If Kisses Were Snowflakes

by Serenity Woods

  Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say... The song echoed in her head, and she frowned, puzzled, her brain searching for the reason for its appearance... and then she remembered. The reindeer pen!

  Scrabbling frantically in her bag, she found it at the bottom, pulled it out, and switched it on. Rudolph’s nose immediately glowed a bright red. It wasn’t as good as having a white flashlight, but it was better than nothing, and she almost sobbed with relief at having some light.

  Holding it up, she saw the brief glimmer of the white line in the center of the road off to her right, and corrected her angle. Wading through the water as quickly as she could, she kept going straight until she found the bridge.

  The water here was a little shallower, and she sloshed through to the bottom of the refuge hut. She had no phone, and no way of calling for help, so she’d have to climb up the ladder into the hut, and stay there until the tide turned sometime after midnight. What would she do then? Walk the remaining few miles in the dark or wait until dawn? She’d have to work it out later.

  She hadn’t climbed a ladder since gym class when she was thirteen, and the bottom rung was broken. Her soaking wet clothes weighed a ton, but she hauled herself up the rungs until she practically fell into the hut.

  It was just a square box, and it didn’t have a roof, so she had no shelter from the sleet that had started to hammer down again. But at least she was safe.

  Shivering violently, she huddled in the corner of the hut, flicking the Rudolph pen on and off as a protection against the dark night, and started to sing Christmas carols to herself, the chattering of her teeth almost as loud as the sleet bouncing off the wooden floor.

  She wasn’t going to cry. She was a shield maiden, dammit.

  Her cheeks were only wet because of the rain.

  Chapter Four

  Hal finally finished the project at ten thirty. It wasn’t up to his usual quality of work, but there was little he could do about that in such a short timeframe. He spell-checked everything, went over his measurements, made sure any historical dates he’d mentioned were right, then uploaded the final file to the company folder and sent it to Charles, who’d left hours ago.

  After collecting his coat and locking up the office, he went out into the sleet-filled night, got in his car, and set off south to Holy Island.

  Rebecca and Charles lived in Berwick, and the office was in Edinburgh, so what with the problems with the causeway being inaccessible at high tide, it would make much more sense for him to move off the island.

  But Hal came from a long line of descendants who’d lived on the island for hundreds of years. The cottage he lived in now had been his father’s. When he’d died three years ago, Hal’s sister had been in the process of emigrating to Australia, so she’d told him he could have the house, which had proven to be a blessing when his marriage had broken down a year later. He couldn’t afford another mortgage, so the only way he’d be able to buy a property on the mainland would be to sell the cottage first, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. It might be inconvenient, but he loved Holy Island, and, as a historian, he found comfort in its ancient history.

  Tonight, though, he wished he lived closer to work. It was a ninety-minute drive in appalling weather conditions, and by the time he arrived at the crossing, he was almost falling asleep at the wheel.

  The lights of the Toyota RAV4 shone on a sheet of water across the tarmac, but the white lines in the middle of the road were clearly visible. He checked his watch—it was 12:17 p.m. The official safe crossing time was 12:25 p.m., but Hal had a four-wheel-drive and knew the tricky points, plus it was less risky splashing through water on the outgoing tide than on the incoming one. If it looked too deep, he’d just leave the car idling and wait ten minutes.

  He set off, keeping up the revs, thinking about what he’d have to eat when he got indoors.

  The car’s headlights glinted off something to his right, one shining point in a literal sea of darkness. Here, the water was only a few inches deep, the tide rapidly receding, so Hal stopped with a frown. He dug his flashlight out of the glove compartment and shone it through the window.

  It was a car. The sea had carried it off the road, and although the water level now only reached to its wheels, it had obviously been almost fully underwater at one point. Luckily, it had swung around and become trapped against the legs of one of the refuge boxes out on the Pilgrim’s Way, otherwise it might have ended up a few miles down the coast.

  Hal got out, his boots splashing through the water, and walked to the edge of the road, shining the flashlight toward the other car. The sea was still too deep for him to reach it. He bent and tried to look inside, but couldn’t see anyone. In case they’d gotten out and climbed into the refuge box, he flashed the light up there and shouted, but nobody appeared.

  Maybe it was an elderly person who’d been unable to climb the ladder. If they were lying down, he wouldn’t be able to see them. Should he wade in and swim to the car to see if they were inside? He hesitated, slipping his hand into his pocket to find his phone. The most sensible option would be to call the police or coastguard and get help. But if they’d been caught by the incoming tide, they would have been out in the cold for four or five hours. They needed help now.

  If he’d seen someone in the car, he would have dived in at once to help, but it would be dumb to do so with no evidence so late at night and in the pitch darkness, even if the tide was going out. He thought furiously, sweeping the flashlight around. The car would have been on the road when the driver realized they were stuck. The sea had obviously picked it up and carried it onto the sand. If there was no sign of them in the hut on the Pilgrim’s Way, maybe they’d gotten out earlier, while they were still on the road.

  He made a decision—he’d check out the hut on the bridge, and if nobody was in there, he’d swim out to the car.

