Miranda's Viking

by Maggie Shayne

  "I assume you hold a valid permit for that weapon?"

  "Actually I don't. My father does, though. It's his gun. I was just checking on it. I felt a little nervous after the break-in."

  The first officer frowned. "Ordinarily I'd have to confiscate the weapon… but under the circumstances…"

  "Better let her keep it, Roy," said the other. "You never know."

  "Yeah. I have to advise you, Miss O'Shea, that if you use that weapon, you'll be in violation of state law and subject to criminal charges. You understand?"

  "Yes, of course. I'm sorry I scared you like that, really."

  "Just lock it up and leave it alone and you'll be fine."

  "Doing so as we speak," she assured them, opening the drawer and shoving the gun across the desk until it fell in with a loud thunk. She slammed the drawer shut and patted the desk's surface, looking for the key. When she came up with it, she inserted it in the lock.

  The police officers nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned to leave. As soon as the outer door closed she rushed to the closet and opened it. Rolf stepped out, replacing his sword in its scabbard as he did. He'd been ready to come out fighting at a moment's notice, she realized a little shakily.

  She sighed and shook her head. "That was close."

  Rolf stood rigid, searching her face. "Never have I seen such weapons," he murmured.

  "Things have changed. You were in that cave for a very long time, Rolf."

  "I do not wish to believe this story you tell…" His gaze moved over her face. "You are so like Adrianna… yet different. Your eyes, so… hers showed only what she wished. And she… never so feared my touch."

  "I don't fear it, I just don't want it."

  "Nei. It was fear I saw in your eyes. I believe you rather would kill me, than—"

  "We were talking about you."

  He ignored her. "Have you had a man before me, lady?"

  "Do you want to know how long you rested in that cave or not?"

  His intense blue eyes probed her soul one last time before he shrugged and looked away. "You may tell me. I may choose not to believe."

  "Fine. Do you know what a year is?"

  "Four seasons. I read many books while you sleep."

  "Do you know our numbers?"

  "Numbers?"

  She returned to the bookshelf, scanned it and finally found a book with sufficient pages. She opened it, and showed him the page number in the upper right corner. "Numbers."

  "Ah. Those I have begun. I will learn numbers today."

  She hesitated, frowning at him. "How do you learn so fast?"

  "I remember all things. Your words. Say them and they are locked forever in my… brain. I know more tongues than any man in Norge."

  "Your English seems to improve by the minute."

  "I do not know… minute. But I learn more with every word you speak. Now, these years, each four seasons. How many years did I rest?"

  She bit her lower lip. She flipped the pages over until only the cover remained open. "If each page is a year…" She captured pages one through nine hundred between her fingers. "You slept for about this many pages."

  He stared at the book, then at her. He shook his head slowly, taking a step from her. "Nei. You lie. You are Adrianna! You—"

  "Who ruled England when you went on that last voyage, Rolf?"

  He watched her warily, as if she were going to try to trick him somehow. "Knut died the year of my voyage. As I sailed, his sonir by Emma, Hardacnut, claimed the throne, as did his sonir by Ćlfgifu, Harald Harefoot."

  "England is now ruled by a woman, Queen Elizabeth."

  "Lies!"

  She shook her head, again scanning the books, grateful for her father's endless library. She found the one she wanted, and opened it to the pages listing the rulers of England and their lines of descent. She set it before him and he looked as she pointed. "Here is Knut… the year he began ruling is here. One thousand seventeen. These are the rulers who succeeded him, beginning with Harald Harefoot. Knut's wife, Emma, was exiled then. Harald died in one thousand forty—five years after you left Norway—and Hardacnut took the English throne without a fight. While he was busy in England, though, Magnus of Norway took Denmark, if my history lessons serve me. Hardacnut died after only two years on the throne, and England was then ruled by Emma's son from her first marriage, known as Edward the Confessor."

  Rolf's brows lifted. "The sonir of Ćthelred?"

