of what I mean, of what it was I left – it's that you must listen to your heart. You do not listen to your heart now, and it pains you. It pains everyone who loves you. You must go to Sophie. Think of how she misses you, how she needs you. Is it not your duty to keep the woman you love from pain, as well as it is to keep your people from it?"

  The flash of anger in my chest threatened to rise again, the urge to shout and rage and demand to know what it was this presumptuous woman thought it was I didn't know about duty. But I kept it in. And as I kept it inside, I saw in her eyes that she truly spoke from her heart, and not from wishing to question me or make me feel small.

  "I'm tired," she said quietly as her words sank in. "I'll return to my husband now, Jarl. Please think about what I said. It's the truth. We want you to have your heart's desire. All of us, all of your people want that for you."

  And then she was gone, wrapping her linens around her against the autumnal chill as she swept out of my roundhouse, and leaving me half-broken in her wake.

  Why was I half-broken? Because Paige was right, and somehow she had managed, in speaking the simple truth in a way I couldn't dismiss or ignore, to break the spell that pride had cast over me. Why else was I so rage-filled that the thralls were cowering before me? What other reason could explain my churlishness with even my closest advisors and fellow Jarls? Even they had taken to eying me the way a sailor eyes a bank of dark clouds on the horizon.

  I had failed in one of my duties. Not my duty to my people, or in my position as Jarl of Jarls but in my duty as a man, in my position as loved by – and lover of – a woman. Of Sophie. Ever since that awful day, when I had not said any of the things I wished to say to her before I left, because I simply did not know how to apply words to the contents of my heart, I'd been ill at ease – with others, but also with myself. I was no longer comfortable in my own skin. And all this time I'd been thinking it was because I'd almost neglected my duty as Jarl, when it finally comes to be that it's not that at all.

  There's no denying one's deepest wishes. That's what I came to know. It doesn't mean one can always fulfill those wishes, because anyone who has made it past childhood knows that's not always possible. It means accepting them, whether or not they can be fulfilled, and if they cannot, moving on in the truth of their existence.

  But I could fulfill my desires. I could see her again. Would she hate me for leaving her? Even to be slapped by Sophie seemed, in my loneliness, as if it would be the loveliest thing in the world.

  Would she have a new man? It didn't matter. If she hated me, or if she had taken a new man into her arms, then I could return to my people knowing that I took the chance. It may fail, but I could go ahead in my life then, without all the anger and hurt, knowing that I'd done all that could be done.

  Not a moon after the visit from Jarl Eirik's wife I found myself on horseback at the gates of Thetford once more, with my Jarls around me, and their wives beside them, bidding me farewell. Paige clutched a tiny daughter in her arms, and bent to kiss her every few moments, as Eirik looked on proudly. No longer did such scenes fill me with bitter envy, because I was about to seek out my own version of them, with the woman I loved.

  "May the sea be gentle!" Eirik said, taking his sword from its sheath and holding the blade aloft as a mark of respect. The others did the same, and then echoed him, their voices ringing out together: "May the sea be gentle!"

  "And the wind ever favorable in your sails!"

  "And the wind ever favorable in your sails!"

  I took a last look, and then I turned the horse around and galloped away from Thetford, heading south...

  Twenty-Six

  Sophie

  It was almost December, and the world already festooned with gaudy Christmas decorations – which I secretly did not mind – when Heather's dagger sold at auction in New York. Professor Foxwell called me one night during dinner, as my daughter and I chatted.

  "Is it him?" She asked, biting her lip and bouncing in her chair in anticipation.

  I hadn't shared the whole story with Ashley, but she knew Heather as my friend, and that an object in Heather's possession, which had turned out to be very rare and old, was being sold for what we all hoped would be a healthy sum of money.

  I looked up and nodded as the phone chimed in my hand, almost too afraid to take the call.

  "Mom! Answer it!"

  Heather Renner's Viking husband's dagger ended up selling for just over 62 million dollars. It had been a fine weapon in its time, well made and only carried by the higher people in Viking society. It's hilt was made of gold, and inlaid with rough-cut gems. But its worth was not to do with gold or gems, no. The daggers' worth reflected its rarity, its status as the only known intact Viking dagger on earth. The woman at the auction house later told Heather that in the end a middle-eastern art collector and an American billionaire had fought a bidding war, driving the price up so high that newspapers around the world published small articles in their Arts sections, noting the sale.

