The Last Viking By Sandra Hill Chapter One A distant land, A.D. 997 Geirolf let out a wild Viking battle cry before burying his face in Ingrid's massive breasts. She was woodenly unimpressed. He roared his outrage. Then, still clutching her vo- uous figure, he jumped from the rail of his splin- ig, already sinking longship into the roiling seas ... certain death. Lh, well, 'tis the fate of many Viking warriors, and er than most, Geirolf thought fatalistically as a pool sucked him under, swirling his body uncon- f,hly, faster and faster, into the briny depths. 'Twill r soon ... even now the Valkyries should be to lead me into Asgard, the hall of the gods, a grand feast surely awaits me in the afterlife. I hope 'tis Asgard, and not HeL After all I SANDRA HILL endured this day, I misdoubt I deserve the underworld. Still holding his breath, he hugged Ingrid closer- his companion in death-and chuckled silently. May- hap this night I will get my very own bedmate with breasts as magnificent as yours, sweet Ingrid. But then some instinct moved inside Geirolf, per- chance the warrior reflex. He'd been trained from boy- hood to fight to the bitter end. He would not yield now like a wet-nosed pup! Nay! Damn the gods! I am Geirolf Ericsson of the noble Yngling clan. 77te blood of kings runs in my veins. I am a master shipbuilder and a fierce soldier. I will not die yet. Honor demands I complete my pledge-mission for nry father. lives depend on me. I ... refuse ... to ... surrender. Kicking out with powerful thrusts of his legs, Geirolf escaped the whirlpool's briny grave and rose swiftly, like a dolphin, to the surface of a strangely calm sea. With a toss of his head, he cast the wet swath of his long hair over his shoulder. And, to his great surprise, it was Ingrid and her glorious breasts that kept him afloat, bobbing gently on the ocean waves. Ingrid-the outlandishly carved figurehead of a buxom, blonde- haired goddess. More than three years past, his brother Jorund had given him, as a coarse jest, the wooden sculpture of a woman's upper torso to embellish the prow of his new- est dragonship, Fierce Wo(f Fortunately, Geirolf had been able to grab onto the figurehead when his vessel began to shatter apart moments ago. Geirolf laughed joyously at the irony. Saved by a woman's tits. His mother, Lady Asgar, a Christian of Saxon birth, would say it was the One-God's just ret- ribution against her youngest son's wild life of licen- 12 THE LAST VIKING tiousness. His father, Jarl Eric Tryggvason, ever the Viking, would hoot with laughter at the lewd paradox. Geirolf's latest leman-sweet Alyce of Hedeby- would cluck with disapproval, then merely smile her pleasure at his being alive, no matter the means. He gave Ingrid's left nipple-the size of a fat, sun- drenched grape-a quick lick of salty appreciation. And hoped belatedly that he didn't get a splinter in his tongue. By the fading light of the Demon's Moon-the odd celestial apparition that had drawn him to this danger- ous location-he gazed fondly at his stiff companion and relaxed. His fate was in the hands of the heavenly beings now. He could only believe that Odin had cho- sen to deliver him from that evil Staff Grimmsson, the villainous outlaw who'd killed or captured his entire crew of loyal sailors a sennight ago, sparing only Gei- rolf to a crippled vessel and stormy seas. Pondering all that had happened to him, Geirolf de- cided that the Norse All-God must have some other destiny in mind for him. Thus resigned, he gave him- self up to the rhythmic current. He knew not where he was, long ago having lost his star bearings under the exotic aura of the Demon's Moon ... surely farther west than any Viking adven- turer had traveled afore. Even Eirik the Red. He would have much to tell the skalds at his father's court in Vestfold. Of a certainty, the skilled storytellers would weave sagas telling of his great bravery for eons to come. If ever he returned, that is. Nay, he would not think doomful thoughts. I must retum, he vowed, rubbing one palm over his wide leather belt, grasping the heavy clasp that hid the sa- cred talisman. Otherwise, there was no point to the end- 13 SANDRA HILL less journeying. No point to the bloody battle widi Staff. No point to all the lost lives. Yea, I must retum the relic to its rightful place, as directed by my father. With a long sigh, he fought his fluttering eyelids and a soul-deep exhaustion. He was so weary and battle sore. If only he could rest for a moment. But, nay, he had to be alert for omens, for any sign from the gods that would steer him toward his future. At dawn, Geirolf forced open his bleary eyes-he must have dozed, after all-and saw his sign. Thanks be to Odin! It was a half-completed longboat sitting on a grassy knoll atop a craggy cliff. Just waiting for him. "Come, Ingrid," he shouted jubilantly to his figure- head companion, tucked now under his left arm. Widi renewed vigor, he swam for shore as the sun began to rise. "There is the ship that will take us home. Destiny. Yea, I will call it Fierce Destiny." Maine, A.D. 1997 "No way! You are not putting breasts on the figure- head of my ship," Meredith Foster declared,. shaking her head indignantly. Her grad assistant, Mike Johnson, gave her an im- patient scowl as he rolled up the sketches he'd prepared for her approval. "Now, now, Dr. Foster. I've re- searched the figureheads of tendi-century Viking ships, and it wasn't unusual to have a favorite goddess adorn the prow." Meredith tapped a pencil on her desk and peered at him over the top of her reading glasses, trying to de- tennine if he was serious or not. The ex-Marine, who still -clipped his blond hair in a short G.I. cut and wore old U.S. Army T-shirts with his jeans, had a dry sense 14 THE LAST VIKING of humor. And he often ribbed her, thinking her much too serious and overly engrossed in her work. "It was just as usual to have animal heads, Mister Johnson. Give me a dragon, or a serpent. No buxom bimbos." He grinned. "And don't think I missed the fact that this partic- ular woman looks a lot like Sharon Stone," she added. In the few months she'd come to know her handsome grad assistant, a doctoral candidate in Dark-Age Norse culture, he'd made no bones about the fact that Sharon Stone was the one woman he'd most like to be stranded with, just about anywhere. Sometimes, she suspected that he talked about the movie sex symbol to cover his pain over losing his young wife two years before in a freak skiing accident. "Remember, we're going for his- torical accuracy here. And Sharon Stone is pure anach- ronism." Mike rolled his shoulders in a "Hey, it was worth a shot" shrug, and then tried another tactic. "I could always put a bra on the babe." Meredith lifted a brow. "My friend, a Wonder Bra and a forklift wouldn't hold up the pair you've drawn on those blueprints." Mike's eyes widened with surprise at her unaccus- tomed playfulness, but he came back real quick. "How about if it's a male figurehead and another kind of ... endowment? Then, would it be okay?" "Not even if it was Mel Gibson in a kilt." They exchanged warm smiles, and Meredith was glad she'd relaxed her standard formality with Mike. It felt good, for a change, to act ... well, normal. "Besides, we have more important concems right now," she noted. "Spring break is about over, and we 15 SANDRA HILL still haven't found a competent carpenter to head the project. Now that the temperate weather is here, I'd like to resume building." Widi a nod of agreement, the young man slid into a chair in front of her desk, bracing one ankle on a knee. "I worked with your grandfather for over a year on the 'Trondheim Longboat Venture,' but he was the master builder. When he died last fall, everything just came to a screeching halt." A screeching halt? Yes, Meredith knew that better than anyone. Gramps had been the light of her life, her lodestone in a world that had become increasingly lonely and alien after her bitter divorce three years be- fore. What would she do without his sage advice and unconditional love? "I'd be perfectly willing to take over," Mike con- tinued, "but I just don't have the talent to oversee all these students. I can sand wood and do grunt work with the best of them, but that's about it." "I know, and I appreciate all the help you've given me so far." Brushing a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear, she unconsciously tucked it into the loose knot at the nape of her neck, thinking over their mutual problem. "It's too bad we got so few responses to the ads we placed in the Bangor newspapers, and none of them qualified. Maybe one of the archaeological peri- odicals my brother recommended will bring some in- rerested soul out of the woodwork." "Hey, expert carpenters want a hell of a lot more money than we can afford with nonprofit ftinding." "Someone will show up," she asserted. Even if I have to pay top dollar out of my own trust fiend Any- thing to make Gramps's dream come true. "In the meantime, we can start the students on menial tasks." 16 THE LAST VIKING "Like hand-sanding, right? With sand, the way primitive shipbuilders did it, right?" Mike grumbled. Sanding was an endless, tedious task everyone hated. "Right." She smiled and pushed her glasses up her nose. "And see what the woodworking shop can do in terms of an animal prow. I don't care if it's an elephant. Just no obscene body parts.,, "If you insist," Mike muttered as he walked out of her office. "An elephant? Geez, who ever heard of a Republican longship? Talk about anachronisms!,, Darkness blanketed the countryside by the time Mer- edith had finished working for the day and was driving uP the long lane to the cottage recendy bequeathed to her. The one-bedroom A-frame, built with her grand- father's own hands on a desolate cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, held so many memories for Meredith. As children, she and her older. brother Jared and her younger sister Jillian had been shipped off to Maine each summer while their parents, engrossed in signifi- cant work as noted Professors of medieval studies at Princeton University, went off to jeckm, or on one research expedition or another to museums and archae- ological digs. Gram had been alive then, too, and the smells of GramPs's woodcarving and Gram's fresh-baked bread and home-cooked meals filled the house. Meredith wasn't even sure if her own mother knew how to cook, so preoccupied had she always been with her career. Not that culinary arts were an essential motherly skill. A live-in housekeeper had taken care of those domes c tasks. ti Contemplating e house now as she got clo r, Mer th se c= realized how small it was, and how simple. 1 7 SANDRA HILL Funny, she'd never noticed before. But then, now that she thought about it, while Grwnps and Gram had slept in the upstairs loft, she and her brother and sister had bedded down in sleeping bags on the living room floor, or outdoors in warm weather next to the pool. They'd never minded. So much love! That was what she remembered most ... the love Gram and Gramps had clearly shown for each other, and toward their beloved grandchildren. Now, all that was gone. Fighting the tightness in her throat, Meredith gave a cursory glance to the half-completed longship, high- lighted momentarily in her headlights. Gramps had de- cided to build the project on the vacant lot next to his house, rather than on the Oxley College campus, which was too far inland. Besides, Gramps had told her in his letters that his students loved to come up to the remote spot, often combining their work with picnics, or climbing down the treacherous cliffside for a quick dip in the ocean. She retrieved her briefcase and a small bag of gro- ceries from the back seat and approached the dark house. There was something so sad about an empty house at the end of the day. That was the only thing she missed about her marriage to Jeffrey. Usually, he'd gotten home early from Columbia where they'd both been professors. In the early years- the happier days-he'd already started dinner by the time she got home. Violin sonatas by Vivaldi had been playing on the stereo. And a glass of chilled Chenin Blanc and a warm smile had greeted her as she opened the door. Sometimes, he'd even welcomed her in other ways. 18 a THE LAST VIKING Well, those days were gone forever. And good rid- dance! As she opened the door to the cottage, she did get a greeting, though. And a big surprise. No sooner did she step into the entryway than a rough arm wrapped around her waist from behind, lift- ing her off the floor, and a knife was pressed against the side of lier necil The grocery bag fell with a thud, ripping, and her briefcase snapped open, spilling its contents. "Let me go!" she shrieked, kicking out with her sensible loafers-which she desperately wished were hiking boots-against a bare shinbone. Her flailing arms hit a thigh, and it was nude, too. And hairy. Oh, no, the guY must be naked. Please, - God, not rape! Frightened and outraged, she screamed as loud and as long as she could, clawing at the brute's arms. Her attacker didn't release his hold on her one iota, just muttered an incoherent breathy expletive against her exposed neck, followed by a single guttural com- mand that sounded something like, "Kyrr!" The only light in the pitch-black house came from the reflection of a roaring blaze in the fireplace, in the living room up ahead, and a full moon paffially visible through the French doors leading to an ocean-view patio. A fire? Her assailant had tagen the time to build a cozy fire? She groaned, concluding that he must, in- deed, be a rapist and that he planned a lengthy assault. She also recalled in a flash of terror that this was Friday night. A whole weekend stretched ahead of her in which no one would notice her absence or come searching for her. Oh, my God' Oh, my God? Wheres my Mace?'To 19 SANDRA HILL her chagrin, Meredith saw the can rolling toward the kitchen, along with- three oranges, her favorite Parker pen, and a handful of change from her wallet. Be caInL Remember your self-de ense classes. Take time. Think .f before acting. Think? Hah! She was a clueless amoeba on the brain chain right now. A screaming clueless amoeba. The man carried her into the living room with her legs still dangling a foot off the hardwood floor. She assumed it was a man because of his height and strength and the size of the hairy forearm crammed against her abdomen, way too close to the undersides of her breasts. Callused fingers snagged her silk blouse. He smelled of salt water, wet leather, and apples. Apples? A quick glance showed a half dozen Mc- Intosh apples missing from the bowl she'd placed in the center of her coffee table this moming. Their cores were thrown carelessly on the floor. 7he pig! Meredith tried to peer back at him, but the blade at her throat prevented movement. So, still kicking and screeching, she back-jabbed him with her elbows. It was like hitting a brick wall, even though she just about knocked her arms out of the shoulder sockets with the force of her efforts. With a curse of "Bidd hel!" the wretch threw her to the sofa onto her back. Coming down on top of her with a suffocating whoosh, he leaned over her, practi- cally nose to nose, brandishing the weapon, which she recognized now as Grarnps's favorite carving knife. He spat out his earlier order, more clearly this time, though with a foreign accent, "Kyrr!" Her befuddled mind registered the guttural word. Ancient sounding, like Old English. Having a doctorate 20 THE LAST VIKING in medieval studies, she was well-versed in Dark and Middle Age languages. Meredith frowned in confusion, panting for air, bucking upward, to no avail. The gorilla must weigh well over two hundred pounds. And there were intimate Parts of his anatomy that were becoming familiar with intimate parts Of her anatomy. The possibility of rape loomed its ugly head once again. But then, the hairs stood out on the back of her neck in seaming, and a strange niggling tugged at her mem- ory. The word and the dialect were similar to Old En- glish, but different. Oh, my goodness! "Kyrr! " was the Old Norse word for "Be still." She ought to know, having spent her honeymoon with Jeffrey a lifetime ago in Iceland where a version of the archaic language was still spo- ken. Jeffrey had convinced her that combining a hon- eymoon and research was a sensible idea. All she remembered was the cold. He let loose with a long string of foreign words. Heart hammering at the disconcerting pressure of his body, not to mention the danger, she Puzzled over each of the separate words, deducing finally that he was ask- ing in some convoluted combination of Old Norse and Old English, "Who are you, woman?,, Her interpre- tation was reinforced when he added, "Hva6 heitir Pd?" which definitely meant, "What's your name?" "Dr. Meredith Foster," she squeaked out. A burglar fluent in medieval languages? Must be one of Mike's friends. A joke. "Dock-whore Merry-Death," he repeated slowly, his breath feathering against her lips. Apple breath. You'd think Mike could do better than a bloomin' 21 SANDRA HILL Johnny Appleseed. "Merry-Death," he said again, slowly, testing her name on his tongue. She wasn't about to correct his mispronunciation, just in case he wasn't a prankster. And, yes, she'd like to kill him and Mike, too, merrily, for scaring her to death. "Geirolf, " he said, pointing at himself, "dg heiti Geirolf. " "Great. Now that we've got the introductions out of the way, Rolf, baby, how about getting off of me? So far, there's no real harm done, but you must weigh a ton, and you're wrinkling my best Yves St. Laurent blouse, and. . ." Her words trailed off as he lifted himself off her and stood in one smooth motion-remarkable for a man his size. Her mouth dropped open in shock at her first good glimpse of her attacker. A very tall male-at least six-foot-four-stood arxn's length away, wearing a thigh-high, sleeveless, one-piece tunic of supple leather. The Dark Age gar- ment was tucked in at the waist by a wide belt with an enormous circular goldlike metal clasp engraved with a wrathing animal design. Etched silver armlets circled heavily corded upper anns. Jillian, who designed her own line of medieval-style jewelry, would go. nuts if she saw these masterpieces. Heck, her brother Jared, an archaeologist, would be impressed, too. Even if they were reproductions, they were the finest examples Mer- edith had ever seen outside a museum. His light brown hair hung down to his shoulders, damp, as if he'd just emerged from a leisurely swim. Flat-soled, leather boots covered his feet, cross-gartered up to the knee. 22 THE LAST VIKING A Viking. Her captor resembled an ancient Viking god. An extremely handsome Viking god. Meredith had never paid much attention to the phys- ical attributes of men. Raised in a scholarly home, she'd been much more attracted by brains than brawn. But, for the first time in her life, she comprehended why her female students squealed over Bra4 Pitt or rolled their eyes in appreciation when a particularly appealing college boy in tight jeans walked by. Oh, my God! My hormones are regressing. She bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from saying some- thing really stupid, such as, "Can I touch you?" But inside she was squealing like any lust-crazed teenager. Amazing! Wherever he'd found this guy, Mike had really outdone himsell Maybe he was a male stripper at one of those female nightclubs. Oh, yeah! Vikings 'R Us. But, no, he looked too ... authentic. Meredith peered closer. Old scars and new wounds, oozing blood-probably ketchup@overed most of the ex- posed skin of the guy's well-muscled physique, from his massive shoulders to his perfectly formed face to his tendon-delineated calves. Despite the glower on his face and his menacing, widespread stance, the big lug was devastatingly gorgeous. In fact, he looked a lot like a Viking Age version of that actor, Kevin Sorbo, from the Hercules program on television. Not that she watched much television, she reminded herself with hysterical irrelevance. He raised his chin haughtily and drawled out with pure insolence a string of Old Norse words, too low for her to catch them all. Meredith didn't need a trans- lator to know that he was asking, "Do you like what 23 SANDRA HILL you see?" She cringed at the reminder that she'd been scrutinizing him much too long. "Not much," she lied. He sat down on her low coffee table, knees casually widespread, and Meredith wondered-even as she chastised herself with disgust-if he wore underwear beneath the short tunic. He rubbed the fingertips of one hand over his bristly jaw as he studied her, appearing distressed, as if unable to understand her. Then he dis- tractedly stroked the fingertips of his other hand over his belt buckle, which she could swear was solid gold. To her bewilderment, she no longer feared the guy. In fact, she felt a deep pull of unwarranted compassion for him, even though he still held her grandfather's knife. He appeared lost, like a little boy. He had to be an actor, hired by Mike. Hadn't her grad assistant told her over and over that she needed to lighten up? In fact, he'd given her a novel one time called Love With a Warm Cowboy, about a female col- lege professor who goes out cruising for nothing more than a quick relationship with a cowboy after her long- time lover leaves her. But enough! Fun-and-games time was over. Maybe if she threatened criminal prosecution, the jerk would end this joke and go home. Forcing a threatening tone to her voice and a deep scowl to her face, she gritted out, "Get out of my house, you ... you rapist, or I'm going to call the police." He blinked at her with surprise, and then glanced down at his belt with a peculiar expression. Anger quickly replaced confusion as he tumed back to her. "Rapist? You call me a rapist? Hah! I am Geirolf Er- icsson. My father is a high jarl in Vestfold and brother to Olaf, the king of all Norway-" "Yeah, and I'm the queen of England," she scoffed. 24 THE IAST VIKING "Nay, you are not. Aelfgifu is queen of all Britain, and a more timid wren there never was. I misdoubt she'll live another year. Many times has she gone through the childlied fever and yet produced but one heir for King Aethelred." She gaped at him. He waved a hand in the air imperiously, annoyed that she'd interrupted him. "Know this, my lady ... 1, Geirolf Ericsson, have no need to force my attentions on any wench. Women have been begging for my fa- vors since I was an untried boy." Favors? She rolled her eyes at his arrogance. "Lis- ten, buster, I don't care if you're Kevin Sorbo. Get the hell out of my house." "Your language. .. 'tis odd. What is this Calf in Shore Bow?" As he spoke, a frown creased the man's brow and he continually looked down at his belt buck- le, which he clasped tightly now. Then he muttered to himself, "How curious! I can understand and speak her foreign tongue when I touch the talisman." "Give me a break," she sneered, but she realized, at the same time, that she could understand him now, too. And the bizarre thing was that she knew they both spoke different languages. A shiver of alarm swept her skin. "I don't know if this is someones idea of a silly gag, or if you're a burglar, or a rapist, bu . t-" Meredith stopped speaking -as she noticed a strong odor, like charred meat. Sniffing, she scanned the room, and couldn't believe her eyes. Some kind of skinned animal was impaled on a peeled stick, roasting in her fireplace. "Wh-what is that?" she asked shrilly. "Oh, GOd, is that the stray that's been hanging around my back door lately? Did You ... did you kill Gar- field?" 25 SANDRA HUL "Guard field?" "Yes, Garfield, the cat." His eyes shot up. "A cat? You think I killed a cat? And plan to eat its fiesh?.Bl6d hel!" Then he grinned. "'Tis a rabbit." "Rabbit?" Inwardly, she sighed with relief. Not a cat. "Yea." Yea? What's this "yea" business? He was still grin- ning, as if killing a rabbit was normal. He was probab'Y one of those NRA redneck fanatics. "Why - - - are ... you ... cooking ... a ... mbbit?" she asked very slowly, barely reining in her anger. "Because ... I ... am ... hungry," he replied, mimicking her snide pacing. "And because I'm sick of eating raw fish. Why else?" 0 course. Why else? "HungrY? Raw fish? But ... but where did you get a rabbit?" He exhaled loudly with exasperation, as if her ques- tions were foolish. "I snared it outside your keep." :'Keep?" 'Your manor house. Why dO YOU keep repeating words? Are you a lackbrain?" 6 1No, I'm not a lackbrain, you ... you lackbrain." Suddenly, she thought of something else. "Where did you put the ... other parts?" Lord, she hoped she didn't have rabbit far and guts in her kitchen sink, es- pecially since her garbage disposa was broken. "I offered them to the gods, of course, in d" for my safekeeping.,, He gazed pointedly at the blazing firL- a mischievous glinuner in his whiskey-colored eyes. "I beg your pardon. Did you say that you used mY fireplace as an altar to some heathen god?" 26 THE LAST VIKING He shrugged. "I worship both gods, Norse and Christian." "How dare you practice some pagan nte in my fire- place!" He sucked in a deep breath. "Blessed Freya! You have a voice that could peel rust off armor. Best you shut your teeth, wench, or I may decide to sacrifice a virgin as well." That mischievous gleam was still there in his spar- kling eyes, which she decided were the color of aged bourbon. Yes, booze eyes. And that twitch at the edge of his full lips-was it a nervous tic, or suppressed amusement? "Well, good thing I'm not a virgin then," she snapped. He broke into a full-fledged smile, rewarding Mer- edith with a dazzling display of his white teeth. Her mind said, So what? But another part of her body said, O-o-h, boy! The creep soon jolted her back to reality, though. "I should have known a woman as long in the tooth as you are would have spread her thighs for the pleas- uring. Where is your man now?" Long in the tooth? Spread my thighs? The nerve of the chauvinistic beast! "I'm only thirty-five years old. I'll bet you're about the same, you long-in-the-tooth oaf. And I have no husband, if that's what you're ask- ing-" Meredith immediately regretted her hasty words and backtracked. "I mean, my husband will be bon* soon. " He arched his brows, unconvinced. "So, you are a wanton woman-an aged wanton woman-who lives alone. Do you entertain your lovers here?" He swept 27 SANDRA HILL her widi a swift physical assessment that clearly chal- lenged her ability to attract a lover. She didn't care if the ape did wield a imife; Memfflth had had enough. Jumping to her feet, she put her hands on her hips, demanding, "Who are you and what are you doing in my home?" ",tg er ifindur." Geirolf watched the quarrelsome woman who dared to defy his commands as she assim- ilated his statement, word by word. "I am lost," she translated., His ears still rang from her high-pitched screams. Claw marks seeped blood oh his forearms. And Meffy- Death-the oddly named wench d ar-cuse him of being a rapist. As if he would even want a woman such as she. Too tall. Too thin. Too sharp-tongued. And old. He liked his women young and soft-fleshed and bid- dable:. Like Alyce. He was sore tempted to toss the foolish wench into the raging sea, but he needed answers first. And, more important, he feared she might be a sorceress. On first entering her keep, he'd explored all the chambers- none of which had the customary mishes on the floor. And not a candle or soapstone lamp in evidence any- where. Of particular interest was the room with a magic box that threw off light when the door opened. He'd found some cheese inside, but it was nigh inedible, covered as it was by an unchewable, invisible film. If she was a witch-and those pale green eyes of hers, flashing angrily at him now, were surely witch's eyes-he would have to tread carefully. Even with the talisman, a sorceress's charm would be hard to with- stand. But Merry-Death would suffer for her insults, no 28 THE LAST VIKING doubt about that. Later, he would show her the fate of a defiant woman. "MY lady, hvar er #g?" he growled peevishly. "Where am I?" That question seemed to disarm her, and her wide eyes quickly took in his many bruises, softening with SYMPathY. HmPfh! he thought. 'Tis past time the lady thought of offering hospitality to a wayfarer in her land And an injured one, at that. "Were you hit on the head?" she inquired. He curled his lips with disgust. She obviously con- sidered him a half-wit. "Answer, wench. Where am I?, I "Maine. "Maine. I have neer heard of such place. Is it in Greenl d- at new w d disco Red?" an th or' vered by . Eirik the "Are you for real? Maine is in the northeast portion of the United States. Greenland is about fifteen hundred miles north of here." "Hmmm. My ship went farther off course than I realized. " "Off course? More like off the globe." " 'Tis my brother Jorund's fault. He's the mapmaker in our family." "Jared? My brother Jared sent you here?" The frown on her face-the one he would have wagered was permanently implanted there-melted away, and before he could correct her false assumption, she homed in on his other words. "Your ship?,, "Thor's toenails! You sound like a Parrot Jorund brought back once from the eastem lands. Squawk, squawk, squawk. And always repeating words." He took greet delight in the snarl that barb drew from the 29 It SANDRA HILL testy wench. "And, yea, my dragonship, Fierce Wolf, drifted for days, ever since the battle with Staff Grimmsson a sennight ago. Finally, it sank.,l will miss Fierce Wolf mightily. 'Twas one of the finest ships I ever built." Merry-Death's face brightened. "You're a ship- builder? So that's why Jared sent you. Or was it Mike?" He ignored her puzzling words. "Yea, I am the finest shipbuilder in the world," he boasted, "and Grimms- son will pay with his life for the loss of my crew, as well as my ship. Ah, well, I can easily build other ships." Like that one outside this keep, which will carry me back to my homeland. But best I not disclose my plans to you yet. "Unlike men's lives, a boat can be replaced." :,But ... but ... how did you get here?" 'My ship sank," he repeated with deliberate pa- tience, "and I swam ashore this mom." Merry-Death gasped. "You've been in a ship- wreck?" It took her a long time to grasp the meaning of his words, even though the talisman was doing a fair job of translating. Mayhap she was slow-witted, as he'd originally thought. ' 'No wonder you look like you've been beaten. Why didn't you say so earlier? My God, did you climb up that cliffside?" Finally, he would get a little blessed compassion for all his ordeals. "Yea, and I assure you, 'twas no easy task, carrying Ingrid." Ingrid?" she squeaked out. "You have a woman with you?" 30 THE LAST VIKING "A woman?" He laughed. "Yon could call her that. " A flush of rage suffused Merry-Death's pale cheeks. Obviously, the wench had no sense of humor. But she had other attributes he was beginning to notice. Her hair had sprung free from the unbecoming knot at the back of her neck and spilled out over her silky, pale brown shert, like bumished walnut. With hands on hips, she called attention to the loose, brown men's braies she wore over her thin frame, and tapped her brown leather slippers. So much brown, he mused idly. Does she try to hide her womanliness, to appear like a drab tree? Nay, not a tree, with that abundance of reddish-brown hair, and those witchy green eyes. Oh, she was certainly not to his tastes. But she was not as barley-faced as he'd originally thought, either. And the foolhardiness of the woman! Demanding an- swers of him, a high-bom karl of Norway! Hah! I'll soon put her in her proper place. "Yea, Ingrid is outside near your moat, drying out from our long swim." "Moat?" Her eyes didn't look quite so beauteous now that they crossed with frustration. He was convinced, the woman was feckless. "Yea, that stone ditch with the blue water." "The swimming pool? Did you take the cover off of Gramps's pool? Oh, I've had enough of this non- sense. I can't believe you left a woman outside-prob- ably injured-while you broke into my home to mumble incantations over a poor animal, and assault me." Ignoring his snort of incredulity at her accusations, 31 SANDRA HILL Merry-Death tumed toward the strange glass doors and inhaled sharply at her first glimpse of Ingrid, lying breasts skyward, huge red nipples highlighted by the rays of the full moon. "Mike Johnson, I'm going to kill you. I warned you about a bimbo figurehead," the wench mumbled; then she tumed angrily, striding back toward him, about to spout more of her sharp words, no doubt. But she stopped mid-stride. "Wh-what are you doing?" He was unbuckling the clasp at his mid-section, about to remove his belt and tunic. Tilting his head in bafflement at her panic, he tried to reassure her, "You have no reason to be fearftil. I intend you no harm ... unless you gainsay me." "Gainsay?" "By acting hastily." "Hastily?" He shrugged. "Yea, my shrewish parrot. ])o not try to attack me. Or escape. Then I might be forced to lop off your head, or ffimst you over the cliff." The woman clicked her gaping mouth shut and made a gurgling sound, but apparently not at his words. Her eyes were riveted on his body as he raised his tunic over his head. Wearing only a breechcloat and his an- kle boots, he watched the wench back away from him in fright. Holy Thor! Surely, she had seen a naked man afore. Especially since she claimed to have no maid- enhead. "What do you think you're doing?" she stammered out. "I'm going to bathe all this salt from my skin in your moat. Then I'm going to eat my rabbit. After that, I intend to sleep for a long time. Where are your bed 32 THE LAST VIKING furs, by the by? I couldn't find them when I explored your keep earlier." "Put youi clothes on," she directed, averting her face like a shy maiden. Lord, he was tired of the wench's caterwauling, and her false modesty. "Nay, I will not. And.mayhap you should remove your own garments, as well." He was discovering he had another appetite besides his hunger for rabbit. In the delayed rush of exhilaration at his miraculous es- cape from death's talons, hi felt the need to celebrate life ... in the way of batde-weary warriors throughout time. The wench's green eyes widened with astonishment. "Despite your bony body and sharp tongue," he in- formed her, adding a smile to show the great honor he bestowed, "I've decided to take you as my bedmate whilst I am visiting in your lands." 33 Chapter Two Geirolf dropped his loincloth. Merry-Death's green eyes just about popped out of her head. She made a low strangling sound in her throat. He chuckled with satisfaction. 'Twas the reaction of most women on first viewing his man parts. The gods had been generous with him in that regard. "YOU ... you. . .,, she sputtered as he swaggered past her and through the open door. He kept his pace deliberately slow, shoulders thrown back, so she could get a good look. Mayhap now she would appreciate the honor he bestowed in taking her as bedmate. "Come back here," she shrieked like a banshee. "And put your clothes back on." "Nay, in my lands we do not bathe wearing gar- ments." 34 THE LAST VIKING "We don't wear clothes when we bathe here, either, you idiot, but the pool heater hasn't been turned on yet. The water's freezing." "Hah! 'Tis obvious you have neer taken a winter bath in a fjord in my homeland. The water is cold enough to turn a man's cock into an icicle. This can be no worse." "But ... but why not use the warm shower inside the house?" He halted at the edge of the moat and dipped his big toe in. A shiver rippled upward, all the way to his scalp, raising skin bumps in its wake. His proud staff shriveled with dread. The coward. Bloody hell, the wa- ter was freezing. "What is this 'shower'?" he inquired casually, not wanting her to dank him too weak-sapped for a frigid bath. "Come on. I'll show you. But cover yourself, for God's sake. Where did Jared and Mike find you any- how? Some jungle?" He halted suddenly. "I just realized something. I'm not wearing my belt." "No kidding!" "Your sarcasm ill-becomes you, my lady. I meant, I'm not wearing the belt, and I can understand your strange tongue." "You're right," she agm&, looking as baffled as he felt. Her eyes skimmed downward as she spoke, and then immediately jerked back up. Scarlet flames bloomed on her cheeks. "Do you blush, wench? Odin's breath, you do!" He liked it when she looked at him there. And there liked her scrutiny, too. In truth, her timidity was rather endearing for a woman of her advanced years. "You'll lose your shy- 35 SANDRA HILL ness once you become accustomed to me," he assured her, being in a magnanimous mood. 'No, no, no, that's where you're wrong. I'm not becoming accustomed to anything. You are going to play by nry rules." "Hah!" Glaring at him ferociously, she failed to watch her step and tripped over Ingrid, letting loose a vile exple- tive. He was reasonably confident he knew what the exclamation meant, even without the talisman transla- tor. ,,Tsk-tsk," he said sweetly, repeating a favorite sound of his mother's, which fit this occasion perfectly. "Do you have a creaking of the bones that causes you to be so clumsy?" She straightened in affront. "Or perchance it is your overlarge feet?" She gurgled with outrage. Good. 'Tis best to put a woman in her pl"e from the start. "And where can we put Ingrid so she will remain safe from your stumbling ways till I attach her to the prow of my longship?" '.What longship?" Merry-Death asked, rushing to keep up with his long strides. He waved a hand in the direction of the field next to her keep. Her green eyes shot up with surprise when she saw that he referred to the half-completed vessel. "You are not putting breasts on the prow of my ship. I ah-eady told Mike that. Apparently he didn't relay the message to you." She sniffed with indignation, and then his other words seemed to register. "Your longship? Are you serious? That boat belongs to the Trondheim Foun- dation and Oxley College." 