  "Yes. Look for yourself. There have been many on the English throne since then." She pushed the book closer toward him and Rolf took it, studying the pages solemnly for a long moment.

  "Stodva!" He closed the book with a bang and turned from her. "You seek to drive me from my mind. Only Adrianna would—"

  She came around the desk, putting a hand on his huge shoulder though he refused to look at her. Her throat burned as she realized what he must be suffering and she hated to add more to the burden, but she had no choice. "You know I'm telling you the truth. You wish it wasn't so and you are angry that all of this has happened. But you know it's true. You saw the little ships without sails and the wagons without horses. These things did not exist in your time and you know it. There is still more I have to tell you, so you have to stop arguing with me and listen." She paused, swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you, but we have to talk about these things now."

  He shook his head, so much dejection in his eyes she could hardly bear to look at him. "If what you say is true, mínn… my faŏir, my broŏirs, all are gone. Therefore, it cannot be true."

  She felt a hot tear brim over and run down her cheek. Her heart constricted in her chest. She hated inflicting this kind of pain on him, would hate doing this to anyone. Given her own father's precarious hold on life, she knew too well the loss Rolf was feeling. "I'm sorry, Rolf. I'm so very sorry."

  He looked up, saw that tear and spoke slowly, his gaze penetrating. "Adrianna has tears for no one. Tears to her are… were… weapons." He squeezed his own eyes tight, tilted his head back. "Odin, why? Thor… speak to me! Do you yet live or have all the gods died, as well?" She gulped back a sob that only seemed to tear further at the man's heart.

  "Nei, you are not Adrianna, are you?" He faced her once more.

  She shook her head. "No, I'm not."

  He looked at the floor. "So I must believe." He walked slowly from the room, scattering bits of the globe as he went. He reached the sofa, sat down and let his head fall back so he faced the ceiling, though Miranda knew he wasn't seeing it. "Speak what you must. I will hear."

  She had followed him into the living room and now stood near the sofa. Why were her instincts telling her to sit beside him, to pull his head to her breast and cradle him there? She swallowed hard and remained standing. "There are other scientists, Rolf. Many, many others. I have not let them know that you are alive. They all believe your cold body still lies below on the table. They all want a chance to look at you, to study you."

  "They will be saddened, no doubt."

  "They would be overjoyed if I told them. But I'm not going to. Even my father doesn't know."

  He frowned and brought his gaze level with hers. "Why?"

  "They would give anything to find out how you were preserved for so long, without harm done to your mind or your body. Nothing like this has ever happened before."

  "I will tell them all I can."

  She shook her head. "They wouldn't question you. They'd lock you up in a room like the one downstairs and they'd study you. They'd cut small pieces of your flesh to see if they were different. They'd want to look inside you, inside your brain."

  He grimaced. "What sort of men do such things to one another?"

  "They would say it was for the good of many, to learn all they could about you."

  "I will not allow it. Do they try to take me, they will know the sting of Vengeance."

  "What is Vengeance against the weapons of today?"

  He looked at her for a long moment. "Yet you think to ke
ep me from them?"

  "I will keep you from them." As she spoke she felt the firmness of her conviction. She saw his eyes narrow upon her as she went on. "Rolf, we cannot let them know the Norseman below has been revivified. We have to say you are of this time, a friend, visiting me from Iceland."

  He released a short burst of air. "And what tell you them do they wish to see the Norseman below?"

  "That someone came here while I slept and took him away."

  "Nei. It is you who are losing the senses. Who would believe such a tale?"

  "Rolf, before you woke, someone did come here while I slept. I don't know who it was or what they wanted, but my father was hurt as he struggled with them below. He thought they were after you. That's why the men stand guard outside right now." He only frowned. "It will be easier to convince them of the lie than it would be for them to believe the truth, Rolf. They would never guess it, because they believe such a thing impossible."

  Rolf stubbornly stood his ground. "I hide behind no woman. I will stand and I will fight."

