He pawed through the garments he'd tossed to the floor and found the odd-looking shoes made of cloth, with laces up the front. The bottoms were soled in some strange material he'd never encountered before, like leather but thicker, with an odd, elastic texture and a funny smell. He pulled these onto his feet and then gathered a selection of the books she'd brought to him.
In silence he moved through the house and located other printed works with softer covers and larger pages. Some were glossy, others larger still, unbound and all black-and-white. He used one of the sacks she'd taken his clothing from to hold the volumes, wincing at the rustling sound it made as he packed them inside. But she didn't stir. Lastly, he belted his scabbard around his waist. He would not go in peace without Vengeance at his side.
He longed to go without. He had no notion of what land this might be, with its magical speaking devices and flameless lamps. He suspected he was not in the North, for he felt warm and saw no fire to account for it. He peered through the door in this room and saw the men beyond it. Her servants, he assumed. Or guards of some sort. He felt no desire to attempt conversing with them, given his extremely sparse knowledge of their tongue. Instead he sought another exit. He found it in the lower level—a square of glass, surrounded by a frame of wood. He forced it open easily, despite its strong locks, and squeezed through its narrow space.
Miranda woke with the absolute certainty something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Her groggy suspicion was confirmed when she sat up straighter and looked around. There were still books, and page after page of notebook paper filled with her printing and Rolf's. The boxes and bags from Wilson's Big and Tall still littered the floor along with their contents. The only thing missing was Rolf. Her heart sank as her gaze moved toward the coffee table, where the sword had rested. "Oh, God!"
She leapt to her feet and rushed through the house, first into the kitchen and the formal dining room beyond, then back when she didn't find him. She checked the study, then ran up the stairs, calling his name in a hoarse, urgent whisper. She checked all the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the closets. He was nowhere to be found, and panic began to seep through her limbs like ice water.
She took the stairs two at a time and yanked open the front door, half-expecting to see the severed bodies of two police officers on her front step. Both men looked at her, startled. "Morning, Miss O'Shea," one attempted.
She smiled weakly, her gaze surreptitiously—she hoped—sweeping the length of the driveway and the front lawn. "Have you, uh, seen anyone this morning?"
"No, ma'am. You expecting someone?"
"No." She ducked back inside and slammed the door. "Where the hell are you, Rolf?"
The only place she hadn't checked was the basement, and she hurried down there now, scanning every corner. Just when she was sure he'd vanished like mist, she spotted the opened window in the control room. A cool, early-morning breeze wafted in from the sea. Miranda didn't wait to hunt for her coat. She scrambled up onto the counter and slipped through the opening.
He wasn't in sight, at least not on the back lawn. A brisk wind whipped her hair and Miranda hugged her arms and started off for the path that wound through the small patch of woods to Mourning Bay's craggy shore. Please, she thought, please, for God's sake, be here, Rolf.
The dimness of the path added to the chill, but she soon emerged at the other end into the brilliant sunlight. The cries of sea gulls, high-pitched and shrill, came in riotous chorus. Whitecapped waves rolled in toward the shore and crashed against the rocks below. The aroma of dewy grass and the ever-present fishy smell filled the gradually warming, morning air. Rolf sat with his back against a tree, facing the sea. He had an open book on his lap, and she knew from the intense concentration on his face that he wasn't just looking at it. He was reading it. His long golden hair moved now and then with the breeze.
She gaped for a moment. Then she twisted her wrist to see how long he might have been gone. Seven a.m. She'd fallen asleep about three hours ago. She moved nearer and was able to see the astonished, confused way his eyes sped over the lines of print.
She stepped on a twig and it snapped. Rolf was on his feet in a single motion, sword drawn and poised for battle. The book fell to the grassy ground, its pages fluttering in the sea breeze. Their gazes locked. Then slowly he lowered the sword, slipping it back into its sheath. Rolf bent, picked up the book and held it out to her. He shook his head. "This… not my world."
She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. "No."