36 THE LAST VIKING "And a poor specimen it is, too. But, wdl right all the mistakes made thus far. finest ship to sail the seas." "You will? You can?" she asked with expectation. "Are you saying that you have the skill to build a Viking longship?" . "For a certainty. I've done so many times. My ships are the most favored in the world. Kings from distant lands have come a-begging for my skill. In fact, just last year, King Aethelred of Britain requisitioned one of my lawers ... that's a larger trading longship." "King who?" She put a hand on his ann to halt his progress. When her eyes inadvertently dropped lower to his man parts, she snapped, "Can't you at least cover yourself while I talk to you?" "With what?" "I don't know. Your hand." " 'Tis too small." He grinned. "Your hand or your ... your ... ?" He raised-an eyebrow. "Which do you think?" "Aaar-rgh! You keep changing the subject. Who is this King Aethelred you mentioned?" "Aethelrrd the Unready is the king of Britain," he explained with measured patience. "Dost recall I men- tioned his wife Aelfgifu to you earlier?" The woman put a hand to her forehead as if she suffered a megrim. "Queen Elizabeth is the queen of England. There is no king. Aethelred was king at the end of the tenth century." "I know naught of this Elizabeth, and, yea, you are correct, Aethelred was king at the end of the tenth cen- tury ... which this is ... and he still is." He started to walk into the keep. 37 SANDRA HILL P' "Hold it. Are you telling me you think this is the tenth century?" Now it was his tum to be puzzled. What an odd question! But then, she'd been asking many odd ques- tions. "Yea. This is the year 997. That would be the tenth century." Meny-Death burst out laughing. He saw no humor in his words. So, he could only conclude that she must be mad, as well as half-witted. When she finally wiped the tears from her face with the back of a hand, she informed him, "I've got news for you, buddy. This is the year 1997. Not only did your boat go off course, but it went through time. Ha, ha, ha! Lordy, wait till I get hold of Mike and Jared. They knew I was desperate, but did they have to send me a crackpot shipbuilder?" "Nineteen-ninety-seven? Ha, ha, ha!" He mimicked her forced laughter. "My lady, have you suffered a blow to the head of late?" "No, but I'd like to give you one." "Have a caution with your loose tongue, Merry- Death. I sorely resent your referring to me as a cracked pot. In my country, I am a chieftain-a karl-and best you show respect for my high estate." He raised his head haughtily as he stalked past her. "And Ingrid will adorn the prow of that ship, or there will be no ship." Geirolf was having one of the most sensual, self- indulgent experiences of his life. A shower, Meny- Death had called it. Standing in a cubicle with square pottery tiles on three sides and a foggy glass door on the fourth side, he allowed endless streams of hot water to wash over 38 THE LAST VIKING his body while he soaped himself with a fragrant bar and lathered his hair with a thick liquid. Truly, the woman gave more and more evidence of being a sorceress. As she'd walked him down the cor- ridor to her bathing chamber, she'd flicked one lever after another on the walls, which immediately set stru.nge candles alight throughout the rooms and on the ceilings. Then she'd explained to him how the bathing room and the kitchen had running water coming into the house out of "spigots." Well, that wasn't so remarkable. The ancient Ro- mans with their engineering marvels had done much the same centuries ago, except that Merry-Death's spigots also emitted hot water. And another thing passed all bounds of logic ... a toilet. Blessed Thor! The people here had no garde- robes, except in the country, Merry-Deadi had told him, where they called them privies, or outhouses. In this land, people relieved themselves in porcelain bowls filled with water that flushed away, miraculously, at the touch of a silver handle. It seemed a waste to him when bushes abounded outside. Yea, Geirolf concluded, Merry-Death was, indeed, a sorceress, but everyone knew there were good witches and bad witches. She must be a good witch, he decided, because thus far he'd seen no evidence that she used her arts for evil gain. Still, he would watch her carefully for signs. It would not do for her to cast a spell on him. Once a Black Witch had cursed his older brother for spuming her favors, and Magnum's male parts had tumed purple and broke out in boils for a fortnight. His mother had claimed 'twas caused by Magnum's putting his parts 39' SANDRA HILL where he should not have, but Magnus blamed the witcw s curse. Geirolf was so clean now that he nigh squeaked, but he poured another handful of the golden liquid into his palm and lathered up again. Then he yelled to high Valhalla for the witch's help. Meredith was about to drop some pasta into a pot of boiling water when she heard Rolf's cry. "Merry-Death! Help!" Geez, the guy was loud. Lowering the heat, Meredith hurried down the hall. O.n the way, she cast a disdainful glance at Rolf's cooked rabbit, which. lay on the kitchen table where he'd put it before going for a shower. No way was Meredith going to eat a little bunny. "Merry-Death!" "Hold your horses," she complained, opening the bathroom door a tiny crack, wanting to make sure he was decent before she entered. Not that the immodest brute had cared about being decent before. He was still in the shower, groaning like crazy. Oh, no! Maybe he'd scalded himself She rushed over and slid the glass doors open a little bit, making sure to keep her eyes averted. "What's the matter?" '61 got drek in my eyes and I can't get rid of all these soap suds. Balder's balls! My eyes are buming. No matter how much rinsing I do, the white foam won't go away. I think I'm going blind. Did you put a curse on me?" Meredith tried to understand his long-winded, pan- icky explanation. "First of all, it's Breck, not drek. That's shampoo. It belonged to my grandfather. I don't 40 THE LAST VIKING think they even make the stuff anymore. How much did you use?" He shrugged, his eyes still closed, his face raised under the showerhead. And, criminey, he was covered with an ungodly amount of lather. "Half a flask," he replied, spitting out a mouthful bf soap. "You fool, you're only supposed to use a capful. Breck is concentrated." "How w s I supposed to know this?" he grunted,' combing iis fingertips through his long hair, trying to blink his eyes. "Am I blind?" "No, you're not blind. You're ... oh, what do you think you're doing? You beast!" Rolf had grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her into the shower, clothes and all. "Stop blathering like a magpie and remove the poi- son from my body. Now! And best you make sure I can see again or I will wring your scrawny neck, witch or no witch. Especially if my cock tums purple." Witch? Purple? Shipbuilder or not, this guy is weird. With a harrumphing sound of disgust, Meredith soon helped him rinse off and, using a washcloth, cleaned his eyes, which were bloodshot, but not blind. Instead of being grateful, Rolf cursed her name un- der his breath. That was when she noticed his eyes were riveted on her wet blouse. The silky fabric had become plastered to her body, the pale beige color Practically transparent. To her horror, she saw her pink aureoles and pointed nipples were clearly visible. He cursed again, and she realized that his expletive was one of male frustration, not anger. With a swift movement, Rolf placed his hands on her waist and braced her up against the far wall. As he 41 SANDRA HILL molded his hips to hers with erotic insistence, his mouth lowered. "What else do men and women do in dwse magical showers?" he breathed against her lips. Meredith should have braced her hands against his haify chest and shoved him away with indignation. She was a college professor. She had a doctorate degree in mdieval studies. She was a principled woman of the nineties, nota brainless bimbo. T'he logical side of her brain said, Stop! The other side of her brain said, HmmmnL For once in her empty life, Meredith decided to take the illogical path. Raising her chin under the still-steaming shower, she met his lips and opened for his kiss. And Meredith was glad, glad, glad that she'd done so. The Viking-whoever he was-played her mouth with finesse. Back and forth he nibbed his firm lips against hers until she was pliant and whimpering. Only then did he deepen his kiss, devouring her with a wild hunger. "Tbfee months has it been since I've had a woman," he murmured when he came up for air. "It's been three years since I've had a man," she countered, nipping at his bottom lip. Oh, my God! Is this really me, nipping at a man's lips? He grinned down at her. "Then our mating should prove spectacular." Before she had a chance to digest that remarkable pronouncement, or say something really stupid, like "Let the games begin," he plunged his tongue into her mouth and used both hands to palm her breasts. Her knees buckled. Efls hardened penis, pressed against the vee of her thighs, held her up. They both moaned... into each other's mouths. 42 THE LAST VIKING "What is that ringing noise?" he gritted out. Despite her passion-induced haze, Meredith recog- nized the telephone. For a second, she just stared blankly at the gorgeous man who stood before her, his kiss-swollen lips parted and panting. His Jack Daniels eyes were glowing with passion. His nude body ground against hers with intimate persuasion. A stranger. She was about to have hot sex with a stranger. Had she lost her mind? Meredith blinked at him, belatedly coming to her senses. He blinked back at her in confusion, and she used that opportunity to shove him away and jump out of the shower. She heard him shouting after her as she ran down the hall, leaving puddles of water, but she didn't wait to hear what he said. Grabbing the cordless phone in the living room, she gasped out, "Hello." "Mer, is that you?" her sister Jillian asked. "You sound funny." "I just came from the shower." BOY, did 'just come fo, the shwe,! More like I -lmost e i,, th, shower. Whew! , "Oh, soffy. What's new?" Julian never phoned to chitchat. "What's wrong, iii- lie?" "Does something have to be wrong for me to call YOU?" Her voice broke mid-sentence with a little catch. "Oh, Jillie, what now?" Meredith sank down to the sofa, and then immediately stood up again when she mazed she was sopping wet. She walked a few steps and leaned against the wall, raking her fingers through her hair distractedly, hooking the wet strands behind her ears. She heard the faint sounds of Jillie's sobs. "Honey, what's wrong? Where are you?" 43 SANDRA HILL "I'm in London, but I might have to be in Chicago tonight. "i thought you had to stay in London for another month, doing that museum exhibit on Jelling Age Jew- elry." - Mer, I need a favor of you. A big favor." "I do tJh-oh! Jilli! was thirty years old-five years younger than Meredith-and she was always looking for favors. Two failed marriages, a bankrupt boutique, a juvenile delinquent daughter, endless lovers. On and on Jillie's troubles went. When would they ever end? "George called me from Chicago," Jillie explained. George Huntley was Jillie's first estranged husband, a psychologist. lbey'd been mained when they were both high school seniors, and Jillie was pregnant. "He said I have to come back innnediately." "Why?" she asked, fearing the answer. "Gourd was arrested for shoplifting, and the police are threatening to put her in a detention home." "Gourd?" "That's Thea's name du jour. She's going through a Mother Earth phase this week." Meredith giggled. How like her niece! Always trying to find hersdf. Hating her md name, lbeodosia, almost from birth, she took on a different nom de plume every other week. '.It's her third arrest in the past five months," Jillie informed her in a msh. "Oh, Jillie." And poor Thea. The kid had been di- agnosed with everything from ADD to hostile behavior syndrome in her twelve short years of living. Meredith would probably go off the deep end, too, if she had to live with her crazy sister. And it was no kind of life for a young girl to ping-pong back and forth between 44 THE LAST viKNG schizo Parents who weren,t overjoyed to have her. orge "Ge said he's wiping his hands of the kid. Said I have to come back fron, London immediate y and al be ù re mother to her. NO more moving from city to city. "No." I was wondering-" "No?" "No, you are not shoving Your problems off on me again, Jillie. It's about time you took responsibility for yourself. " "But they're going to take Thea away from me. Jillie started to cry. Her rackine sobs tore at Meredith's heart. She pressed her foreheal against the wall, know- ing she was going to be a sucker ... once again. Geirolf was angry. No woman teased him to the point of aching hard- ness, then stopped mid-couplinl, without an explana- tion. Games like those - -' belonged to immature Youthlings, expeximenting with first thrills. He had long passed his majority, and Mer'Y-Death was certainly well beyond her first bloom. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. he applied the ointment shrugged into an old ng" braies she'd left called a "T-shert" with ff" emblazoned across the chest. He'd like to "do it" all light, and he would, too, once he'd wrung the wench's reckless neck. In the end, he put the talisman belt on as well, since it seemed to be]P him understand Merry-Death's peculiar Ian age. Finally, he stormed barefooted into the great rogoum- something he would never do in his own keep where 45 SANDRA HILL unmentionable items often hid in the rushes. Then, he stopped - dead in his ' tracks. Merry-Death was talking into a little black box that she held up to her ear. A box? Well, why not? He'd heard of wizards who talked to trees, or animals, even the wind. Ah, hell, she really was a witch, then. Did he want to chance rutting with a witch? Yea, he answered himself immediately, the evidence still lying like an anchor betwixt his thighs. "Give me that," he yelled and grabbed the box out of her hand, intending to throw it into the hearth. But it was making a peculiar noise, like a woman sobbing. Alarmed, he raised his eyras to Merry-Death, who was trying to retrieve the object. "What is that noise?" he demanded, holding the box above his head, out of her reach. "My sister." "Your sister is a box?" "No, my sister is not a box. Lord, maybe Jared really did, find you in a jungle. That's a telephone, and I was talking to my sister in London." He snorted with disbelief but still, proceeding warily, he held the box up to his ear. "Who is this?" a feminine voice asked. His head jerked up with surprise. "Geirolf," he re- sponded tentatively, though he felt rather foolish talk- ing to a box. He rubbed the talisman clasp -for aid. "Who are you?" "Jillian. Meredith's sister in England. What're you doing there?" T'he box actually talked, claiming to speak from the land of the bloody Saxons. Merry-Deadi must be a more powerful witch than he'd thought possible. "Well, I just took a shower, but-" 46 THE LAST VIKING Meny-Death groaned and put her head between her hands. "A shower?" the voice hooted. "Meredith just came fron' the shower, tOO. Were you in there togethert' "Well, yea, we were both in the shower, but-,, "Give me that phone," Merry-Death hissed, but he sidestepped her clawing hands. "What do you do for a iving, Geirol e x asked. f? th bo "I'm a Viking." "A what?" "Viking. Have you neer heard of Nordnwnni ... a Norseman? is everyone addled in this godforsaken country?" "Oh, G , is is t hi ous. My od th 00 lari sister and a Vi- king!" She giggled. "And where are you staying, Mr. Viking?" Geirolf misliked the condescending tone of the woman's voice, and he refused to answer. "Are you and Meredith lovers?" 'Tis none of your concern who shares my bed furs." Geirolf had never been a man to boast outside the bedchamber, and he would not start now. The box was laughing, hysterically.' He threw it to the floor with disgust, and Merry-Death quickly picked it up. "Jillie, I'll call you back later," she said. "No, he's not my lover. No, I'm not fixing you up. No, he doesn't have a big-" she looked up at him where he stood, hands on hips, and she blushed-."boat." Hah! He would show the wench good and well, and soon, the size of his. . . boat. 47 SANDRA HILL A half-hour later, Meredith sat at her kitchen table across from her "Viking." He filled out her brother's T-shirt and sweatpants as Jar-ed never had. His long hair-light brown, sun-streaked with blond now that it had dried-was pulled back at the nape with a nibber band that she'd had to show him how to use. She'd changed into another silk blouse and slacks before refuming to the kitchen to prepare dinner. . Rolf sat pickin at his charred rabbit, eyeing the . 9 plate of pasta sitting in front of her with a side of Cae- sar salad. They both had glasses of ice water. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather share my, meal? There's plenty," she offered. He hesitated. "It looks like white worms covered with blood." She smiled. "Yes, but it tastes delicious." "You are not quite so plain when you smile, Meffy- Death. You should do it more often." He propped an elbow on the table and braced his chin in the cupped palm, watching her intently. Her heart lurched oddly at the backhanded compli- ment and his hot scrutiny. Then he spoiled the effect by adding, "And you have good teeth." "Like a horse?" He grinned. "Nay, not like a horse." Nervously, she slurped one strand of spaghetti into her mouth. Not wanting to back down from the chal- lenge in his sparkling eyes, she smacked her lips with satisfaction. "Bloody hell! You could bring a corpse's poker to life with such a lewd gesture." "Huh?" He winked. And it was as if a ringly caress rippled over her 48 THE LAST VIKING entire body. She was in big, big trouble with this guy. "I will try one of your worms," he declared. Instead of waiting for her to get another plate and silverware, he reached across the table and picked up one strand. Arching his neck, he held it above his parted lips, like a sword swallower, then slowly sucked it into his mouth and down his ffimt. Holding her eyes the entire time, he licked his lips, then his thumb and forefinger. It was the most sensual thing Meredith had ever seen a man do in her entire life. Like foreplay, but better. "Did you like it?" she choked out. "h=ensely." Was there a double meaning in his terse reply? "Do you want to know what I would like even bet- ter?" he asked. "No!" she said quickly and jumped up to get him his own place setting. The brute just laughed knowingly behind her. A half hour later, Rolf gave up trying to eat the spaghetti with a fork. He had tomato sauce splattered on his white T-shirt. Strands of pasta he'd tried to twirl on his fork had landed on the tablecloth or the floor. And Meredith was laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face. Pushing the plate aside, he growled, "I think this is a dish some woman invented to bedevil her man." Us- ing a napkin, he wiped his face to make sure no sauce remained, then threw it to the floor, and stood. "Why do you try to punish me, Merry-Death? Because we did not complete the game you started earlier?" "What game?" She stood as well and started to back away into the living room. "You know. In your shower." He drew the stained T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside, then stepped 49 SANDRA HILL toward her, a predatory, determined look in his eyes. Meredith's traitorous eyes froze on his lightly furred chest and splendidly xidged abdomen. He'd put the wide belt with the ornate clasp on, and it called atten- tion to his narrow waist and slim hips. Uh-oh, here come the hormones again. "Why did yoti run from my embrace, my lady?" His voice was a husky, sinful insinuation. My lady? Feeling far from ladylike at the smoky, silent invitation in his eyes, she gulped. "Because the phone was ringing." Every time she took a step backward, he took one forward. He stalked her. But it didn't feel threatening. It felt ... exciting. Oh, my! "And that was the only reason?" She nodded. "Why do you pull your hair back so severely, like a chaste nun? You have beautiful hair." "I do?" Meredith was behind the sofa. Rolf stood, poised to spring, on the other side by the fireplace, which had bumed down to embers. "You do. When it spilled out earlier, I pictured it spread down your back, over your bare breasts., on my bed furs. Her eyes widened at his outrageous words. and her breasts peaked and began to ache. He noticed immediately and a slow smile of appre- ciation spread across his lips. "Come," he said, hold- ing out a hand in invitation. "No more malingering games." Meredith was almost tempted. Almost. She shook her head. "I think you must have cast a spell over me with that ... that talisman you keep talking about." - 'Nay, 'tis you who have cast the spell, my sweet 50 THE LAST VIKING witch. Now, come," he coaxed, "do not gainsay me with pretenses that you do not want the pleasuring as much as I. " "I don't,"' she lied, even as she felt an insistent heat coil in her midsection and move enticingly downward. "I will show you how a true Viking makes love," he vowed silkily, "and you can show me your witchly arts in the bedding. 'Tis a bartering I anticipate with great fervor." "No, you don't understand,"'sfie @r9'tested weakly. They had circled the sofa. Mbw her back was 'to the fireplace, and he was on the other side of the couch. "We have to talk. There sftms to be a big misunder- standing here." ..,We can talk later. Afterward And the only big thing here is-" His hand, which had been rubbing his bzistled chin-he must not have shaved in days- moved lower to demonstrate. "Don't you dare." The progress of his hand halted midway and he fin- gered his belt, nibbing it in an almost erotic fashion. He was playing with her, like an overconfident cat with a helpless mouse. But her eyes homed in on the ornate clasp of his belt, and she recalled the primitively carved figurehead from a ship's prow lying outside. Sanity began to re- tum. At first, Meredith had believed that this guy-this very attractive guy-had been sent by her brother, in collaboration with Mike. But maybe that was just what she had wanted to believe. Something wasn't right in this picture. He was a stranger who'd shown up unexpectedly in her home. He claimed the bruise on his forehead canie 5 1 SANDRA HILL from the falling mast of his dragonship. A new wound-a shallow, six-inch slash across his back-had resulted from the sword of someone. called Staff Griminsson. All of the modem gadgets in her home fascinated him. Not just the telephone or refrigerator or stove or amning water or electricity. Even little things like ice cubes or metal cans or rubber bands. And another thing. He knew a lot about tenth- century history. In fact, he claimed to be living in that time period, which she'd discounted as a joke earlier. But maybe he hadn't been joking. Oh, God, maybe he was an escapee from a mental institution. Some nutcase with delusions of being an ancient Viking prince. "Listen, Rolf," she said sternly as they circled the sofa once again, "we are going to talk. Now. It's im- portant that we get a few things cleared up." His jaw stiffened and he seemed about to argue, but then he shrugged. "If you wish, we can talk," he con- ceded, "but then we will make love." Her heart hammered. She was an obsessively honest person. She'd never been coy or prone to games. "Maybe," she agreed as a blush heated her face. "Maybe?" he questioned, tilting his head cynically, bracing his hands on his sexy hips. "Maybe?" "Tiy to understand. One-night stands with complete strangers were never my style-" "Oh, I daresay I will be here for many nights," he drawled. "Leastways, till my ship is completed." "That's what you think," she retorted at the inter- ruption. Then, flustered at the prospect of all those nights he alluded- to, she went on, "I'll admit that 'Love with a Warin Viking' is looking better and bet- ter. And hard as it is for me to believe, I'm actually 52 THE IAST VIKING considering a meaningless sexual encounter. It's just dw I need some answers first." His lips twitched before he smiled lazily at her. She hated it when he smiled lazily at her. "Warm Viking?" he scoffed. "My lady, this Viking is hot." 53 Chapter Three "Unleash your tongue," he said. "I am listening." After throwing two more logs on the fire and stoking it back to life with a poker, he sank down onto the soft cushions of a narrow, bedlike structure facing the fire- place. Propping his long legs on the low table in front, he took an apple from the bowl in its center and began to chomp with a relish bom of near starvation. T , hat plate of "worms" she'd given him for dinner had done naught to fill his empty stomach. When he looked up, Merry-Death was gaping at him and the half-eaten apple. "What? You neer saw a man eat an apple?" "Of course, I've seen a man eat an apple. It's just that you make yourself at home ... in my home. You don't even wait to be asked if you'd like to sit down or eat or ... whatever." The last word came out with a tiny embarrassed squeal. 54 THE LAST VIKING She couldn't fool him. He knew why the wench was skittish. She was thinking about the pleasuring to come. Like a mare in heat, her body made ready for their coupling. "By your leave, may I sit down, Merry-Death?" he inquired with amusement. "Hmpfh!" "Would it beggar your household if I- ate one of your apples?" he added. "Oh, really! That's not the point." "Blessed Thor, woman talk makes my head ache. I'm tired and hungry and. . . lusty. If I must needs lis- ten to nagging-and, yea I said nagging; 'tis what most females mean when they say, 'let's talk'-l want to have at least one of my appetites satisfied first." The wench's open mouth snapped shut. He smiled inwardly. Really, the wench was so easy to bait. No challenge at all to his superior talents. "Well, what do you want to discuss?" he prodded, tossing the fruit core into the exact center of the flames, where it proceeded to sizzle and duow off the delicious autumn scent of apples. She stood behind the bed- thing, glaring at him. "And, for the love of Freya, sit down so I don't have to crane my neck up to see you." Before she had a chance to protest, he reached over his shoulder, seized her wrist, and yanked her over the cushioned backboard of the bed-thing and onto his lap, face downward. In the process, he got a close-up view of her rump before she righted herself His staff came immediately to attention. But then, he'd always had a fondness for a well-rounded female rump. After he adjusted her squinming body to sit on his lap, he noticed her brants pressing against the sheer 55 SANDRA HILL silk of her shert. Not that he hadn't noticed those same breasts a short time ago in the showen'ng chamber. "Stop looking at me like that," she sputtered, slap- ping at his roving hands. But he couldn't stop looking, or roving, although he did try to conceal the smile that tugged at his lips. Next to a firm, shapely bottom, he did like a woman's breasts. In fact, he and his brothers had engaged in a pro- found discussion on the subject one time-they'd been drunk-and decided that women's breasts were a gift to men from the gods. Jorund and Magnus had said that the bigger the tits the better-more to hold onto, or some such-but he believed there was allure in all sizes and said so loudly. Then, with the wisdom gleaned from a tun of mead, they'd moved on to the disadvantages of bedding comely wenches. "Winsome women are too full of themselves," Magnus had declared with a loud belch. Odd that the belch remained so vivid in his mind. "They require an abundance of flattering afore they'll part their legs." "And plain women try harder to please," Geirolf had added sagely. He couldn't remember if he'd belched or not. "Yea, but there is naught better than a buxom wench who has enthusiasm for the bed-sport." Jorund had sighed. At the time, his brother had been smitten with the fair Else, a dairy maid, who was giving him a merry chase. His mother, Lady Asgar, had overheard the conver- sation and boxed all their ears, calling them "crude, disgusting oafs." "You crude, disgusting oaf," Merry-Death hissed at 56 THE LAST VIKING him, jarring him back to the present. "Take your hands off of me. " "Why?" He maintained an armlock around her up- per body, pressing her to his bare chest with one hand, while he released the pins from her hair with the other and raked out the silken strands, down her back, over her shoulders, as far as the mounds in question. "I mislike talking intimately to a woman who has her hair skinned back like a nun," he said thickly as he buried his face in the fragrant tresses. She smelled like drek. Meny-Death gasped. "Do you use drek on your nether hair as well?" he inquired idly as he tasted the sweet skin at the curve of her neck. She gasped again. Taking her gasps as encouragement, he nuzzled her neck, then moved upward. First, he nipped the sensitive lobe of her ear with his teeth, then began to explore the inner whores with the tip of his tongue. Ile wench went stiff with shock. He was stiff, too, but not from shock. Meredith fought against the erotic lethargy that pulled at her senses. She felt the clasp of Rolf's belt pressing into her hip with an odd heat and wondered if it might really be a magic talisman. There was no other explanation for her attraction to such a crude man with overly sensual lips and octopus hands. Nor was there any logical accounting for an educated woman such as herself surrendering to raw impulsive lust. But it felt so good. And it had been so long. "No!" she insisted, mustering resistance. She man- aged to slip out of his arms to the other side of the sofa. Panting, she folded her arms across her breasts to hide her signs of arousal. 57 SANDRA HILL Rolf gazed at her, his chin lifted defiantly, passion hazing his amber-brown eyes. Then he slowly let out a pent-up breath and waited tautly for her next move. "Who... are ... you?" she asked. "Geirolf Ericsson," he snapped, clenching and un- clenching his fists, as if he could barely contain his roiling passions. Meredith couldn't recall a time when a man seemed to want her so much. It was a heady compliment. "Where are you from?" "Hordaland." There he went again with those ancient words. Why didn't he just say the southwestem section of Norway- old Norway, to be specific? "How did you get here?" She tried not to stare at the somehow erotic movement of his flexing fingers. "My ship wrecked," he said brusquely, obviously impatient with questions that interfered with his seduc- tive plans, "and then I climbed the bloody cliffside to your keep." He was repeating all the things he'd told her before. But maybe he just had his story down pat. She ignored his sizzling glance, which pretty much said, Now can l jump your bones? "Who sent you?" He shru ed. . 99 "Are you a shipbuilder?" He nodded, and licked his lips slowly. And very nice lips they were, too. And his tongue wasn't so bad, either. Oh, geez! Is he anticipating my questions winding down? Why am I having so much trouble concentrating? Could hormone overload cause a dumbing-down syndrome? "Did you come here to finish the longboat project?" Meredith surprised herself 58 THE LAST VIKING by being able to put more than two words together intelligibly. He hesitated, and then answered, "Yea, I believe that is why I was sent here." "And you really can build a Viking longship?" f He flashed her an affronted glare. "Did I not say so ore?" "How long would it take you to complete the Pro- jut?., I "Well, from what I have seen, I would say that half of the work already done will have to be dismantled. Once that is-" "It most definitely will not be dismantled." "My lady," he said with exasperation, "do you ikave any intention of placing that vessel on water?" "Of course. " "It will sink." Her eyes narrowed angrily. "My grandfather was an expert builder. Are you saying he was incompetent?" "Was he an expert sailor?" "Well, no," she admitted, "but-" "Your grandsire nailed the overlapping oak planks together adequately, but he didn't stuff the joints prol)- erly with rope. The ship is not watertight." She inhaled sharply at that news. "There is a saying in my land, 'Oft veltir lttil pdfa Pungu hlassi. ' " She raised a brow, refusing to ask what he meant, or acknowledge his fluency in Old Norse. "A small leak will sink a great ship," he translated. "And here's another worry for you: The keel is off- center. " "Keel?" "The timber beam that forms the central spine on 59 SANDRA HILL the bottom of the ship. It is the most important element in a ship's frwne. The boat will list if it's off-center." Despite his dire prognosis, a sense of relief filled Meredith. Rolf did seem to know his craft. "I will build this Viking ship for you, Merry- Death," he assured her, "but it will be done my way, or not at all." What an arrogant, overconfident man! But she had no odier choice right now. If he knew even half what he claimed, he would be perfect for the job. However, there was no way she'd let him control this project. She just wouldn't tell him that yet. "Why is this ship so important to you, Merry- Death?" His feet were still proppedon her coffee table, and one long arm stretched along the back of the sofa, where his fingers played with the strands of hair lying on her shoulder. She wished he'd stop doing that. It unnerved her. Distracted her from the serious business at hand. Made her think of very unserious things. like, just how hot was a hot Viking? "Because it was important to my grandfather. He was a professor of medieval studies at the local college with a special interest in Nordic culture." Once she started talking about her grandfather and the project, she lost her nervousness and the too-consuming aware- ness of Rolf as a man. Thank God! "All 'his life, Gramps dreamed about reproducing a Viking longship and actually setting sail, re-enacting one of the Viking voyages. Just like Captain Magnus Andersen did a hun- dred years ago." "You are making my head ache, Merry-Deadi. Who in bloody hell is Mag-nus Andersen?" "Andersen built a replica of the Godstad ship in 60 THE LAST VIKING 1893. To prove how seaworthy a Viking ship was, he @"M it from Norway to Newfoundland in just twenty- eight days, despite several storms. Since boyhood, "Gramps was ins ired to do the same, in reverse." "Was your grandsire of Norse origins?" She shook her head. "Gramps just believed there .!was much that could be learned from the Viking way ,of life, and especially Viking shipbuilding. This is a teching college, and he always said that planning, hard work, and persistence, the talents teamed in. actually building a ship ... well, all these things would help a student in any walk of life." " 'Tis true, 'tis true," Rolf agreed, nodding his head. "Gramps died before he could complete his dream." She wiped her eyes, then looked at Rolf with deter- 'Wnation. "But I'm going to complete the project for him." "I understand." "You do? No one else does. Certainly not my par- ents, or my ex-husband." "Though I am loathe to say so, you and I have much in common. Like your grandsire, my father gave me a mission- Until it is complete, I cannot rest." His perception disconcerted Meredith for a moment. "Well, anyhow, that's why I'm on a one-year sabbat- ical from Columbia, where I'm -a professor of medieval studies. I've taken Gramps's place on the staff of Oxley College until the Trondheim project is completed." Rolf stared at her blankly. "What?" she asked. "Imat's wrong?" "Half of your words have no meaning to me. What language is this you ... we are speaking?" He rubbed the clasp of his belt while he spoke, as if for luck, or onsw 61 SANDRA HILL "English." ,lit can't be. I speak both Norse and English, which are much alike, and your words come from neither." "Like what words?" Geez, this guy's games wore thin. Okay, he seemed knowledgeable about shipbuild- ing, but did he have to keep up the pretense of being a Viking? "Give me an example." "Like profess-whore. I can hardly credit you as a whore." "I beg your pardon," she bristled. "Professor is an- other name for a teacher." "Call-ledge?" She frowned, then laughed. "You mean college. That's a school ... usually for young men and women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two." "Now I know you speak pure drivel. Men are lonly past the age of schooling by eighteen..Either they tend their own estates or fight their king's wars. And women ... women are well into breeding by then." "Give me a break! Listen, Rolf, I have too man( prx)blems to continue with this charade of yours. S(, knock it off, and.-" "What is this made-heave-all you prattle about? Did you say you teach made-heave-all? Earlier this eve- ning, you called yourself a dock-whore, and now you ? , claim to be a profess-whore ... a woman teacher. think not." Dock-whore? Oh, he means doctor. She should re- fuse to answer any more of his absurd questions, but his furrowed brow appeared genuine. Meredith was getting alarmed. He really might be a mental case. Even so, Wdng a deep breath, she explained, "Medi-I eval refers to the period from the sixth to the sixteenthi 62 THE LAST VIKING century. My spec,alty s tenth-to twelfth-century Bxit- m." He made an incoherent sound, which she interpreted the usual reaction to her devoting her life to such a "dWI subject. She raised her chin defensively. "I come from a taftly of scholars. My grandfather was an expert in early Nordic culture. My parents are famous for late- &fiddle Age social customs. My brother Jared is an archaeologist who has worked on the Coppergate dig in York and is currently in Norway excavating a Norse farinstead. My sister Jillian makes Jelling-style jew- elry." Rolf raked his fingers through his hair in confusion. "'Tis puzzling to me." ,)"Y?,, "Well, I could accept learned men studying the past, but how can they study the future?" "What do you mean ... the future?" He threw his hands out impatiently. "Anytime after this year, 997, is the future, is it not?" She tsked her disgust. "No, the period after 997 is not the fiiture. Listen, why don't I just show you my grandfather's bluep'ints for the longship, and let's start from there?" A few moments later, she stood in her smal den, gathering together the oversized sketches "God's teeth and Odin's breath! 'Tis impossible!" She jumped, not having realized that he'd followed SO closely. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw gaping at the bookshelves that lined three of the 'alls. The fourth wall had huge casement windows that )oned during the daytime onto a spectacular view of e Atlantic Ocean. 63 SANDRA HILL He touched one of the leatherbound volumes with reverence. "You must be very wealthy to afford so many precious books," he said in an awestruck voice. "In my world, even kings often own only one book or two." He opened a volume carefully. Tracing a fingertip over the glossy page, he sighed. "The paintings are remarkably lifelike. And the writing is strange. Not the usual ink scratchings of the monkish scribes." "Hardly." This guy was a fantastic actor. To what purpose, Meredith couldn't imagine. But, if s& didn't know better, she'd believe his fascination with books to be genuine. "It's incredible. I understand your words when you speak, but I cannot fathom the language in these books. ls it English?" Meredith nodded. A dread of panic caused her to back away slightly, although he did nothing menacing, other than stand there, shirtless, drooling over a book. "Tomorrow you must teach me to read your kind of English," he pronounced with his usual arrogance,. slamming the book shut. Tomorrow like in one day, he expects to leam to read a language. Hah! If he thinks I'm going to waste nry day pretending to give an imposter English lessons, he's got another thing, caming. And even if he can't read English, what would make him think he could leam an entire foreign language in one day? Next he'll be telling me he's Einstein ... a Viking EinstekL Walking around the small den, Rolf picked up one book after another, poring over them, caressing their covers, murmuring soft words of disbelief or admira- tion. Finally, he came to a book@ne written by a colleague of hers at Columbia, 7he Vestj'old Dig: Death 64 THE IAST VIKING o f a Viking Prince. He opened it to the center illustra- tion and turned bone-white with shock. "What? What is it?" she asked with alarm. " 'Tis my sword," he said. "How can that be?" Meredith stepped closer. "See, the engraving is the same as that on my belt clasp." @ Meredith scrutinized the color illustration of a Vi- king sword taken from a burial site. Its omate hilt had an engraved design of stylized animals that was, in- deed, identical to the clasp of Rolf's belt. The base of the hilt also had several runic symbols scratched onto 'it. She Pointed to them, asking, "What do they mean?" She immediately chastised herself for asking the ques- tion. How could this jokester decipher the futhark al- phabet? "This weapon, Brave Friend, belonged to my be- loved son, Geirolf Ericsson," he replied in a stony voice. She was stunned. "Amazing," she commented, iore than impressed that he could read runes, and that is words duplicated the caption at the bottom of the icture. He flipped the page and gasped. There was a double- age illustration of a magnificent Viking longboat with ; dragon prow. "Who did this? Who made a painting f my ship?" "Your ship?" "Yea, 'tis the dragonship I built last year. Fierce bragon. All my ships have the word 'fierce' in their ams. I intend to call my new one Fierce Destin ." "I don't understand," Meredith said, rubbing y the ngertips of one hand across her forehead. "I share your bafflement, my lady," Rolf said, tum- 65 SANDRA HILL ing a page. "Look, look at these." He pointed to the . silver armlets taken from the site and held out his arms to show the similarity of the etched motifs to his own adomments. On and on Rolf went, examining the pages of the book, his frown growing deeper, his growls more pro- nounced. And Meredith felt a ripple of fear sweep her. What was going on? Rolf finally turned on her. "What is this book? Who wrote it? And why?" "The Vest old Dig: Death of a Viking Prince, is its .f title, as I said before. It's about an archaeological dig that took place about five years ago in a grave field in Norway. Vestfold was a region of southwestem Nor- way. " "I know where Vestfold is," he said impatiently. "I live there." "You do?" "And why are men digging up sacred burial sites?" Meredith shrugged. "Archaeologists do it all the time. Thousands of Norse graves have given us the only insight we have into the way people lived a thou- sand years ago, since no written documents survive." She flinched when she saw the look of revulsion on Rolf's face. "If they were Christian graves, the holy priests' hue and cry of sacrilege would reach the high heavens. Are Norse graves fair game because we are 'heathens'?" "No, when it comes to greed ... or, more often, the search for historical knowledge, graves become a sort of public domain." He hugged his arms around his chest as if suddenly cold and mumbled, 'Thousands of graves opened ... 66 THE LAST VIKING . who could have predicted such? 