by Sandra Hill
“Lackwit!” Big Mama turned her back on Pretty Boy, but Torolf was pretty sure her lips were twitching with laughter.
Back to the leader. Torolf flashed her one of his most engaging smiles. “So, Ms. Witch-Nun, what’s your name? My name is Torolf Magnusson, but you can call me Max.”
The woman frowned as if confused.
He spoke English, but she should be able to understand the gist of what he said, Old Norse and English having so many similarities. Even so, he repeated himself in Old Norse.
“I understood you the first time,” she snapped. But then she leaned forward, studying his face. “Do my eyes play me false? Nay, ’tis impossible. You cannot be Torolf Magnusson. That dunderhead is dead.”
He shrugged. Guess what, baby? The dunderhead is definitely alive.
“Why do you call yourself Torolf the Axe? As I recall, Torolf ’s weapon of choice was a pattern-welded sword.”
“Not axe. Max. And how would you know . . .” His words trailed off as he peered closer. “Is that you, Hildy-Tildy?”
“Ooooh, do not dare to call me that silly youthling name. Have you forgotten what I did last time you did?”
“No. What?”
“I bloodied your nose, that is what.”
“I’m already bloody.” In fact, the stream of blood was trickling over his nose and down the side of his mouth. He turned his head and wiped the blood on his sleeve. Then he grinned. “So, what’re you gonna do about it, Hildy-Tildy ?”
Her response was to punch him in the stomach. It didn’t hurt much, but still it was a rotten thing to do to a man with his hands tied. Oh, well! Before she could react, he raised his arms over her head and down to the back of her waist, yanking her flush against him. Her scissors and knife clattered to the deck.
All her witch/nun comrades-in-lunacy closed ranks around him with soup ladles and shepherd’s crooks ready to give him another knock on the head. There were a few deadly knives, as well, he noticed, and tugged Hilda even closer. The women were back to screeching again.
“Unhand me, you mangy weasel,” Hilda hollered. Being face-to-face, as they were, that holler about made his ears ring.
“Shall we kill the maggot, milady?” Big Mama inquired. Somehow she had managed to raise the broadsword above her head. He hoped she didn’t drop it . . . like on his head.
Hilda hesitated.
“Lady, be careful. I could throttle you, even with my hands tied.”
“Not yet,” she replied to Big Mama.
“Good girl!” Into her ear, he said, “Call off your fellow witches and untie me.” Pee-you! She stinks.
“Nay!”
Just like a woman. Makes everything difficult. “Why not?”
“We are a community of women.”
Big deal! “No men allowed?”
“No men allowed.”
No wonder, the way they smell.
“Dost think the gods sent these men in answer to our prayers?” one young woman asked Hilda.
“Shhhh! ’Tis unseemly to talk about . . . you know . . . in front of these men,” Hilda cautioned the girl.
Five sets of male eyes went on full alert at the prospect of their being the answer to some not-so-fair maidens’ prayers.
He chuckled. “So, Hildy, you been prayin’ for me?”
“Hell and Valhalla! May the gods spare me from half-brained men with smooth-as-cream tongues.” Hilda ducked under the circle of his arms, which he had loosened.
He didn’t attempt to stop her, even when she reached down to retrieve her weapons. She thinks I’m smooth? And I haven’t even tried yet. “You think I’m smooth?” He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.
“What prayers?” Geek asked.
“We need men to mate with,” another woman, a teenager, really, said. She was eyeing Geek like she was a Weight Watchers dropout and he was a chocolate sundae . . . with whipped cream. “And then we shall send them on their way,” she added airily.
All his buddies looked at each other and grinned.
“I like the one in the strange hat.”
“I like the pretty one.”
“I like the one with the gold cross around his neck. Must be he is a monk.” The woman seemed distressed at that prospect, but then added, “Monk or not, it matters not, as long as he has a dangly part.”
“Which one do you like?” Torolf winked at Hilda.
“Not you! So save your winks for some feckless maid who would appreciate your dubious charms.”
He had no interest in her, either, but her words rankled anyway. “Why not!” I can’t believe I asked that.
She exhaled with exasperation. “By the runes, you have always been a jesting sort. Never serious.”
“I’m a fighting man now. That’s damn serious, if you ask me.” Yep. My tongue runneth over.
“You are a warrior?” That got her attention for some reason.
“This is one practical joke of yers that I like,” Cage interrupted.
“Yeah, you can line up multiple sex partners for us any day,” Pretty Boy chimed in, “especially if we get to pick from the litter.”
“Multiple sex partners . . . Do you mean all at once?” Geek’s ears turned red. He might be twenty-six, but he was sexually inexperienced in comparison to the rest of them.
“I hope they’re gonna bathe first . . . and use a little deodorant. Eau de Goat doesn’t do it for me.” JAM crinkled his nose in distaste.
“I told you, blockheads, this is not a joke. We must have time-traveled.”
No one listened to him.
Hilda put the back of her hand to her forehead and groaned.
He knew just how she felt. “Let me get this straight. You women live here alone, but you want men to have sex with, and then you’ll boot them out the door?”