  After getting back in the RAV4, he drove the short distance to the bridge, which was now clear of water. Parking by the hut, he got out and shone the flashlight up. He couldn’t see anything, but if they were lying down, they wouldn’t be visible.

  “Hello?” He walked to the bottom of the ladder, slotted the flashlight into the top pocket of his jacket, and began to climb up.

  When he reached the top, for a moment he thought it was empty. And then he saw the figure, huddled in the corner.

  “Hello?” he said again, and pulled himself up and into the hut. He dropped to his haunches before the person, his heart racing. It was a woman, coatless and dressed only in a sweatshirt and jeans, which were both soaked. She was shivering violently—but at least she was alive, and the shivering was a sign that her heat regulation systems were still active.

  As he reached out and touched her arm, she opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and stared at him.

  “Ragnar?” she said.

  He frowned. Confusion was a sign of hypothermia. He removed his flashlight from his pocket and shone it on her. Her face was white, her hair plastered to her head. He couldn’t tell what color it was.

  “My name’s Hal. Did you get caught by the tide?”

  She ran a hand over her face. “Yes.”

  As she straightened, he saw a dark stain on the front of her sweatshirt. Alarm shot through him. “Jesus, are you hurt?”

  She looked down, still shivering. “It’s k-ketchup.”

  Relief made him give a short laugh, which he stifled hurriedly as she blinked at him. “Sorry. My car’s just beneath the hut. Can you move?”

  She stirred, moving awkwardly, obviously stiff from the cold. He slipped off his wax jacket, clenching his jaw as the icy wind sliced through him. “Put this on.”

  “I don’t n-need rescuing,” she murmured, staring at the jacket, her teeth chattering.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that? I can leave you here if you like.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “No. I’m s-sorry.” She pulled on the jacket, biting her bottom lip hard. “Some fucking sh-shield m
-maiden I t-turned out to b-be.”

  A smile tugged at his lips as he helped her do up the zipper. “Shield maiden?”

  “Doesn’t m-matter,” she mumbled.

  “Come on,” he said softly. “You’ve probably got hypothermia. It can make you confused, and irritable. You need to get to hospital. There’s one in Berwick. It’s not far.”

  “No.” She let him help her up, and was able to stand, even if she was a bit wobbly. “I have a c-cottage on the island. If you c-could just take m-me there... George has a k-key.”

  “If you mean George Swift, he’ll be well asleep by now. You won’t be able to get the key until tomorrow.” He helped her to the ladder, turned, and backed down a few steps. “Come on. You’ll have to come with me if you won’t go to the hospital.”

  She turned and stepped down the first rung. “I c-couldn’t do that.”

  He ignored her, guided her down the ladder, and led her over to his car. Once she was in the passenger seat, he ran around to the driver’s side and climbed in, started the engine, and turned the heater up to full.

  Flicking on the light for a moment, he made sure she had her seatbelt on and that the jacket was tucked around her. For the first time, he saw her face clearly. Her skin was like white china, and she had large, dark eyes. Her hair, although still plastered to her head, was clearly blonde. The dark eyes stared at him, reminding him of a wounded animal. As a big guy, he rarely felt vulnerable or scared, but suddenly he understood how frightened she must feel, nearly frozen, and alone with a stranger who’d forced her to get in his car.

  Something shifted inside him like tectonic plates, and, for a brief moment, it was as if he could feel every piece of the universe slotting into place. He’d been delayed at work so he’d miss the tide, forcing him to arrive at the island as soon as the sea started to go out. He’d been sent there to save her. The feeling was so strong, it took his breath away.

  Then she blinked, and it disappeared, leaving him vaguely embarrassed and confused. Jesus, he thought, he must have been out in the cold longer than he realized.

  “You’ll have to come with me,” he said, as he put the car in gear and headed toward the island. “The hotel will be closed, and there’s nowhere else for you to go.”

  “You could be a mass m-murderer,” she pointed out, wrapping her arms tightly around her, still shivering.

  “That’s true,” he said, wondering how many times he could get insulted in one night. “I don’t think a mass murderer would have lent you his coat, though.”

  “T-true.” She held her hands out to the heater. “I can’t believe I was s-stupid enough to get caught by the t-tide.”

  “It happens all the time. The sea comes in fast and by then it’s too late to turn back. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.” He drove carefully through the low-lying area where the sea was still reaching up to the wheels, then breathed a sigh of relief as the road rose, shadowing the island toward the town. “That’s it. We’re safe now.” He reached out and pulled her hand away from the heater. “Not too close. You’re going to have to warm up slowly.”

  She tugged the sleeves of his jacket over her hands. “Do you live on the island?”

  “Yes.” He glanced across at her. Her eyes were like saucers. He could only imagine how terrified she must feel after what had happened. “I have two kids,” he added gently, “if that makes you feel any better—they’re in bed at the moment. And my name’s Halvar Carlson, but everyone calls me Hal.”

  Chapter Five

  As they passed under the first street lamps leading into the town, Angel studied the man next to her, seeing him properly for the first time.