'Twould have been better if all Vikings followed the tradition of death burning." Then he seemed to remember something else. "What did you mean about this death of a Viking prince?" . Ibis whole conversation was getting ridiculous. "i already told you," she said with exasperation. "The objects depicted in that book were taken from an an- cient Viking burial site. A ship burial mound." "Burial? Whose burial?" he asked, almost fearfully. Then added, "Ancient?" "Well, it's believed that some powerful Viking leader had a son who died and that he erected this burial mound in his memory. There were no skeletal remains. So, it's presumed that the son died in a battle out of the country, or at sea, maybe even. . . " Her words trailed off at the absolute horror on Rolf's ashen face. "Rolf, why are you so upset?" "He was not a prince. He was a karl ... a high chief- tain." "Wh-what?" She shook her head to clear it. She was tailing to him as if she bought all his playacting. How- ever, the teacher in her rose stubbornly to the surface, and she explained, "Rolf, the Viking buried there died more than a thousand years ago. Ancient history." "A thousand years?" he repeated dumbly. "Do you persist in saying this is the year 1997?" "Of course." "Gu6 minn g6dur! " he whispered, then repeated the Okpletive, "My God!" Holding her eyes, he spat out, "Not only did my ship run off course in the great wa- ters, but it traveled through time, as well." "That's impossible," she declared. "What other explanation is there? Yesterday my 67 SANDRA HILL sNp wrecked and the year was 997. Today, you tell me that it is 1997." ",&d you think that time travel is possible?" she scoffed. He rolled his shoulders uncertainly. "The saga leg- ends tell of such, but usually those adventures involved gods and the afterlife. But, yea, to answer your ques- tion, I do believe, like all good Norsemen, that any- thing is possible in this life." She curled her upper lip with skepticism. A soft moan escaped Rolf's mouth as he gazed once more at the book clenched in his fists. "Fa&r minn, " he groaned. "My father-" he raised anguished, tear- filled eyes to hers, pleading-"my father must have prepared this buxial site for me. Do you realize what i this means ?" S'he shook her head mumbly. "I am dau6ur ... dead." Meredith nodded, though she didn't really think Rolf was dead, or that the man standing before her was 4 time traveler. No, she couldn't accept that. Could she? Rolf was swaying from side to side now, keening a low, savage wail of bereavement. Because of his own death? Holy cow! Over and over, he muttered, our. . . Finally, he "Dau6ur... dauour ... dau snapped his head up, and swore, "Hver jyandinni Damn it! Damn Staff Gximmsson! Damn all the gods who drew me to this place and time. Most of all, damq; me for my sins, which must have brought about this, punishment." Meredith tried to put a comforting hand on his arn% but he shrugged her off. "Feel no pity for me, maiden, 68 THE LAST VIKI)VG rn for I will retu to my t'me- 'Mis I swear on all I hold StePPing back, she watched the -ragi ng warrior who to, the rebber bad from his nape and pulled wildly at the strands of hi Ion s g hair in agony- He let out a Pffiffitive Viking yell, as old as time, and stormed from the room and out to the bellow his rage cliffs, where he proceeded to and grief to the night skies. Peering through the windows, she saw him a'Ong the cliff edge, tearing at his hai, beatipac"g ng his chest, throwing out his hands in dismay. He chanted some strange words in Old Norse. A funeral dirge? Meredith's heart went out to the tormented man. She should be fzightened, but she wasn't. Somehow she knew he posed no at to her. At e t not a physi One. thfe I as caj He was a stranger. wally, and yet she felt connected him in a way she couldn't define. She was attracted I him, but it was much more than that. Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt Rolf's pain. %tever the reason for his being here, her intuition dd her that fate, Or God, played i role. It was meant be. She went out and tried to offer solace, but he was eyond hearing or welcorwng her aid at this point. r gh d at her as 'hrou glazed, red-n-mmed eyes, he stare she were invisible. "Begone, woman. Leave nie to ... alone." Turning blindly toward the house, &e thought he added in a gentler tone, "A man's honor demands he show strength, even in t'he death fare- Qvells." the next few hours, as Meredith tidied the ...g ,Wt;;en, made up a bed for Rolf on the sofa, and tuma 06 the lights for the night, she kept glancing outside 69 SANDRA HILL with concem. One time, she saw him kneeling with arms upraised to the moonlit sky, still chanting the Norse dirge. Another time, he raged, pounding a fist against a tree in frustrated anger. And all the time he appeared so lost and lonely. Finally, Meredith could no longer keep her eyes open, and she went to bed. Surprisingly, she fell into a deep sleep, exhausted by all that had happened to her that evening. Before dozing off, though, she wondered if she might awaken in the moming to find that the fierce Viking visitor had been a mere figment of her overworked imagination. Oddly, that prospect filled her with heartfelt sorrow. In the middle of the night, she awakened groggily, sensing a presence in her room ... in her bed, actually. Before she had a chance to jump up with alarm, a cold arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against a hard male body. Although she wore panties and a nightshirt, she could feel that the body holding her was totally nude. "No," she protested and tried to push herself out of his embrace. "Shhh." Rolf breathed against her ear, fitting him- self more closely against the length of her back, from head to heel. "I mean you no harm. Just let me hold you for a while." viix'n'hxm. Notyet. Thi lust that had almost overcome her earlier was gone now, replaced by a new, unsettling bond that she wanted to examine more closely in the light of day. Besides, she had so many questions. "No," she repeated. "Not now ... not yet." Rolf's body stiffened behind her, and his fingertips, which had been tracing a sweet path down her arm 70 THE LAST VIKING from shoulder to wrist, stilled. He exhaled softly, and Meredith closed her eyes against the enticing feel of his lips against the nape of her neck. "I need you." Ffis whispered entree th tY- ree little words, s en "ith raw, Pain-ridden honesty-were her undoingpoaknd Meredith accepted somethin she'd unc sc . cluded hours 2 . on iously con- earlier. She t,"ed in his arms ad lov- ingly touched the side of his damp cheek, unable to distinguish whether the wetness had been caused by tears or ocean rfflst. "I need you, too,,, she sighed. n su end rr er 71 Cha Four "I am dead," Rolf said with utter desolation. Rolling over on his back, he rested a forearm over his closed eyes. By the light of an unshaded window and the lingering full mo on, she saw . his long hair spread out over the snowy white pillow. Meredith propped herself on her right elbow and reached across with her other arm to place a hand against his cheek again with gentle assurance. "No. You are alive, Rolf." Lifting his arm, he regarded her beseechingly. "Do you think so? Hmmm. I must needs yield to your better judgment on the matter. In truth, my head throbs with confusion. My body is frozen in your time, but my spirit craves the comfort of my own people. My heart is breaking. Surely those who walk in the afterlife ex. perience no such pain." Then he laid his huge hand over hers, which contin- 72 THE LAST VIKING ued tO caress his cheek, and guided it to his chest, obc-ro b;,v,*--"t,*Iidded wildly, as if it would, indeed, 4-t. Rolf was bare to the waist, and from there cov- &by her grandmother's handmade, quill-. , I , d gn. She ew he was nu to e t a &%woulsk r-$' kn de th oes, but as she gazed at his magnificent body, she felt no over- powering lust. What she felt was an overpowering ... what? Caring was the only word she could come up with to describe the emotion that swelled her heart and warmed her blood. He was a stranger, but he was not. She yearned to touch him and heal all his inner hurts, 5, but she didn't even know what they were. As a teacher, she delighted in passing on knowledge to her students. Ironically she sensed this primitive man couli teach her much,' much more. He was sent to her for a pu ose, he sus TP s pacted. And fight now, she didn't care what the reason. She relished the gift of his presence in her life. His bleak eyes held hers. ,M Mez-ry-Death." ake me fee a ive, She tilted her accelerating. head in question, her pulse "I am so tired and weary of the struggle. Thaw the frost that threatens to freeze my soul, Merry-Death. ..Please. " She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her ithrOat- Slowly she lowered her head, and, with her left ;;bud still resting Over his heart, she pressed her lips to "Is. SOft against firm. Warm against cold. He was so frozen and stiff, like death. But she would restore him, $he vowed. It was a decidedly unerotic kiss, meant to convey 73 SANDRA HILL only caring. And, yet, it was extremely erotic, as evi- denced by Rolf's quick indrawn hiss. "Will yoxi be my heart-friend?" he murmured. His breath was a sweet kiss in itself against her lips. At his words, Meredith reeled as some need, long hidden and denied in her deepest soul, began to open, like the petals of a fragile flower. Heart-friend? Was that like a soulmate? Or just a friend? He parted his lips, inviting more. At the same time, his arms remained immobile at his sides, palms up- ward, in supplication. He didn't insist that she get naked with him. Or grab her with lusty intent. He didn't make false promises, or swear undying love. He merely waited, letting her set the pace of this loving ... or halt it, if she chose. Meredith found the prospect oddly empowering ... and unique. No man had ever let her lead in quite this way, not even Jeffrey. To make all the decisions, or none. She wasn't sure what to do. So, she deepened the kiss, testing, and he accom- modated her with a slight shifting of his lips, which were no longer cool. From side to side, she moved her lips over his, exploring, till she found just the right position. Then she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively. His heart jumped with excitement under her hand. She smiled against his lips, and felt him smile back. Encouraged, she pulled away and examined his face with her eyes and her fingertips: the angry bruise at his temple, which she kissed gently; the arch of his thick brows; his long, feathery, thick lashes; the sharp bones at his cheek and jaw lines; even his straight, arrogant nose. She admired but didn't touch his wide shoulders. 74 THE LAST VIKING Nor the ridges of veins that outlined his muscled arms. Nor the many scars, old and new, that covered his skin. Not even the enticing sweep of shadow and light that marked the Well-toned planes of his chest and abdo- men. Instead, she savored the anticipation of touching him in all those places, eventually. "You're beautiful," she whispered. "Yea," he agreed, and crossed his eyes at her. For some reason, the gesture touched her deeply. Perhaps because the small sign of humor showed she was suc- ceeding in her efforts to pull him from his despair. "You're not chilled anymore," she remarked, run- ning a palm up his chest to his neck, sweeping back down as far as his waist. Then stopping. He inhaled sharply, and sucked in his stomach. In resistance? Perhaps he'd expected her to go far- ther. Or perhaps he didn't want her to go so far. "Nay, I'm not cold anymore, sweetling, thanks to you. But I am bone weary and heart sick." Sweetling? What a lovely endearment! Lifting his hands from their invisible bonds at his sides, he drew her into his arms and settled her against his chest. One hand wrapped around her shoulder, the other burrowed into her hair, drawing her head against him. In seconds, with her face pressed against his warm chest, Meredith felt the slowing of Rolf's heartbeat. Then the steady rise and fall of his chest. Just like that, he'd fallen into a deep sleep. She wasn't offended. In fact, she felt rewarded for her efforts to bring him peace. But Meredith didn't sleep. Nor did she feel much peace that night as slumber evaded her and troubling questions niggled at her brain. Toward dawn, she 75 SANDRA HILL slipped out of bed and drew the quilt up to Rolf's chest. One ann was thrown over his head, and a thick patch of oddly attractive masculine hair showed in his vul- nerable armpit. The other arm lay across the pillow where he had been holding her only moments before. Tears bumed in her eyes as she gazed at him. Then she forced herself to tum away and went downstairs to her computer, where she intended to find some an- swers. It was eight o'clock before Meredith heard Rolf awaken. Soon after, she heard the sound of the shower running. She'd left a pile of Jared's old clothing for him, along with a pair of battered running shoes. They would probably be too tight. Getting up from the computer, she went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She would have to go to the supermarket soon. There wasn't much in the fridge. Deciding on French toast, she broke an egg into a bowl with milk, hesitated, then added two more eggs, fig- uring Rolf's appetite would probably be huge after his meager meal the night before. When she'd prepared ten slices of French toast, she placed them in the warming cycle of her microwave, set the table, and laid out butter and maple syrup. Then she prepared a pitcher of orange juice from concentrate and tumed on the coffee maker. She could still hear the shower running, so she re- tumed to her computer and her distressing Norse jour- neys on the Internet. Thus far, way too much of what she'd learned confirmed Rolf's preposterous stories. There had been a powerftil Jarl Eric Tryggvason in th- Vestfold region of Norway in 997, and one of his sons had been a shipbuilder and noted warrior. Eric's 76 THE LAST VIKING brother, Olaf Tryggvason, had reigned as high king of Norway at that time. Aelfgifu, queen of Britain and wife of Aethelred the Unready, had been weak and plain, just as Rolf had said. She'd died of childlied fever, possibly in 997. How did Rolf know all this historical trivia? Punching in her password now, she waited for her computer program to log on her access. Tapping her fingertips nervously while the computer processed her data, she made plans. She intended to fax her brother Jared in Norway the fffinute she got to her office. She didn't have a home fax system yet. And she had some questions for Mike, as well, still not convinced that he and Jared didn't have something to do wi Rolf's ival. But th arr she'd tried Mike earlier and teamed that he was visiting some Army buddies in Bangor for the weekend. "IWat are you doing, Merry-Death?" Meredith jumped, not having realized that Rolf had come up behind her. Placing a palm over her thudding heart, she glanced back over her shoulder and had to stifle a groan. Lord, the man was gorgeous. Wearing the same black sweatpants she'd given him the night before, he'd donned a gray Adidas T-shirt, tucked in at the waist where his talisman belt was clasped-an incongruous combination, but somehow it fit his Viking image. He'd pulled back his damp hair with a rubber band, and he'd shaved, revealing even more dramatic good looks. Lines of grief bracketed his eyes and grim mouth, but he appeared well rested. Never breaking eye contact, he placed his left hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Thank you," he said 77 SANDRA HILL huskily, and Meredith knew he referred to the comfort she'd offered the night before. She nodded her acknowledgment and he stepped away. Then she noticed what he carried in his other hand. "What are these?" he asked, sitting in a straight- backed chair near hers. She smiled. "Those are jockey shorts. Underwear." He held the white briefs up in front of him and scoffed. "Nay, they are too small to a hold a man's parts." She scoffed back. "They stretch ... even for the big- gest man parts." But then she concluded, with embar- rassment, that he must not be wearing anything under his sweats. Lordy! "And these?" he asked. "Athletic socks. You know@" she searched for words he would understand-"ummm ... hose, that's the word. You put them on your feet before you put on your shoes." He nodded his understanding, and did just that, after some clumsy efforts to figure just how it was done. Then he lifted an eyebrow and held up the last of the items he'd brought with him, Jared's decrepit sneakers. I 4Mose are Jared's old running shoes," she in- formed him, dropping down to her knees in front of ni to help put them on. "Really? Men in your country have shoes just for running?" "Yes," she said with a laugh. It did sound funny now that he mentioned it. "And do they have special braies for sitting?" "No," she grunted out as she tried to force one of the shoes onto his foot. The shoes were, indeed, at least 78 THE LAST VIKING two sizes too small. "You must wear a size-thirteen shoe. You know what they say about Vikings with big feet, don't you?" She'd blurted out that last observa- tion, and instantly regretted it. Rolf looked down at her with a puzzled frown. 'Nay, what do they say about Vikings with big feet? And why is your face so red?" Then a grin tugged at the edges of his lips. "Could it be the same thing they say about Saxons with big noses?" She decided to change the subject. "Do you think you can stand to wear them? Your toes must be cramped." He shrugged. " 'Tis no worse than wet leather boots in the midst of a battle." Ilen he stood, did a couple of deep knee bends and ran in place for a few seconds. "Yea, I warrant a man could run like the wind in these cloth boots," he said, flashing her a dazzling, bone- melting smile. "Now show me this box you were star- ing at when I walked in. Blessed Thor, I neer saw a land with so many magic boxes." A short time later, Geirolf sat blinking with amaze- ment, trying desperately to process all the information Mer'ry-Death and her come-pewter flashed out. " 'Tis sorcery, pure and simple, of that I have no doubt, but sorcery of the most wonderful nature. Letters and pic- tures and all the wisdom in the world are contained in this little box ... in the ... what did you call it? Oh, yes, the seedy-Tome." She laughed. He'd no doubt mispronounced one of the hellish words in this new language. "You arr a mean-spirited wench to gamer pleasure from my discomfit." 141t,s just that you sound so cute." 79 SANDRA HILL "Cute? Me? Do you treat me like a lackwit pup?" He shook his head. Cute? "Leastways, I intend to mas- ter the magic in this come-pewter box," he snapped. "From birth, my father and mother encouraged leam- ing about all things, in nature and in the world. 'From knowledge comes strength,' my father often said. 'Even for fighting men, the brain is as powerful a weapon as the sword arm.' " "Your father sounds like a very wise man." Her raised brow belied her compliment. "You are loath to believe we heathen barbarians relish wisdom? Nay, do not deny what shows clearly on your dubious face. I told you afore that my mother is Christian, but my father follows the old ways. At birth, he dedicated each of his living sons to the Norse gods." "So?" By all tize saints! I'd like to wipe that smirk from her pursed lips. Mayhap a dunking in her moat would accomplish the dead Nay, I must control my temper. For now. Until I master the secrets of all these magic boxes. "If you would - bridle your wagging tongue, a man could perchance finish his tale," he told her in- stead. Truly, the woman could use a lesson or two- or fifty-in being biddable. "As I was relating before your interruption, my brother Magnum's birth-patron is Frey, the god of fertility and prosperity. Magnus has ten living children with his three wives, and he is the best farmer in all-Norway." "Three wives!" Merry-Death commented, as if that were the most important of all the facts he'd imparted. "Three wives!" He waved a hand airily. "Then there is my brother 80 THE LAST VIKING Jorund, whose patron is Thor, the god of war. Jorund is the fiercest warrior in all lands." He inhaled deeply at the sudden unhappy thought of possibly never seeing them again. Then he went on brusquely, "And my father dedicated me to Odin, the god of Teaming. Mayhap you have heard that the all- father sacrificed his one eye to drink wisdom from the well of Mimir?" "A myth!,, Merry-Death sneered. "Besides, you're a shipbuilder, not a scholar. So much for your father dedicating You to wisdom!" "Ah, but I was not always a shipbuilder. From the time I reached ten winters, I fostered in the Saxon court of King Edgar, my mother's cousin. For five years, I suffered there in that snakepit of conniving noblemen, but I soaked up all that the monk teachers could pro- vide in their monastery schools." "Really?" So, the wench was impressed by his Teaming. And she looked down her nose at his woodworking skills. "Attend me well, my stiff-necked lady. I cherish the calluses on my palms that mark my trade. I get more pride from building a good ship than translating a Latin text. " Her face flushed at being caught in her condescen- sion. "Oh, I never meant to imply-,, He raised a halting hand. " 'Tis of no importance what you think of me. I ain my own man." "How did we get on this conversation anyhow?" "You were no doubt rebuking me for one thing or another, as all women do." "%%at was that noise?" Merry-Death said. "I was speaking." "Not that, you dolt." She peered at him over the 81 SANDRA HILL top of an unusual piece of silver-and-glass jewelry she wore on the bridge of her nose and latched over the tops of her ears. Women wore diadems, or circlets, over their foreheads in his world, to hold their head rails in place. The nose was a very strange place to put an omament, in his opinion. Ah, well, women were al- ways finding banny means to adorn themselves. Next they would be putting rings in their noses. His stomach let out a growl, and he realized that it must have been grumbling for some time. That was the noise she referred to. "I do not suppose you have food to offer a starving man, other than worms?" She smiled at the brute and led him into her kitchen. Men! Mention food and even the fiercest of them tamed down. "No, we're having French toast." "French toast!" Rolf jeered, at first. "Many a time have I joumeyed to Frankland, and neer have I seen such." But he scarfed down eight of the ten slices drowning in butter and syrup, drank one glass of or- ange juice and three cups of coffee, which he asserted must be the beverage of the-gods. Afterward, they went outside to examine the long- boat. "Do women in your country always wear men's braies?" he asked. "Not that I am complaining." Meredith glanced up to see the rogue's sparkling eyes riveted on the back end of her too-tight Levis- Jillie's castoffs, which she'd put on this moming, along with a short-waisted, white amgora sweater. "No, women don't wear braies all the time. And we call them pants or slacks in this country, not braies. These particular kinds of pants are known as blue jeans. 'YOU?Ilhavelobuy alevi pairs for yourself, if you don't already have them." 82 THE LAST VIKING He looked skeptical but said nothing more, as they'd arrived at the project site. Tuming immediately serious, Rolf surveyed the two open-sided, roofed shelters in the clearing. One protected the vast amount of timber needed for the seventy-foot longship, which sat uncom- pleted under the other shelter. Rolf first went to the wood shed, which housed al- ready cut, wedge-shaped planks, as well as enormous trees. Gramps had told her one time that it would take eleven oak trees, at least sixteen feet tall, not to men- tion a fifty- or sixty-foot tree for the keel, to make just one longship of this size. Rolf f wned d made ng soun ro an tski ds of disgust as he knelt before some of the wood,,rubbing it wid, his fingertips, testing its weight, even smelling it. Meredith walked up to his side. ,What's wrong?" "Who was the fool who left this wood to dry out? Every good shipbuilder knows green timber is best for the Planking. Once seasoned, it becomes too brittle to work. He stood and glared at her as if she was to blame for the gross incompetence. "'fbere was no fool, YOu fOO1- My grandfather died suddenly last October-,, Her voice broke and she couldn't immediately go on. Finally, she cleared her throat and continued. "There was no one to take over the project.,, He ed to put a comfo ng han t,' rti d on her shoulder, but she shifted away. She didn't want his pity. "All of Gramps's notes were available, and his assistant, Mike Johnson, was here, but no one really had the expertise tO supervise such a project. Ever since I got here in January, we've been trying tO hire someone to take over MY grandfather's position, and this project.,, Rolf nodded. " 'Tis a question of honor." 83 SANDRA HILL Meredith's eyes shot up at his perception. How did he know she'd felt that way? That leaving her grand- father's dremn incomplete was somehow a disgrace to his memory? That finishing the longship would be a gesture of love and respect? Fighting back the emotion that choked her, she asked, "Can we do anything to salvage the wood?" "Some of it," he said, "and the discarded pieces will not be wasted. They can be put to good use as rudders, blocks, clamps, and skids." "Look at those peculiar tree limbs," she called out to him. Rolf was already on the other side, examining each of the trees and cut planks. Among all the straight trees and precisely cut wedge planks, there were some curved limbs, even forked jointures of tree limbs. Rolf shook his head sadly. "Those are useless now. The curved timbers are needed for the ribs and knees of the ship, and the forks for tholes and keelsons, but they should have been stored underwater to keep the wood flexible." As they moved over to the longship, Rolf gave it equally professional scrutiny. Meredith was more and more impressed with his knowledge. Wherever he'd come from, the guy was the answer to her prayers ... well, her prayers for a shipbuilder, anyway. Yeah, right. Like I'm not noticing all that suntanned skin and the muscles bulging under those upper-arm bracelets. Like my heart doesn't skip a beat when he smiles. Like I'm not gawking when he bends over and stretches the material of those black sweatpants. "What did you say?" Rolf said, straightening. "Nothing," she said, hating the blush that heated her face. The little grin that twitched at his lips told her he knew exactly where she'd been staring. "Let's go back 84 THE LAST VIKING inside and start On your English lesson. You'll never be able to read Gramps's notes or understand his blue- prints unless you have a rudimentary ability to read English." "I told you, I can read English," he protested. "Yeah, yeah, yeah! We're back to the Viking prince stuff again," she grumbled as they walked back toward the house. He swatted her on the behind and cautioned, "Best You curb your tongue, wench, or I will show you what else a Viking can do, besides build longships." She should have chastised him for taking such a lib- erty, but she saw the teasing glimmer in his eyes. He was an arrogant beast, really he was. Too bad he was so attractive, as well. "NOt all women are impressed with virile Viking clods, you know.,, "Truly?" he asked with amazement. "Whene'er my brothers and I go a-viking, women always fall over themselves to get to us, no matter the country. Espe- cially Saxon women. They claim we are much taller and more comely than their ugly English men." "Hah! The way I hear it, Vikings washed more often than Saxon men. That's what attracted the women. You didn't smell quite so bad.,, He grinned. "Well, there is that, too." Four hours later, Meredith sat back in her chair in the library and stretched. They'd made incredible progress. Rolf was rapidly learning how to read English, thanks in part to her grandfather's numerous English-Old Norse texts and software programs. Rolf must be very intelligent to grasp all the principles so easily, but Meredith sensed that it was more than that. She almost believed his 85 SANDRA HILL assertion that the talisman had magic powers. How else could he already have mastered the alphabet and ru-' dimentary grammar? How else could he have managed to work the computer keyboard as he studied data? His childlike enthusiasm for teaming touched her. He didn't balk at any of her instructions, even the bor- ing, rote drawing of the alphabet. "Why are you so eager to learn all of this so quickly?" she asked finally. "And don't give me that nonsense about being dedicated to the god of wisdom." He glanced up with surprise from the third-grade reader he'd been studying-one that had been hers as a child. "So I can retum home," he answered simply and went back to his book. Meredith's heart stopped at his declaration, and she wondered how she could feel such desolation at the idea of losing a man she'd just met. He meant nothing to her, other than as a shipbuilder. He was a means to an end. Once that project was completed, it would be good riddance, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong. She didn't know how it had happened-perhaps she was pathetically lonely-but Rolf had burrowed his way into her life and possibly even her heart in one short day. And his absence would leave a gaping hole; she just knew it would. She would have to protect her- self "That's enough for today," she declared, reaching over his shoulder and abutting the book. "How about some lunch?" He nodded his agreement'and stood, stretching his arms wide and arching his back to remove the kinks from sitting for so long. She refused to look, already embarking on a plan of self-protection. 86 THE LAST VIKING A short time later, Rolf leaned against the kitchen counter while she opened a can of tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches. She really needed to grocery shop this aftemoon. As she moved around the tiny kitchen, he watched her every move, as if memorizing them for future ref- erence. Maybe he was an alien come to study earthly civilization. HeY, it was no more implausible than Rolf's time-travel story. His constant scrutiny made her unnaturally nervous. Probably because she kept remembering how he'd looked in her bed last night, how they'd almost made love. "Tell me about that talisman,,, she finally said, seeking something to distract her thoughts. "How do You figure a belt clasp has magic powers?,, "Huh? 'Mat magic clasp? oh, nay, You misunder- stand. 'Tis not the clasp that is the talisman. The clasp is just a Protective covering." She turned the soup on low and put two more grilled cheese sandwiches in the frying pan, after removing two that were done. Then she gave him her full atten- tion. "What do you mean?" He removed the belt and demonstrated. In the back of the large, circular disc clasp was a secret lever that he sprang, releasing the back side and exposing an ex- quisite gold cross inside. About three inches at its wid- est point, the crucifix wasn't a pendant, although it probably could have been used as such. The back of the cross was rough; obviously it had broken off from another piece. "Oh, it's beautiful! May I hold it?" He nodded, handing it to her. As soon as he placed it in her palm, she felt its pulsing heat. She glanced up 87 SANDRA HILL at him quickly, and she saw that he understood what she was feeling. :'What is it?" she asked. 'A gilt frontispiece that my father tore off a Bible three years past whilst pillaging Lindisfame-Holy Is- land-in Britain." Meredith put a hand to her forehead in confusion. "Wait a minute. The famous Viking attack on the Lin- disfame monastery took place about two hundred years before that, in the late eighth century." Rolf frowned at her interruption. "This was the sec- ond attack on Lindisfame, and-" "Aha! You said you weren't into raping and pillag- ing.' , He made a taking sound at being interrupted again. "I said that my fami'Y, personally, does not indulge in rape. I neer said we do not pillage. Pillaging is an horrorable Viking endeavor. In truth, Saxons and Franks also are quite adept at pillaging and plundering- And I did not say mY father attacked the Lindisfame monastery. The good monks left the island a century ago. Nay, my father took the frontispiece from a vil- lager whose family had stolen the holy book afore the priests left. So, you see, 'twas not really stealing since the item was stolen to begin with." "Go on, then," she said with a sigh of resignation. T'he man had an answer for everything. "Three years past, in 994, my father joined his Olaf b,rot,be,r "Ibe king of Norway?" "Yea, Olaf Tryggvason, the king of Norway. If you keep interrupting me, wench, I will neer finish my saga. " It was becoming a saga, all right. 88 THE LAST VIKING "My father, a Norwegian jar), along with King Olaf and Sven Forkbeard, the king of Denmark, banded to- gether for a grand invasion of Britain. Ninety-four war- ships there were in the combined fleet-many of them ships I had built. 'Twas the most formidable Viking attack on Britain in more than a half century." "Who won?" Rolf shrugged. "Many of the British nobles were prepared to accept Sven as ruler, but London was de- fended stubbornly just the same. And, as always, there was much bickering in the Danish and Norwegian ranks. 'Twas an unnatural alliance, you see, betwixt two Viking milers who'd been trying for years to gob- ble each other up. In the end, Aethelred bought their allegiance with a danege.ld of sixteen thousand pounds. " Meredith was more confused than ever. "What does all this have to do with the talisman and the holy relic?" "Sore angry was my father when he left Britain thrce years ago. Angry at his brother Olaf who stayed behind at the Saxon court, promising Christian con- version of all Norsemen. Angry at the weak-spined Aethelred who can be trusted only so far. Angzy at the gods who failed to watch over the dead warriors. Mostly, he was angry at the Christian God since my mother had talked my father into baptism afore sail- ing. " 'so, in retaliation, he plundered a Christian mon- astery on the way home," Meredith offered. "That he did ... except that he did not realize the monastery was no longer there." He waved his hand in a careless gesture. "So, he raided some homes in- stead and found their hidden xiches." 89 SANDRA HILL Wealthy churches had been the targets of many Vi- king raids in the tenth century; Meredith knew that from her studies. That didn't mean she believed Rolf's story. "Go on," she encouraged, nonetheless. "Why do you refer to this particular object as a talisman? What's so special about it?" " 'Tis not the crucifix itself that is important, but the relic buried in its depths during the forging." "Relic?" "Yea, three eyelashes from the lid of St. Cuthbert, a former monk at undisfame, wrapped around a sliver of wood. The splinter comes from the staff of Moses. He was the holy man in the Christian Bible who nd the ancient lands of pestilence through the powers of his staff." "I know who Moses was," she snapped. "Lord, you do tell a good story. Not that I really believe there is such a relic in that cross, but assuming it's true, what is its significance to you or your father?" "Much guilt has my father suffered for taking the sacred relic, largely due to my mother's nagging. She believes, and has convinced my father, that the great famine that now plagues Norway can be halted only if the relic is retomed to its rightful place on Holy Island. Mayhap it must be buried; under the ruins of the mon- astery, if none of the monkish order be about. "when the frontispiece is refumed, the curse will end. My mother had a vision in which an angel told her so." Meredith couldn't stop the derisive sound that erupted from her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" "I am wont to be skeptical, too. About the stolen relic of Moses causing a famine, and its retum mirac- ulously ending the pestilence. But I cannot take the 90 THE IAST VIKING chance of being wrong. And I am honorbound to com- plete the mission for my father." "So, on the way to retum the crucifix to Lindisfame, Staff Grimmsson ... the guy you told me about ... at- tacked you and stole the relic, right?" He nodded. Meredith was getting a headache from all this puzzling information. "So you followed Grirmnsson to ... ?" "Iceland." "Iceland. Of course," she said sarcastically. "And from there you chased him to these waters and got shipwrecked. " "Yea," he said brightly. "Now you understand." Aaarrgh, Meredith shrieked silently and handed the crucifix back to Rolf. After replacing it in its hiding place and putting the belt back on, Rolf sat down at the table. She placed a bowl Of soup in front of him, along with a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches and a glass of milk. "Blood soup!" She laughed. "It's not blood. It's tomatoes." "These are someone's t s?" he ked wi horror. "No, you f 1. Just eat Oe e s as th 00 th oup. It's from a vege- table, and it's good." He did, and although he wasn't too impressed with the meal, he devoured everything, including the milk, despite his having commented, "A good cup of mead would be preferable to this child's drink." Meredith made a mental note to buy a six-pack of beer later that day. "Okay, listen," she said after she'd stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. She was about to tell him to 91 SANDRA HILL go back into the den and practice his English exercises while she went to the store. "I'm listening"' he drawled against the exposed curve of her neck. He'd snuck up behind her. Dam those athletic shoes, which didn't squeak in warning. She tried-to step away, but he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and proceeded to release her hair from its knot at the back of her head. "I love your hair," he whispered. "So you've said before," she said, relishing the praise. False praise, she was sure. No man had ever taken particular note of her hair before. After all, even on a good hair day, it was only brown-no spectacular color-and it was strai ht as a poker. No feminine curls or waves. Rolf burrowed his face in it with a sigh as he used one hand to spread its strands over her shoulders. And suddenly her hair felt thick and luxuriant and ... beau- tiful. No sooner did she register that incredible fact than she noticed that his other hand was placed flat against her stomach, like a brand of possession. Meredith couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. And she didn't want to. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you yestereve, Merry- Death," he said sorry, his lips tracing a path along her jaw to the side of her mouth, his hand moving upward from her stomach, under the hem of her sweater, to rub her bare abdomen. She made a little mewling sound of distress. Or was it pleasure? She arched her neck back against his shoul- der' ' 'But I'm not tired now," he whispered, and cupped one of her lace-covered breasts. "Are you?" 92 THE LAST VIKING She practically shot off the floor at the intense, erotic sensations his gentle touch engendered. But she was held pinned against the sink counter by Rolf's lower body, which Pressed insinuatingly against the back of her jeans-clad bottom. "You need not worry about the possibility of a babe," he assured her silkily as he pulled the neckline of her sweater aside and nibbled at the sensitive curve of her shoulder. "Wh-what do you mean?" Had he actually bitten her shoulder blade? Then licked it? "Now, sweetling, don't go stiff on me. I just meant that I will make sure you do not breed.' "And how will you do that?,, she said testily, tum- ing in his amns. "Since you claim to be a tenth-century Viking, with no modem methods of birth control, just how will You accomplish that remarkable feat?" "Why are you angry, Nlerry-Death? I think only of Your reputation. Most women would appreciate the consideration. I I She lifted a brow in question. ", will not spill my seed inside your body," he ex- plained. Letting out a whoosh of exasperation, Meredith ducked under his reaching arms. Thank God for the ice-water effect of his words on her impetuous, i sponsible near-capitulation to his seductive efforts. ffe "That wouldn't be necessary, if we were going to make love. Which we're not. Because, you see-" she took a breath as she gathered the nerve to disclose her painful secret-"because I can't have children." He stared at her for a long moment, and then said only, "Oh, MerrY-Death, I am so sorry.,, She closed her eyes briefly to hide her reaction to 93 SANDRA HILL his sympathy. Why hadn't he said something callous like everyone else? Such as, "It doesn't matter. Having children is no big deal. You can always adopt. It doesn't mean you're less a woman." Or, worse, the remark Jeffrey had made before their divorce, "Maybe you weren't meant to have children." Instead, Rolf had understood her pain and shared it. When she finally got her emotions under control, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her intently, wait- ing out her inner struggle. He put one hand on the belt buckle and the other over his heart, holding her eyes the whole time, and all he said was, "I feel your pain." She nodded and forced herself to change the subject. She'd decided in that split second that they both needed a lighter mood. "Good thing you've got your walking shoes on, Rolf" "Why?" he asked with trepidation. "We're going to the mall." 94 Chapter Five Geirolf sat with his legs braced stiff, belted into the seat of Merzy-Death's horseless, red wagon. They raced along a local road at an ungodly speed, stirring up dust in their wake. "Slow down," he gritted out. He was going to wring her foolhardy neck ... if he ever escaped from this box. Box! Thor's toenails, this was a land of boxes! "Huh?" Merry-Death had been humming along with music that came from a shelf in the box, some- thing she called the class-call station. "I'm only going dirty-five." "Well, that explains it," he snaPPed. All the per- plexing words and objects in this new land tired him mightily. He wanted nothing more than to retum to his homeland, where life was simple and unmagical. He looked idly through the side window, and then looked 95 SANDRA HILL again. "Oh, Good Lord! Stop the box, Meny-Death. Make haste. There is much danger." Reacting instinctively, she slannued one foot against a lever on the floor and they came to a screeching halt at the side of the road. Despite the seat restraint, his forehead hit the front window and his knees banged against the dashing-board. "What? What is it?" Merry-Death asked him in alarm. Rubbing the already rising knob on his brow, he pointed up to the sky. "There is a huge shiny bird hovering overhead. Surely one of Loki's vultures is about to attack. 