  "No." She stood fast and held his gaze. "My father spent years trying to find you, and so did I. After all that I will not allow you to simply let them take you, and make no mistake, Rolf, they would take you, or kill you."

  He closed his eyes and sighed. "Better had you left me in the cave of the Skraelingar, Miranda." When he looked at her again, he seemed resigned. "I will do as you ask for a time. You have given me much, Miranda. I pay my debts."

  Rolf felt as if the very life force had been drained from his body. He'd lost so much in such a short time. His exile had been disheartening enough, but at least he'd known his family had been alive and well. Now… He shook his head. It was very difficult to believe they were gone. Gone like early morning mist rising from an emerald sea with the sunrise. Gone, along with everyone and everything he'd ever known. The pain was nearly crippling.

  Oddly enough, it seemed this woman, this… Miranda, shared in his pain. She seemed genuinely distressed at having to reveal so much to him all at once. The glimmering sheen covering her storm-cloud eyes had to be genuine, for she fought against it, repeatedly blinking, pressing her knuckles to tightly closed lids, and averting her gaze altogether.

  She touched his shoulder, shaking him from his reverie. Her eyes had darkened to the color of deep slate as they dug their way into his. "Are you all right?"

  "I am a warrior."

  She frowned, making three tiny crescents appear right between her auburn brows. "That is not an answer."

  "But it is," he replied. He consciously straightened his spine and sought to busy his mind with something else. "You have spoken of your faŏir. Where is the man, that I might thank him?"

  He didn't miss the flicker of agony in her eyes, though she turned from him quickly enough. "He is in the hospital. That's a place where our sick and wounded are cared for. We have men and women called doctors. These people spend many years learning to heal and they work at the hospitals to tend the unwell."

  He nodded. She spoke slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a dull-witted child. He would not correct her just yet, however. Better that he understand every word. "He is ill?"

  Her words sounded forced through a small space. "He was hurt the night someone broke in here. He was struck on the head, and his weak heart gave out."

  No wonder the woman seemed to be in pain. The idea of her facing some unknown intruder, alone except for a weak parent, sent a jolt through Rolf. "You were here, then?" Rubbing her shoulder with one hand as if unconsciously, she nodded. So, she'd got the ugly purple bruise at the hands of this intruder. He wondered at her valiance. Did she fight to protect him, though she thought him dead? No, more likely the woman fought in defense of her faŏir. She must love the man greatly. "We will go to this… hos-pee-tal. I would speak with him."

  She nodded, her mind clearly elsewhere. "Yes, we do need to go to the hospital this morning. But it is not a good idea for you to see him just yet. It would be a shock for him to see you. Shock is not good for a weakened heart. It might kill him."

  Her words made perfect sense. Truly she was learned in many things. "I would not wish to harm him. We go now? I am eager to see more of your world."

  She shook herself from her lingering worry and faced him. "First, we bathe. In this time it is customary to do so every day, rather than once a week as your people preferred. "

  Rolf frowned. "1 do not know 'week.'"

  "Seven days is one week. Each day has a name. Today is Tuesday."

  "Tuesday," he repeated slowly. "But this 'seven… '"

  She held up the corresponding number of fingers. "Seven."

  "Ahh."

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Our biggest problem is going to be the two police guards outside."

  "Dismiss them," he told her quickly. "Are they not your servants?"

  Her lips curved upward into a slight smile. "No, I have no servants. They serve the public, like soldiers. Their job is to protect all who live here, and to stop the lawbreakers. They stand watch in case the intruder I told you about tries to come back. The problem is, they'll know you didn't come in from outside and they'll wonder where you did come from."

  Rolf studied her as she paced and pondered. Odd it was, to have a mere woman taking such pains to ensure the safety of a powerful fighting man.

  She snapped her fingers. "Okay, I have an idea. You'll have to listen carefully and do exactly as I say, or it won't work. That photographic memory of yours will come in handy."