  When she’d opened her eyes in the hut, halfway toward being in a shivery coma, she’d honestly thought she’d travelled back over twelve-hundred years to when the Northmen had first arrived in their longboats. The guy was huge, with wild black hair and a thick black beard that made him look as if he would happily carry out a blood eagle on you if he didn’t like the way you looked at him.

  But he’d taken off his big wax jacket for her, and she could see now that although he was definitely tall and well built, and his beard needed trimming, his hair was only wild because he’d been out in the stormy night, and his blue eyes surveyed her with real concern. He was still intimidating, though, his visage stern and unsmiling. She suspected he hadn’t ruled out the blood eagle idea considering she’d forced him out of his car into the cold weather and then insulted him several times within the space of a couple of minutes.

  She wasn’t shivering quite so badly now, although she desperately needed to get out of her wet clothes. But she couldn’t get into the cottage... and her cases were in her car at the bottom of the ocean... Maybe he’d let her keep his jacket. It smelled nice. She tugged the sides closer around her and buried her nose in the fabric, inhaling the remnants of his scent, some nice body spray that smelled of lemons and sandalwood.

  Halvar Carlson. If that name wasn’t right out of the ninth century, she’d eat her hat. Or she would have, if she’d been wearing one.

  “So, you really are a Viking,” she said.

  His eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps as they neared the town. “Is that why you called me Ragnar?”

  “I was... confused. I think it was the beard.”

  He ran a hand over his chin. “Yeah. I need to shave tonight. My daughter hates it.” He sent her an amused glance, then returned his gaze to the road as they started passing houses. “You’ve mentioned shield maidens too... Are you interested in the Vikings, then? You like the TV show?”

  The car lights lit up rows of houses, a post office, a pub. Her brain was struggling to compute everything, but his comment rankled. “My Masters included a study of the distribution of bone combs in early Viking settlements across Northern England,” she said somewhat defensively. “It won the Research Project of the Year at the English Archaeology Awards.” Even as she said it, though, she realized how dull she must sound.

  But Hal’s eyebrows rose, and he stared at her for so long she worried he might come off the road. “I don’t believe it. You’re not Angel Matthews?”

  Angel stared at him. “What?”

  “I work for English Heritage,” he said. “I’m an architectural illustrator. I design leaflets and guidebooks for their sites. I’ve used your research project several times.”

  “Holy shit.” His words warmed her through better than any hot water bottle could have done. “You’ve really heard of me?” she whispered.

  “Of course. Yours is widely acknowledged to be the definitive study for the distribution of early sites.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if surprised she wasn’t aware of it. Slowing the car, he pulled up outside a small house and turned off the engine. “That was over five years ago, though. Have you done any further studies since then? I heard that the recent excavation at Alnwick uncovered two similar combs.”

  Her head was whirling. “Um... not really...” She was having trouble getting her brain to work properly. He’d heard of her?

  He blew out an impatient breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be quizzing you when you’ve been submerged in the North Sea for five hours. I’m going to take your temperature, and if it’s lower than thirty-five degrees, I’m taking you to hospital. If not, you’re definitely staying the night with me. Come on.” He got out and walked around to her side of the car.

  She opened the car door, and immediately started shivering as the cold wind sliced through her wet clothing. She pushed up to her feet, but her legs wobbled, shocking her with how weak she felt, and her turned ankle stung.

  Without another word, Hal bent, slid an arm under her knees, and lifted her into his arms. She squealed, expecting him to complain or make a joke about how heavy she was, but he merely shut the car door with his foot and then marched up the path as if she weighed no more than a cushion. She barely had time to notice a low stone wall and small front garden with tidy shrubs before he was unlocking
the front door and carrying her in. She would have complained about the fact that he hadn’t asked her permission, but she honestly didn’t think she’d have made it up the path on her own.

  At least he hadn’t slung her over his shoulder. She should be grateful for small mercies.

  “Hal! God, I never thought you’d get here.” A teenage girl walked into the hallway and stopped dead as she saw them. “Oh!”

  “She was stranded by the tide.” Hal lowered Angel’s feet to the floor, although he kept his other arm tight around her. “I found her in the refuge hut on the bridge. She’s probably got hypothermia.”

  “Jesus,” the girl said. “It’s bloody cold tonight, too.”

  “I know.” Angel’s teeth were chattering so loud they sounded like a set of maracas.

  “What can I do?” the girl asked.

  “It’s all right.” After checking that Angel was okay to stand, he pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, fished out several notes, and handed them to the girl. “I’ll sort it. Thanks so much, Em. I know I’ve inconvenienced you, and I’m really sorry.”

  Em waved a hand and stuffed the notes in her pocket. “You sure you don’t want any help?”

  “She needs dry clothes, a hot drink, and a warm bath once she’s thawed a bit,” Hal said. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. Well, good luck.” Em shoved her feet in her shoes. “The kids are asleep, but Jamie wanted you to wake him when you got in.”

  “Thanks, I will. See you later.” He let her out. The girl gave Angel a lingering curious look before Hal closed the door.

  He turned back to Angel. “Come with me.”

  He led her down the short hallway and into the small living room. “Wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll only be a minute.” He disappeared out of the room.