'Tis so big it could swallow an entire troop of soldiers in one gulp. I have heard of such in the sagas. " Merry-Death scanned the area where he pointed, then giggled. "Oh, you!" She jabbed his arm in rep- rimand. "That's just an airplane.'-' Since she didn't share his concern, he released the breath he'd been holding. After she explained alitplanes to him, he stared at her speechless. He could hardly credit her claims-that a machine had been invented that allowed people to fly in the air over long dis- tances-even oceans. Scowling at his assertion that he'd never heard of an airplane before, she started the car up again. The woman's belief that he was a liar, or worse, was be- ginning to annoy him. And he couldn't stop thinking about the amazing metal bird he'd just seen. As he worried his bottom lip with his upper teeth, he tried to understand. "Mayhap we should go back to your keep. I'm not certain I want to see any more witchly arts today. " She laughed gaily. "Too late now. We're there." 96 THE LAST VIKING He wasn't exactly sure what constituted "there," something Merry-Death called a shipping mall, but she'd promised it would be amusing. He scanned the area as she drove her box off the roadway into a huge clearing where hundreds of similar boxes, of different colors and shapes, sat side by side. No ships, at all, in this shipping mall. As she steered her box into a stall and turned off the key, he let out a whoosh of relief and then peered around with bewilderment. "When does the amuse- ment begin?" She ignored his sarcasm and helped unbuckle his seat belt. Grinning mysteriously, she told him to follow her. Which wasn't easy to do since he couldn't figure out how to open the bloody door of the bloody box. They began to walk toward the shipping mall struc- M when Geirolf stopped suddenly and exclaim , m ed "By the Holy Rood! Of all the things I have seen in this outlandish country, that is the most outlandish of all." "What?" Men-Y-Death craned her neck this way and that, unable to locate the source of his incredulity. "There," he said, pointing to an elderly woman walking with a pig on a leash. It was the ugliest pig he'd ever seen in all his bom days, with a belly that drOOped almost to the ground. "Is the wench taking Yon hog to market?" Merry-Death laughed. "No, that's a pot-bellied pig. It's a pet. " "A pet?" he sputtered. "Like a kitten?" "Uh-hum. Isn't it darling?" "Have you suffered a head blow of late?" Moments later, they entered the glass doors of the shipping mall, and Geirolf jerked back with surprise. 97 SANDRA HILL Every person in this world must have assembled here, and they all chattered and shrieked with good humor as they briskly walked along-singly, in pairs, and in threatening groups. He wished he had Brave Friend with him. He felt defenseless without his sword at hand. But Meny- Death didn't appear frightened, so he trailed.after her. First, Merry-Death said she had to get some money from an aye-team machine. She inserted a square of some strange material called plays-tick into a slot, and Geirolf scoffed when he sgw what came out of the wall. It was mere parchment, not coins. She explained that, while coins existed in her coun- try, paper, another word for parchment, counted as trading tender, as well. He accepted her pronou dubiously, but another distressing thought occ him. "I have no money with me. How will I bu ing and all the items I'll need whilst in ur Ii "You don't have to woz-ry-" YO "I know," he said with sudden enlightenment, pull- ing off one of his armlets. "I can sell this for coin, can I not?" "You could sell it, yes, but-" "Why do you hesitate? Is it worth naught here? in mY world, jewelry is a portable commodity, to be bar- tered or cut into pieces for money." "Rolf, You could probably buy a small country with the money you'd get for such a priceless object. It's just that it's not necessary. There's a salarv that goes with the position of head shipbuilder for the -Trondheim project. Not a e e, but su larg On fficient for your needs. I'll give you an advance." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Are You sure? I have always paid my own way. And, for a certainty, l' 98 THE LAST VIKING neer let a woman care for my needs. I would not ac- cept charity from ),ou.,, "Save your pride, Rolf. I'll let you know when your t&b gets too high." "Well, then, we am agmed," he said, slipping the armlet back on. Then, he turned wi h her to advan e t ; wadY into the deep bowels of the shipping mall. Buck he vowed, the first purchase he was going to make was a sword. He saw several couples walk by-%bviously lovers- with their hands entwined. So, hc reached over and took Merry-Death's hand in his, lacing their angers. He liked the way her pulse beat against his at the sexist. And she obviously did, too, because she glanced up at him wi surprise, but did not pull away d th . An the slight coloring of her cheeks betrayed how his touch affected her. Good! He wanted to affect her. And a lot more. '.o hd Ooh, OOh! Look at that. Isn't he adorable?" t Mered,? squealed and began to tug. him in another direction. "%-what?" he s",ired. unable to disce object of her amor. A.11 I the ket stalls :Lnd an overa nw- "It's I Eirest Dne. GMat Dane." Ve a "Would a great Norsernan suffice?,, She started to choke with laughter at his words, and he slapped her on the back. "Well, thele !s naught a Dane an @ th wegia,, cant o better," he said hu c at 1/2Nor- I do not appreciate Your raving onf Y And , , y ut 0. r iny presence. a. e "Rolf, a Great Dae is the name of a dog breed." 99 SANDRA HILL She dabbed at her brimming eyes with a paper hand- I kerchief, then indicated with a wave of her hand the forlom puppy that sat in front of the glass window, yipping and yapping. It was probably laughing at him, too. "I knew that," he lied and walked bravely off into the shipping mall. Jealousy! For the first time in my life, I have exhibited that lackwit emotion. My brothers would laugh their bloody heads off. My father would say 'twas past time I suffered like all men. My mother would be arranging a wedding. I am doomed The next being-man or beast-that laughed at him was going to feel the bite of his sword. Once he bought a sword, that was. The closest he came to a sword, however, was some- thing called a laser pointer. It would have to do, for now. Two hours later, they sat at a table in the food court. Bags of clothing and other purchases were stacked at their feet. Meredith hadn't had so much fun in years. "Now this is food fit for the gods," Rolf declared enthusiastically as he finished off his sixth slice of sau- sage and mushroom pizza. "But what is this fondness your people have for bodily raiment? I've had my fill of trying on garments and shoes for one day." She nodded. Actually, they'd bought more than enough to last Rolf for now. Two pairs of jeans and a half dozen T-shirts, underwear-he preferred boxers- and socks, and a pair of work boots ... a whopping size fourteen. Rolf had shown a surprising fashion instinct, select- ing a pair of pleated, Ralph Lauren khaki slacks and 100 THE LAST VIKING two Polo shirts, along with a pair of sinfully expensive loafers of the softest leather. "This shopping, is more tiring than a day of battle exercises," Rolf grumbled, pushing away from the ta- ble and giving her his full regard. Meredith didn't like it when he studied her like that. It made her very uncomfortable. And he knew it. She could tell by the way he grinned, slowly and lazily. "i agree ... about shopping being exhausting," she said, picking at imaginary lint on her jeans. "And we still have to stop at the supermarket. The way you eat, I'll need to stock up on lots more food.' ' "Do you say that I eat overmuch? That I am fat?" He threw back his shoulders with affront, which only accentuated his superb body. "Hard'Y." He wore the plain old gray T-shirt and black sweats she'd given him that moming, along with the talisman belt, but if he got any more attention from ogling girls and oversexed women in this mall, she was going to scram. And Rolf didn't even seem to notice the pivoting heads as he strolled along because he was doing his own gaping at each of the new wonders he encountered; water fountains, ballpoint pens, aquari- ums. Besides, he was probably used to female adulation, looking as he did. As they headed back toward the mall entrance, weighed down with bags, Rolf stopped suddenly. Now what? "Give me fifty dollars, Merry-Death, and mark it in mY book." Rolf had made her Purchase a small note- bOO.k tO keep track of all his expenses. His male pride again. "WhY? I thought we got everything." 101 SANDRA HILL "Not quite," he said and veered off to the right after she handed him the bills. "Oh, no," she groaned, realizing that he was enter- ing Victoria's Secret. "Rolf," she hissed, finally catching up, her bags banging against her legs, "what are you doing in here?" "All day we have been shopping for me, but naught for you. I want to buy you a gift." He held up a flame- red, see-through nightie. "What do you think?" Her face heated, fuming a matching flame red, no doubt. "I don't wear things like that to bed. I prefer ... nightshirts." "T know," he said dolefully. "You know?" she squeaked out. He shot her a glower of consternation. "I was tired last night, not dead." Oh, geez, what else did he see? Or remember? He put the hooker-style outfit back on the rack, and said idly, "In truth, I prefer you wear no bed garments at all." As her heart started racing, he forged ahead into the store. "These would show off those wonderfully long legs of yours." He stuck a pair of French-cut silk panties in her face. "What are they?" "Underwear. Rolf, please," she whispered, morti- fied at all the attention they were getting. And, oh, Lord, was that one of her students over there-no, two of her students, Amy Zapalski and Joleen Frank? He riffled through the assorted colors till he'd found a flesh-tinted pair edged with white lace, held it out before her as if to judge the size, and then tucked it under his arm. "Just right," he said with a wink. 102 THE LAST VIKING Next, before she could grab his amn and drag him out the door, he said, "Aaaah," and hightailed it to the teddy section. "What purpose do these garments serve?" he was asking a pencil-thin, blond sales clerk who'd appeared like a flash of lightning at his side. ' 'Those are teddies, hon. Don't tell me you've never seen a teddy before." "Na , never," he replied, his mouth dropping prac- tically to the floor with appreciation as she held up one scandalous creation after another. "That one," he said, stopping her at a pink satin, two-piece outfit, with tiny straps. Very simple and very sexy. "What do you,think, sweetling?" he asked, drawing her to his side with an arm looped over her shoulders. They'd dropped their packages to the floor back by the see-through nighties. "I think you're crazy, that's what I think," she mut- tered, but when he called her sweetling, she felt warm and ringly all over. Like a schoolgirl. Oh, Lord! "She loves it," Rolf told the salescierk, who was assessing him like a giant cotton candy she'd like to inhale. He squeezed Meredith closer and kissed the top of her head. "No, I don't love it," she argued. "It's ... it's pink. " "And?" "I'm thirty-five years old," she informed the brute in an undertone. "Thirty-five-year-old women don't wear pink." ."They should, " he laimed, but by now his focus proc Was diverted elsewhere. He was gaping at a mannequin 103 SANDRA HILL in the back of the store wearing the undergarment sen- sation of the nineties. :'Bloody hell!" he breathed. 'That's it. No way! Never!" she asserted. "I draw the line at a Miracle Bra. Come on." She tugged on his arm. "Miracle Bra," he said on a sigh, but he followed after her. While paying for his purchases, he remarked to her in an aside, "I have a brother Magnus who would buy a dozen of those, one for each of his mis- tresses." She glared at him dubiously. "He would," Rolf contended. "Magnus has a fond- ness for big tits." Meredith sputtered at that crudity. "Hi, Ms. Foster," Amy Zapalski and Joleen Frank mooned in unison, halting whatever tirade she would have come up with for the coarse Viking. The girls' eyes were glued on Rolf's bulging biceps and tight buns, highlighted when he bent down to pick up a quar- ter he'd dropped. Then their observation moved on to the items he was purchasing. The girls glanced from Rolf to her to the garments, and giggled. Meredith cringed. She just knew the rumors would be flying around campus by moming. Professor in hot pink. Or would it be hot professor in pink? Or professor in pink with hot Viking? Two hours! They'd been in the supermarket for two hours! Meredith had never spent so much time in a grocery store in ' her entire life. Of all the odd things this odd Viking had encoun- tered since arriving so oddly in her life, he claimed that the grocery store was the most marvelous. In the fruit 104 THE LAST VIKING section, he'd examined each and every different item, and she'd had to stop him from eating as he went along. "But where does all this come from?" he'd ex- claimed. "From all over the world." "On ships?" "Some of it." He'd had the same incredulous reaction in the veg- etable department. "Who would have e'er guessed that so many bloody vegetables exist." Then it was the boxes that held all the items in the store, whether they were cereals or pastas or ice cream. "I have neer seen a land with such a reverence for boxes. Hm She'd never ou t abou mm th gh t it before, but she guessed he was right. And metal cans, as well, drew his fascination. But the meat section alarmed him most. "I don't understand. What do men in your country do? What is their role? If they are not the hunters and protectors of their families. .." His words had trailed off in dismay. "Are men not men here?" "Men eam the money to take care of their families," she'd tried to explain. "Well, actually, that's not quite true. Today, in most families, the men and women both work- They share duties equally." "Men are not the heads of the families?" "The roles aren't defined like that anymore." She'd stumbled in her explanation, and she could see that Rolf was still deeply troubled. The more time they spent in the giant supermarket, the more depressed he seemed to get. "What's wrong?,, 105 SANDRA HILL "Tbe excess. There's too much of everything in your land. And it comes too easy. I don't think I'd want to live in such a land. Surely, the men become soft. It's all so confusing." Meredith couldn't argue with that. But now, her cart was overflowing, and even Rolf's energies seemed to be flagging. "What are those?" he asked, nudging her to look at a toddler seated in his mother's cart. The imp was eat- ing Oreos with meticulous detail, taking the two cook- ies apart carefully, licking the icing with the tip of his little pink tongue, then crunching the outside wafers. Rolf licked his lips in imitation. "Those are Or-eo cookies," she said with a laugh. Really, Rolf was like a little boy himself sometimes. She pointed to the shelf behind him. Rolf put three packs in her cart, then added another. There was only one more aisle Meredith needed to hit. Personal products. She bought Rolf some deodor- ant, having to explain its purpose. He sniffed the open Mennen roll-on. "It's accepta- ble, but it doesn't smell as good as your drek." Then she bought him a toothbrush, which he consid- ered a good invention, though shredded twigs had done well enough in the past. She hesitated in one last sec- tion, then threw a box of condoms in the cart. Forget about pregnancy ... a woman couldn't be too cautious about AIDS these days. When Rolf asked what they were, she said she'd explain later. But he was persistent and sounded out the words aloud. "Trojan. Cone-dome." "Rolf. Be quiet," she gritted out. "Why is your face so red?" he asked suspiciously, looking from her to the package. He stopped in his 106 THE LAST VIKING tracks, refusing to move till she explained. After she did, briefly, he gazed at her in amazement, and then said, "And you bought only one box? Hah!" He scooped two more boxes off the shelf and threw them in the cart. , Smiling from ear to ear, he took the cart out of her hands and rolled it toward the cashier. She finally caught up with him at the checkout line. "I'm hungry," Rolf growled. "Let's hurry home." He ran a fingertip caressingly along her jaw, tilting up her chin for a brief kiss. The husky tone of Rolf's voice and the smoky haze of his whiskey eyes told her loud and clear that his appetite wasn't for food. And, Lord help her, Meredith shared the hunger. Rolf kissed her shoulder while the bag boy was stuff- ing their groceries into paper sacks. Even through her sweater, Meredith felt seared by his heat. The minute they left the store, he pulled her into his embrace and pressed his lips against the inside of one wrist, then the other. The whole time, his -eyes held hers with a promise that ricocheted between them. After they'd put all the bags into the trunk of her car, Rolf backed her up against the fender,. bracketed her face with his hands to hold her in place-not that she had any intention of moving-and reall), kissed her. Mouth against mouth. Insistent. Voracious. With age-old expertise, her Viking brushed and slanted and shaped her lips to fit his perfectly. Then he used his tongue to demonstrate the depth of his hunger for her. Meredith's knees would have buckled if she hadn't been braced against the car, pinioned by Rolf's body. Then he pulled back slightly and grinned, as if satisfied with his work. 107 SANDRA HILL She practically crawled into the driver's seat and buckled up,,dien inhaled deeply to calm down. Focus- ing on her driving, she wasn't immediately aware that Rolf had released his seat belt and moved closer to her. Too late she realized that one arm lay across the back of her seat rest. The fingertips of that hand played with the edges of her hair, and the odier hand rested heavily on her knee ... unmoving, but dangerous. "Rolf," she protested, "I can't concentrate when you do that." He grinned against her ear, whispering, "Exactly." She felt his warm breath before she heard the word, and a delicious shiver traveled through the sensitive whorls of her ear, straight down through her body, making erotic pit stops along the way at her breasts and the vee of her thighs. She moaned sorry and turned off the highway onto the local access road leading to her house. "Do you like this?" he drawled, and used the tip of his wet tongue to trace all the shell-like crevices, then dart inside. Meredith arched her neck against the too-intense pleasure that caused her breasts to peak into hard points, and throb. "Don't," she whimpered. "Doesn't it feel good?" he asked with surprise. 'Mat was when she noticed the hand that had been resting on her knee was roving, a forefinger examining the inseam of her jeans. "Open your thighs," he coaxed. She stared straight ahead, trying to convince herself that this lonely road needed her undivided attention. But her legs parted, of their own volition. Now, while his mouth and teeth and tongue played seductive sex games with her ear and neck, his lone 108 THE LAST VIKING fingertip traced a slow path along the inseam from knee to crotch to the other knee, then back again. Slowly. Over and over. Until she wanted to screech aloud with her increasing arousal and the urge to grab his hand and hold it where she needed it most. "How do you feel now?" She remained silent, not wanting to reveal her vul- nerability. "Your breasts," he said huskily, looking at her there, "tell me how they feel." She made a soft mewling sound of resistance, never having talked like this with a man before. Besides, his teasing fingertip was still tantalizing her with its bold exploration. "Tell me," he pleaded. "About your breasts. How do they feel?" She nodded mutely. "Full." "And?" 'She didn't know what to say. "Are the nipples hard?" "Very," she confessed thickly. By now, she was creeping along at five miles a hour. She hoped no neighbors were outside to wonder what was wrong. "Do you want me to touch them?" She felt tears well in her eyes; that was how much she wanted his touch. "I've wanted to touch you in that cat fur sweater all day. Every time you moved or stretched, I pictured Your breasts undemeath, waiting for me." She expected he would touch her then, but, instead, he sat back on his own side. She gave him a sideways glance and saw that he was equally aroused. "What?" "We're home," he informed her with a wry grin. Mortified that she'd lost her decorum so badly, Mer- 109 SANDRA HILL edith pulled into the driveway. She couldn't look at him now; he must be laughing at her. She released her seat belt and was about to open her car door when Rolf put his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her so she faced him on top of his lap, straddling him. "Did you think I would end it so?" he said huskily as he adjusted her against his hardness. "O-o-oh." She began to keen-a low, alien sound for her. He placed both hands over her breasts and circled, crooning over the softness of the angora sweater. "I can feel your nipples," he whispered appreciatively. "They are large and hard." She stiffened against the cataclysmic spirals of plea- sure radiating out from the mounds. But, instinctively, she arched her breasts forward, her arms extended backward holding t)nto his knees. When he took one nipple into his mouth, cloth and all, and began to suckle, they both groaned. A wetness pooled between her legs, and Meredith realized she'd never in all her life been brought to this point of madness by a man, clothed or unclothed. And certainly not so quickly. Or in broad daylight. In a car. My brain must be splintering apart. Then he moved to her other breast and, at the same time, spread his legs wide so that she moved even tighter into the cradle of hips. It's not my brain that's splintering. It's another body part. And, damn, it feels good He palmed her buttocks and showed her how he wanted her to move against him. And she did. While she began the slow undulation he demon- strated, he held her face with his fingers twined in her 110 THE LAST VIKING hair, grasping her scalp. Just before he pulled her lips to his, she saw that his parted lips were slack with passion, his suntanned cheeks flushed, and his eyes am- ber pools of over-the-edge arousal. As his tongue imitated the thrusts of his hardness against the vee of her outspread legs, wave after wave of a bone-meltin climax spun out from her center and 9 she screamed into his mouth. She tried to pull away then, it was tOO much, but Rolf refused to let her go as he began his own climax, grinding against her from side to side. He made a low, masculine sound deep in his throat, and, amazingly, Meredith's arousal, once again, began to build and build and build. When he sucked on her tongue, drawing her into his mouth, and jerked against her hard ... once, twice, three times, she exploded, her thighs trembling with the force of her release. For what seemed like an etemity, but was probably only a few moments, the only sound in the car was that of their heavy breathing as they fought, forehead to forehead, to calm their racing hearts. Meredith avoided his eyes. She was absolutely and utterly humiliated. What must he think of her? How could she slide off his lap gracefully and slither out of the car, without having to face him? "Well, that certainly took the edge off my hunger." He chuckled. "Now we can take a leisurely time with the main course." She made the mistake of looking at him then. He wasn't laughing, or teasing. He was stone-cold serious. She must have gawked because he chucked her un- der the chin playfully. Having no way to exit with dignity, Meredith scram- SANDRA IAILL bled off him clumsily. "Listen, buster, there isn't going to be any main course. This has got to end right here." I 'Why?' I "Because ... because I don't do things like this." "And you think I do?" Then, "What kinds of things?" "Sex with virtual strangers." "Oh, that." "Yeah, that. You and I have got a business relation- ship, and that's all," she asserted as she opened the trunk to get the groceries. Lord, the ice cream was probably melted with all the heat they'd generated. Remaining silent, he took several bags, too, and as they headed toward the front door, she thought, Well, finally, I've got through to the thick-headed fool. Now he understands. But he immediately quashed that misguided conclu- sion of hers by asking, "Would you like to take a shower with me?" She went slack-jawed with disbelief. Was she talking to a wall here, or just a typical male, who heard only what he wanted? "I'll even drek you, if you want." 112 Chap tff Six An ominous rumble of thunder followed by a streak of lightning put a quick damper on Rolf's enticing sug- gestion. "Ah! Thor must be jealous of my woman-luck." "Woman-luck?" Was he referring to her? The nerve-assuffung he was about to get lucky! Or was he bragging that he'd already scored? Oh, all right, she admitted to herself, perhaps she had given him a little encouragement in the car. Well, okay, a lot. But that was no reason for him to- "Yea, the thunder god throws his mighty hammer Mjollnir across the skies, causing lightning bolts, when mortal men offend him. The gods like to think they are the only ones blessed with the love arts." Love arts? she mouthed silently. "Best I be careful, or Thor will tum me into a troll." 113 SANDRA HILL He winked at her before setting his grocery sacks on the stoop. She hated when he winked. It made her feel all flut- tery inside. And one thing thirty-five-year-old women should not be feeling was fluttery. "You already are a troll." "Oh? You have a taste for trolls then? FOr a cer- tainty, you moaned your woman-pleasure for this troll moments-ago." I I She made a clucking sound of disgust. "I did not. He arched a brow. "Perchance you need a re- minder." He advanced closer, running a teasing thumb over her lips. She backed up against the door, her grocery bag clutched to her chest. Another clap of thunder. Rolf grimaced. "You get a reprieve, my lady. I must needs check on that timber afore the rains come." She relaxed. But only for a moment. As he walked toward the sideyard and the longship, Rolf called over his shoulder, "Make ready the drek. This Viking just thought of a few troll tricks." Meredith couldn't help laughing. The light carefree sound carned on the electrified air, surprising her. When was the last time she'd bantered with a man like this? Had she ever? With a sigh, she tumed, scrabbling in her pocket for the key. Before she could insert it, though, the front door swung open. Meredith jumped back, illly ex- pecting another Dark Age intruder to pop out of the woodwork. "Hi, Aunt Mer," her niece Thea exclaimed as she kissed the air near Meredith's right cheek and reached for one of the grocery bags on the steps. "Great 114 THE LAST VIKING sweater, auntie, but did you know you have two wet stains on the front? Oh, don't be embarrassed. You're probably a slob like me. Genetics, don'tja know? I dropped strawberry ripple ice cream on my jeans at the airport. " Meredith just gaped, t(>o shocked by Thea's appear- ance to be embarrassed over her sweater's telltale spots. M%at alien being had invaded her darling niece's body? And, oh, Lord! First a Viking time-traveler, now this ... creature. The twelve-year-old girl's straight black hair was parted in the center and hung down to her rear, outlin- ing faded jeans and a tie-dye T-shirt. Well, that was normal adolescent fare. But normalcy ended there. Black lipliner trained her full lips, filled in with dark purple gloss. She wore so much magenta mascara, eye- liner, and shadow that Meredith was surprised the girl could raise her lids. Greenish-brown enamel covered her obvious - Iy fake, two-inch fingemails. The pibce de r6sistance was a tiny hoop earring in her left nostril. "I hope you don't mind that I let myself in," Thea went on breezily. "I called from the airport but there was no answer, so I hopped a cab. Geez, did you know it costs fifty dollars to take a taxi from Bangor? I only had thirty, and, like, golly, was the cabbie mad! But, not to worry. I remembered where you hide the spare key and went inside. I had to break your piggy bank. Is that okay? I gave the man twenty dollars in quarters, plus a ten dollar tip in dimes. Good thing I listen to so much grunge rock, or I never would have understood some of his. swear words." Thea ended her rambling discourse with a sheepish grin. Setting her grocery sack on the kitchen table, Thea made two more trips for the remaining bags. The whole 115 SANDRA HILL time, she bit her trembling bottom lip. "It's okay that I came, isn't it, Aunt Mer? I mean, Jillie didn't push me on you, did she? Huh?" Meanwhile, the girl had discovered the package of Oreos in the top of one bag and was already scarfing them down.with little yumming sounds of appreciation. "Jillie?" Meredith squeaked out, homing in on the most irrelevant of Thea's words. What she'd like to ask was why her sister hadn't told her Thea was already on her way when she'd called last night. Hah! Probably because she'd known Meredith would explode. "Since when do you call your mother Jillie?" "After I started to get boobs, Mom said we should be more like, you know, sisters. She said she's too young to have a grown daughter. Now we can be best friends. Isn't that cool?" Thea's sad eyes disclosed how uncool she really thought it was. Yeah, real cool! Frankly, as far as Meredith could tell, the girl didn't have much of a bust yet, and she was far from grown up. Jillie, Jillie, Jillie, when are you going to grow up yourself? "Of course, it's all right that you came," she said, giving her niece's thin shoulders a squeeze. "I love having you here. You're my favorite niece, honey." "I'm, like, your only niece," she said, beaming, "but my name's not Thea anymore, you know. It's Serenity." "Serenity?" Meredith laughed. "I thought your mother said it was Gourd." "That was last month." Thea waved the air disnus- sively. "Everyone kept calling me Gordie, which is so- o-o juvenile. Besides, Serenity is more New Age." They grinned at each other. "Aunt Mer, I promise I won't do any ... you know, 116 THE LAST VIKING stuff ... like shoplifting ... or, you know, get into trouble while I'm here. I can't explain why I pull such stupid pranks anyway. I'm not really bad, you know. I'm not." Her eyes filled with tears as she pleaded for understanding. '.'Oh, sweetie, I know that," Meredith assured her, using a tissue to dab at Thea's wet cheeks. Then, seek- ing to lighten the conversation, Meredith commented, "Your makeup is so... so-,, "Cool?" Thea asked brightly, welcoming the change of subject. ,It,s the latest from that new com- pany, Urban Blight. Don't you, like, just love it? This lip liner is called Mildew, but my favorite is Slime. YOu can boff0w it sometime." "Uh, I don't think so." "Jillie does. In fact, I think she stole my puke nail enamel. I'm wearing Sludge, but it's not nearly as awe- some as Puke." Meredith put a hand to her forehead. She might just puke herself with all these disgusting colors staring her in the face. "Holy cow!,, Thea exclaimed then, staring at some- thing behind Meredith. "Holy freakin' cow!" Meredith didn't have to tum around to know what she would see. The'troll. "Oh, my God! Aunt Mer, are you makin' it with Kevin Sorbo? wait till the kids in Chicago hear this. Where's the phone?" "You're not making anY long-dislance calls, young lady," Meredith declared. She would think about Thea's implication that she was "makin' it" with a man later. "Who's Calf in Shore Bow?" Rolf asked, saunter- ing into the room. "You mentioned him afore, Merry- 117 SANDRA HILL Death." Leaning against the refrigerator, he dried rain- drops off his bare arms and wet hair with a dish towel. The whole time he watched with amusement as the two of them watched him. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the steady downpour of rain outside. "You don't know who Kevin Sorbo is? Golly! You look just like him. He's the actor who plays Hercules on TV. He is, like, such a boffo hunk." She blushed at her last words. :'Hercules?" Rolf frowned in confusion. 'You know, the son of that Greek God, Zeus. Her- cules was so strong and brave he was called on to do all these amazing feats. Tell him, Aunt Mer." "Greek? I'm not a Byzantine. I'm a Viking." "A Viking? Whoa! You're, like, a pro-football player? Aunt Mer-e-dith! I never knew you were into sports. "Just the bed sport," Rolf mumbled. "Leastways, a man can hope." The poor man was obviously confused by the whole conversation. Luckily, her niece hadn't heard his remark. "Do you know Warren Moon?" Thea asked. "Nay. Only the gods do war in moons. All my bat- tles have been fought on earth, or sea." "Huh? I meant Warren Moon of the Minnesota Vi- kings." "Oh. I am of the Norse Vikings. We tend to be raiders, rather than plunderers." "Did they sell the Minnesota Vikings to the Oakland Raiders? Hmmm.. You'd think I woulda heard of that. Do you have a Super Bowl ring?" Thea checked out his bare fingers and sighed with disappointment. - "I only wear arm rings. What is a bowl ring?" 118 THE LAST VIKING "Oh, Lord!" Meredith groaned. "Wait a minute. You said Norse Viking. Are you, like, from Norway?" Thea asked. Meredith's head shot up, ahd she gave Rolf a wam- ing glance. She'd already advised him earlier when they were at the mall that it was not a good idea to tell people his time-travel nonsense. Rolf hesitated and rubbed his belt buckle as if choos- ing his words carefully. "Yea, I am from Hordaland ... the Norse lands across the sea." "Thea-I'm sorry, I just can't call you Serenity, my tongue trips over the word-Thea, this is Geirolf Er- icsson. He's come to help with the longship project. Bear with him a little, he's having trouble with the language." "Your aunt is giving me lessons," he revealed, his lips twitching with amusement at her discomfort. "Cool!" Thea said, already heading for the living room, the newspaper TV section in hand. "I'm on spring break for the next three weeks, you know. Maybe I can, like, help with lessons." Three weeks? Meredith felt her stomach chum. She needed an antacid badly. Probably the start of ulcers, or something equally dire, like hormone overload. Left alone for a moment, Rolf added with a deter- mined gleam in his eyes before he followed after the girl, "And I plan to teach your aunt a few things in retum." "Cool!" Thea repeated. Never in a million years would Meredith ask what, but her imagination kicked in with a vengeance. And "cool" didn't begin to describe her vision. 