Again the book was allowed to fall from his huge hand. He took a single step forward, gripped her shoulders and searched her face. "What world? How I am here? Why?"
She swallowed her fear, only to have it replaced by a heartache for what he must be feeling. She knew she had to explain to him what had happened but she was still unsure she could make him understand. God, that he could speak to her at all, so soon, was nothing short of amazing. "Rolf, come back inside. I'll explain."
He released her shoulders all at once and spun away from her, his fingers pressed to his temples. "I have seen… ships." He gestured toward the rolling sea. "Small, fast, they… roar." Again he turned, one arm extended toward the ribbon of pavement visible beyond the house. "Wagons, no horses. Move alone. The speed…" He shook his head, looking as if he'd like to scream.
Miranda's fear vanished. She put her hands to his big shoulders and turned him to face her. "It's all right, Rolf. I can explain it… all of it."
He shook his head. "I know not… ex-plain."
"To make you understand."
He closed his eyes and the pain was so apparent on his face, she felt it as well. "Make me un-der-stand. Minn faŏir? Minn broŏirs?" His eyes opened once more, scanning hers in desperation. "Tell me!"
"I will, Rolf. I will." Without thinking, she reached up and gently stroked his face, as if calming a frightened animal or reassuring a lost child. "First, know this. I am your friend. Do you understand? Vinur pinn. Your friend."
His eyes narrowed. "I have no… friend…" He lifted both hands palms up. "… here."
"Yes, you do." She took his hand, tugged him toward the path. "Come with me, Rolf. Please." He sighed heavily, but he followed.
They clambered back through the window. He didn't question it. Up the stairs, across the living room. She drew him into the study, all the while wondering just where to begin. She was still in shock over his ability to speak to her, to understand her.
She paced toward her father's desk and was sharply reminded of where Russell was right now, how precarious his situation. She needed to see him this morning, but they wouldn't let her in before nine, anyway. Right now Rolf was waiting for answers. He stood just inside the doorway, watching her, impatience and frustration clear in everything from his taut, drawn facial muscles to his poised-for-action stance.
"Tell me."
She sighed and looked around her, wondering how to start. She spotted the globe and went to it almost desperately. She turned it slowly with one hand. Pressing a finger on Norway, she glanced back at Rolf. "Do you know what a map is? A drawing, showing—"
"Já. I know this. Go on."
She blinked at his sharp reply, but made herself continue.
"This is called a globe. It's a map of the world." His brows drew together. "The world, Rolf, is round, like a ball."
He shook his head. "Round, yes. But flat. Not a ball."
"It's true. Men have traveled all the way around it."
Looking doubtful, he drew nearer and studied the globe with perplexed interest. "This world of yours… truly is ball?"
She nodded. "Look. Here is Norway… Norge." She moved her finger to Denmark, then Sweden. "Danmark," she pronounced carefully. "Svíaríki." He stared in what she thought was disbelief.
For a long moment he studied the shapes of Western Europe and Scandinavia. Then he sought her gaze. Lifting two hands to encompass the room, he whispered, "And this?"
"It's called the United States." She moved the globe,
tracing a path across the Atlantic and stopping at the east coast. She pressed her fingertip to coastal Maine. "We are here." Slowly she moved her finger north, all the way up through Canada and across Hudson Strait to Baffin Island. "Here is where I found you."
"Found me?" He looked up quickly at her words.
"Yes. What were you doing there, Rolf? Why did you sail so far from your home?"
His face darkened and his eyes seemed shuttered all at once. "There was storm," he said, avoiding her question completely. "Minn drakkar… went down. I see Helluland…" He shook his head, pressed fingertips to his temples. "I do not…"
"Remember," Miranda supplied.
He nodded. "Já. I only… remember… cold, cold water, pull me down." She closed her eyes slowly, feeling the horror of what he'd been through crash over her like one of those frigid waves. "I think… ya… I see Skraelingar on the land."