  The middle-eastern winner of the bidding war, who remained anonymous, notified the public one week after the sale that, upon his death, ownership of the dagger was to be transferred – at no cost to the institution – to the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo, Norway.

  And so it was that Heather Renner, daughter of both the 20th and the 9th centuries, suddenly found herself a very wealthy woman because of a weapon forged in one time and sold in another. As did I, when she insisted on handing over half of the proceeds – about 19 million dollars in total after taxes and fees to the auction house were paid.

  Less than a week after the sale, we found ourselves in the cabin that was still Heather
's temporary home – although not for much longer – cooking dinner with my daughter, my mom and Maria for company and all talking at once of what should be done with our windfall.

  And although I had a number of different things in mind to do with my money, from buying a new house to setting up a trust fund for Ashley (not to be touched until she was 25) to paying off Maria's family's debts and gifting them a lump sum large enough to allow them to buy the restaurant premises they had been renting for years, one thing was certain:

  I was staying in River Falls with my daughter. So was my mom, who was also in line for a new house and, for the first time in her life, a new car. So was Heather herself, although she planned to buy property and live in the country just outside of town.

  We sat around the table that night, with the remains of two perfectly roasted chickens, a mountain of empty dishes and plates and five or six candles flickering between us – and spoke of things that none of us had ever been able to speak of before. Maria spoke of her family's future, of perhaps finally being able to open the second location they had never been able to before because the rent was so high, and their debts so burdensome. She spoke of being able to train and hire new workers, to give her parents and grandparents the rest they so deserved after lifetimes of working from morning to night.

  My daughter talked about getting a waterslide installed in the backyard, and of horse-riding lessons. The horse-riding lessons were fine, but I told her she was probably going to be disappointed on the waterslide front.

  "But grandma will have a new house, though, right mom?" She asked excitedly. "Maybe grandma can get a waterslide in her backyard?"

  "We'll have to see about that," my mom told her, grinning. "But you'll be able to go to college now, Ash, and without getting yourself into debt. You'll be able to study what you like, and you won't have to marry some awful man just so you can afford to pay your bills."

  "Right," Maria joined in, laughing. "Now you can marry a gorgeous hottie, even if he doesn't have any money!"

  I gave my best friend a look and she shrugged. "What? It's true!"

  "I'm going to buy a house with a big kitchen," Heather said, and we all turned to her, the way people do when the wisest in their group speaks up. "And a big table, so I can invite all of you to dinner every weekend."

  "And a big garden!" Ashley piped up, because she and Heather had been talking at length about Heather's plans. "So you can grow fresh vegetables! And a chicken coop so you can have fresh eggs – and fresh chickens."

  "Yes," Heather nodded. "So I can have fresh chickens. So I can feed my friends good food and we can all have many nights like this together."

  "Will my baby brother or sister be able to come?" Ashley continued, turning to rub my belly, which was just beginning to show.

  "Of course. And when Maria has babies of her own, they can come too. And you, when the time comes."

  Maria grinned and made a face. "Not anytime soon – maybe someday."

  "It'll be just like a family," my daughter pronounced, looking around at the people seated around the table. "Like a big family of people, even if we aren't all related."

  A twinge went through my heart, although I did not allow the smile on my face to falter. Everything was so close to being perfect. All of the people – all except one – who I loved most were happier than I had ever seen them. My mother and Heather especially seemed to glow with it, sitting back in their chairs and looking over the gathering with their eyes shining with contentment. Nothing had given me more satisfaction in life than being able, with Heather's help, to ensure that those who mattered most to me, those who were family – whether there were blood ties or not – were taken care of.

  And yet something was missing. Someone was missing. I thought of him that night as we ate our chicken in the warmth of the cabin's small kitchen, and wondered where he might be. Thetford, most likely, sleeping in his roundhouse because without electric lights people in the past went to bed at dusk and rose at dawn, with the daylight. Was he alone in his bed? Probably not, I told myself, more bothered by the fact than I felt comfortable admitting. He was handsome, strong, the Jarl of Jarls, better in bed than I'd ever thought it possible for a man to be – of course he wasn't alone.

  "What is it mom?" Ashley asked as we washed dishes together, me washing and her drying before Maria did the putting away. "Why do you look sad?"

  "Do I?" I asked. "I don't know. I don't feel sad."

  "Your mom misses Ivar," Maria said, simply and truthfully, making me feel bad about lying to Ashley even if it had only been in the service of keeping the feeling of the evening going, of not marring it with my own sadness.