119 SANDRA HILL By nine o'clock that night, Ilea was already conked out in the bed up in the loft that she would share with Meredith. Without makeup and wearing a Mickey Mouse nightshirt, she looked like the twelve-year-old child she was. Meredith's heart went out to the needy girl, but she.wasn't sure how to help her. Exhausted herself by the day's events, Meredith car- ried a pile of linens downstairs to make a bed for Rolf on the sofa. She stopped midstep at the poignant sight of the huge man gazing forlornly into the fireplace. An elbow propped on the mantle supported his tilted head. His free hand held a poker, which he used distractedly to stir the blazing fire. Meredith knew he was distressed by all the "mod- em" inventions he'd seen today, from the mall to'the television, which he'd watched in disbelief for hours with Thea. But she still couldn't accept his time-travel story. There had to be another explanation. The academic in her sought for a logical explanation. She still wanted to believe that her brother Jared or Mike had found this skilled shipbuilder for her, pos- sibly from some primitive region where there were no televisions or malls. She'd drawn a sketch, from memory, of the talisman belt and its hidden "relic," which she intended to fax first thing tomorrow moming to Jared, as well as Jillie and her parents. Perhaps they could do a little research on its background. Meredith was convinced that the unique object was more than a trinket. She prayed it wasn't stolen from a museum collection. Furthermore, Meredith was considering asking Mike to check with his buddies at the local police station to see if there was a missing-person alert for some es- capee from an asylum. Or a con artist on the loose 120 THE LAST VIKING posing as a Viking shipbuilder. Geez, that second pos- sibility sounded ludicrous, even to her. The whole time these thoughts ran through her puz- zled brain, the man in question watched her silently, like a hawk, his golden eyes smoldering. Having show- ered earlier, he wore a pristine white T-shirt tucked into a pair of his new jeans. A rubber band held his long hair back at the nape, exposing the strong line of his jaw and the graceful curve of his neck. His big, narrow feet were bare, and looked amazingly sexy. Not that he needed any help in the sexy department. Oh, Lordy, no. As she approached, he clucked disapprovingly at the sheets and blankets she carried. "I take it that I am exiled to sleep alone tonight." A rush of heat filled her face. "That's right. It wouldn't be proper with Thea here. And, actually, you and I need a cooling-off period." Raising a brow in question, he pushed away from- the fireplace. "And if I do not wish to cool off.?" he asked huskily. "And if I wish to finish what we started earlier today?" He moved only one step toward her, but Meredith panicked, dropping the linens and jerking backward, stepping behind the sofa. She needed to put some dis- tance between them. Every time he got close, her brain short-circuited. Geirolf stopped his advance, but not because of the wench's measly protest. Every time he got close to the witch, he lost his ability to think clearly. And after all he'd seen and heard that day, more than anything he needed a clear head to figure out how to get back to his own time. The wench thought to put him off by wwdng loose 121 SANDRA HILL braies and a matching oversized shirt of black silk-a type of sleeping apparel balled pay-jam-hose. But he already knew what she hid beneath ... by touch, if not yet by sight. When the time was right, she would share his bed ftirs-if he could find a bed fur in this godfor- saken land-and she would wear the sleeping gan-nent preferred by most Viking women ... and men. Bare skin. She would enoy the coupling with him, too. Geirolf had a sense about such matters, based on years of ex- perience and a male instinct for a woman's ripeness. Merry-Death pretended tartness and an inclination to molder on the vine, but he knew better. Her juices were rising and her soft flesh yearned to be plucked. But not yet. Not tonight. Too much depended on the fate of his mission here. His father's trust. The famine. His own honor. The warrior in him sensed danger brewing all around, and he had to be alert. Still, the mating urge roiled his blood, and he fought to bank his appetite. Oh, he'd have the wench afore he refumed to his world. But in his own good time. At his pleasure, not hers. So, she was safe from his advances for now, shiv- ering, foolish female that she was, cowering behind the low bed-structure called a couch. Hah! He'd vaulted many a castle wall and ship rail in his time. Did she really think such a peltry barrier could prevent his tak- ing her? Then, perversely, his pride rankled at her resistance to his charm. No, he couldn't allow her to think she'd got the upper hand. Women should be put in their proper place from the start. "Why do you fight your woman needs?" he grumbled. "Wh-what?" 122 THE LAST VIKING "You want me." "I do not." He snorted a laugh at her lie. "Yea, you do. Oh, your female body doesn't betray you in the same bla- tant manner as a man's," he said, waving downward at the joining of his thighs. She gasped at his crude gesture. Well, betimes a man had to be crude to make his point. Especially when the woman was stubbom. "And your arousal does not stick out from your body like a witless pole, but the signs are there for a disceming man to see. For example, the passion-mist in your eyes.. ." She shuttered her lids. He grinned wolfishly. "Your parted lips and height- ened breathing . . ." She Clamped her mouth closed. He grinned wider. "Your swollen nipples She folded her arms across her chest. Too late. He'd already seen the evidence. And for just a moment he forgot why he was supposed to remain alert. The woman was dangerous. He shook his head to clear it and dropped down to the couch. Patting the cushion next to him, he exhorted, "Come, sit beside me . You are safe from my lustful inclinations.for to night." She balked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Truly. Come. I must needs talk to you about the longship work. I want to start at first light, and there is much to discuss." "What's your hurry?" '.'The sooner I complete the boat, the sooner I can retum the relic to its proper resting place. And the 123 SANDRA HILL sooner I can retum to my homeland. Time is of the essence. " She nodded, although he could tell she still didn't credit his explanation about time travel. Who did she think he was? An outlaw, bent on stealing her posses- sions, or virtue? Probably. Or a demented halfwit? Even more probable. "Relax tomorrow. I have to be at the college by nine, but I'll send my assistant, Nfike Johnson, out to meet with you if he's around. He'll work closely with you on the project. Plus, I need to fill out the paperwork at the business office for your employment records on Monday. I don't suppose you have a Social Security number?" She studied him for a long moment. "No, I guess not. Well, Mike knows some shady characters who could probably get you fake credentials. Lord, I don't believe I actually suggested that. Me? Breaking the law? Jeffrey would laugh his head off." "Who's Jeffrey?" "My ex-husband." "I don't like him." She smiled ... a warm, open expression that made his heart lurch. "I don't either." "When you smile, you are not so plain. In truth, you become almost beautiful." "Thanks a bunch." He'd horrored her with that blunt honesty before. "Jeffrey said my overbite shows when I smile." "Jeffrey is an ass. When we make love, I will draw many smiles from your lips." Her smile faltered. "You promised," she said, edg- ing away from him. "I didn't mean tonight." She rrlaxed. "Most men don't like women to laugh at them during sex. Jeffrey used to say-" 124 THE LAST VIKING "Stop quoting your half-brain past-husband to me. He has naught to do with us," he growled. "Besides, you won't be laughing at me. You will be laughing with me. I intend to bring you much joy." She lifted her shoulders hopelessly. "Arrogance comes naturally to you, doesn't it?" He rolled his shoulders. "There is a difference be- tween arrogance and self-confidence. I know what I know about my capabilities. Now stop bringing the conversation back to sex or I will think you have changed your mind about making love with me to- night." She bristled indignantly. "I did not-" "Shh," he said, putting a palm up. "Tell me how many helpmates you can provide for me. And how skilled are they?" "Well, there's Mike, of course, and roughly two dozen students working with him, male and female. Some of them have minimal carpentry skills, but they're all eager workers. They'll follow your instruc- tions to the letter. However, there's only one mo re week of spring break left. After that, most of them have frill-time classes. So, they'll only be able to help for two or three hours a day, plus all day on the week- ends. " "Hmmm. Perchance I will be able to finish the pro- ject in three or four weeks if I work all the daylight hours. But I must tell you, I have decided to make a second, smaller longship for myself." "What?" She recoiled and started to stand, obvi- ously upset. "You can't do that." "Yea, I can. You see, at first I intended to help you build your longship, then take it for my own purposes ... to retum home." 125 SANDRA HILL "Oh ... oh ... I should have known! A thief!" she fumed, casting him a malevolent glare. - "Now, do not browbeat me. Since I have learned of your honorbound duty to ftilfill your grandsife's dream, I would not do such. But that means I have to build a smaller ship. for my own purposes." "I can't charge those expenses off to the foundation. That would be stealing. Besides, we're on a tight bud- get as it is." He stiffened widi affront that she would think he'd steal from her now. "I will pay for my own supplies from the monies I am paid. And I will work on my own time. You will not be cheated in any way, my lady." "I'm sorry," she said, but her apology didn't take away the sting of her insult. "Okay, so you build two longships. I don't see any way you can get this done in three weeks, though." "I will have to," he asserted. "VVhen Thea and I were playing with your come-pewter tonight, I found more information on the Demon's Moon. I told you there was such an astrological happenstance the night of my shipwreck. Well, the next Demon's Moon occurs on April 28-one month from now." "And you believe the Demon's Moon is somehow connected to a time portal that would let you retum home?" she questioned skeptically. He nodded. "And there won't be another till next year. I have to go soon if I ain to complete my father's quest." She put a hand on his arm. "Rolf, I'm not sure you're telling me the truth. But, assuming you are, chances are you can't do anything that would change history." 126 THE LAST VIKING He stiffened, even though he knew she meant well. "I have to try." She nodded. "So, assuming that you are able to re- store the relic to its rightful place, and the famine ends, then what? Tell me what your life will be like in your ... land." "First, I intend to find Staff Grirmnsson and put an end to his life. He and all his followers will die a tor- turous death for their miserable deeds. Then, I will re- tum to my shipbuilding business. I own a beautiful fannstead nearby on a fjord." "You, a farmer? Somehow I can't picture that." "I get much satisfaction in creating fine ships, and a lucrative living do I make in selling them about the world. In the early days, I was wont to test my vessels on trading voyages, or go a-viking, but in recent years I have not had a yen to travel. Perchance I will go adventuring again, if the mood calls. I can see from this trip that there are many new lands to explore. Tlen again, mayhap this joumey will kill the need to seek new horizons." "Perhaps you're ready to settle down and raise a family." He shrugged. "I did that afore and found no great bliss." "You did?" she asked with surprise. "You've been married?" "Twice." "Twice," she parroted. "Both wives died in the child birth. My first wife I wed when I had only seen eighteen' winters and she sixteen. Ariside died of the childlied fever after deliv- ering a stillbom babe." "Oh, RolL I'm so sorry." 127 SANDRA HILL He rolled his shoulders. " 'Tis the way of things. And it was a long time ago." "And your other wife?" "My second wife, Signe, died five years ago. Her labor came a month too early and lasted five days. She bled to death." "You must have been devastated." 'Yea, 'twas tragic, their dying early and the babes neer having a chance. But I barely knew my wives. The marriages were arranged by my father, and I was gone much of the time." She patted his arm. "You're young. You'll marry again." "Nay, I will not. I have no taste for the married state, and no great inclination to breed heirs. I much resisted the last union with Signe, and only agreed when my father said it would end my blood-duty to him. So, I'll not wed again." She blinked at him with unshed tears. Really, he thought, women went sentimental over the smallest re- alities of life. "Leastways, all my appetities can be satisfied by my mistress, the sweet Alyce. She resides in the market town of Hedeby." She sneered with disgust. "Now, you tell me, Merry-Death. What will you do when you complete your obligation to your grandsire? Will you stay here and be a profess-whore?" "No," she said, still sniffing condescendingly over his mistress. Women tended to be petty in that way. "I only took a sabbatical from Columbia. I'm expected to retum for fall classes." "Expected? But what do you want?" She closed her eyes briefly at the question. When 128 THE LAST VIKING she opened them, he saw bleakness and uncertainty in the green depths. "I really don't know. All my life I've done what others expected of me. My parents. My hus- band. Even Gramps. I can't remember a time when. anyone asked me what I really wanted. Maybe . . . He cocked his head, waiting. actually, I do know what I want. Love." He scoffed. "I've always felt alone. Growing up as a child. Even when I was married. I think I would be happy to give up my career and stay home with a man who loved me, and a houseful of children ... well, at least two." Her eyes were misty with regret, and he remembered her telling him of her barrenness. He took her hand in his and laced their fingers, even when she tried to pull away. "Don't pity me she said. "I don't." "I can always adopt a child. Single women do that today. Maybe that's what I'll do. Stay here and adopt a child. I have a trust fund that would support me. And I could write a book-the kind my parents would con- sider far too frivolous." She cast him a tentative side- long look before revealing, "I've always wanted to write a book on outrageous women of medieval times." "I could tell you tales about a few of those." She laughed and swiped at her eyes with a free hand. He still held her other hand firmly, and found inordi- nate joy in the mere pressure of their two palms. "What about this man who would love you?" "There are none on the horizon, and I've been bumed once. No, I'm. more and more convinced that 129 SANDRA HILL adopting a child is the answer, not hunting for a man to fulfill my life." He wasn't convinced and he wasn't sure she was either. Perhaps it was the odd connection he felt with this woman where their hands were joined. Perhaps it was the lustful fever that still hung heavy in his loins. Per- haps it was that mischievous god, Loki, who inspired his loose tongue. Regardless of the cause, Geirolf was as stunned as Merry-Death when he hauled her close and rasped out, "You could come home with me." 130 Chapter Seven Meredith awakened the next moming to a loud pound- ing noise. She cracked an eye open sleepily to see it was barely daylight. Her alarm clock on the bedside table read 6:00 A.M. As the pounding continued, she realized that it came from outside. Climbing groggily out of bed, she pulled the quilt up over Thea, who was sleeping soundly through the racket. Her first thought as her mind cleared was, Oh, my God, it's practically the middle of the night and that damn Viking is out there building a ship. The neighbors will call the police. Her second thought, following almost immediately on the first, was a recollection of the night before. Oh, my God 77?at Viking actually invited me to go home with him ... to the tenth century. And I'm tempted. I almost wish he were'who he claims to be ... sort of 131 SANDRA HILL my very own Viking in Shining Annor. She giggled at the fantasy. It was absolutely ridiculous that she should feel so flattered by his suggestion. Especially since he'd im- mediately looked as if he was going to have a stroke when the words slipped out. And it certainly hadn't been flattering when she'd questioned him about what she'd do in his land and he'd stuttered and stammered and finally said that he supposed she could be his mis- tress. A s if! Still, his proposal made Meredith feel oddly warm and fuzzy. She lost all her warm fuzzies the minute she stomped outside in her pajamas and saw Rolf in the side yard, surrounded by the completely dismantled longship. "Wh-what are you doing? I'm going to kill you. You've destroyed months of Gramps's work." Do not fret, my lady," he assured her, sidestepping her outstretched arms and holding an axe over his head, out of her reach. "I'd like to give you 'fret,' you jerk." Meredith grit- ted her teeth, fisted her hands and counted to ten. "Now, calm down, Merry-Death. I am merely start- ing over. In the end, it will save time. You'll see." He dropped the axe and walked over, putting an a-nn around her shoulders. "Wipe the tears from your eyes, sweetling. This is man's work. I know what I'm do- ing." Oh, God, I hope so. "And stop calling me 'sweet- ling'." It makes mefeel so ... so ... war?n and fuzzy. Geesh! "There's no such thing as 'man's work' in so- ciety today. So cut the macho tripe." He arched a brow condescendingly. "Really? Well, 132 THE LAST viKiNG thon, helpmate, wouldst thou carry that keel arm down Yon cliffside tO soak in the water?" The keel arm he pointed to was about twelve feet 'Ong and probably weighed two tons. "I wish I could pick the dam thing up. I kno, just what I'd do with it, too. I'd use it like a battering ram to wipe the smirk off your face.,, Grinning wider, he stood, hands on hips in his mod- ern attirl-jeans, T-shirt, ad athletic shoes, with his hair clubbed back at the neck and covered with a base- ball cap- "Were YOu always violent? I admire that in a woman. Like a Valkyrie, you are. Mayhap I will take you a-viking with me some day." "Yeah, what I rea"Y n" is a little raping and pil- laging in my life.,, "Me. too' 1 can't recall the last time I engaged in some good raping and pillaging. And plundering ... don't forget plundering." "DOn't push it, Rolf.,, But his attention had already wandered. He hunkered down and was examining several slender pieces of wood , about seven feet long, which resembled tomto garden stakes. Picking up One with disgust he weig it in his h ds, n it in eh d , s hed height. Inan the raised On an to houlder an expert niove that would have put any medieval warrior to sham, he aimed it like a spear at & refuse pile twenty feet away, making a perfect land- ing. "Lucky shot," she scoffed. "Hah!,, he retorted, elmly pleased at the challenge. With his whiskey eyes flashing, he did the same with five InOre makeshift "spears Only then did he tum and grin at her. .'Show-off!,, 133 SANDRA HILL "Nay, I will show you what is showing off. 'Tis a trick my father taught me." Picking up another ,'spear," he sauntered over and handed it to her. Then he walked ten paces away and tumed- "Now, throw the spear at me." "I will not!" "Do as I say, Merry-Death. You won't hurt me." "I don't know." ,'Do it," he ordered. "And throw it hard, or the trick won't work." "Okay," she agreed, not caring for his domineering attitude at all, "but if I hurt you, I'm going to kill you." He laughed at the inconsistency of her statement, then danced from foot to foot, taunting her. "Come, Merry-Death, pretend I am your past-husband, and I have just told you of my mistress." She needed no further provocation. She threw the spear and she threw it hard. To her horror, it was head- ing straight for his chest. "Oh, my God!" she shrieked. But then, to her astonishment, he caught the spear in midair and, without a pause, twisted it agilely in his fingertips and flung it back at her. The dam thing whizzed right over her left shoulder. "I would have speared you through the heart if I'd been aiming true," he boasted. Good Lord, had he ever really done that in a battle? Had he really killed someone? Of course he had. He'd told her more than once that he was a renowned war- rior, as well as a shipbuilder. But, no, no, no, that was his time-travel story, which she didn't believe. "And this is a skill my Uncle Olaf taught me," he continued. Picking up two spears this time, he threw them simultaneously at the refuse pile, where they 134 THE LAST VIKING landed with perfect Precision atop the others. A trill of alarm went through Meredith. "You read about that in a history book, didn't you?,, "What?" He dusted off his hands and swaggered toward her. "That stuff about King Olaf and the double spear throwing. When you told me the first day you came here that you were related to Olaf Tryggvason, I was curious. Among other things, the sagas relate the fact that Olaf had a talent for throwing two spears at once. In fact, many years after his death, a man called- TrYggvi, who claimed to be his son by a foreign mar- riage, tried to win the throne of Norway. His rivals mocked him, claiming he was only a priest's son. But in his last battle, Tryggvi supposedly flung two spears at once, successfully, and cried out, "That was how MY father taught me to say Mass!,, "Merry-Death, you make my brain spin with all these words. I know not of this Tryggvi person. Many wives and mistresses did Olaf have, in many lands, and just as many sons, legitimate and bastard alike. What is your point?" "My point is that I want you to stop this Viking time-travel nonsense. So, you learned some dumb stick-throwing trick. Big deal! But don't pretend you were doing it with spo-ars a thousand years ago.,, "I do not lie," he said in an icy tone. "You are not a time traveler." "I am." "You are not." He held two hands up in the air for truce. "I yield ... for now, though I do not concede the battle. We will move on to a safer subject. Let me tell you of the biggest problem I detected this mom-the location. 135 SANDRA HILL Why did your grandsire choose this site for building a longship? 'Tis too far from the water. How will we carry the completed ship down that cliffside for launch- ing?" "Gramps had no choice. The college is inland and crowded for space. Gramps had this extra land here, and it seemed the logical place. Besides, it's no big deal to put the boat on a flatbed truck when the time is right and take it a few miles down the road to a docking site." "Well, that may be, but there is also the lack of water to soak the timbers. I must needs build a water trough ... a big water trough. Blessed Balder! Can you imagine how much time and muscle power it's going to take hauling pails of water up that cliffside, or from your keep?" She snickered softly and strolled over to the side of the house. Tuming on an outside spigot, she pulled the hose along with her as she walked back toward him. And the evil side of her nature-the one she'd just discovered since a certain Viking entered her life- kicked in, giving her the perfect opportunity for re- venge. "Let's see you smirk at me again, Mr. Tbis-Is- Man's-Work Viking," ghe jeered, and pressed the lever on the nozzle, spraying him from head to foot. Rolf stood speechless for a moment as rivulets of water7-probably very cold water-ran down his face, knocking off his cap, plastering his clothing to his body. Then a slow smile spread across his lips, just before he leapt forward, tackling her to the ground and fuming the hose on her. She was the recipient of a good soaking then, and the water was cold. Roaring with glee, Rolf reached out a hand and helped her to her feet. She spit out water and strands 136 THE IAST VIKING of hair from her mouth. Only then did she notice that Rolf had abruptly stopped smiling. Instead, he gazed with decided interest at her wet pajamas, now plastered against every curve of her body, like black plastic wrap. "I thought I did not like your pay-jam-hose when I first saw them yestereve," he remarked with a lazy grin. "I have changed my mind." Then, with a shake of his head, he took-her hand, leading her toward the house. "Enough of these games. You must stop trying to seduce me, sweetling." She sputtered indignantly. He chucked her under the chin. "Come, let us go into the keep and make a list of needed supplies. Do not dawdle now, wench." . I must be an adult here. I must not rise to every baiting word he utters. I must not stare at his behind in those wet jeans. "Have you had breakfast yet?" "Yea, I broke fast long ago. Cookies and mead. You will have to go to the grocery mall again." Huh? Cookies and mead? "Oh, Good Lord, did you have Oreos and Bud Light for breakfast?" "Yea. Did I not just say so? Why is your mouth hanging open? The fare was delicious. I ate whilst watching Sesame Street on the picture box. Today I learned the letter X with Bert and Ernie. I've decided X'iS the best letter in your alphabet. Indeed, my fa- @vorite word has the letter X in it." He waited several moments for her to comprehend what word that might be, his amber eyes twinkling with mischief. . .- She laughed, feeling wonderfully carefree and hap- pier than she had in ages. Impulsive. In fact, she decided to try Oreos and beer for break- fast. 137 SANDRA HILL Then again, maybe she should case into this impul- sive stuff. Geirolf had landed in shipbuilders' heaven-the Bangor Hardware Superstore. '.No kidding, man! Who are you, really?" Mike Johnson asked for about the hundredth time since he'd arrived at Merry-Death's keep hours ago, at Merry- Death's instruction. Although it was the Lord's Day, she'd gone into her off-face to work. "I mean, what man gets his rocks off over sandpaper? Sandpaper! Now, Sharon Stone in a carpenter's belt, I could see. But sandpaper? You must've been living in a jungle all these years." "What?" Geirolf replied distractedly, fingering the various grades of abrasive paper piled up on shelf after shelf He threw a half dozen of each in his pushcart. "Do not take offense, Mike, but it appears lackwitted to me that you and Men-y-Death would want to build a longship using the old methods when you have all these modem marvels." "That's the whole point .. to show our students the painstaking labor a'nd perseverance needed to complete a project of this magnitude." "Hah! The rest of yoxi can persevere by rubbing sand onto rough boards and shaving wood with an adz till your fingers ache, but I am not a lackwit. I will use sanding paper on iny ship." Mike shook his head in amazement. "Professor Fos- ter is gonna put your neck in a noose. And it's not just the sandpaper. Wait till she sees those. high-tech ham- mers and gouging tools you've picked out. She wants this ship built exactly the way the primitive Vikings did it." 138 THE LAST VIKING "The hard way, you mean. Isn't that just like a woman?" Geirolf snorted. "And who says I am prim- itive? Mike choked back a guffaw. "You're really into this Viking re-enactment crap, aren't you?" I "Nay, I told you ... I have come from Hordaland- mean Norway. And that is all I am free to tell you. I forswore an oath to Merry-Death not to discuss how I got here." "Now that's real interesting, because she accused me ... or her brother Jared of hiring you." Mike slitted his eyes, studying him suspiciously. "She practically bumed out her fax machine this moming shooting off letters about you and that crazy belt of yours to every university in the country. Even had me run a check on you with the local fuzz." Geirolf had no idea what a fax machine was. Perhaps Mike had meant Saxon machine. Or fuzz. Wasn't that lint found in the navel? He was sore tired of asking "What's that?" about every blessed thing he encoun- tered in this land. He did understand letters, though. "In my opinion, that was one of the biggest mistakes your people made. . . teaching women to write. Bloody hell! You men of Am-eric-hah must be soft in the head. Now your females can not only jabber incessantly in a man's face-Dig the moat ... Clean the garderobes Stop belching-but they can put all their nagging on parchment, as well." ' Mike laughed, rushing to keep up as Geirolf steered his cart around a comer. "And you've shared these opinions with Professor Foster?" "Not yet," Geirolf admitted, exchanging a rueful grin with the younger man. Geirolf liked Mike. The man, who'd seen about 139 SANDRA HILL twenty-five winters, was dressed almost identically to him in den-ham braies, T-shert and running boots. Many of the males they'd encountered that day wore the same attire. Except that Mike's shert was green and had U.S. Army printed on the front. That was the name for Am-eric-hah's military force, Geirolf had teamed. Mike had been a warrior for three years before going back to school, which was very strange to Geirolf's way of thinking. A grown man needing more educa- tion? And his hair! The young man had clipped his blond tresses-there must be Nordic blood.in his family- down almost to the scalp. A gee-eye buzz cut, he called it. Geirolf had never held with that biblical notion that a man's strength was in his hair, but it did keep a man warm on a cold Norse night when there was no wench available for the bedding. What could Mike have been thinking? A woman must have talked him into such a foolhardy action. Probably that Sharon Rock-no, Sharon Stone@reature who had Mike salivating at the mere mention of her name. Mike had aheady told him that his father and mother had died years ago in a wheeled box accident, and his wife had passed away two years past whilst skiing. Geirolf decided he would have a inan-to-man talk with Mike later and help steer him on the better path of masculine behavior. Mayhap he would even show him how to win that Sharon Stone seductress to his bed. Geirolf had spent the moming, after Merry-Death had gone to the call-ledge, working on his English- language skills with Thea. The girl, who looked much better without her face paint, had found a child's "pri- mer" on the Internet, which helped him tremendously. Then-they'd watched two hours of Sesame Street on a 140 THE LAST VIKING public television merry-thong to solicit money. Geirolf wished he had more time; he would relish nothing bet- ter than to meet the mischievous Ernie, who felt like a newfound friend to him in this alien country. Ernie's appearance was unlike that of any child he'd ever seen, but be had big ears like his brother Magnus, and that endeared the "boy" to him. With the help of the talisman belt, Geirolf already had mastered the rudiments of the English language:. He only needed to touch his belt on occasion now when out in society to translate odd words or phrases-the ones not found on Sesame Street or in the grammar texts. Such as the words that drivers of the other wheeled boxes yelled at Mike wheer he cut in front of them. Or the words to the songs Thea's music box played so loudly ... lyrics as peculiar as the ill-named musicians. 'Twas a curious country where men were grateful to be dead. Or a woman was merry in death. Thea was home now, painting her finger and toenails with Black Plague, and blasting the air with the raucous music. Now his attention swerved in another direction. '.'Oh, Holy Thor, I think I am in Asgard," Geirolf said enthusiastically. He soon teamed that they'd entered Am-eric-hah's version of Valhalla, a real man's para- dise-the power-tool section of the hardware store. Mike hooted and sniggered at his fascination with the power tools, but Geirolf could not care. He would give his entire treasure chamber at home for half of these tools of the gods. In the end, it took Mike almost an hour to drag Geirolf away. Only a reminder of wasted time recalled to him the urgency of his Mission. So, it was with a sigh of regret that they pushed their cart up to the wooden box ... a counter ... where the 141 SANDRA HILL store worker took their money and put it in another box ... a cash register. Geirolf's eyes were glazed over when Mike finally pulled him from the store widi their purchases. 'Twas a ndmcle ... all the extraordinary power tools that had been invented. There were saws that moved by them- selves. Drills to bore holes in even the hardest wood with no effort. All powered by something called elect- rice-city, which Geirolf intended to rewmh on the come-pewter when he refumed to Merry-Death's library. Mike had even told him of huge shovel ma- chines, called backhoes, that could dig an entire-moat in one day. Geirolf knew a few Saxon kings and ae- therings who'd pay a fortune for such. "Don't look so glum, Rolf" Mike's lips twitched with mirth as he dumped their packages in the back of his wheeled box. Mike's riding vehicle was different from Mer-ry-Death's. It was blue, and only the front seat was covered by a root The back portion was a long, uncovered box-What else!-for hauling things. "When we get back to Professor Foster's house, you can watch those two videotapes we bought-Bob Vila's This Old House and Tim Allen's Home Improve- ment. They'll teach you everything you ever wanted to know about modem tools." ' When they reached the dirt road leading up to Merry-Death's keep, Geirolf convinced Mike to let him drive his box. After several rough lurches and skidding accelerations, he mastered the technique. And it was a truly exciting experience, speeding along at what Mike said was ten miles per hour. 'Twas like the rush of exhilaration after a fiercely fought battle, or the rush of another kind after a fierr-ely played bout of bedsport. By the time he came to a screeching halt in front of 142 THE LAST VIKING Meny-Death's door, Mike was altemately bracing his outstretched arms on the dashing board and laughing uproariously. Merry-Death stood on her front porch, hands on hips, eyes flaming angrily. Thea, in war paint that would do a Scot warrior proud, stood beside her, smil- ing from ear to ear. "Isn't she magnificent?" Geirolf said, inhaling sharply. "WhO?" Mike slanted him an incredulous glance. "Thea?" "Of course not. Do you take me for a despoiler of children?" "Professor Foster? You think Professor Foster is magnificent?" Geirolf nodded, feeling the usual heaviness in his loins and a strange fluttering in his heart when he gazed at her. "Professor Foster?" Mike repeated with stunned disbelief "You've got the hots for my boss? You must be nuts. I mean ... don't get me wrong, I like Dr. Fos- ter. She's a really nice person. But magnificent? No way! Now Sharon Stone ... that's what I call magnif- icent. " Geirolf shook his head adamantly. "You are young, Mike. Like a horse with blinders,.you are. You weigh a woman's value only with your eyes ... and your cock. " "So?" Mike grinned. "Works for me." "Foolish boy, there is more ... much more." Meredith couldn't believe her eyes. It was six O'clock and not only had Mike and Rolf been gone all afternoon, but Rolf was driving the truck. Even though 143 SANDRA HILL it was Sunday, she'd decided to go into her office, where she'd run into Mike. She'd asked her grad as- sistant to go to her house and meet the new shipbuilder on the project. She hadn't expected him to take off on some great adventure ... and certainly not to put the Viking behind the wheel of a truck. She was going to wring Mike's neck. Then she was going to tackle the big guy, the one who'd been caus- ing her grief all day as inquiry after inquiry brought no answers cortr-eming his identity, only more questions. ..Where have you two been all day?" she snapped as the two men approached, laden with bags imprinted with the Bangor Hardware Superstore logo. "$hopping," Rolf answered blithely, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the lips in passing. "I missed you, sweetling," he whispered against her gap- ing mouth. The casual gesture zapped Meredith speechless. She forgot momentarily why she was so angry and worried. He kissed me. Just like that. He kissed me. In front of Mike and Thea: Oh, Lord, he kissed me. As if he had every right in the world. Mike just chuckled. Thea giggled. Rolf gave Mike a knowing look and winked. "Aaarrgh!" Meredith said, coming to her senses. "I've been so worried." " 'Tis e'er the way of women ... to wring their hands when their men are off to battle." "Battle? Battle? You were shopping." Rolf waved a hand airily. " 'Tis the same thing." Mike dipped his -head sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Dr. Foster. I should have called, but we got sort of, uh, 144 THE LAST VIKING delayed in the power-fool section of the hardware store." Rolf sighed. "I am in love..." Meredith's heart lurched. He met some woman in the hardware store? Antifell in love atfirst sight? Oh, isn't that just like a man? Snag one woman, then go trolling for another. No, no, no! What am I thinking here? He hasn't snagged me. Uh-uh! ". . . with power tools," Rolf finished with a speak- ing grin. He'd Obviously recognized her dismay. "Wh-what?" she sputtered. Sorwwhere along the way, Meredith had become lost in this crazy conver- sation. "Rolf has discovered the grown nian's dream toy- the Power tool," Mike declared with dry humor. "Tonight we will watch Bibveela and Timalley on the picture box. Then you will understand," Rolf ex- plained, pulling two videotapes out of his bag. "Bob Vila and Tim Allen," Mike interpreted. In an aside to Meredith, he mouthed, "Who is this guy?" Meredith's brain swirled, but one important fact seeped through. There was no other woman.,Later she would contemplate the uncalled-for relief that flooded her. For now, she blustered, "Come inside. Dinner's ready, and I have lots to discuss with you two. you,ji stay, won't you, Mike?" "I wouldn't miss it for the world," Mike said, still chuckling. "I can't wait to see your reaction when Rolf expounds his philosophy on feminism." Looping a free arin around Thea's shoulder, he started into the house. "Great makeup, by the way, kid. I don't know about the earring in the nose bit, though. Doesn't Kleenex and stuff get caught there?" 145 SANDRA HILL "Oh, Mike! You're always kidding," Thea twit- tered. I 11 hope we're not having worms again," Rolf grum- bled, patting Meredith on the rump as he passed. She barely stifled a squeal of affront. "I have a ferocious hunger," he continued. "A side of roast boar would be a welcome repast right now. With a slab of manchet bread. I don't suppose. . ." She laughed. "We're having chili and sourdough biscuits. Take it or leave it." "I talked to my brother Jared today. He said that he didn't send you here," Meredith informed Rolf as she ladled out his third helping of chili and Mike's second. She was going to have to retrain herself to cook in volume. "Did I not tell you so afore?" Rolf retorted, still disgruntled that she hadn't stopped for more beer. "How's a man to eat a meal without mead to wash it down?" He'd been grumbling throughout dinner. "Es- pecially this spicy prevender." "So, who told you that I wanted to hire a ship- builder?" Meredith threw the question out noncha- lantly, hoping to catch Rolf off guard, but she saw Mike and lbea raise their heads alertly, and immedi- ately added, "Oh, never niind. You're here now. I guess that's the most important thing." She would have to pick a better, more private time. The phone rang then and Meredith went into the living room to pick it up. Her usually immaculate home was a shambles. Thea's clothes were scattered about. A bag of microwave popcom sat on the coffee table along with an assortment of CDs, not to mention an array of cosmetic products that would tum Mary Kay 146 THE LAST VIKING purple. In the comer was a neatly stacked pile of Rolf's new clothing, as well as his leather tunic and boots that she'd cleaned for him. Outside, the hideous, big- breasted female prow still lay on the patio. Meredith groaned and picked up the phone on the third ring. "Hello." "Mer? You groaned. What's wrong?" a female voice asked in a rush of concem. It was her sister Jillian. "What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong, Jillie' I've got a twelve-year-old girl here who should be with her mother. I've got a Viking longship to build before the end of the semester. I've got a master shipbuilder who thinks he's a real Viking and who honest-to-God expects me to sit and watch Home Intprovement on TV with him tonight. And, if that's not enough, I've got to decide what the hell to do with my future once this project is completed." Jillie let out a Ion breath of relief "Oh, is that all? . 9 I thought it was something serious." Meredith groaned again. "If this isn't serious, what is?" "I'll tell you what's serious, sister dear. It's that sketch you sent me today of a medieval ornament." Meredith was instantly alert. She'd faxed the sketch today to Jillie, her brother, her parents, even a col- league at Columbia. "I've spent the whole afternoon in the archives of a museum library. That belt clasp is magnificent! What materials are used? Oh, don't even try to describe it to me. I'm coming back to the States. I've got to see this in person. We could have the breakthrough of a life- time. As big as the Dead Sea Scrolls or King Tut's tomb. Well, maybe not that stupendous. But we're talk- ing major fame here, hon." 147 SANDRA HILL Meredith held the phone away from her face and stared at it, dumbstruck. Her sister was interrupting her museum work in London, not to come help her child, but to case out some ancient hunk of jewelry? And what was this we business? "Are you listening to me, Mer?" "Huh?" Apparently her sister had been jabbering away. "I should be able to get away from here in two days. In the meantime, could you take photographs and wire them to me? Or more detailed sketches. if photographs would make the guy suspicious. Whatever you do, don't let that guy, or his belt, get away. Steal them if you have to. " "Are you crazy?" A dial tone was her only response. Meredith glanced toward the kitchen where Thea was twittering gaily with Mike and Rolf as they stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned off the table. Thea's mother hadn't even asked to speak to her, or asked about her well-being. She was blinking rapidly to prevent tears from brim- ming over in her eyes when Rolf walked toward her. Waving the two videotapes in her face, he said, "Stop looking so weepish, sweetling. We are going to leam all about power tools." Meredith put her face in her hands, but not before Rolf added, "And I've got des- sert." Somewhere he'd found another bag of Oreos. Maybe they sold them in the hardware store. Thea and Mike followed with four glasses of milk. Jeffrey would have a heart attack if he could see her eating junk food. He was a devout advocate of the 'good nutrition feeds the brain" mantra. And junk TV was an even worse no-no. Unlike her parents, she and 148 THE LAST VIKING Jeffrey had had a television in their home, but he would have put a block on any channel showing anything as lowbrow as Tim Allen. Meredith cringed at that sudden, unwelcome mem- or-y, and then straightened with resolution. Starting right now, she was going to stop that creep Jeffrey from ruling her life. "Great!" she said, plopping down to the couch. "I can't wait." And she really meant it, too. An hour later, though, Meredith's stomach chumed. And it wasn't just the Oreos and milk on top of chili and sourdough biscuits. It was Rolf and the effect TV had on him. The Viking stared, transfixed, at the TV screen, howling' with delight, along with Thea and Mike. Oh, Bob Vila had held his attention, but the Home Improvement klutz was the true hit. "Look at this, Merry-Death. Tim is building a man's toilet. It has a reclining La-Z-Boy seat and a footstool and a built-in stand for his mead and cigar. Is that not hilarious?" Yeah, hilarious. "What's a cigar? Can we buy some cigars tomor- r-ow, Mike?" "Sure," Mike said. "Yech," Thea said. "Abs(ylutely not," Meredith said. On and on, the episodes went. And Meredith realized that she'd created a monster-a Viking whose hero was Tim Allen of Home Improvement. Rolf tumed to her and sighed, "I think Tim must be one of your modem gods. Even his companion, AI ... he is surely one of the lesser gods." "Hardly." Rolf finally clicked off the switch on the remote and 149 SANDRA HILL looked directly at Meredith. "I have a wonderful idea." Meredith's queasy stomach roiled in foreboding. Mike and Thea waited expectantly; they treated Rolf as if he was a god himself and the words he spoke were golden pebbles of wisdom. "Let us invite Tim Allen to come here and help us build our longship." 