  He shook his head. He did not know "fo-to-gra-fik" but he would look it up in the large book of words. It eased his own wounded spirit to see her with color in her cheeks. He thought she might not be fully aware of it, but she was finding joy in the challenge of keeping her secret. It showed in her eyes. A glitter of excitement, a silvery sheen. "Tell me what I must do," he said.

  She spoke firmly. "Not until after we shower and change. I'll use the bathroom first." She waved a hand at the chaos that surrounded them. The boxes and wrappings that had held his clothing littered the floor, along with many more garments. The books and papers they'd used in their studies last night covered every surface, along with writing implements of various types. "While I'm gone, you can clean up this mess."

  Rolf felt his eyes widen. "You say you have no servants, lady. Do not think to make me your first."

  She bit her lip and drew a long breath, as if exercising great restraint. Finally she spoke. "You have no servants, either, my friend. And in this century, women do not spend their time picking up after men. We each serve ourselves. Those are your clothes."

  He nodded, wondering whether she spoke true, or was simply being difficult. "Those," he said, pointing, "are your books."

  Her silken brows rose in two perfect arches and she seemed to chew her inner cheek. Finally she shrugged. "Fine. I'll take care of the books. You take care of the clothes… and their wrappings. There's a guest room at the top of the stairs and to the left." She turned to walk up the stairs without awaiting his answer.

  "Miranda." At his voice, she stopped and faced him, one hand on the rail at her side. "Which way is this… 'left?'"

  She smiled, fully this time, and came down the two steps she'd ascended. To his surprise she reached out, clasped his hand in hers and lifted it. "This is your left hand." She gripped the other, her skin supple and warm. "And this is your right. If you face this way, then that's left." She gestured as she explained. "But if you turn around, left is that way. You see? Left is always to the same side as this hand."

  She still gripped both his hands and she stood close to him. Her head came to the center of his chest and she had to tilt it back to look at him as she spoke. Rolf found himself suddenly very sorry he'd made her afraid of his touch. Now that he knew she was not Adrianna, he wished for the opportunity to erase his earlier behavior. Of course, he couldn't be certain it would matter. After all, she'd vomited. Such a response certainly indicated a strong aversion to him, one that might have been th
ere even had he not handled her roughly.

  Besides, he reminded himself harshly, he could not be certain yet that her heart wasn't as corrupt and unreliable as Adrianna's had been. If he'd learned anything from her betrayal, it was not to give his trust again so easily. A beautiful face and ivory skin did not necessarily reflect the soul they hid beneath them.

  But if it were true that one could see a person's soul through the eyes, then hers must be pure. Pure and complex and very, very deep, he thought as he searched the gray orbs thoroughly. He noticed for the first time the thin ribbons of jet radiating outward from the pupil, and the deep, dark blue outline surrounding the storm gray irises. Her lashes were long and thick, a sable color, but tipped with auburn like her hair, giving them the impression of radiance. He did not recall Adrianna's eyes as having been so lovely, or so deep. He felt as if he were being drawn into them, as if he were in a quagmire from which he had no desire to escape. As if…

  She blinked and lowered her head and the spell was broken. She released his hands and stepped back. "I, um, we have to get going."

  "Miranda," he began, with no idea what it was he wanted to say.

  She glanced up at him with a plea in her eyes that silenced him at once. She gave her head an almost imperceptible shake, taking another step away from him. Her eyes were wide and smoky with confusion. He lifted one hand, palm up, a silent entreaty, for what, he knew not.

  She turned and fled up the stairs. Fled, yes, it was the appropriate word. She ran from him as if he were the wolf, Fenris, or the Midgard serpent. Or the Plague of the North, he thought grimly. Which, indeed, he was.

  Chapter 6

  She had to push it out of her mind. Her plan to fool the police wouldn't work if she were not convincing. And she couldn't be convincing if she were distracted by that freak storm of sensation she'd felt an hour ago.

  God, but it had been powerful. The way he'd stared into her eyes as if he were searching for something. Not just searching, desperately searching. For a brief, unsettling moment she'd felt herself longing to give him what he sought, though she didn't even know what that was.