Native North Americans, all of them, be they Inuit or not, were Skraelingar to Rolf. So the Eskimos of Baffin Island—his Helluland—had seen the ship go down. "They thought you were a god," Miranda said slowly. "The Skraelingar, we call them Inuit, called you 'the god who rode the seas upon the back of a dragon.' They'd never seen a ship like yours, Rolf."
Rolf nodded and he gazed at her intently. It was obvious he was listening, believing her. "They pulled you from the water. They took you to a cave…" He frowned, obviously not sure what the word meant. She scanned a shelf, located a book on geology, and riffled the pages until she found an illustration of stalactites and stalagmites. She showed it to him and he nodded in understanding. "A cave, inside the earth." She laid the book down. "They put you on a bed of stone, and they left your sword, your battle-ax and shield at your feet."
"Ax and shield? The ones below?" She nodded.
"Nei, not mine. Only this…" His hand closed on the hilt of his sword.
"Maybe the ax and shield were found and thought to belong to you."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Skraelingar take me to cave. Why?"
She sighed and licked her lips. "They believed you were dead."
"Fools!"
"Rolf…"
He waited, and when her gaze fell before his, he gripped her shoulders. "Tell me all."
"I'm trying. It isn't easy." Tears welled up and blurred her vision for no other reason than the emotional blow she was about to deliver. "You were not breathing, Rolf." He shook his head, and she demonstrated, inhaling loudly, exhaling. "Breathing." She placed her hand on his chest, just over the pounding beat. "Your heart… was silent."
His eyes narrowed and he grimaced in disbelief. "I am not understanding. You say, I was dead?"
"Today we know that a person is not really dead when the heart and breathing stop."
"How one is dead, and not dead!" He whirled away from her, stalking across the room. "You make stories!"
"It's not a story, Rolf, it's the truth." She drew one hand over her eyes in frustration and moved behind the desk to sit down. "There is life in the brain. This is fact. We know it beyond doubt." He turned, looked at her from across the room. "The brain…" She tapped a forefinger on the side of her head. "A person is not dead until the brain dies, too." She struggled to find simple words to explain a complex concept. "The brain dies only a little at a time. Bit by bit, you understand?"
He walked slowly back toward her. "Go on."
"If the brain is cold, the tiny bits do not die. They are preserved. The cold water kept your brain from dying, though your heart had stopped."
He drew a long, deep breath. "You say much… difficult to believe."
"I'm just getting started." She bit her lip, knowing he hadn't caught any of that rapidly spoken comment. "There is more, Rolf, that will be even harder to believe."
"Harder than dead, yet not dead?"
She nodded. Rolf moved forward and took a seat in front of the desk. With one palm-up gesture he invited her to continue, and she did, despite the pain she saw in his eyes, the frustration.
"As you lay in the cave, a glacier—that's a large mountain of ice—moved over the cave's mouth and sealed it. Your rest was undisturbed for a very long time."
His eyes went stony and held hers prisoner in an iron grip. "How long?"
Miranda's throat went dry. She cleared it and forced herself to continue. "The Inuit who put you there have died. They told the story to their children. When their children died, it was passed to their grandchildren, and so on. My father heard the story and decided to try to find you."
Rolf got slowly to his feet. "How long?"
"Please—" she held up both hands "—I need to explain first. My father is a scientist. So am I. We study people of long ago, how they lived. We teach the young people all that we learn. Do you understand?" He nodded, clearly impatient with her.
"There is much to be learned from the past. Things that can help the people of today. We spent years searching for you, Rolf. And then we found you, in that cave. We brought you here to study you, to learn from you. We, too, believed you dead."
Finally, it seemed, she had his interest once more. "Is not right, to bring dead man, útlendur, to your house."
"We didn't see you as an outsider, Rolf, only as an incredible discovery. We put you in that room below and kept it very cold to keep your body from ruin. But something went wrong. The room grew hot, and as your brain warmed, it began to work again."