“They do. Not me.”
“Why not you?” Like I care!
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Cage said. “They want to get laid? With no commitment? Man, this has gotta be Penthouse Fantasy Number One.”
Pretty Boy smiled at Big Mama and said, “I get first dibs on you, baby.”
“Pfff! You are too small for me.”
“I’m not small . . . where it counts.” Pretty Boy waggled his eyebrows at her. “Besides, I’m as tall as you are.”
Torolf felt the need to take control. “Listen, Hildy, this is amusing as hell, but you need to release us. Some of us have head wounds that need to be tended.”
“I cannot release you.”
“Why not?”
“You might be Steinolf ’s men.”
Torolf stiffened with outrage. “If you were a man, I would kill you.”
She arched her eyebrows. “You have no love for Steinolf?”
“Hardly. Haven’t you heard what he did to Norstead . . . and my sister, Madrene?”
She nodded. “I have.” The compassion on her face lasted only a second. “And where were you during that happenstance? If you did not die when everyone thought you did, why were you not here to protect your family estates . . . to protect Madrene?”
She is really pissing me off, especially when her criticism hits so close to home. “Enough of this chitchat! We can discuss all this later.” He pulled his hands from the ropes, which he had been working at the whole time, and grabbed for Hilda, putting her in front of him in a choke hold, with his one arm around her neck from behind and the other around her waist. The other guys did the same with different women, except for Geek, who was unable to get to his feet fast enough. It happened so quickly that the women had no chance to react at first.
“How did you get loose?” Hilda squealed.
“Knot Tying 101, baby. Or, rather, Knot Untying 101.”
“You are Steinolf ’s men then.”
The word “Steinolf ” kept being repeated among the women. Some began to weep, even some who held weapons at the ready.
“Take me and let my women go. Or be merciful, and kill us all. We would rather that than be in that beast’s
hands again.”
He cursed, that they would think he was like Steinolf, then said against her ear, “We are not Steinolf ’s men. I told you that before. I have as much reason to hate him as you do.”
“I doubt that.”
By now the other women had closed ranks around them again.
“Tell your . . . uh, followers . . . to drop their weapons and back off. Tell them to head back with my men to that fort . . . or whatever it is up there on the hill. We’ll follow. No one will be harmed if you do as I say.”
Reluctantly, she did as ordered. “Go back to the keep!”
JAM and Cage half carried Geek by supporting him between their two shoulders. Pretty Boy picked up the broadsword and was herding the women up the hill, but not before he’d restrained Big Mama with her hands behind her back. He grinned like an ape while the woman tossed graphic Old Norse curses at him.
“You know what’s really odd,” JAM called back to him, “I know that she . . . they . . . are speaking some other language, but I can understand it.”
“Yeah, yer right,” Cage said, and the others agreed, too.
Torolf figured that if time travel could take place, then language barriers should be no problem, either. God and his miracles and all that.
Soon the others were gone, and he remained on the wrecked ship with Hilda. “Now, Hildy,” he said, “I am going to release you. Then you and I are going to sit down on those sea chests over there and talk. Agreed?”
At first, she remained stiff and unyielding, but then she nodded.
“I mean it. If you don’t calm down, I’m going to truss you like a chicken and hang you from that tree over there.”
She made a growling sound. “I said I would listen, you lack-brained, insolent, cod-sucking son of a cur.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
“I am loath to believe you are who you say you are.”
“Well, stop loathing. You already said you recognize me, and you know for damn sure that the Ericsson and Magnusson clans have long been friends with your family.” He eased his hold on her slowly, then took her by the forearm and pushed her down to sit on a sea chest.
“You shame your family by doing this.” She raised her chin like a bloody princess in her rags.
“No, I don’t. I haven’t hurt you, and I don’t intend to, unless you do something foolish.”
She bared her teeth at him.
He pulled a sea chest over so that he could sit opposite her, knee to knee. “Let’s start over, shall we?”
She tilted her head suspiciously.
“Well, hello there, Hilda! How are you? Haven’t seen you in ages. Then you say, ‘Torolf! Welcome to Deer Haven.’ That is where we are, isn’t it?”
“’Tis called The Sanctuary now.”
“Whatever. You say, ‘Welcome to The Sanctuary, Torolf. Come share our food and have a cup of mead. I will tell you all the news that’s been happening while you were gone, and I’m dying to know where you’ve been.’ ” He waited.
“Tell me true, Torolf. Are you here with ill intent?”
“I am not.”
“You have no bond with Steinolf . . . or any other villains?”
“I do not.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled.
His heart actually skipped a beat. It was a very nice smile, even if she did have that space between her front teeth . . . perhaps because of that enticing space. It made a guy want to . . . well, whatever. In any case, she was almost attractive, despite her wild hair, awful clothes, and the smell.
“Gan dag, Torolf. I wish you good tidings. Welcome to The Sanctuary. Do you plan a long stay?”
“No. At least I hope I won’t be here long. A week or two . . . three at the most.”