150 Chapter riglit It was ten o'clock, and Meredith was still on the tele- phone-this time with her mother and father. Seated at separate desks in the office they'd fash- ioned for themselves years ago in the walnut-paneled library of their Princeton home, her parents managed to harangue her with a three-way phone conversation. How many times over how many years had Meredith been called into that inner sanctum to account for her frivolous ways? As if she'd known how to be frivolous! Had she ever really lived up to their high standards of personal and academic excellence? No matter how hard she tried to please them, she was as much a failure in their eyes as Jillie, who didn't try at all. Meredith's queasy stomach roiled, probably portend- ing an ulcer. Coward that she was, instead of fighting back, she took refuge in calling up the invisible wall 151 SANDRA HILL that screened out their condemnations. If she refused to listen, they couldn't hurt her. Meredith instead concentrated on the sounds of Thea moving around upstairs, preparing for bed. Outside, the rhythmic rasp of sandpaper against wood reflected Rolf's obsession to work till he dropped so that he could hasten his trip home. When Meredith considered his inevitable departure, a dullness of spirit weighed her down. Why, she couldn't imagine. Rolf had been in her life only two days, and yet he filled such a need in her ... one she still didn't understand and certainly never realized was there. Who was he? And why had he come into her world? There had to be a reason. "Do you hear me, Meredith Ann?" her mother chided. "You were a daydreamer as a child. Appar- ently you haven't lost the nasty habit. Pay attention, dear. This is important." "Now, Lillian, don't upset the girl," her father in- terrupted. Her father always referred to her as "the girl." She wondered if he knew how offensive that sounded. Probably not. "The girl doesn't understand the importance of the information she transmitted to us this aftemoon. She never.did take her work seriously enough." "She's probably still fixated on that worthless ex- husband of hers. I told you from the beginning, Her- bert, that their marriage would never work. Didn't I?" "Yes, Lillian, you did." "I was never impressed with Jeffrey's Mensa I.Q- After all, he was only a graduate of a state university. And vain ... my goodness, that mustache of his was a clear giveaway." 152 THE LAST VIKING "Well, now, Einstein had a mustache, Lillian. We must be tolerant." "Hmpfh! Einstein didn't chase after young girls and impregnate them. Einstein didn't toss his wife aside because she couldn't have babies. Einstein didn't-" "Enough!" Meredith shouted into the telephone and surprised even herself In a softer tone, she said, "I have to go. Is there a reason for your call?" "i don't care for your tone at all, Meredith Ann," her mother said icily. "The girl always had a problem with self-control," her father agreed. "Just like Jillian." "Aaarrgh!" Meredith contributed. "The reason we called," her mother said with ex- aggerated patience, "is that your father and I discussed the conversation we had with you earlier today, after you sent the fax. And while we still think the workman you hired is incorrect in his statements about tenth- century events, he poses some interesting hypotheses." "Such a . s his impressions of Queen Aelfgifu. And details about the courts of the Saxon King Aethelred in Winchester and King Olaf in Norway during the tenth century. Even ship purchases made by noble per- sonages of that time," her father added. "Did you say Ralph came from Norway? Well, there was constant traffic then between the Norse lands and the North- umbrian trading center in Jorvik. Perhaps Ralph stum- bled onto some long-hidden documents-" "Or Old' Icelandic runic stones that give new data on Dark Age culture," her -mother interjected hope- fully. "If Ralph can read the -futhark alphabet, as you claim, that in itself is remarkable." "Not Ralph, Rolf." 153 SANDRA HILL As usual, her parents steamrolled over her. This time they didn't even acknowledge the correction. "Workmen often uncover vital artifacts and don't recognize their importance. Remember those ancient scrolls, Lillian? The ones that Egyptian stoneworker had stuffed.in his wall?" Meredith could hear the ring of excitement in her father's voice. The thrill of a possible new discovery was the only thing that could provoke such ardor. Cer- tainly his children never had. The only time he'd ever shown her any affection was a gruff hug as a teenager when she received 1500 on her SATS, which was im- mediately dampened by her mother reminding him that Jared had gotten 1550. "Your father is right. The man is probably just an illiterate braggart, 'as many of those workmen at ar- chaeological sites are, but one never knows. The pre- tentiousness of his calling himself a Viking, though, is so ... so ... plebian." "Huh? I never said he was an archaeological worker. I said he was a Viking shipbuilder," Meredith broke in. The collective snicker at the other end of the line was a vocal condemnation of her mental faculties. "Did the girl just use that despicable word?" "Yes, she did, Herbert. I thought we broke her of that trait long ago." "What word?" Meredith asked. "Huh?" her father informed her with icy distaste. "Father," Meredith said with sigh of exasperation, "I'm thirty-five years old. You can stop correcting my speech." "Be that as it may, girl, we'll be arriving on Satur- day." 154 THE LAST VIKING "Wh-what?" Meredith squeaked out. This was the first she'd heard of their coming to Maine. Her stomach pitched, and bile rose to her throat. Saturday? Six days from now? Oh, Lord! "Please make arrangements for us to have a rental car waiting at the airport, Meredith Ann. And try to find decent hotel accommodations nearby." "And whatever you do, girl, don't let Ralph escape until we have a chance to interview him." Escape? How could I stop Ralph, the big galoot. I mean, Rolf the big galoot ... from doing anything he wanted? "I thought you were off to Bombay." "Tsk-tsk, girl. Focus, remember? Bombay was last month. No, we're attending a symposium in Hamburg on Monday. 'The Social and Political Implications of Lime In Tenth-Century Garderobes.' We'll only be able to stay in Maine for two days." "No, no, no ... wait a minute. T7his is not a good idea," Meredith protested. But already her parents had tuned her out. "Make sure you pack the tape recorder, Herbert, and plenty of cassettes." "Yes, Lillian. And don't forget the camera. We might want to take photographs of that medieval belt clasp." "Purported medieval belt clasp, Herbert." "That goes without saying, Lillian." Her father sniffed. They never even noticed when Meredith hung up the phone with a faint good-bye. No sooner did she put the cordless phone on the table than it rang again. Meredith pressed a button en- gaging the answering machine. Enough was enough for one day. 155 SANDRA HILL "l-ii, Mer. Jared here. I talked to Jillie tonight, an . d we agree you've got a live one there. Call me first thing in the moming. I have a million questions for you to grill this guy. He's probably a fraud, but that belt is ... well, if it's what I think it is, it could be a n-tissing link in an important segment of history. And the ship's prow sounds equally fascinating. Be careful, though, sis. Archaeological theft has become an international problem. You don't want to mess with criminals. Call me tomorrow. Oh, and did I tell you, I might be able to fly in next week? I'm due for a vacation anyway." Archaeological theft? Could Rolf be a criminal? No, she decided inmiediately. But what had Jar-ed said in the end? He might be corning here, too? Oh, Lord! She took a big swig of Pepto-Bismol before heading outside to talk to her criminal-in-residence. Wait till he learned about all the company that would soon be con- verging on them. Better yet, wait till they found out a "blue-collar worker" was living with her. "Rolf, why don't you call it a night?". She walked up to Rolf where he worked industriously, sanding the bare-bones framework of a smaller longship that he'd already erected. The pungent odor of freshly cut wood drifted on the wind. "Mike will be here with the stu- dent workers by nine A.M. You've been up since before dawn. Come on to bed now." He stood in one lithe movement, dropping the sand- paper to the ground. "Is that an invitation?" He re- garded her gravely as he swiped a forearm across his forehead. He wore only jogging pants and athletic shoes, and, of course, the talisman belt But that was all. Despite the coolness of the spring air, perspiration 156 THE I-AST VIKING glistened on his face and shoulders and the wide, en- licing expanse of his chest. By the light of a full moon, ghe watched, captivated, as one bead drizzled from his chin down his breastbone, slowly, slowly, slowly to- ward the belt clasp. "Well?" he prodded with a knowing chuckle. Snapping to attention, she shoved a glass of cold iced tea into his hands. "No, that wasn't an invitation. That's an order. You need to rest, or you'll be of no use to me." He grinned at her inadvertent double entendre as he took a small sip of the beverage, testing. Anything other than mead usually held no appeal to his taste buds. Finding the drink palatable, he tilted his head back and drank it down in several long gulps. And Meredith got to admire the sleek lines of his profile. Strong nose and chin. Graceful neck. Full, wet lips. "Love with a Warm Viking" was looking better and better. Rolf placed the empty glass on the ship's frame, and then leveled her with a hard glare. "An order, do you say? Hah! I take exception to your assertion of author- ity over me. In truth, my inclination is to do the op- posite just to prove you cannot bend me to your will widi mere words. Know this, my lady. Geirolf Ericsson takes orders.from no one." "Now wait a minute. Somewhere along the line, you managed to convince yourself that You're in charge of this project." "Oh?" His jaw went rigid, his voice decidedly tense. "Maybe it was when you 'led the charge' at the mall. Maybe it was when you bought all those modem 157 SANDRA HILL tools at the hardware store, against my orders. Maybe it was when you dismantled all my grandfather's hard work, without permission. Maybe it was when you moved into my house big-as-you-Viking-well-please. But understand this, buster ... I'm drawing a line in the sand. I'm the em loyer. You are the employee. And . p from now on you take my orders." Rolf shook his head with disbelief "Have a caution, wench. You pass the bounds of bravery and enter into the realm of foolishness with your lackwit female prat- tle. " . She literally growled. "And stop calling me wench." "I'll call you wench and much more, if I choose." He leaned down so they were practically nose to nose. "You ask when I convinced myself of my greater au- thority. Well, I'll tell you, wench." His warm breath feathered Meredith's lips as he spoke. A shiver assaulted her, but she refused to back away. Actually, she couldn't have moved if her life depended on it, so mesmerized was she by his nearness. "Mayhap I took control because I am Geirolf Erics- son, son of Eric Tryggvason, high jarl of Hordaland, and I was bom to lead," he told her, "Mayhap it was when the gods led me through this hellish time hole to a willful lady whose tongue outruns her good sense. Mayhap it was when I saw the half-brain job done on the longship and knew I could correct the mistakes. Or mayhap-" he besitated and ran his tongue over his upper lip with deliberate sexual innuendo. "or mayhap it was when I tumed you into a mewling kitten of sur- render in that wheeled box of yours yesterday. With a few mere kisses, at that." She gasped at his reference to her lapse in sanity. 158 THE LAST VIKING And how like a man to place undue importance on her indiscretion! Rolf grazed her trembling lips with his knuckles as he straightened. With a laugh, he added, "Imagine how it will be when we finally couple, sweetling. Do you think then that you will lead the play? Hah! I think not. The man leads, the woman follows. 'Tis the way of nature and e'er has been." Meredith sputtered with outrage. Any warm feelings she'd had melted away at his chauvinistic words. "You ... YOU overinflated macho pig. You arrogant, over- bearing, Stone Age Neanderthal. I wouldn't couple with you now if you were the hottest Viking in the world." "Oh, you will not say me nay forever," he assured her with supreme self-confidence. "Your protests sig- nify naught when your eyes blaze invitation." "They ... do ... not." "You think to gainsay me with peevish challenges of my every directive. You mistrust me when I tell of my past and how I got to your godforsaken land. Well, my lady, you are the false one. You lie to yourself when you say you don't want me. You want me with a growing passion, on that I would wager my long sword. And you will have me and my other sword," he said, gesturing crudely to his groin, "or you may not have me, if I choose." That was the last straw. The jerk had crossed over the line. "You're fired, mister." "Fired? Oh, I am fired, for a certainty. So fired I could take you now, on the ground, and plow you to Hel and back." "Not that kind of fired, you lech. You're dismissed. 159 SANDRA HILL No longer employed on this project. I don't want you here anymore." Meredith inhaled sharply at'her own harsh words. Her blistering fury had caused her to lash out without thinking. She wished she could take back her words, especially when Rolf drew himself tall with wounded pride. ,i didn,t mean-,, He put up a halting hand. "Dismissed, you say? You don't want me, you say?" His words hit her like dag- gers. "So be it!" With heart pounding and eyes misting widi tears, Meredith watched as Rolf stormed toward the house. And presumably out of her life. The wench was looking whey-faced and miserable when she came into her homestead a short time later, but he did not care. No one-man or woman-insulted his honor and walked away unscathed. If she were a man, she would be dead now ... or sorely Pruised. "Rolf, I'm sony if I offended you," she stammered out. He could see that her pride had been damaged as well, and that the words came hard. Good. He'd re- moved his modem rajment and donned his leather tunic with the talisman belt. Now he was setting aside the comfortable running boots and pulling on his stiff leather, cross-tied boots. Let her be reminded that he was a Viking, not some weak-sapped modem man that she could push here and there like a lump of dough With a sneer of distaste, he realized that already his man-parts felt a chill without a loincloth. And he would no doubt have blisters on his heels from the chafing of his skin boots, which had shrunk in the ocean brine. 160 THE LAST VIKING Bloody hell! A few days in this strange land and I am getting soft. She put a hand on his arm. "Rolf-" "Unhand me," he said stiffly and stepped away. He had to be careful. The wench muddled his senses every time she got within a hairsbreadth of him. Oh, won- derful! Now her eyes are filling with tears. Here it comes. She will trY every feminine wile to bend me to her wilt But I won't abide such cajolery. I won't! Taking one of the silver arffdets from his upper arm, he handed it to her. "This is recompense for the money you have advanced me. I will no longer be working on your longship." She tried to give it back but he sidestepped her. "When Mike arrives in the mom, I'll give him the other armlet. Perchance he can find a money broker who will purchase it so that I'll have enough funds for food and supplies to complete my longship." "Are you crazy? Those bracelets are probably worth several hundred thousand dollars." He shagged. "Listen, I spoke hastily when I came outside be- cause I was upset. My whole family just announced that they're coming here." "Why did you not deny them your consent?" Her head snapped up as if that thought had never occurred to her. My brother Magnus is right. Remales do have lesser intelligence. "They didn't ask." He snorted with disgust. "No trouble did you have in finding the words to castigate me." "Oh, you just don't understand. My parents badger me with politely spoken condemnations. My brother takes advantage of my fondness for him. My sister 161 SANDRA HILL banks on my guilt and sense of responsibility." She rolled her shoulders helplessly. "It's easier to give in than argue with them.." 'Tis never easier, or best, to give in without a fight. It sets a precedent, and forever after you are easy prey for those who would chip away at your armor." Her face brightened at his understanding. "That's exactly what has happened. They use me." "Just as you were using me?" Her face fell. "No. Of course not. Well, no more than you were using me." He had rolled up several blankets and was now toss- ing some apples and several biscuits into their center. "If you do not mind, I have borrowed these blankets till I can purchase some bed furs on the morrow. The food I will need to break fast since you have warned me against snaring any wild game and cooking it on an open fire. " "Wh-what? You're still going? But where?" "Just outdoors. I'll sleep under the stars near my longship. Even though I no longer work on your pro- ject, I must needs complete my boat to retum home." "You're going to camp in my yard?" "Did I not say so?" Yea, Magnus had the right of it wherefemale intelligence is concerned "But ... but ... what will people think?" "Unlike you, I care not what other people think of me." Scarlet patches bloomed on her cheeks. "I said I'm sorry." "I heard you, wench ... now and afore. And 'tis too late for apologies." He studied her for a long moment, reconsidering. "Do you take back the words?" "Yes. I mean, which ones?" She wrung her hands 162 THE LAST VIKING nervously, looking everywhere but at him. "No, you're not dismissed," she finally mumbled with ill grace. "Ah," he said, folding his arms over his chest, wait- ing till she was forced to meet his gaze. "And the other words?" "The other words? Oh, yes, well, of course I need you for the project." He shook his -head. "Those were not your exact words, my lady. What you said was, 'I don't want you.' 9 I "I just said I needed you for the project. Dam it! What do you want from me?" "The truth. Do you want me?" A soft moan escaped her lips, hitting him like a po- tent aphrodisiac he did not need. "Yes, I want you, but I'm fighting the desire, strenuously." He grinned. Her heightened breathing and flushed skin told him that she wanted him, even without her reluctant confession. Why did she hesitate? "Mayhap you think too much, sweetling," he said tenderly, skimming his fingertips over her parted lips. She inhaled sharply. Did she experience the same shimmering heat that shot through his hand, up his arm, and out to all his sensitized body? "Have you neer chosen the impulsive path?" he asked thickly. "Never." "More's the pity." He stepped closer. She backed away from him, hitting the wall. As skit- tish as a colt she was ... or a mare in heat, he observed inwardly. "Stop smirking," she ordered and slapped at his reaching hand, which had already loosened the broach confining her hair in a tight knot at the nape of her 163 SANDRA HILL neck. Immediately, the mahogany tresses blossomed out and the scent of drek filled the air. He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head and loomed over her. "Why do you trem- ble, Merry-Death? You have naught to fear from me." "You don't intimidate me," she said, raising her prideful chin. He knew she resisted the temptation to duck under his arms and bolt from his presence like a cowardly rabbit. Her courage was impressive, and fool- hardy. For her fate was sealed now that the hunt was on. If naught else, Geirolf was a talented hunter. "Ah, then you tremble for me," he said, his voice husky. The first rule of the hunt was to disarm the prey. He leaned closer and brushed his lips along the line of her stubbom jaw. :'Wh-what? I do not." 'Liar. Already your body makes ready for our mat- ing." He ran a calloused palm over one silk-covered breast, then the other. She rewarded him with a whimper. "Your hardened peaks bespeak the lie, m'lady." While his hand was in the vicinity, he flicked open two buttons on her silk shert. Two, that was all. Parry and retreat, another rule of the good hunter. She stared at him like a doe caught before the bow- man's arrow. He refused to break eye contact. Even the wildest beast of the forest could be mesmerized thus by a good huntsman. After a long pause, he opened one more button. Then another. Her shert gaped open, exposing her breasts. He did not touch her. He just looked, and looked. Under his smoldering scrutiny, the rose-tinted nip- ples bloomed, growing and straining against the lace cups of her undergarment. 164 THE LAST VIKING His throat went dry, and a fierce shudder rippled over him. 'Twas not a good sign. The stalker must always be in control. At first, he could not speak. When, he did, his voice came out hoarse and barely recogniz- able. "Do you ache for my touch as much as I ache to touch you?" Her emerald eyes looked up in appeal, but he was beyond benevolence now. Blood roared in his veins and pounded in his lust-infused brain. When it became clear he would not relent, she nod- ded. "Say the words," he demanded. Her pale face tumed pink with embarrassment, but she yielded. "'Touch me," she whispered. "Please." He needed no more invitation. Looping a finger un- der the front band between her breasts, he pulled for- ward, tearing the garment. Her breasts burst free, and they were glorious, perfect globes of creamy skin and dusky aureoles. With a groan of pure ecstasy, he cupped each breast from undemeath, raised them even higher, then low- ered his head to take one nipple deep into the hot cav- em of his mouth, suckling deeply. She screamed, a high-pitched wail of agonizing plea- sure. Had ever a man heard such a sound from his woman and not felt as one of the gods ... blessed? In reward for such homage, he gave equal treatment to her other breast and had to hold her upright as her knees col- lapsed with weakness. With a laugh of triumphant joy, he scooped her up in his arms, prepared to carry her outdoors where they could couple in private. She did not protest. Not once. Instead, she curied against his chest and buried her warm face in his neck. 165 SANDRA HILL The smell of drek surrounded him, and Geirolf exulted. 'Twas wondrous, this feeling of man-woman as they prepared to make love. "I am so pleased that you surrendered, sweetling," he said huskily against her ear as he nudged the door open with h.is hip. "I feared you wouldn't agree that I ain heading the project." ")"-what?" Her body went stiff as a warrior's pike. "You misunderstood. I'm heading the project. Not you." She scrambled out of his arms. Her eyes were still slumberous with passion. Her hair flowed every which way in wild disarray. Her nipples continued to glisten from his kisses. But her mood was fast changing. That was more than obvious when she braced her hands on her hips and scowled at him. "I was surrendering my body, not my authority." He stepped back. "I'll not work for you, Meffy- Death. Either I head the project, or I'm not involved at all. No more of this 'I am the employer, you are the employee' business. No more bloody orders." Her shoulders slumped. "That's one concession I can't make. I direct the Trondheim Venture. I give or- ders. That's the way it has to be." Like ice water from the North Sea, her words dashed his excitement. How could he have misread her body signals? Damn her, and damn all willful womn who would not bend to a man's better judgment. She gave him no choice. "Then we have naught else to say to each other." With that, he stormed down the steps, picked up his blanket roll, and left the keep. His pride was still intact. His heart was not. 166 Chapter Nine Two days later Thea was on the patio painting bright red nipples on Ingrid when Meredith arrived home. The girl had already given Rolf's figurehead a base coat in a flesh tint where the flaking "skin" was exposed. Now she was refurbishing Ingrid's finer points. "Hi, Aunt Mer." Meredith could barely hear her niece over the music blasting from the CD player at her side. The raucous musicians were named some ridiculous appellation like Nine Inch Screws, or was it Nine Inch Nails? What- ever. The lyrics were incomprehensible, though un- doubtedly vulgar. Meredith's parents were just going to love Thea's music; their tastes ran more to medieval dulcimer. "What are you doing home so early, Aunt Mer?" "Mike called and asked me to come talk with Rolf again." His exact words had been, "Beg the man, Dr. 167 SANDRA HILL Foster. We're in deep shit here." Meredith leaned against the patio door and continued, "Mike said he and the college kids aren't making any headway on the project. They're bungling more than they're building. Meanwhile, Rolf's ship is going up like gangbusters." "Rolf is, like, so cool, Aunt Mer." Cool? Hardly the adjective I'd use. "He's nice," she conceded. "Nice? Nice? Peanut butter is nice. Rolf is, like, industrial. Can't you make up with him?" " 'Making up' isn't what this is about, honey." Just then, Meredith noticed that her niece wasn't wearing her usual grunge makeup. Hallelujah! One fewer thing for my parents to complain about. "You have beautiful skin, Thea. Really beautiftil skin. I never realized how pretty you are." "That's what Rolf said. He made me stand in front of a mirror, first. with my makeup, then without. And he didn't tell me which one was better. He just asked me which one I prefer. Because that's the most impor- tant thing, you know. Not trying to impress other peo- ple. Just beini happy with myself." Was Rolf's counsel to Thea supposed to be a not- so-subtle message for me? Meredith wondered. "Well, that's very good advice, sweetie, but what brought that discussion on?" "Oh. I'm not sure. We have lots of talks. Rolf never treats me like a kid. He says children become adults when they're only twelve years old in his country." Thea put her paintbrush down and tilted her head in concentration. "Now I remember. We were talking about his sister Katla. She married a Viking prince from Normandy when she was only thirteen-they marry young in his country, you know. Anyhow, Katla 168 THE LAST VIKING was always unhappy with her hair. Like, it was so blond it was almost white. So-o-o, one time she dyed it with walnut juice." Thea giggled. "It took six months for the stain to work out of her hair. And her forehead. And her hands. In the end, it tumed out that her prince lo-o-oved her white-blond hair. That is such a totally cool story, don'tja think?" Oh, yeah! I wonder why Rolf doesn't share these personal reminiscences with me? Hah! Maybe because I never believe anything he says. Maybe because I ig- nore him most of the time. Or try to. "I'm glad you now recognize the importance of natural beauty. I no- tice you still have the nostril earring, though." "Hey, let's not take this inner beauty stuff too far. Besides, Rolf said that if you can wear jewelry on your nose, he supposed my nostril ring wasn't so bad." "Huh?" Geez, did I really say "huh?" Again? I'm regressing here, big time. "Rolf thinks those silver-rimmed spectacles you wear perched on your nose are a kind of nose oma- ment. Like my earring." Ilea's eyes danced merrily as she related that information. They both laughed companionably then. "Have you had lunch yet?" Meredith looked at her watch. It was only twelve-thirty, and she hadn't accom- plished anything at her office. She might as well stay home today. Work on some lesson plans. Shampoo her hair. Ogle Rolf "No thanks, Aunt Mer. Rolf is making all of us a Viking feast outside on an open fire." Meredith immediately stiffened. Oh, Lord! "Not ... oh, please don't tell me it's going to be fresh-killed rabbit. " Thea smirked. "Rabbit? Geez, Aunt Mer, where do 169 SANDRA HILL you get these ideas? No, he sent Mike and some of the college girls to the supermarket. They couldn't find a caldron or spit anywhere, though, not even in Wal- Mart. They finally bought some cast-iron contraptions from an antiques store. Mike bougfit some old furs for Rolf there, too. They are, like, totally awesome." "Furs?" Meredith said weakly. What next? Meredith didn't have to wait long to find out. Sniffing the air, Meredith realized that Thea had been telling the truth. The scent of food cooking on a wood fire waited through the air. She wondered idly if there was an ordinance against that sort of thing in this neighborhood. Maybe not. "By the way, Aunt Mer, I hope you don't mind. Mike put an extension cable on the TV so that we could watch Home Improvement tapes outdoors. He'll bring the TV set back in later." Meredith shook her head at the irony. Primitive cooking on an open fire and television. "Rolf is totally buggin' over that program, you know. In fact, Aunt Mer, he's, like, adopted Tim 'The Toolman' Taylor as his hero. Isn't that so cool?" Yeah! Real cool! Another thing my parents are going to love. "Is it true that Grandfather and Grandmother Foster never had a television set when you and Mom and Uncle Jared were growing up?" Meredith noted that Thea had taken to calling her mother "Mom" again, and not Jillie. Another change for the better. "It's true, hon. 'Junk food of the masses,' our par- ents called TV. To this day, they don't have a televi- sion." "Yuck! They are such brainiacs." That about says it all, Meredith agreed. 170 THE LAST VIKING "Wait till they get a gander at Home Improvement," Thea remarked with a mischievous grin. Meredith grimaced. "The show that epitomizes male chauvinism and stupidity, that glorifies working with the hands, rather than the brain. Oh, Lord!" "Like, I can't wait," Thea said enthusiastically. "i can," Meredith said and put a hand to her fore- head. It seemed she had a nonstop headache these days. "Do we have any Extra-strength Tylenol left, Thea?" "Nah, you emptied the bottle last night. You know, when Rolf walked out of the shower in his, whadja- callit, loincloth." Thea grinned again. Even though Rolf refused to stay in the house, or eat with them, he couldn't quite give up his ihowers. He insisted on paying Meredith for the use of her bath- room-a ridiculous ten dollars a shot. She suspected that he was in and out of the house repeatedly during the day when she was at the office. "Yo, Dr. Foster. You and I have got to have a heart- to-heart," Mike asserted, coming from around the side of the house. Meredith's jaw dropped practically to her chest. Mike was wearing a long-sleeved, collarless, deer- skin tunic that hung down to mid-thigh and was belted at the waist with a three-inch tool belt. His bare legs led down not to a pair of flat-soled boots, like Rolf's, but instead to hiking boots with no socks. The image was ludicrous considering Mike's close-cropped blond hair. "What in the name of God are you doing?" Mere- dith asked, barely stifling a giggle. A flush stained Mike's cheeks, but he raised his chin haughtily. "Rolf said it would be a good idea for all of us to dress the part to make this a truly authentic 171 SANDRA HILL project. By the way, toots," he said, addressing Thea, "where's your Viking babelet gown?" "In the house. I didn't want to get paint on it," Thea answered, looking up at Nfike adoringly. "Ahem!" Meredith coughed, drawing Mike's atten- tion back to her. "I thought Rolf was refusing to give you any advice." "He is ... on the longship project. But he doesn't mind sharing information on the Vikings themselves." "How big of him!" Meredith observed snidely. "Rolf was right, Dr. Foster. Everyone feels more in the spirit of the project when they're dressed appropri- ately. And isn't that what your grandfather really wanted from this project-to teach young people about another way of life?" "Well, maybe," she conceded, sticking her head around the comer. Sure enough, the dozen or so stu- dents were dressed like Mike and Rolf Some wore the same collarless, thigh-length tunics over tight-fitting trousers, with the shirts gathered in tightly at the waist with huge belts. A few had simple capes thrown over one shoulder and attached with round metal pins, in- stead of the traditional ornate Viking broaches. Their modem "broaches" sported such logos as, "Go Ea- gles," or "Long Live the Grateful Dead," or "Party Night at Sigma Nu, You Might Get Lucky," and even one that said, "It's Not the Way You Fish, It's How You Wiggle the Worin." The college girls looked darling in braided hair and long-sleeved linen shifts covered with calf-length, open-sided Mother Hubbard-style aprons attached at the shoulders with garish bronze broaches. "Where did they get all this stuff.?" she asked, tum- ing back to Mike. 172 a THE LAST VIKING "Some of them went to the local Society for Crea- tive Anachronism. Some to Goodwill. But mostly the kids made their own outfits. The fabric was real cheap, and the belts and broaches are just dime-store items," he said defensively, giving Meredith a clue that the money had come from the project kitty. She relaxed. "Well, I suppose-" "Would you have any problem with our using the damaged lumber to build a longhouse out by the swim- ming pool?" "Wh-what? Absolutely not. Where's Rolf.? I want to talk to him. Now! What happened to his tight time schedule? A longhouse! Oh, I'm going to kill him. Where is that damn Viking?" "Must you shriek all the time, MerTy-Death?" Rolf said, coming up behind her. Mike and Thea hurtied off, leaving her to face the man alone. "Truly, every sea- gull from here to Iceland has flown away with all your caterwauling." Because she'd had to present a progress report at a faculty meeting that moming, Meredith wore a black silk peplum suit with a knee-length skirt, nylons, and high-heeled pumps. Even as he criticized her "cater- wauling," Rolf leaned lazily against the house, arms folded over his wide chest, and made a sweeping as- sessment of her outfit. It was hard to miss the appre- ciative widening of his whiskey eyes at the vast stretch of exposed legs. "I was not shrieking," she sadd, disconcerted. "i merely said ... Rolf, are you listening to me?" "Huh?" His eyes were still riveted on her stockings, not to mention her fitted jacket and the modest cleavage where a single pearl on a gold chain nestled. Then a 173 SANDRA HILL slow grin crept over his lips. "Just how high do those scandalous hose go?" "High enough," she snapped, her face flushing with heat. "Really, my attire has nothing to do with ... aaarrgh! ... what are you doing?" This time she really was shrieking. Rolf reached an arm downward and was proceeding to lift the hem of her skirt to check for himself on the hosiery. She slapped his hand away and told him, "It goes to the waist, and it's called pantyhose. Now, can we get back to the reason for my coming home-to talk to you?" "Hmmm," he murmured, his attention now centered on the pearl pendant. "I have an emerald necklet in my treasure casket at home ... bartered from a Rus trader in Novgorod. I would'give it to you if I could. 'Twould match your beautiful eyes, sweetling." He flicked the pearl with a forefinger. Her bare skin undemeath felt seared by his brief touch. "Oh." She sighed involuntarily. "Oh," he said at the same time, throatily, with ob- vious surprise. 'Men his amber eyes went heavy lidded and smoldering. In an instant, the brush of his forefin- ger across her skin had acted like the abrasion of a match, striking instantaneous fire in them both. Alarmed at the sudden wave of turmoil that flooded her, she backed away, through the patio door and into the house. He followed after her, drawing the door shut and clicking the lock in place. She backed into the comer by the fireplace, out of view of any who might pass by outside. Did she do so accidentally, or because she wanted privacy to be alone 174 THE LAST VIKING with Rolf.? Had he missed her as much as she'd missed him these past two days? Did he want her as much as she was beginning to want him? With arrogant presumption, Rolf snaked one hand around her nape and used the other hand to haul her hips up flush against his. And, oh, Lord, he had missed her. A lot. "I don't think-" she started to protest. "That's right, dearling, don't think," he finished for her. Incorrectly, of course, but Meredith couldn't man- age to get the words out to set him straight. Rolf had lifted her by the waist and pushed her against the wall, her high heels a good foot off the floor. With his hips holding her in place, belly to belly, Rolf proceeded to do what he'd intended all along. With a rumble of supreme male determination, he ran his callused palms over her silk stockings, from the creases of her knees, over the bicks of her thighs and buttocks, up to the waist, hitching her skirt up along the way. "I'm going to have dozens of snags," she choked out. "Yea, you are good and truly snagged now, wench," he misinterpreted and undulated against her once in demonstration. Bolts of white-hot arousal shot out from that point to all her extremities, and Meredith blinked with wonder. She hoped her eyes weren't bugging out. Then he pulled away for a second to allow space to hike the skirt up to her waist in front, too. He flipped up his tunic as well so there were only her pantyhose and the thin fabric of his loincloth separating them. Before she could slip down to the floor, his hips were back in place, locking her to the wall like a rag doll. "Who is in charge now, Merry-Death?" he said 175 SANDRA HILL huskily against her ear, reminding her of their ongoing battle. Even his hot breath felt like a caress, but she refused to answer. it was so unfair of him to carry their dif- ferences over the longship project into this personal arena. He laughed at her unspoken resistance to his ques- tion, and Meredith feared he would take it as a chal- lenge. He did. Bending his knees slightly and canting his pelvis for- ward, he fitted his arousal with perfect accuracy into the vee of her legs. Her senses reeled and a soft whim- per escaped her throat. "Was that an order I just heard, Dr. Foster?" he asked, taking her hands, which had begun to push against his shoulders, and raising them above her head. Lacing her fingers with his, he placed them against the wall. She shook her head. "Is this how Vikings go about raping and pillaging? Is this how you subdue your cap- tive women?" "Nay, this is how," he replied silkily. And Meredith comprehended even before his head began to descend that she'd stepped into his trap. "Wet your lips," he demanded. She should have refused. Instead, she obeyed. Her only satisfaction was his quick intake of breath. He nodded with approval, and then coaxed, "Part your lips." She obeyed. His erection lurched against her. "Arch your neck and raise your mouth to meet mine." His order this time was a barely discemible whisper. 