"My brain began…" His eyes widened, searching her face. "Upon the hard bed, below. I… remember this. I cannot… breathe. I believed… I am in the sea." He frowned, struggling for the memory. When it came, she knew, because his gaze suddenly narrowed, growing so intense it felt as if it were piercing her. "You… your lips on mine. Your breath in my…" He pressed his fists to his chest.
"Lungs," she supplied. "Yes, I blew my breath into your lungs. I saw that you were alive and couldn't breathe. So I helped you to breathe."
He muttered in his own tongue, then confronted her angrily. "Was not it enough to give shelter, food?" He tugged at the shirt he wore with a thumb and forefinger. "The garments I wear? 1 owe to you my life, as well?" He slammed a fist on the desk in his anger, and she jumped to her feet.
"You asked me to tell you all of it."
He glanced at her with an impatient shake of his head. "You have my… thanks, lady. Only I like not… owing to another. To you, I loathe it."
She blinked back the effect of the stinging remarks. "Because I look like Adrianna?"
He glared at her. "I am unsure you are not Adrianna. She would much like such a game, to cause my mind to leave me."
"You know I'm not Adrianna. You saw the mark on my breast."
His smile was bitter. "You put it there… with the juice of berries, I think." He came around the desk, his anger like a burgeoning flame in his eyes. "I will see again, this… mark you give to your breast."
It was the way he reached for her that induced the panic. It was so menacing. She wouldn't allow herself to be abused that way. Not again. In one quick movement, Miranda jerked the desk drawer open, yanked out the tiny gun and brought it up between them. "If you touch me again, I will kill you."
He stopped short, staring down at the gun, head tilting slightly to one side. "What is this?"
"It is a weapon far more deadly than your sword, Rolf Magnusson. It shoots a small lead ball at such speed the human eye cannot see it. It will put a hole through your body faster than a blink of the eye."
He lifted his gaze to hers. "I do not believe."
"Take another step, and I'll give you all the proof you could ask for."
He shook his head. "You lie not so well as once you did, Adrianna." He took a step toward her, and Miranda closed her finger on the trigger.
Chapter 5
The shot blew a hole in the globe and sent a shredded mess of litter to the floor on the other side.
Rolf jerked in shock, his eyes widening when he saw the damage. He exclaimed in his own language, but Miranda was beyond paying attention to him. She heard only
the two police officers shouting, then the door crashing open and her name being called. She'd panicked and maybe ruined everything in the process.
"Oh, hell. Rolf, listen to me. You have to hide, quickly. I'll explain later, but for now you have to trust me. If those men see you here I'm going to be in a lot of trouble. Please." As she spoke she hustled him toward the closet in the rear of the room. She opened the door and shoved him inside.
"Rolf Magnusson hides from no man."
"Those men have guns, too," she told him quickly. "Please, I'm begging you, just stay here and be quiet." She tried to close the door, but he held it open with arms of iron. She glared at him. "Don't forget how much you owe me, Rolf. I saved your life."
That seemed to do the trick. He stepped farther back and let his arms fall to his sides, but as she pushed the door closed he caught her wrist. She looked up fast, hearing the approaching steps of the officers. "These men… they mean you harm?"
She gaped for a moment, shocked he'd show any concern at all for her safety, as much as he seemed to despise her. "No. They're here to protect me."
He nodded and pulled the door closed himself. Miranda spun around just as the study door swung inward and the two men came in cautiously, guns leading the way.
She stepped away from the closet, praying Rolf would behave, and shrugged. She offered the men her most sheepish expression. "Honestly, I'm such a klutz. I didn't realize it was loaded." She lifted the gun as she spoke and moved toward the desk, dropping it as if it were soiled.
The officers visibly relaxed, darted each other a speaking glance and holstered their weapons. One spotted the destroyed globe and barely suppressed his laughter. He elbowed the other, who did chuckle.
"You all right, Miss O'Shea?"
She nodded. "I feel utterly foolish, but no harm done."
Miranda's Viking Page 7