She stood then and extended her hand. “Come. We have a bathhouse where you can refresh yourself. And I will have Inge put mutton on to roast. I know which stubborn sheep it will be, too.” She stared pointedly at the spots on her gown.
He laughed. Taking her firmly by the elbow, he began to escort her back toward the hill fort when a big, furry animal—a dog—came barreling down the hill toward them, barking like crazy. When the animal got to the bottom, it skidded to a stop at their feet. Then the animal glanced up at Torolf, sniffed his leg, and began to hump it. The mutt probably smelled his dog, Slut, on his jeans leg, and, yes, he had named his dog Slut because, frankly, she was a slut. Even after being spayed, she wagged her tail at every hound dog in the neighborhood.
“Stig! Stop it!” Hilda said, trying to pull the animal away by the scruff of the neck. Her face was red with embarrassment. “My apologies. I do not know what has gotten into him. He has never done that afore . . . to a person.” While Hilda was shooing the animal away, it kept glancing at Torolf’s leg as if it was a tasty bone . . . or a doggie hooker.
With him grinning and Hilda frowning, they continued up the hill where he noticed a wooden sign at the base of the motte which read:
THE SANCTUARY
Any man who dares enter here uninvited
will leave with a shriveled manpart.
He laughed and yelled out to the guys who were already at the top of the motte, “Guess what this sign says.” And he read it to them.
Cage glanced down his body and yelled back at him, “No shriveling here.”
“None here either,” each of the other guys yelled, all of them laughing.
“Enter at your own peril,” Hilda said with a sniff of disgust.
“Does anyone . . . any man . . . believe that shriveling business?”
“Some do, as well they should.”
“And the witch stuff. Does anyone believe that?”
“Some do. And best you beware, I know spells aplenty.”
“And a nun, too. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Always the jester, are you not?”
“Who’s jesting? So, tell me about these prayers for sex.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You will not believe it.”
“Try me.”
When she was done—and he suspected she told him only part of the story—they were almost to the top of the motte. Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, he said as somberly as he could, “I don’t think my men will need any coaxing.”
“And you?” she inquired.
“I’m saving myself.”
“For whom?”
He looked at her for a long moment, then said, “You.” Why he’d said that, he had no idea. The thousand-year-old air must have affected his brain.
But she appeared as poleaxed by the prospect as he. Finally she scoffed. “Never.”
Never, he mimicked her in his mind. She was probably right . . . no, she was definitely right . . . but he couldn’t let her derisive answer stand. “Never say never to a Navy SEAL.”
“I thought it was, ‘Never say never to a Viking.’”
“Correction then. Never say never to a Viking Navy SEAL.”
Chapter 4
And then she made him an offer he couldn’t refuse . . .
Hilda surveyed the great hall of The Sanctuary that night and moaned her dismay. How did I lose control so quickly?
Before she had even come into the hall, she had been forced to lock Stig in the woodshed because he kept following Torolf around, hanging onto his blue braies, attempting to fornicate with his leg. It must be something about Torolf ’s male scent that was attracting the dog, because he did it to no one else, except every female dog he could catch.
Along the massively long tables, there were three open-sided hearths running down the center of the great hall on raised platforms; they were for heating more than cooking. Unlike many Norse keeps, there were no rushes on the floor, just swept, hard-packed dirt . . . straw being a prized commodity in these parts. Along the walls were sleeping closets, one bedchamber, and compartments for storing linens and other household items. Cooking implements and dried herbs hung from the ceiling. Every bit of space in a Viking home was utilized.
On either side of the tables, sitting on benches, which would be later used for pallets, were a handful of grinning men and dozens of eyelash-batting, riband-wearing, teeth-baring, twittering females, who also happened to be so clean they nigh sparkled. Their gunnas and tunics were plain, but they’d chosen ones with color and embroidery: woad blue, madder red, lichen purple, broom yellow. When the lines at the bathing house had been too long, many had dunked themselves in the frigid waters of the fjord. All for the sake of . . . she shuddered . . . MEN.
Not her, though. Nay, she’d washed the sheep dung off her arms and soaped her face, but she’d chosen apurpose not to change her gown or comb her hair, lest she be viewed as one of the pathetic mass, looking for a bedmate.
Oh, she knew she was being harsh. She did understand their yearning for children and male companionship. But did it have to be so obvious?
“Did you say something, Hildy?”
Hilda gritted her teeth at his use of that childish name. “Dost get joy of pricking me, lout?”
Torolf began to cough, as if something was stuck in his throat.
She clapped him on his back a few times.
“If I had ever pricked you, I’m sure I would have enjoyed it,” he said finally and smiled.
That innocent smile . . . she would like to wipe it off with . . . with . . . She looked at the table in front of her and at the bowl of small onions swimming in goat cream. Then she grinned, picturing the lout next to her at the high table with his pretty dark blond hair and godly features covered with the side dish which had accompanied the roasted lamb.
“First, you talk to yourself. Now, you grin to yourself. Tsk, tsk, tsk. How about sharing the joke, sweetie?”