176 THE I-AST VIKING He tOOk her lips then with a savage intensity, catch- ing her moan in his open mouth. Rapaciously, he forced her lips wider to take his thrusting tongue. To her shock, Meredith found herself welcoming his rough invasion, drawing on his tongue, kissing him back. Never breaking the kiss, Rolf molded her mouth with wet, clinging expertise. He directed her without words on how to make her lips pliant, how to please him most. When the pulsing sensation between her legs began to throb and spiral outward with delicious agony, por- tending a too-hasty, too-violent climax, Meredith tried to tear her mouth away and tighten her thighs together. "No!" she cried out. Understanding far too much, Rolf nipped her bottom lip with controlled aggression. "Shhh, sweetling, let me." It wasn't a request. "But I don't want ... oh!" Somehow in her passion- induced state, she hadn't realized that her hands were still raised above her head, voluntarily now, while his hands had been busy undoing the buttons on herjacket. His golden brown eyes glittered with erotic excitement as he gazed at her lace-covered breasts, then eased the fabric aside. He didn't have to order her to bow her back and thrust her aching breasts forward. She did so out of a primordial need for his male touch. And, oh ... o-o-o-h! It took a mere flick of his callused fingertips over the swollen nipples for her to whimper and spread her legs, wrapping them around his waist. With a guttural growl, he put his hands on her nearly bare buttocks and rocked her, first gently, then hard, hard, hard till the agonizing pulse grew and grew and 177 SANDRA HILL grew. They both exploded against each other in a wild rush of overwhelming ecstasy. At some point, Rolf's legs must have given way for she awakened from a brief swoon-the first of her life-to find herself on the floor, with her legs still clamped around his waist. He looked stunned. She was pretty stunned herself. And mortified be- yond belief. Geirolf leaned against a tree and watched Merry- Death through slitted eyelids as she skittered amongst her students. She'd resisted Thea's urging to change into an extra Viking gown, and instead donned a pair of jeans and a huge sweating shert emblazoned with, "I Am Woman, Hear'Me Roar." He smiled as be read the message. He already knew how she could "roar." He much preferred her in the gan-nent she'd wom earlier-the one that exposed ber long legs and a good portion of her bosom. Or the cat-fur sweat-her she'd wom to the shipping mall several days past. He wouldn't tell her of his preferences yet, though. At this moment, he was not pleased with the wench. Oh, she talked to the young people in a normal tone of voice about the project and other sundry matters. They sat about the fire nibbling at the meal he had provided for them on wooden trenchers: chunks of beef swimming in a thick gravy served over slices of un- leavened manchet bread, which they called pita bread in this land. And she laughed gaily when admiring their attire, but he knew the gaiety was forced. The wench was as nervous as a cat on hot coals. And with good reason. She'd escaped his clutches after their near coupling 178 THE LAST VIKING an hour past. But not for long. He knew it. And she knew it. Geirolf couldn't believe he'd spilled his seed in his breechcloat like an overeager youthling. For the second time. The wench with her wanton hose had seduced him into an overpowering loss of control. And his re- lease, though not attained in the mode he would have preferred, had been gloriously exquisite. Whilst he mis- liked the woman's ability to tum his brain to gruel and his bones to butter, he could scarce wait to see what their actual bedding would be like, if this foretaste was any indication. "You're not eating," she commented, coming up to him finally. He noted that she maintained a good dis- tance betwixt them, as if she thought he might pounce on her. Mayhap he would. "I would prefer to finish the meal you offered, then took away afore I had a chance to fully ... ah, in- dulge." His words brought a stain to Mer-ry-Death's cheeks, which amazed him after her uninhibited display such a short time ago. "Well, that was a-" she gulped-"mistake. Not to be repeated." He laughed, causing several students, as well as Mike and Thea, to glance their way. For her ears only, he whispered, "Nay, not a mistake. And, for a cer- tainty, to be repeated. Again and again and again. Ex- cept I intend to lead the loveplay in future. I intend to give the orders." "It seems to me you gave enough orders already," she blurted out, and he could see she wished the words had never escaped her lips ... lips that were still swol- len and bruised from his kisses. That reminded him of 179 SANDRA HILL how much he enjoyed kissing Merry-Death. The way she responded so readily. The ardor with which she refumed his deep kisses. The kittenish puff she emitted when- "Stop that! Stop it right now!" "What?" His forehead furrowed with puzzlement. "Looking at my mouth like ... like..." He arched a brow. "Like a hungry man?" She moaned. "Rolf, this is serious." "Yea, 'tis." "No, I mean we have to behave in a more serious, professional manner. I came home from the office to- day t6 talk to you about our differences over the pro- ject, and -instead-" "Instead you enticed me with your harlot hose. 'Tis how women throughout the ages have attempted to set- tle differences with their menfolk. Tsk-tsk! Somehow, I expected more of you, being a professional woman and all." "I did not entice you," she snapped indignantly. "You're the one who assaulted me. No wonder you Vikings have a reputation for raping and pillaging. It must come naturally." "Assault? Do you say I assaulted you? Is that what you called it when you moaned your need into my mouth? When your green eyes tumed molten with ap- peal? When you locked your warrior thighs about my hips and knocked me to the floor?" "Warrior thighs? Wanior thighs?" she sputtered, shoving a palm into his chest, and then immediately stepped back when she saw the students gaping at them. "Ah, you misread me, wench. Warrior thighs are an 180 THE LAST VIKING asset for a woman. Better to clcnch man and horse alike." "Aaaffgh! "Your nipples are peaking." She looked down in horror, then cast him a dispar- aging scowl when she realized he could see nothing beneath the huge shert. "They are not." "Mayhap I am mistaken." "Mayhap your brain is lodged between your legs." He grinned. "For a certainty." "You're impossible." :'Yea. 'I'is one of the things women love about me." 'Do all Vikings have overinflated egos?" He pulled a face at her. "You confuse self- importance with self-confidence." "Are you going to take over the project again?" :'Are we changing the subject?" He laughed. 'Yes, we're changing the subject. Look at this," she stormed, waving a hand in the air toward the two un- finished longships. "Mike and the students barely have a framework up for the project vessel, while yours will be done in no time." He shrugged. "With my time freed from managing the project, I've been able to spend all the daylight hours working on my boat. And, of course, I.have no reservations about using sandpaper and modem wood fillers. Tomorrow I'm going to have Mike take me to Hardware Heaven again-" "That's Hardware Superstore," she corrected. "I know that, wench," he said, tweaking her nose, "but to ' a man who works with his hands, it is indeed heaven. As I was saying, I intend to buy some power tools. Mayhap a drill and an electric saw. And duct 181 SANDRA HILL tape. I have heard that duct tape is man's best friend." He jiggled his eyebrows at her. "You are not using modem tools on my longship." "Tsk-tsk-tsk! You are not listening, my lady. These are for my longship, not yours." He tapped his front teeth pensively. "I just had a wonderful idea. Mayhap I will make another purchase, too. A motor. Yea, I will be the first Viking with a power motor in my long- ship. " "You ... you-" she fought for words "-you wouldn't! " "Merry-Death, Merry-Death, Merry-Death, you dis- appoint me. When will you leam.not to rise to every bait a man throws your way? Nay, I'll not spoil a good ship with a motor. However, I've been studying the motor in Mike's wheeled box, and since he got me a sew-shall sack-your-tea document today, along with a travel pass-a passport-I am contemplating. . His hesitation should have given her a clue. ". . . getting my driver's license tomorrow. And buy- ing my own wheeled box. A car, not one of those trucks that Mike prefers." "Oh, my God!" Merry-Death used the expression overmuch when talking to him. It no doubt meant he overwhelmed her with his wisdom and cunning. "Perchance, do you know a good wheeled-box mart where ... ?" he started to ask, tentatively. Merry-Death narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. He loved her sea-green eyes, even when narrowed shrewishly. ". . . where a Viking could purchase a ... longcar?" She made a choking sound before spinning on her heel and stalking toward the keep. To search for an- 182 THE I-AST VIKING other of those magic pills of hers, he would wager. Let her cure her head megrims any way she could, for she will not plead an aching head later when he came pre- senting his own magic. And his magic wasn't in a pill. 183 Chapter Ten Meredith's sister Jillian swept into their lives that eve- ning like a summer storm over his beloved Vestfjord Valley. All bluster and no substance. She wore tight black braies of a stretchy material that would surely catapult her all the way to Iceland if a man pulled on the waistband and let go. On top, her breasts strained against a silky white shert that went down to her thighs and wrists but was cinched in at the waist with an oversized, metal-studded belt. Several opened buttons provided an impressive cleavage filled in with a handsome gold-and-amber necklet similar to those made by the Coppergate artisans in Jorvik. Matching loops hung from her ears, which were ex- posed by the oddest hair. The color was the same dark reddish-brown shade as Merry-Death's, piled atop her head in disarray, but strands of gold ran uniformly 184 THE LAST VIKING through it. He didn't think the sun could produce such an effect. Mike and the students had left for the day, and dusk approached as Jillian hugged Thea over and over, then sent her outside to carry in the vast amount of baggage she'd brought with her. Turning to him and Merry- Death, Jillian asked bluntly, "So, are you two lovers?" "No!" Merry-Death said. "Yes," he said at the same time. Jillian looked at each of them, her crimson lips curv- ing up with amusement. 'Tis a question of definition," he explained, ig- nonng Merzy-Death's coughing fit. "We are not lovers," Merry-Death said emphati- cally and speared him with a sidelong glare. "T hired Rolf to work on the longboat project. He's a ship- builder from ... Norway." She'd warned him in a ner- vous rush when Julian's hired box drove up earlier that he was not to discuss time travel, ancient Vikings, or anything that would cause her sister to know his true identity. Not that Merry-Death believed his explana- tions. And he didn't appreciate her referring to him as ancient, either. He wagged an admonishing finger at Merry-Death. "Nay, you misspeak our relationship. I was hired to direct the project. Is that not so, my lady?" A speaking silence ensued in which Jillian mouthed the words "My lady?" at Merry-Death, and then nar- rowed her eyes, watching them far too closely. He no longer required the talisman's magic to help him translate their strange language, except for the " oc- casional tongue-twisting words. Although he'd always mastered foreign tongues with ease, he was certain the 185 SANDRA HILL relic had helped speed his lessons this time. Finally, Merry-Death's shoulders slumped with res- ignation. "That's right. Rolf is directing the physical work on the project, and I'm handling the paperwork and liaison with the foundation committee. We're ... partners." Her,last word came out tentatively, and she held her breath, waiting for his reply. Damn, but the woman was willful. He should take an excessive time contemplating her impertinent claim. But compassionate man that he was, he nodded, and she released a sigh of relief. Later, she would pay for testing him so. "Mom, where do you want this luggage?" Thea asked, huffing into the room, overloaded with leather boxes of all sizes named for the biblical hero Samson. Jillian raised a questioning brow at Mer-ry-Death, who said, "Upstairs. You can sleep with Thea. I'll use the sofa. " Jillian's eagle eyes then swerved to him in specula- tion. "Rolf prefers to sleep outdoors under the stars," Merry-Death answered for him. Geirolf made a soft snorting sound of contradiction as he passed MexTY-Deatli on his way to relieving Thea of her burdens. She put a halting hand on his arm and whispered, "Will you help me, really? Will you re- sume work on the project tomorrow?" "Yea." She tilted her head in surprise at his swift compli- ance. "All you had to do was ask, sweetling. Not order." "Sweeding? How quaint!" Jillian observed. "Oh, you are the most exasperating man!" Merry- Death said. 186 THE LAST VIKING He grinned at her and couldn't resist leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from her parted lips. "Not lovers, huh?" Jillian hooted. He jerked back. Merzy-Death had a way of making him forget where he was. And how could it be that his lips tingled from that mere touch? Amazing. How much more intense would the tingling be if some other parts of their anatomies connected? "Lordy, lordy, you two dww off more sparks than a bonfire." A rush of pink flooded Meny-Death's cheeks. He winked at her, einvisioning a hundred different things he could do to make her blush even more. He could scarce wait. Meny-Death jutted out her mulish chin, not her most attractive feature. As she stormed past him, leading the way to the stairs, he remarked to Jillian, "Your sister needs a lesson in the womanly arts ... how to be more biddable." Meny-Death stumbled but didn't look back. Jillian chortled with laughter. Thea was walking up the stairs, backwards, in front of them all, grinning from ear to ear. "You see, Merry-Death gleans all her teaming from books, whereas her real-life education is sadly lack- ing." "How interesting!" Jillian opined. Merry-Death snickered and muttered something about Vikings who were full of themselves. "You see, men in this land have a perfect hero to emulate-" "Oh, no!" Merry-Death exclaimed, scowling at him from the upper corridor. "Tim the Toolman Taylor!" Thea whooped. 187 a SANDRA HILL Jillian joined Merry-Death in the hallway, her mouth forming a little circle of astonishment. "Your hero is Tim Allen, the actor on Home Im- provement?" Jillian asked incredulously, and then burst into another fit of laughter, throwing an arm over her daughter's, shaking shoulders. Even Merry-Death put a hand over her mouth to stifle a smile. Why did these thick-headed women not understand the heroic qualities of the much-maligned Tim? When Julian's laughter finally subsided into mere giggles, she slapped her thigh with delight. "And who, pray tell, Mr. Viking, would be the heroic equivalent for women? Who should we emulate to become more- what did you call it?-biddable?" He did not much relish their laughter at his expense. And, really, females were all half-brained, chirping for explanations about every bloody thing. Well, he would enlighten them, good and proper. "Martha Stewart." "Martha Stewart!" all three women chirped in uni- son. "Yea. I watched her on the picture box this mom whilst breaking fast. By all the gods, she is a wonder. In less than an hour, she baked twelve loaves of bread, poured concrete for a rock garden, pruned an apple tree, and crocheted a tablecloth. And not once did she badger a man to come to her aid." "Is this guy for real?" Jillian asked MerTy-Death. "I'm not sure." "You women could learn much from Martha. In truth, 'tis what I told Sharon Stone yestemoon when she complained about her busy schedule." "What did you just say?" Merry-Death shrieked. Really, if he were not so smitten with the wench, he 188 THE LAST VIKING would have to tell her that her voice made his eyes water betimes. "You talked to Sharon Stone?" "Did I not just say so?" She put a hand to her forehead in that etemal female pose of "My lot in life is suffering and woe ... and men are the root of all evil." It was a good sign, in his opinion. She was weakening. "Mffiere ... how did you talk to Sharon Stone?" "On the telephone. What a marvel that black box is! " "Why did you call Sharon Stone? And how in God's name were you able to get her number?" "Hah! 'Twas not easy, I will tell you." He put the travel cases on the floor and leaned into the corridor wall. '4You know that Mike yearns for this woman, though I cannot see her appeal. Too coarse, if you ask me. And I must confess, Merry-Death, I do not believe she was bom with blond hair. My sister-by-marxiage, Gilda, looks just like Sharon, except-" "Aaaffgh!" Meredith shrieked, again, causing his eyeballs to flinch. Next would come the watering. "Will you get on with your explanation." He cast ber a disapproving scowl, and continued. "Mike wants the woman, and I was showing him how a Viking would handle the snaring." "Snaring? Snaring? Are you talking about snaring a woman?" Merry-Death sputtered. "Exactly how is this snaring done?" Jillian was not quite so appalled at the notion of men snaring women. "Straightforward. No muddling about with milksop pleas or sweet virginal dalliances. Just tell the woman, 'I want you.' " He thought for a moment. "Or else just take her. That is, of course, another method. 189 SANDRA HILL Some women don't want to be asked. Yea, that is my usual strategy. 'Twas my mistake with you, Merry- Death. Too much muddling." "God, I'm glad I decided to come," Jillian chortled. "You are going to be so-o-o good for my sister." "Well said!" Geirolf commented enthusiastically. Then he went back to their previous discussion. "Sharon cannot come to Maine, unfortunately. She is acting out a story for the TV box. But she invited Mike to come visit her in Holly-Forest." "Tell them who else you called, RolL Tell them," Thea urged, jumping up and down with glee. He brightened. "Oh, did I forget to inform you, Merry-Death? Tim and AI are coming here to help with your longship project. They will bring a picture box crew with them, too, to make a flummery, a pretend story, about Tim building a longship in the courtyard of his keep." Merry-Death went speechless, her lips trembling with words that would not come out. In truth, she re- sembled his Great-uncle Biolf when about to have a fit. No doubt she was overcome with awe at his ability to adapt so well to her country. He puffed out his chest, continuing, "And Tim's overlord will pay yoti. So there! You may thank me later for adding to the sorely depleted coffers of your project." "Tim and AI?" she squeaked out. Leastways, she did not shriek this time. "Tsk-tsk. You are not paying attention. Tim Taylor and AI Borlund." "You've been making all these long-distance calls on my phone?" she inquired weakly. "Yea. And believe me, I had to make dozens of them afore I got the correct numbers. Agents. Picture 190 THE LAST VIKING Guilds. Ted Tumer. Tart-tongued upper-ate-oars." Meny-Death put her face in her hands. 'Twas a fa- vored gesture of hers when talking with him. "I want an aspirin. " "Ass-bum? Now? Well, well, well, Merry-Death! It sounds rather perverted to me, and your timing is odd-" he paused for only a moment "-but I'm will- ing, if you are." He threw his arms out in invitation. Jillian and Thea howled so hard tears streamed down their faces, but Merry-Death stared at him as if she'd been poleaxed. Sometimes, he decided, 'twas wise to poleax a woman. In one form or another. Hours later, Geirolf sat drinking mead at the scullery table while Jillian endlessly examined his belt clasp under a magnifying glass. She'd done the same with his arm rings before that. For some reason, he didn't mention the hidden relic, which was revealed only when a secret bead on the gold work was pressed just so. From the very beginning, he'd told all to Merry- Death, without hesitation, and yet he'd held back with her sister. How curious! -But he didn't want to dwell on such ruminations now. He was bored. And in a rare lustful mood. Oh, the lust itself was not rare, but the fierceness of his need for Merry-Death was becoming nigh over- whelming. Merry-Death had gone upstairs a short time ago with a glass of wine to soak in something she called a bub- ble bath. He would like to see that. Yea, he would. Instead, for the past hour, he'd listened to Jillian ooh and aah over his belt clasp, when he'd much rather have Merry-Death ooh and aah over another of his pos- 191 SANDRA HILL sessions-a mite lower down his belly-and clamoring for attention. "Why are you glaring at me?" Jillian asked. He refused to answer and grabbed his belt out of her hands. " 'Tis time for sleep. I must be up at first light.'" The last thing on his mind was sleep. "I'm not very tired," she said, slitting her eyes at him. "Why not leave the belt with me to do a few more sketches? I can retum it to you in the moming." Hah! No doubt she planned to scramble off with the talisman in the dead of night and place it under guard in some dusty museum. Or sell it to the highest bidder. "Nay," he asserted emphatically, "you have examined and scribbled enough." The flash of vexation in her eyes, which she quickly masked, told him that slyness was second nature to her. She cared for herself and her own greedy ambitions first and foremost. That was evident iii her neglect of her daughter. Not to mention her current flirtatious flut- tering of eyelashes and not-so-accidental brushing against his body parts. He was buckling on his belt and'walking toward the outside door when she called after him. "My sister isn't woman enough for you, you know. I would be the far better choice." His step faltered and he tumed slowly. "What a faithless wretch you are. Does family mean naught to you?" She shrugged. "I love my sister ... Oh, don't look down your nose at me, Viking ... I am fond of Mer- in my own way." She stretched her arms over her head, presumably to remove the kinks from her long sitting, but more to tempt him with her form. 192 THE IAST VIKING It was a very nice form, but he felt no inclination to see more of it. Or to try her charms. Still she persisted. "I've never made it with a Viking before. Have you ever done it with a jewelry maker? We have really good ... hands." She gave him a slum- berous meaningful glance and flexed her fingers. He shook his head with disgust. " 'Twould seem some things neer change. In every land and every time, a snake in the grass is still a snake in the grass. You are cut of the same cloth as that biblical Jezebel." "Don't be such a judgmental prude. We're talking about a little hanky-panky, not a freaking marriage. Be- sides, it's plain to see that you and Mer haven't done the deed yet, and probably never will, if I know my sister." Angered by her perfidy, he stomped back to the table and jabbed an admonishing finger into her chest. "Whether we have or not, she is the woman of my choice, and she is your blood kin. Have you no shame?" Jillian's face flushed red at his rejection. Then she threw her hands up in surrender. "Hey, it's your loss, buddy. You'll see. Mer is sweet and all that. Too sweet, actually. Some men get tumed on by that niceness, but they soon lose the itch when they realize how unim- pressive she is. A wimp." "A wimp?" "Weak." "Are you demented? Merry-Death is the strongest woman I have e'er met. Well, aside from my mother. Whate'er obstacle the fates throw in her path, she meets the challenge with the mettle of a seasoned warrior. Neer does she run from her honor-bound duties." He 193 SANDRA HILL addressed the last remark to her pointedly, referring to her lack of matemal responsibility. "You don't know Mer as well as I do," she said, glossing over his criticism. "She's always trying to please. Always failing. I learned a long time ago not to dance to the music of other people's dreams, but Mer is still running in place, trying to memorize the right dance steps." He cocked his head in puzzlement. "From the time we were kids, my parents set such high standards for us. Impossible standards. Jared, our older brother, came closest to meeting the grade. He had the best marks in school. The most serious person- ality. Never got into trouble. If Mer is boning as a rock, Jared is a concrete tomb." He bristled at her disparaging words, but Jillian jab- bered on. "Jared was super-intelligent. He moved out when he went to college and never came back. But the damage was already done. He's become a clone of Mother and Father ... an academic workaholic with no social life." "And Meny-Death?" he asked. Despite his misgiv- ings about listening to this loathsome woman's prattle, he wanted to know more about Merry-Death's past ... why she was so skittish widi him. "Meredith was pathetic, even as a little girl. Some- how she got the idea that our parents would love her if she met their standards." He made a grunting noise of disbelief "Parents do not set conditions on their love." She arched her brows in disagreement. "Ours did, and still do. And while Jared has flown the coop, and I stopped jitterbugging to their tune long ago, Mer is still trying to please them ... to eam their love." 194 THE LAST VIKING His heart ached with sympathy for Merry-Death. Having been raised in a loving household, he cringed with sympathy at the cold atmosphere that must have formed her early years. "Mer did the same thing with Jeffrey, her husband," Jillian went on spitefully, and Geirolf's ears pricked up. "She smothered him with love. Oh, I know that he left her for, that young bimbo he was screwing, and I know he got the girl pregnant, but there's no question in my niind. If Mer had been more of a woman, Jeffrey never would have left. Even if she'd been able to pop out babies like Pez candies. As I said, she's pathetic." Geirolf stiffened angrily. "Mer is all woman. Any person who fails to see her worth is blind. Furthermore, there's strength, not weakness, in the fealty she lavishes on those she loves." "You use the most archaic language. Where did you say you were from?" Jillian's forehead creased with concentration as she studied him. "Anyhow, I don't know who you are, or where you've come from ... yet. But I do know that you find me attractive." He exhaled wearily. So, they were back to the se- duction. His lack of interest should be more than evi- dent. "I saw the way you stared at me earlier," she ar- gued. "You tum me on, too, Viking, in a primitive way. " His lips curled with revulsion at her lack of loyalty toward her sister and the too-blatant invitation to share her bed. "A man's pole will rise to most any bait, but it takes a woman with more than surface beauty to hook the fish. You, my lady, are a poor fisherwoman." "And you think Mer is better in the sack than me?" Her mouth slackened with incredulity. "Listen, if 195 SANDRA HILL you're worried about Mer, she doesn't have to know. We can go outside. I don't mind sharing a sleeping bag." "I use bed furs." "Even better." He groaned at her perseverance. "Cast your hook elsewhere, my lady," he chided. "This fish is taken." Her eyes widened as if suddenly enlightened. "Good Lord! My sister has landed herself a Viking. The nerd and the stud." Jillian leaned back in her chair and scru- tinized him as if he'd grown three heads. "You're in love with my sister." "Nay, I am not," he denied. Am I? His heart began to thud madly as he pondered the outlandish sugges- tion. Is it true? "Why would you say such?" he blurted out, wishing instantly that he could bite back the ques- tion. She smirked as women are wont to do when they believe they have won some battle with a man, though why his affection for her sister should count as a sign of defeat for him he could not fathom. "I suspected it the first time I saw you together. You can't keep your eyes off Mer." "I doubt that I watch her overmuch," he demurred, "although she is pleasing to the oye." He resolved then and there, to keep a close rein on his traitorous eyes in future. "Besides, a man looking at a woman does not signify love." "You touch her every chance you get." "Now, that I know to be a falsehood. I am very careful about touch-" He caught his mistake at once. Had he really revealed a conscious-or was it uncon- scious?-effort on his part to control his impulse to touch Merry-Death? 196 THE LAST VIKING "And the way you defended Mer to me a little while ago ... well, anyone could tell you must love her." "You mistake chivalry for some romantic notion," he satid with finality and departed huffily from the house. The bothersome wench's laughter followed after him. Regardless of his protests, Geirolf was unable to stop thinking about Jillian's suggestion. Deep down in his soul, he feared she might have discovered something he hadn't realized himself Girding himself with resolve, he vowed, Nay, I do not love Merry-Death. I will not allow myself to fall in love with her, or any other lady. But in that moment, he knew. Somehow, some way, he had managed to fall in love for the first time in his life. And the recipient of his reluctant affections was almost a thousand years younger than he. How could that be? I do not want this. What future could they have? None. He would retum soon to his time, alone. Alone. Why, after all these years of cherished free- dom, does the solitary life no longer appeal? Well, 'twas for the best, he decided, laying out his bed furs near his half-completed longship. She was too different from him. And it wasn't just their disparate cultures and times. She worked with her mind; he worked with his hands. She dreamed of a quiet family life; he carried the blood of Viking adventurers. She deliberated too much afore making decisions; he acted on instinct. He liked Oreos, she preferred pasta wonns. Ah, but what would it be like to mate with a woman he loved? With Merry-Death? That enticing image lingered. And lingered. And lin- 197 SANDRA HILL gered. It would not go away as he tossed about restlessly in his bed furs, unable to sleep. I am doomed On the other hand, he made much ado over naught. Perchance if he said the words aloud-nay, not aloud- perchance if he said the words in his head, he would see how foolish the proposition really was. So, that's what he would do, Geirolf decided. Scrunching his eyes closed, he clenched his fists, fortifying bimself for the ordeal. He might have been preparing for a brutal battle, or a dousing in the frigid North Sea. I love Merry-Death, he said, testing. Then, it was as if a volcano erupted in his brain. The words poured out in an unending stream, like lava. I love Merry-Death, I love Merry-Death, I love Merry-Death, I love ... With that terrifying recognition, another equally ter- rifying prospect occurred to him. Was it possible that his destiny was not to replace the relic? Was Merry-Death his destiny? It was midnight and Meredith was still basking in her grandmother's deep, footed bathtub-an extrava- gance her grandfather had provided for his beloved wife when putting in the large modem bathroom with its shower stall. Thank God for his extravagance. And his love. She kept a thin stream of hot water running, and every once in a while dumped in more scented oil to replenish the bubbles, using her big toe to release some water so it wouldn't overflow. Oh, the memories of Gram coming upstairs at the end of the day for her nightly soak. The secret smile 198 THE LAST VIKING she and Gramps used to exchange. The scent of roses permeating the small house. Was that why Meredith had continued to buy the same bath product over the years, although she hadn't dared use it when Gramps was in the house for fear it would bring him too much pain? Did she associate the fragrance with love? Jeffrey had detested the perfumed oil. Too flowery. She adored it. Taking another sip of white wine from the crystal glass on the tub ledge, Meredith leaned her head back, her hair dangling in a wet swath over the back edge. The house was quiet. Jillian had stopped in a half hour ago just before going to bed. Even Jillie hadn't been able to upset her tonight with her prodding questions about Rolf, his background, where he came from, her feelings for him. On and on she had grilled her, but for once Meredith had stood her ground. "Tomorrow, Jillie. Tomorrow, I'll explain it all to you." So, Jillie had gone off to sleep with her daughter. For the first time in days, she felt at peace. No cares about the project. No worries about her personal ftiture. N.o compulsive need to think and plan each little aspect of her life and work. No being on constant guard against Rolf's tempting presence. Maybe she should take life like this soothing bath ... go with the flow. The door clicked open behind Meredith and she re- alized that her sister hadn't gone to sleep, after all. "I hope you're not going to renew your interrogation, Jil- lie. Hand me a towel, will you? My skin is beginning to feel like a prune." "Now that is something I would like to test for my- self." A deep masculine voice chuckled. Geirolf feasted on the sight before him. Merry-Death 199 SANDRA HILL let out a little squeal and tried to sink deeper into the water as he neared the tub. So, this is a bubble bath. Bloody hell, there are a few things about this land I would not mind taking b"k with me to the past. Bubble baths. Power tools. Merry-Death. "Shhh," Geirolf said, coming up to the side of the tub. "We would not want your sister storming in here to the rescue. No doubt she would launch a fierce as- sault to protect your virtue." The cynicism of his tone must have alerted Meredith. She studied him for a telling moment, then exclaimed, "Oh, good heavens! My sister put the make on you, didn't she?" Her lack of jealousy surprised him, giving him no time to fabricate a story. " 'Twas naught of impor- tance. " "Hah! Maybe not to you. Listen, Rolf, you've got to understand my sister. She gives the impression of being overconfident, but deep down she's insecure. My parents always made us kids feel ... well, lacking. Jil- lie's method of handling the continual criticism was rebellion ... and cockiness." He shook his head at her. "You are amazing, Merry- Death. I cannot credit your making excuses for your sister's guile. She attempts to lure your man into her bed, and you call it a trifle. Well, I consider it more than mischief, I tell you." "Rolf, you are not 'my man.' You are just ... Oh, never mind. And you're right. I do make too many excuses for Jillie. Do you know@" she hesitated, and then divulged "-l suspect that she made a play for Jeffrey while we were married." And that weasel Jeffrey probably succumbed. Poor Meny-Death! Always the victim of those she loved 200 THE IAST VIKING most. Before he had an opportunity to offer solicitude, she went on. "What are you doing here anyway?" "I thought perchance I would take a shower," he lied. "Liar!" She laughed. "You've already taken two showers today." He raised a brow. "You've been counting the num- ber of showers I take. Hmmm. Mayhap you have been imagining yourself in there with me." "I have not," she said indignantly, a becoming color suffusing her cheeks. A good guess, he decided with immense satisfaction. She had been picturing them both thus occupied. "Besides, you can't just walk in here when I'm taking a bath. You're going to wake everyone up." "No one will know I'm here if you soften your voice. Has anyone e'er told you it has a decided screech to it?" "Rolf, you've got to respect my privacy." He could tell he made her uncomfortable. She made him uncomfortable, too. "Hmpfh! With all the people coming in and out of this keep, when do you and I get to,have some much-needed privacy? It occurs to me this is the only chamber with a lock on the door." Looking askance at the bubbles that were starting to diminish slightly-not enough, to his mind-she reached over to a low shelf and poured a dollop of liquid into the tub, causing more bubbles to erupt. At the same time, she lifted a big toe from the water and flicked a silver lever, which immediately caused water to gurgle out. Then she flicked her toe in the opposite direction. "Bl6d hel! Do that again and you will have one large Viking in the tub with you." 201 SANDRA HILL "Do what again?" She cast him a startled sidelong glance. "That exotic trick you just did with your toe." He smiled at her. His wench was very talented. He won- dered idly what other talents lay hidden beneath her prim exterior. "Stop smiling at me like that." He smiled wider. "And stop staring at me. It's not decent. Oh, what are you doing?" After locking the door, he'd pulled a short stool closer and sunk down onto it wearily. Then he stretched out a hand to the bottle of bubble lotion, plac- ing it at the opposite end of the ledge, out of Meredith's grasp. Meredith studiously avoided looking at the hem of Rolf's tunic, which rode up when he sat down, knees spread, exposing way too much hairy calf and thigh. "I asked you a question. What are you doing here?" Resting his elbows on the side of the tub, he smiled lazily. She hated it when he smiled lazily. "Waiting for the bubbles to evaporate," he said. "Oh," she squeaked out and sank a bit lower in the tub. Now, he was tracing a forefinger through the thick layer of bubbles, making a path of letters that imme- diately melded together. "I-L-O-V-" "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked in a panic. Surely, he hadn't been writing what she'd thought she'd seen. He jerked back his hand, as if just realizing what he'd been doing. "Practicing my alphabet," he said. Liar. "Mayhap you would like me to practice my letters 202 THE LAST VIKING on your skin. Prune skin, did you call it when I walked in?" She closed her eyes as a tingling awareness passed over her, almost as if he were actually; tracing the words on her flesh ... words she yeamed for and at the same time resisted with her whole being. "Merry-Death," he said gently, a note of despera- tion in his voice, "do you tingle when I touch you?" Her eyes shot open. Could he read her mind now, too? "Not when I touch you intimately, but just in pass- ing. Like that fleeting kiss I gave you earlier? Did you tingle then?" He gazed at her with such abject bleakness as he asked the question. She frowned with confusion. "What's wrong, Rolt? Why are you asking me these questions?" He shrugged. " 'Tis something your sister suggested to me." Meredith bristled. "Was that before or after she at- tempted to jump your bones?" The grimness of his expression lightened and he chucked her playfully under the chin. And she did tin- gle, dam it. "After." "Well, then, what did my sister suggest that has tumed you so grim?" He was back to tracing letters in the bubbles with seemingly idle concentration, but she could tell that he was deeply troubled by something ... something Jillie had suggested to him. What could it be? Meredith had no deep, dark secrets. He lifted his head and held her eyes. "She said ... she said that I am in love with you." 203 SANDRA HILL That was the last thing Meredith had expected. "I ... I. . . " she sputtered. What she wanted to say was, "Are you?" but she didn't have the nerve. For some reason, his answer was far too important to her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she tumed her face toward the wall. Her vulnerability was crushing her. Not so much because she was naked and he was not, but because she felt so ... needy. With a forefinger against her jaw, he forced her to face him. "I denied it ... at first." At first? Oh, my God! "But I fear that Jillian made a wise assessment." "She did?" Meredith's white knuckles clutched the sides of the tub in desperation. If she didn't hold on tight, she just might sink and drown in two feet of water from the sheer passionate lethargy that swept her torso. "What are you saying, Rolf.?" she whispered. "I think ... Nay, I cannot hide behind cowardly words of hesitation," he confessed huskily. " "-Og el- ska big. " "What?" "I love you," he translated in a low mumble. Then louder, "I love you. May the fates have mercy on us, but I do. I love you, Merry-Death." 204 Chapter Eleven "You love me?" Merry-Death choked out. The scarlet flush of arousal on her face faded to pale cream, and her luminous eyes widened with anxiety. If her white-knuckled fingers clutched the tub's edge any tighter, she might break through the porcelain, Geirolf wasn't offended. He understood her panic. Had he not fought the same urge to run like the wind when Jillian first suggested to him that he loved Merry- Death? Regaining her composure, Merry-Death laughed. It was a false laugh, one of those unattractive sounds peo- ple make to cover their real emotions. "Ha-ha-ha," Merry-Death said. "Great joke, Rolf, but you don't have to give me that old line. I've already decided to have an affair with you. So you don't-" "You have?" Grinning at her from where he re- mained perched on a stool, chin propped on his stee- 205 SANDRA HILL pled hands, he could scarce keep from jumping into the tub with her-tunic, boots, and all. But first, he had to make himself clear. " 'Tis not a line, as you name it. 