  Maria and Ashley knew a little about Ivar – although they did not know the main thing about him, which was that he was a Viking from the 9th century. They knew he was my baby's father, and that although we had not known each other long, we loved each other. They knew he had to leave, to attend to family issues, and that he was from a very faraway place. And they also knew, after I'd snapped unfairly at both of them for their natural curiosity, to be careful when they spoke to me about him.

  "Oh," Ashley said quietly, handing a dry dinner plate to Maria. "OK."

  I woke early the next morning, roused from an already disturbed sleep by the nausea that, although it was dissipating during the rest of the day, still seemed to cling to the early hours. Ashley and Heather were still sleeping, and my mom and Maria had gone back to their homes the previous night. I tip-toed down the narrow wooden staircase that led to the kitchen and put some water on to boil – lemon and ginger tea was my saving grace at that point in my pregnancy.

  When my tea was ready I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and stepped out onto the back porch, so I could drink it in the silence of the misty morning woods. The summer was well and truly gone by then, and with it my time with the Vikings. I wasn't back at work yet. Chief Sawchuk assured me that after I had the baby and when I felt ready to come back, he and Dan would be happy to have me. As it was, I was pregnant and emotional – happy because the sale of the dagger was going to allow me to do things I had never thought possible, but sad because Ivar, who'd shown me even in our brief time together what it was to be with a man, was gone. His manliness was the very thing that had taken him from me, his refusal to let those who depended on him down.

  Perhaps I should have been more clear about how much I depended on him? Perhaps I should have told him about the baby?

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the lemony steam from the tea, silently reprimanding myself for playing the 'what if' game.

  A sound came from the woods, carried on the mist. A twig snapping? Probably a deer. Heather fed them sometimes and a few of them had become quite bold, sometimes appearing out of nowhere and staring through the windows with hopeful looks in their eyes.

  I continued sipping my tea – tiny sips, tiny swallows, keeping myself very still so as to keep the nausea at bay. And as I sipped my drink and tried to concentrate on anything that wasn't how sick I felt or how much I missed Ivar, I began to get the distinct feeling that I was being watched. A few more little sounds came from the woods, purposeful sounds, not like wind in the bare branches or dry leaves scudding across the ground. I turned my head to the right and peered into the mist. Had someone's dog gotten out? Had the greedy deer developed a sudden bashfulness?

  I wasn't scared, because I'm not really the type to get scared of rustlings in the woods in broad daylight – even if it was one of the little black bears we had in that part of the state, all it would take is a few stern words to send him packing.

  "Is someone there?" I said a few moments later, when what sounded like footsteps approaching started up again. No answer came. I went back to drinking my tea. More footsteps, closer now.

  "You're on private property," I added, turning to make sure the door back into the kitchen was unlatched. "And I have a gun I'm willing to use. Who's there?"

  Silence. And then, a beat later, a male voice:

 
; "Are you threatening me already, woman? I should have known..."

  That voice. My head jerked up and I dropped the teacup, which shattered near my feet, entirely unnoticed.

  Calm down, it's not him. How can it be him? It's just some guy, a lost hunter, or a neighbor looking for his lost –

  But it was him. It was him. He stepped out of the fog and we stood there, about 15 feet apart, staring at each other for a few seconds. I looked down at the broken teacup for a moment and then up again, willing my mind to stop playing cruel tricks on me at once if I was seeing things.

  But there he was again, dressed in thicker leather and more furs than he done during the warm summer, but just as tall and broad and blue-eyed as I remembered.

  He covered the distance between us in no time at all when my knees collapsed underneath me, and caught me before I could fall. He pulled me tightly against him and we clung to each other. It didn't feel like a dream, if it was. It felt real, although – how could it be? Even the scent of his neck – a mixture of woods, leather and man – was the same.

  "Is it you?" I asked, slipping my arms around that big, solid body – the one I never thought I would feel so close to me again. "Is it y–"

  "Aye it's me, woman. It's me. I should never have left you as I did! I should never have –"

  "I don't care," I breathed, as I began to realize it was happening, it was true, and I was in Ivar's arms again. "I don't care. Are you – you're back? You're here?! What – I mean, why – how did you get here? How did you –"

  "I walked. I knew the direction to travel, and the rough distance. It was –"

  "Wait," I said, almost grateful to have something specific to talk about so I didn't have to worry about exploding with joy. "Wait – Ivar, you walked here? You walked?"

  "What would you have had me do? There don't seem to be horses in this world, and I can't ride one of those – cars, is it? – I can't ride a car as you can."