'Tis a statement of fact. I wish 'twere not so-we have so many obstacles in our path. I do not want to love you, Merry-Death, but there 'tis. I love you." She made a kittenish mewl of distress, and he couldn't tell if she was pleased or not. Since he'd never uttered those three dreaded words to a woman afore, he had no experience to draw on. "I'm telling you, Rolf, you don't need to soft-soap me to get me in your bed. You won that battle days ago." He chuckled. "But I would much relish soft-soaping you, sweetling, if the exercise even remotely resembles drekking you." A smile twitched at the comers of her lips-lips that he anticipated kissing very soon and very thoroughly. "Have I told you how much I enjoy the scent of your drek, almost as much as the flowery bath oil that permeates this bathing chamber? I will neer smell roses again without thinking of you." Merry-Death's head snapped back, and she gave him an uneasy look. Why would she be surprised that he cherished the fragrances associated with her? But he had another question. "What is this 'affair' you have decided to have with me? Is it a perversion?" he asked hopefully. Meanwhile, he trailed his fingertips idly through the dissipating bubbles, giving him a murky vision of the glorious body beneath. "You are outrageous," Merry-Death proclaimed, but she didn't seem sad about that. "An affair is a fling, a casual relationship that both parties know will end in a short time." 206 THE LAST VIKING Geirolf drew himself straight. "Nay, there is naught casual in my sentiments for you. Do not dismiss me in such a light manner, my lady. It demeans what I offer you. " "And what, exactly, are you offering me?" she in- quired tentatively. I 'My heart." "Oh, Rolf." Her eyes filled with tears ... happy tears, he would wager. She started to say more, but then stopped. "Look, this isn't the place to discuss this. Would you tum around so I can get out of the tub?" He grinned. "You may certainly stand, but I'm not such a lackwit that I would tum away." "I'd feel more comfortable talking to you on an equal basis, fully clothed." "I could remove my gamients," he offered. She tsk-tsked at him, just like his mother. Well, not exactly so. The dreamy expression on her face was far from matemal, praise the gods! "Come, Merry-Death, stand and let me dry you off. Then we'll see about the business of ... uh, discuss- ing." She sank deeper into the tub, her chin skimming the water's surface. The stubbom wench! "Coward!" he taunted. Her eyes flashed green fire for a moment before she stood with a whoosh, splashing water over the rim. He wanted to clap or give words of praise for her bravado, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his arms lay frozen at his sides. She was magnificent. Standing stone-still in knee-deep water, she stared boldly back at him, allowing him to study the lines of her trim body. Like a Byzantine marble statue she was, 207 SANDRA HILL all sleek planes and enticing curves. With her wet hair combed back and her proud chin held high, she pre- sented a face that was not beautiful but nicely formed. Flawless skin. High cheekbones. Straight nose. Thick arched brows over crystalline green eyes. Full, kissable lips. Nay, he amended, she was beautiful ... to him. Her breasts were round and firm, the size of pome- granates, the nipples and surrounding aureoles a lovely shade of dusty pink. He adored her breasts and would show her how much-later. She was slender, but not overly so. A narrow waist tapered out to full hips that framed a flat stomach and indented navel. He promised himself an extended ex- ploration of that territory with his hands and tongue, mayhap even his teeth. Yea, teeth would be interesting. He forced tis eyes to move on to long, clean-shaven legs that joined at the most enticing spot of all, a patch of dark brown curls glistening with wet drops from her bath. His own groin tightened as he looked at her there, wondering at all the hidden secrets she harbored and would ultimately reveal to him. 'Twas a heady, heady prospect. "Well?" she demanded. The word came out brashly, but he could tell she needed affirmation of her appeal. Oh, foolish, foolish maid, that she did not know. He paused, seeking the perfect compliment, but she misread his hesitation. "You jerk," she hissed and catapulted herself at him over the edge of the tub, reaching outstretched hands for his throat. She hit harder than he expected, prompt- ing him to fall backward off the stool. They both landed on the floor, her on top of him, with a loud thud. He held onto her affronted body with an anniock 208 THE LAST VIKING around her waist as she tried to squirm away. Then he began to laugh, but immediately bit his bottom lip, tucking her face into the curve of his neck, when he heard a sharp rap on the door. "Mer, are you okay? Did you fall?" Merry-Death raised her head, though he held the rest of her body, chest to legs, flattened against his. "I'ih okay, Jillie. I just slipped on a loose ... rug." I will show her just how slippery a "rug" I can bi. "I was about to say that you are beautiful ... magnif- icent," he whispered into her ear, licking the shell-like lobe in the process. It tasted so good, he did it again. She groaned. "Did you just groan?" Jillian asked, apparently still standing in the hallway. "You are hurt. Let me in, Mer. " He started to inform Merry-Death that her fingemails digging into his shoulders were piercing the skin, but she slapped one hand over his open mouth. And he soon forgot the insignificant pain as she tumed slightly toward the door, lifting her breasts inadvertently closer to his face. Holy Hel and Blessed Valhalla! What a sight! "I was groaning -because I'm tired and it's an effort even to put my nightgown on, Jillie. Go to bed." In one expert move, Geirolf took her by the waist, shifted her slightly up his chest, then immediately clasped her flailing arms by the wrists in his one hand behind her back. He used his oflier hand to mold her bare buttocks, fitting her against his hardness. Then he wrapped his legs around her calves and spread them apart ever so slowly. Her eyes nigh popped out, and the pulse in her neck jumped. With a motion of his head toward the door, 209 SANDRA HILL he cautioned that they might not be alone yet. He couldn't have spoken aloud if he'd wanted to, so light- headed had he become. "Jillie?'Are you still there?" she croaked out. While her attention was diverted to her sister, he used the opportunity to pull on her wrists, still enclosed in his fist resting on her rump. The movement induced her shoulders to bow backward and her breasts to arch forward in invitation. He was never one to deny himself such an invitation. "I'm worried about you," Jillian said through the door. He leaned his head up slightly and flicked his tongue over one hardened peak, then another. Merry-Death made no sound, though her lips parted and her belly lurched against his. "I told you I'm not hurt," she told her sister. The whole time, their eyes were locked in a fiery exchange. "Oh, I don't mean that. I mean about you and this Vikin character. He's strange." This strange Viking character began to lave wet cir- cles around her aureoles and taut nipples, first with the flat of his tongue, then the pointed tip. Merry-Death's breathing escalated to panting as she tried to twist out of his embrace. "He could hurt you, Mer," Jillian continued. "T don't see how." Meredith snorted, though she gave him a meaningful glance that implied there were different kinds of "hurting." To punish her for the si- lent reprimand, he took one nipple and aureole deep into his mouth and began to suckle with a rhythn-fic fervor. With each erotic pull, a delicious shiver passed from his tongue to his loins. He suspected there was pulling and shivering going on in her body, as well. 210 THE LAST VIKING "Well, all right then. We'll talk in the moming," Jillian said. The shuffle of her departing feet faded down the hallway. Merry-Death probably wasn't aware her sister had left, so stunned did she appear. He had that effeCt on women oftfimes. Gasping, she closed her eyes and ffimw her head back, giving him even greater access to her breasts. At the same time, her hips began to un- dulate against him. It would be over afore he began if he wasn't careful. Twice now, the witch had seduced him into losing his sud in his braies. It would not happen again, he vowed. Releasing her hands, he rolled over, causing her to land on her back with him on his side bending over her. Numb with passion, she gazed up in confusion. "Wh-what?" He put a fingertip to her lips. "Shhh. The time isn't right for our joining. There is much we need to settle first." He gave her numerous little kisses in between his words. She gaped at him blankly, and her breath still came out in gasps. He shared the turmoil. Passing his palm over a heaving breast, he skimmed her stomach, resting the heel of his hand against her nether hair, the fingers delving into her woman dew. He nigh keened with male triumph that he'd brought her tO this State So swiftly. "Before we talk, do you want me to bring you to your ecstasy?" His fingers moved against her slickness till they found the bud of her pleasure, swollen with need. am Her thighs trembled before she st mered, "A-alone?" He puzzled over her question till he realized she was 211 SANDRA HILL asking if they'd bring each other to mutual satisfaction. Or couple. "Yea. Alone. Just you." For now. "You idiot!" she exclaimed, shoving him aside and scrambling to her feet. Now it was his tum to blink in confusion. He sat on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, watching with bafflement as Merry-Death grabbed a fleecy robe from a wall hook, sliced him a quelling glare, unlocked the door, and shot away from him, faster than an arrow from a crossbow. He would never understand women. How could Merry-Death's mood have altered in such a short time from happy tears over his avowal of undying love to scowling condemnation? Was it a woman quirk? A fe- male tactic to drive men mad? Or could he perchance have mishandled the situa- tion? Quickly, before Rolf could follow, Meredith extin- guished the living room lights and crawled under the sheets of her makeshift bed on the sofa. She didn't want him to see how shaken she was. She didn't want him to see the tears that wouldn't stop flowing. She heard the shower running upstairs. The dolt! She boiled with frustration, and he was cool, calm, and col- lected enough to take another of his leisurely showers. How could she have been such a dope ... falling for that old line? I love you, Merry-Death. Hah! There was nothing of love in his working her up like a wind-up Barbie, then having the nerve to tell her they wouldn't be making love ... that he'd be pressing her buttons, but not participating himself She felt pathetic and un- feminine. it was probably some kind of power play. A form 212 nL THE LAST VIKING of Viking torture. Another example of her trying too hard to please, and falling short. Pathetic. She was pa- thetic. He had been interested in the beginning, she knew he had, but somewhere along the way he must have decided she wasn't all that exciting. What else is new? The challenge for him had faded away with her surrender. But Rolf had pitied her in the end and he'd been willing to finish her off. Oh, the humiliation of it all! Suddenly, one lamp light clicked on, then another. Rolf stood over her, water drizzling from his wet hair, which was raked back off hi& forehead and behind his ears. Water also drizzled down his body ... a body that became alarmingly naked and menacing and fully aroused when the towel wrapped around his hips ac- cidentally unknotted and slipped. He started to catch it, then shrugged and let it drop to the floor. Aroused? But he didn't want me. Grinning when he caught her gawking at his ... ah, midsection, he drawled, "Even a cold shower couldn't bank my lust for you." Huh? "You said you didn't want to make love with me." "I said no such thing," he asserted, and then burst out laughing. Pointing downward, he chuckled, "Merzy-Death, Merry-Death, tsk-tsk, bow can a woman with your education be so naive? In truth, how could anyone with a lick of sense misinterpret this." His laughter escalated to deep belly guffaws. She began to blubber in earnest under the onslaught of his ridicule, causing him to notice her tears for the first time. "Bl6d hel!" he cursed, and scooped her up in his arms-sheets and robe and all. Then he swiveled his 213 SANDRA HILL body so he plopped down on the couch with her on his lap. She kicked and flailed and clawed, to no avail. "Leave off," he hissed, and maneuvered his torso so she was sandwiched between the back of the sofa and him. There really wasn't room on the narrow cush- ions for two people, and certainly not when one of them was six-foot-four and over two hundred pounds, with an added rock-hard appendage poking her belly. She stilled but continued to show her resistance by glaring at him ... between sobs. A lot of good that did. He raised one of his hands, which had been impris- oning hers at her sides, and used a thumb to wipe the tears from her cheek. It was useless. No sooner did he erase one than another took its place. With a cluck of reproval, he asked, "Why?" She raised her chin, refusing to open those wounds again. To her surprise and dismay, though, she blurted out, "Because you don't want me." I am pathetic, pa- thetic, pathetic. Next I'll be begging him to make love to me. "I love you, Merry-Death. How can you think I don't want you? Is this a language problem we are having? Shall I fetch the talisman belt?" While speak- ing, he'd distractedly opened the front of her robe and taken her left breast in a wide, callused palm. And it felt so-o-o good. Was she acquiring a taste for calluses now? Oh, lordy, yes! Were her tastes be- coming as plebian as her parents said? Yep! Oh, geez, did she say ... no, did she think, "yep?" Yep. Would she be ogling blue-collar workers at construction sites, like that guy in the diet Coke commercials? Probably, if they have long hair and washboard stomachs and tushes that ... While her mind was regressing, Rolf watched her 214 ,,L THE LAST VIKING and absentmindedly drew wide, abrasive circles over her breast. Every bone in her body began to melt, one calcium particle at a time. She wanted to slap his hand away, but she forgot how. "Do you do everything you dam-well-Viking- please, without asking permission?" she asked in a suf- focated whisper. "Yea." She shuddered under his ongoing caresses. 'lot me," he implored thickly. "Let me give you pleasure. After that, we can talk with a modicum of rationality about ... so many things important to us." Was he saying she was irrational? "Aaaarrgh!" she shrieked and gave him a harsh shove against the chest. Caught off guard, he fell off the sofa and onto the floor. Startled, Geirolf peered up at the wench with shock. He ever did love a good battle and his Meny-Death was giving him a fair chase. She'd knocked him right on his ass. With a grin, he congratulated her. "Well done, sweetling." Then he launched himself at her afore she could scramble away. This time, he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into the scullexy where he flicked on the light lever, and then dropped her into a chair. "Sit," he ordered, "and do not move." He went back to the great room where he found a pair of sweating braies. A man could scarce carry on a serious discussion when naked and lustful. On second thought, he scrounged through the small chest Meny- Death had given him for his belongings till he found a pair of the tight jaw-key undergarments men wore in this land. He needed something to bind his raging man- root if he wanted to speak in more than a drooling drivel to Merry-Death. 215 SANDRA HILL Retuming, he sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table. Her robe was tucked neatly around her body now, but if she thought she presented a prim and proper picture, she was sorely mistaken. Her drying hair wisped out in wanton disarray. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and brush bums from his nighttime whisker stubble. Her eyes glittered with glorious fury. "I love you," he said, taking her hands across the table. Her shoulders slumped. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he laced their fingers and held firm. She averted her face. "Look at me, deaning." When she did, reluctantly, he asked, "What is amiss? Does my love displease you?" "You don't love me, and saying you do out of pity ... that's what displeases me." "I have neer told a woman I loved her afore.... Oh, do not look so skeptical. I have not. Therefore, if I fumble with my words, you must make allowance. 'Tis new territory for me." "Rolf, I'm thirty-five years old. I'm not a raving beauty. When I walk down the street, men seldom give me more than a passing glance. I'm not a scintillating conversationalist. My sense of humor is about nil. I devote my life to study in boring, cryptlike libraries. I can't have children. So, when a man like you says he's fallen in love with me ... Well, pardon me, but I'm not buying it." He shook his head sadly at her self-assessment. Pull- ing their laced fingers up to his face, he kissed the knuckles of one of her hands, then the other. Her in- drawn breath, quickly suppressed, ricocheted down her throat and lungs and out to her extremities. He knew 216 AL THE LAST VIKING that was so because he felt it in the rapid beat of her pulse where their wrists were joined. With great effort, he placed their hands safely back on the table where he wouldn't be tempted to kiss more than knuckles; Searching for the right words, he began tentatively, "I have met more beauteous women, 'tis true, and have enjoyed tumbling a few of them. Nay, I will admit, more than a few." Her lips twitched to hold back mirth at his stumbling admission. 'Twas a good sign, this half-smile. "But my heart neer thundered like Thor's mighty hammer when one of them walked into a chamber," he continued. "The blood did not drain from my head, leaving me dizzy and gasping for breath at a mere smile from one of them. I did not tingle when one of them brushed my skin in passing." "Tingle? You?" She hooted with disbelief. "Yea, you may smirk if you choose, but I have taken to tingling. My brothers would make great sport of teasing me if they knew of the malady, I can tell you. And the skalds would write a saga poking jest at me. 'Geirolf the Tingling Shipbuilder,' or some such." She did smile then, a full-blown smile that trans- formed her face and touched his heart. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Einn, tveir, brir,.fi6rir, fimm, sex, sio, dtta, n(u, tiu. " Upon regaining his composure, he went on. "As to your not having a sense of humor ... I cannot credit that. You are funny to me. In fact, I cannot recall having smiled or laughed so much in all my bom days as I have this past sennight with you." She squared her chin, unconvinced. The stubbom wench! "You point out your less-than-exciting profession. 217 SANDRA HILL 11, I know naught about that. When Jillian called you boring earlier-" "My sister called me what?" Merry-Death squealed and tried once again to escape from his renewed clasp, no doubt to go attack her sleeping sister. Her ferocity amused him mightily. "What I started to say was that, when Jillian called you boring, I told her she was blind." "You did?" "I did." Her open face revealed the inner struggle her mind was waging with her heart. Unfortunately, he must hurt her before all was reconciled betwixt them. "Lastly, you are barren." Meredith recoiled under his harsh statement. "You told me of your infertility afore. Do not ever mention the subject again. 'Tis of no importance." She sighed. "Rolf, I don't understand any of this." "Do you believe that I love you?" He held her gaze till she answered in a whisper, Yes. Releasing a sigh of relief, he leaned across the table and kissed her lips, briefly. Then he sat straight in his chair, all businesslike. "So, we have settled One issue. Now, the next important hurdle. Who am I? Tell me, Merry-Death, who is this man who sits across from you, professing his love?" "I don't know. I honestly don't know." "Set. That is one of the biggest obstacles we have to overcome before taking any further steps, including making love. And we will be making love, sweetling. Do not doubt that." "Are you saying that you didn't want to make love with me upstairs because I don't know who you are?" 218 THE LAST VIKING "Exactly! Well, partly.,, "Then tell me. Who are you?,, "Merry-Death, l do not lie. You must concede. When I tell you that I come from the past, you must accept it as truth." "But it's impossible," she cried. " 'Twas hard for me to credit, too. But there it is. Until you trust me fully, we cannot ... proceed. "But-" "I could spend days telling YOu of my land and my time. I could describe, in detail, the Norse and Saxon courts and all their peoples. Their dress. Their lan- guage. The politics and the everyday living. I could fill in the gaps in your histOrY books, and correct the mis- takes they contain. Eventually, You would believe that I . am Geirolf Ericsson, bom in the year of our Lord nine-hundred-and-sixty-two on a Norwegian fjord to a Norse jarl and a Saxon lady. But we do not have days to waste, and I much prefer that you trust me on my word alone." After his long-winded declaration, he waited for his words to sink in to Merry-Death's ob- ViOuslY troubled mind. Finally, he insisted on a reply. "Who am 1, Merry-Death?" "Oh, no!" she whimpered. There were tears in her eyes as a dawning acceptance unfurled. Then, with a firm voice, she said, "You are Geirolf Ericsson, a tenth-century.time traveler." He nodded, too overcome to speak. Her trust meant more to him than he'd realized. "I'm not sure why I believe you, Rolf. Or when I accepted that you were telling the truth. Maybe just now. All I know is there have been too many little- known historical details you've volunteered that have 219 SANDRA HILL tumed out to be true. But, in the end, it comes down to intuition. Going with the heart." "Thank you," he said softly. She pulled their clasped hands across the table and reciprocated his earlier gesture, kissing each individual knuckle with slow, painstaking care. The whole time, her eyes clung to his with some mysterious message. He felt the tingle everywhere, even in his ears where he could swear tiny bells were ringing. When she was done, she set their hands back on the table. "You haven't asked me the most important question of all," she informed him. "If you think those other things were impediments to overcome, you must know there's an even bigger one ahead." He cocked his head. There were so many questions, but he wasn't sure which she referred to. Except ... Oh, dear Lord, how could he have failed to consider that? Insecurity was new to him and unwelcome. He did not favor the unsettling queasiness in his stomach at the possibility of rejection. Oh, please, he prayed to all the gods, Christian and Norse alike, do not let me have come sofar, only to,fail. Her face was blank now, revealing nothing. Would she keep him in suspense forever? "Well?" he rasped out. "Well what?" Oh, she was a cruel wench, torturing him with knowing delight. "Do ... do you love me, Merry-Death?" His voice was so raw and low, he was not sure she heard him. But she did. "With all my heart, Viking. With all my heart." 220 Chapt" .1 weive Meredith reeled under the euphoria of her own words. I love him I can't say why. I don't know when it happened But I do. I love him. "I love you," she whispered in wonder. He stood and came around the table to take her into his arms. His fingertips gently cupped her face as he adored her with his eyes. "I love you, too, heartling." The kiss he pressed lightly on her lips was soft and sweet and full of promise. She could tell he restrained himself from deepening the kiss or holding her more intimately. Why? Her mind swirled in confusion under his intense scrutiny. But then she noticed the tears that filled his eyes. He swiped at them widi a man's embarrassment. "I neer exPected love to feel like this. You make me tremble with so many new feelings. I want to scream my joy 221 SANDRA HILL to Valhalla. And I want to weep with the exquisite pain." "Oh, Rolf." There were no words adequate to ex- press the depth of her emotion. "Let's .- . let's go somewhere private where I can show you how much I love you. I want ... I need to make love with you, sweetheart." She tried to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close. He groaned and, with a quick kiss, took her by the forearms and set her at arm's length. "What?" Oh, geez, is he going to reject me again? I don't think I can take much more of this ping-ponging back and forth. Want you, want you not. "Wipe away that wounded look, Merry-Death. Do not for one moment doubt my desire to mate with YOU. " "But?" Meredith tried to sound angry but her voice came out wobbly with insecurity. Rolf groaned again, and his jaw worked with a silent effort for control. "Come," he said, leading her into the living room wheze he adjusted the sheets on the sofa. "Lie down." When she did, expecting him to join her, he instead tucked her in tightly up to the neck, arms bound at her sides. Alone. He was putting her to bed alone. Then he knelt on the floor beside her. "Sweetling, please, I beg you, help me do this right." "I didn't say anything." "Ah, but you did. Your eyes reproach me for being a rascal, which I am not. I am trying my best to follow the noble path. " He put up a halting hand when she started to protest. "Two days ago-nay, two hours ago-if you'd suggested we have a ... what did you 222 THE LAST VIKING call it? ... a fling, I would have been on you faster than lightning. And we would have enjoyed each othei?s bodies. Immensely. " "Then what's the problem?" She moaned, trying to wriggle her arms out of her sheet strait-jacket to reach for him. "Shhh. Behave yourself, wench." He feathered.a fleeting kiss across her lips and chuckled. "Did you feel the tingle?" "I'm looking for a hell of a lot more than a tingle." "Tsk-tsk," he teased. "A coarse tongue is uncomely in a Viking woman." She told him in one explicit expletive what he could do with his Viking women. "Surely you know that I have no desire to do that with any woman but you at the moment. Patience, my love," he cautioned with a smile, "though I must admit that your eagemess flatters my ego. No, no, no, do not tum willful on me now. And sticking out your tongue is another thing that is ill-favored in a Viking woman. Truly, you must learn to curb year waspish impulses." "Let ... me ... up . . . now, " she demanded. "Nay. Lie still till I explain." "You are driving me crazy. Are we or are we not going to make love?" "You must be crazed if you would ask that. Of course, we will make love. But not tonight." He had to subdue her then, bearing down on her shoulders. Otherwise, she would have slapped him silly. The man was fuming her into a basket case. Finally, she calmed down, and Rolf began again, "When we exchanged vows of love, it changed every- thing. Before, our coupling would have been a mere sating of lust. A form of 'Love with a Hot Viking,' as 223 SANDRA HILL you once mentioned. Now, it will be much more. Lust, to be sure. 'Love with a Hot Viking,' to be absolutely sure. But, in addition to that, methinks love merits a different, more tender handling." Meredith clamped her lips together, resisting the urge to ask Rolf to elaborate on his insane logic. But her eyes threw daggers at the infuriating man. "If we were in my land, my father would go to your father and ask for your hand in marriage." She giggled at that ridiculous notion. A Viking jarl entering her father's staid library? No doubt replete with furred mande and battle axe. Then she inhaled sharply. Marriage? She hadn't expected that. But she liked it. A lot. "There is naught of amusement in formal wedding negotiations, Merry-Death. A legal wife is distin- guished from a concubine by the bride price her hus- band's family pays for her." Meredith didn't like the sound of "price." It made her feel like chattel. "And if my father refused?" "I would have you anyway." He grinned at her with heart-stopping arrogance. "Are you ... are you asking me to marry you?" "Yea ... nay. Damn, I am bungling this badly be7 cause I care too much." Bungling? This guy's bungling could charm the socks off a nun. He took a deep breath before resuming. "If we were in my homeland, I would get down on my knees-" he looked pointedly at his kneeling position-"and pledge you my troth ... man to woman- The Viking way. 'Tis as valid in the eyes of the gods as any Chris- tian marriage." 224 THE LAST VIKING "I want to touch you so badly." She whimpered under the sweet cardss of his words. He denied her plea, soothing her with a butterfly stroke of his fingertips across her lips. "But that wouldn't satisfy my family, espegially my mother. Banns would be called up and down the fjords through- out Norway, and a grand wedding feast would be planned. Each week, I would send a new and more wondrous present to entice you to my bed-fine jew, elry from Byzantium, sable furs from the North Seas, fine silks, a newly foaled Saracen colt, fragrant oil$ from the east. When the fated day arrived, we would wed in the loud and boisterous way of Norsemen throughout time, and then say our vows afore the priest who serves my mother's chapel. The celebration would last two sennights." She smiled at the splendid picture he painted. "But we are not in my time, or my land, and ne'ef will be." He sighed. "Leastways, not together." Ripples of panic drew her alert. "So, I must improvise." "'Mis is the nineties, Rolf. Couples today rarely wait till marriage to cons*ummate a relationship, especially when engaged, or committed." "Ah, but I am not a man of the nineties." Geez, this is a new twist. A man insisting on celibacy be ore marriage. But I kind of like it. Yes, I do. HO'd better not make me wait too long, though. "We could be manied by a priest, or a justice of the peace, here in Maine." "Nay, I am the man. I must provide. We'll have a wedding, to be sure, but it will be that of a Norse man and woman. A personal ceremony-man to woman- not a religious one. A ritual of the heart." 225 SANDRA HILL A ritual of the heart? What a wonderful expression! God, this man is really smooth. Or he speaksfrom deep emotion, which is a soul-staggering prospect. She blinked back tears. "When?" "Two, three days at most." She moaned. He chuckled. "Anticipation is not a bad thing, sweet- ling." "Easy for you to say," she snapped. "Nay, not easy at all," he said somberly. Then he released a breathy sigh of resolution. "But I must make preparations first. The wedding garments for us both. My bride gift. The ritual bed furs. The marriage long- house." "I don't need all those things, Rolf And if you go out and kill some animal to give me a fur, I swear I'll kill you." But then she caught the last of his state- ments. "Oh, no, no, no. I told you before. No long- houses bu , ilt on my property." He smiled and patted her arm. "We shall see. May- hap just a small one. A few discarded planks from your ship, some wattle and daub, a thatch or turf roof, a center hearth, a bed-most important, a bed. A sweat- house would be nice, too ... just a tiny one, a hut, really. I don't want to an , ticipate too much." "You ... you ... you. . ." she sputtered. "Overwhelmed, are you, dearling?" "I'll show you overwhelmed," she raged. "You will? Ah, I can scarce wait. Will it be a sexual trick?" "Let me loose," she demanded. He tightened her linens, instead. "Is it wise to tum your face so red, my love? I don't want you to swoon with the vapors afore we settle our other obstacles." 226 THE LAST VIKING She went still with suspicion. "What other obsta- cles?" "Tbe divorce." "I beg your pardon. You asked me to marry you only a few moments ago. Now, you're planning the divorce. Oh, no! You're not talking about a prenuptial agirement, ar-e you?" "Prenuptial what? Oh, that. Nay. I meant that I will be leaving your land in a few short weeks, and-" "You intend to leave? But I thought-" "You thought I would stay now that we have ac- knowledged our love?" he finished softly. She nodded. "It cannot be. My mission remains the same. I have to retum the relic as I promised my father. I've been researching tenth-century Norway in your library and on the Intemet. There are references to a famine late in the tenth century." "That may well be, but I keep telling you, I don't think you can change history." "Mayhap not, but what of changes within history?" She waited for him to explain. "Since the books give no date when the famine ended, perchance my intervention will cut it short by months or years. And there is another concem." He worried his bottom lip with his upper teeth as he con- templated something that clearly alarmed him. "I dis- covered in one of your history tomes that Aethelred, the slimy bastard, intends to slay all Norsemen in Brit- ain five years hence, in 1002, including the Viking set- tlers and hired soldiers in his own service. Amongst those to fall under his blade will be the sister and the brother-by-maniage of King Svein of Denmark. Duty 227 SANDRA HILL compels me to give my fellow Vikings fair warning of Aethelred's evil designs." "Now, that is changing history. And you must know if you read farther into those texts, that there will i; massive retaliations against Aethelred in subsequent years. And ultimately, around 1017, a young Viking knight, Cnut, will conquer all of Britain. England will be under Viking rule for twenty-five years after that. So, in a sense, what goes around, comes around." "I am unfamiliar with this go around-come around rule. I just know I must retum to my homeland, to complete the circle." "Then I'll go with y6u," she decided suddenly. His expression hardened. "It cannot be." "You made the offer to me before," she pointed ou . t. "Yea, but that was afore I loved you. I'm not even sure that the Demon Moon time hole will work for me. And I would never, ever risk your life in the effort to perform my mission. Besides, you'll have your own grandsire's quest to carry through when I'm gone. I can build your longship, but I'll not be here for the sailing." "So, what does all this have to do with a divorce?" He swallowed with some difficulty, and then pro- ceeded, "When I am gone, I do not want you to grieve ... leastways, not overlong. In time, you'll Want to wed again." He raised a palm to stop her objections. "That's why we'll exchange only the Norse vows. No Papist rite, which is more binding. Divorce is simple in my society. A mere declaration of intent afore wit- nesses and a stating of the grounds for complaint." "Like?" she said through gritted teeth. Lord, he was a thick-headed ass if he thought she'd do any such thing. 228 THE LAST VIKING "Any number of just causes. Impotence, the woman wearing men's braies, the man donning feminine ap- parel, miserliness-" "I'll bet a wife's being barren is one of those just causes." "I thought I told you not to mention that subject again. By the by, did I neglect to tell you, a willful wife is one of the biggest reasons for divorce?" "How about a husband who refuses to listen to his wife?" "That, too," he said with a grin. . "So, Mr. I've-Got-It-All-Planned, you intend to marry me, bebop off through time to your home, di- vorce me, then-" "Oh, nay, I neer said I'd be divorcing you, sweet- ling. I have no intent of doing that. I'll not wed again, that I vow. I but wish for your freedom." is was the most diculous s Th ri conver, ation. "Will ... will you come back?" "I could try, but, nay, my guess is 'twould be im- possible." "And how about your mistress, that sweet Alyce from Hedeby tart?" He shrugged. "I cannot promise celibacy for life. Nor would I expect it of you.,, Meredith felt as if she'd been dealt a sucker punch to the stomach. "You are so incredible. You tell me you love me in one instant and that you're leaving me in the next. Well, I won't stand for it." "You have no choice, dearling." "Oh, I have a choice all right. I may not be able to stop loving you, but I can refuse to make love with You. And I sure as heck am not going to marry a guy who intends to desert me a few week's later." 229 SANDRA HILL "They can be the best weeks of bodi our lives," he pleaded. She surged upward with anger and desolation. When he tried to push her back down this time, she bit the heel of his hand. "Ouch!" he griped, but didn't give way, even when she drew blood. . She sank back down and closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to see even that tiny wound on his hand and know that she'd caused him pain, however small. "I won't marry you," she repeated in a dull monotone, with her eyes still closed. "Yea, you will." "And I won't make love with you now." Making love with Rolf, and then giving him up would hurt more than never having him at all. "And none of your sweet talking will move me, either." He laughed with supreme self-confidence. " 'Tis said that a Norseman, when his sap runs high, could move the earth." "Go away, Rolf. I want to go to sleep now." She needed time alone to ponder all that had happened to- night and to brace herself for the days ahead. Days when she would have to fight her feelings for Rolf. Then those days when he would no longer be here. "I'll stay with you till You fall asleep." He got up off his knees and nudged her hips over so he could sit on the edge of the sofa. She scrunched her eyes tighter. "Mayhap I could tell you a bedtime saga. Nay, I know; I'll regale you With little hints of the ways in which Viking men make love to their brides." Oh, no! "You do know about the famous Viking S-spot, of course. 230 THE LAST VIKING A snicker was her only reply. "You doubt my word? Ah, YOu will pay for that, wench, in good time. But, truly, Norsemen have long been known for their prowess in the bedsport, and-" She snickered again, continuing to keep her eyes closed. She wouldn't give him the benefit of seeing the hurt in her eyes. He taPPed her chin in reprimand. "Part of our prow- ess is due to our fit bodies, no doubt-" "No doubt." "Sarcasm ill-suits You, my love," he remarked, "but there e some wbo at bute r ar tri ou prowess to the ... ah, secrets. " Secrets? What secrets? Mien he didn't carry on, she cracked one eye only a teensy bit, but he noticed. It was the cue he'd been waiting for. The rat! Chuckling, he clarified his outrageous assertion with great gusto. "Being adventurers, we Norsemen travel far and wide-" . . in sight." "This raping and pillaging accusation has become tiresome. What I was about to say is that, in our vast travels, we have leamed many secrets of lovemaking. Secrets we pass down in our families. Secrets that draw women to our beds like honeybees." "Don't think for one minute I'm going to hop in the sack with you because of some sexual secrets. Buzz off and find another place to scatter your pollen, you over- sexed ... insect. This bee isn't interested." "Ha-ha-ha! I am laughing at your jest. See, Merry- Death, I told you that you have a sense of humor." "Well, I'm not laughing now, and this is no joke. 231 SANDRA HILL You either stay in Maine, or I go home with you. And that's that. "Nay." "Yes." "Nie J#dir nei, " he said stemly. "No means no, and that's final." "Not in my vocabulary." He inhaled and exhaled several times with exagger- ated loudness. "Mayhap I should share one of the se- crets with you to change your mind. Just one, do not beg for more. But you must promise not to reveal it to any other." She rolled her eyes at his persistence. To her horror and amazement, he went into graphic detail about some erotic foreplay that involved tongues and ropes and immense size and remarkable out-of- this-world staying power. "You lie," she accused. No one, man or woman, could do what he'd just described. He arched a brow with displeasure. "Did I not tell you that I never lie? If you cannot credit that secret, mayhap you will be more believing of the 'Hot Oil- Cold Sword' secret. That one is for more accomplished warriors in the bedsport." He grinned at her. "I have done it many a time." She clucked at his overinflated ego. Really, if she weren't so angry, she'd have to admire his adorable charm. "Go away, Rolf. I will not marry you." She rolled over, facing the back of the sofa. "Have you e'er made love in bed furs, Merry- Death?" he asked in a silky rasp. "There is no better sensation in the world for a woman, I am told, than the caress of the furs at her back, and the seductive torment 232 THE IAST VIKING of her lover's tuffed skin at her front. I would give you that experience." A thrum of excitement whisked through her. "And then, of course, we shipbuilders have partic- ular talents. " "Oh, Lord!" "It comes from working with our hands. We love to touch. . . and touch ... and touch. The skin on our fin- gertips has become so sensitive. Have you e'er made love with a man who bears the calluses of his trade, Merry-Death? I wo d warrant you have not." u' He paused, the sound of his breathing heavy in the air. "It Is a pleasure beyond all others, this I promise you," he ended on a whisper. She tumed back, facing him. "Don't do this to me, Rolf " "I love you, Merry-Death," he said fervently, lean- ing forward to lay his wan-n lips against hers. "I cannot promise you a perfect manifestation of this love. I can guarantee no future for us. But this I do swear; I will do the best I can to make you happy in the days we have. No man could do more." With that, he stood and walked away from her. At the patio door, he stopped. Over his shoulder, he re- peated, "I love you, Merry-Death." "And I love you, Rolf," she choked out. But he was already gone. And Meredith got a foretaste of the slow death she was going to suffer when he abandoned her for good. A whirling dervish hit Maine the next day, and its name was Geirolf Ericsson. Now that he had a mission, he worked with a feverish intensity. And his mission, 233 SANDRA HILL in this case, wasn't the retum of the relic. The mission was-Heaven help me-her. How would she ever be able to resist him? When she came home from the college at six o'clock, Rolf and Mike were glaringly absent. But the progress made on the project in just that day of Rolf bgillg SSggh 9!' the job was phenomenal. Although #