Sandra Hill (21 page)

Advancing on her, he wagged a finger in her face. “Wench, when are you going to learn to defend yourself against your enemies, instead of cowering like a pup? What will happen when I am gone? Who will fight your battles for you then?”

“Why…why…you dolt! I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor to settle a disagreement, and that’s all it was. Not some major fight. Jeffrey and I always disagree. And, frankly, if you want to know the truth, you big, thick-headed oaf, I had already told him off before you jumped into the fray.”

“You did?” His anger immediately dissipated and was replaced with a heart-wrenching desolation. Her tears must have been caused by the love she still harbored for this past-husband. He could scarce breathe over the lump in his throat. “Dost still love the man then, Merry-Death?”

“Huh?” She was in the midst of wiping her eyes with a clean-axe when he asked his question. The scowl she gave him then put him in the same class as donkeys and thick-skinned melons.

“Your tears,” he pointed out. “Since you do not weep because of some offense given by your past-husband, the tears must come from your…love.” His voice quivered on the last word. He turned away from her to conceal his weakness.

“Are all Vikings idiots, or just you?”

Some time the wench was going to push him too far with her insults. He turned slowly. She was standing with her hands braced on her hips, which were covered with those infernal men’s
braies
again, even though he’d told her many a time that he much preferred garments that required the wanton hose. If she loved him, she would want to please him, wouldn’t she? Hell, she tried her damnedest to please everyone else in the world. But then, he’d just learned that she still loved her past-husband. “Damn your impertinence, my lady! And damn you for leading me about like a smitten youthling.”

“Rolf, I don’t love Jeffrey, and probably never did.”

“Do you tell me true, Merry-Death?” His heart lurched with hopefulness. Bloody hell, he abhorred his vulnerability where this woman was concerned. ’Twas a weak link in his manly armor, to be sure.

“He’s a creep and I pretty much told him so.”

“Then why were you soaking the carpet with your tears?”

“Because he made me so mad. And because I was relieved to finally express my true feelings to him.”

“Oh.” Did that mean he’d made a fool of himself? Not in hurling harsh words at the brute on the phone, but for accusing Merry-Death unjustly. “I’m sorry, sweetling. I behaved like an ass.”

“Hmpfh! That’s for sure.”

He was too happy that he’d been wrong in his ill-conceived conclusions to chide her for concurring. “Come, sweetling, let me show you my bride gift.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the bed-couch. Of course, his fingers tingled where their skin met.

Her hand flinched with surprise at the contact of their palms and he knew that she felt the tingle, too.

“Do you think our nether parts will tingle when they meet?” he asked expectantly as he handed her a white rectangular box with the words “Meako’s Fine Hand-crafted Clothing” imprinted in gold letters on top.

Meredith’s mouth dropped open. That remark was outrageous, even for Rolf. When she didn’t answer immediately, he glanced up from where he was opening another box, noticing her shock. She closed her mouth, but not before he also noticed her obvious interest in his question. He winked at her, and Meredith felt butterflies take flight in her stomach.

“Open your bride gift,” he urged her.

“I will
not
marry you,” she repeated in her now familiar refrain and he gave her one of those “Yeah, yeah, what else is new” looks. But her curiosity got the better of her, as he probably knew it would, and she lifted the lid, then peeled back the gold tissue paper. He had commissioned an exquisite Viking-style
wedding gown to be made for her. “Oh, Rolf.”

“Do not even think of weeping again,” he warned her. “I have had more than enough emotional upheavals today.”

She wasn’t sure if he referred to her emotions or his. “I will
not
marry you,” she said again, but even she recognized how weak her voice sounded.

She held the fantastic garment up, and the flickering flames from the fireplace cast dancing lights on its shimmering folds. The undergown was a long-sleeved, collarless chemise of gossamer white linen gauze, ankle-length in front and pleated and slightly longer in the back. The wrists and circular neckline were edged with bands embroidered with metallic threads of green and gold and white against a red background. The silk overgown, open-sided in the Viking style, was a deep crimson with matching bands of embroidery at the hem and neckline. Here, the colors were reversed, a white background with crimson, green, and gold threads. The embroidery design was a series of intertwining roses. Two rosebud shoulder brooches were enclosed, along with a gold link belt to be worn loosely at the waist, more in Saxon than Viking fashion, which normally was unbelted at the waist.

“Rolf, it’s beautiful, but why do you keep giving me these gifts when I tell you—”

“Come see what I purchased for myself,” he interrupted, gesturing at the box he was opening. “’Tis my wedding raiment. I would not wish my betrothed to outshine me overmuch on that day,” he teased.

She sighed with admiration. His outfit was a pitch-black, long-sleeved overtunic of softest wool, mixed with cashmere, which would hang to mid-thigh or
slightly lower. The tunic would be worn over a pair of slim trousers of the same fabric and be held in at the waist by his talisman belt. Both the tunic and a white silk-lined mantle were embroidered with the same band of roses as her gown.

“If I were going to marry you, which I am not, I couldn’t ask for anything more perfect,” she said honestly. “Thank you.”

“You are more than welcome, sweetling, but save your thank you for our wedding night.”

She groaned. The man was a brick wall.

“But let us set aside our differences for now. It’s almost eight on the clock, and you know what that means.” He pulled her over, gave her a quick kiss, shoved her down on the sofa, and then said, “Shhh.”

She shuddered with distaste.
Home Improvement
was coming on the television.

When the show was finally over and one of those exercise infomercials came on, Rolf watched with a concentration he usually reserved only for his favorite toolman. “Could it be?” he murmured and turned on her as if enlightened. “Could it be that the reason you resist me so much is because I have a—” he hesitated, grimacing with horror—“a physical defect? Something women of your time favor, but men don’t develop in my world?”

Rolf defective physically? I…don’t…think…so
. “Well, now that you mention it…” she teased, tapping a forefinger thoughtfully on her chin.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me from the start?” he said grumpily. “I could have ordered one of those machines from the come-her-shall and been working all this time to correct my flaw. Bloody hell, my brothers would make great jest of this if they knew a woman
had spurned my favors because of some ill appeal. You may not have noticed, but I have a certain arrogance about the way I look.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Then she took pity on him. “Rolf, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

He jerked his head toward the television where some fitness expert was spouting off about how to firm up the gluteus maximus muscles. Her eyes shot to Rolf with sudden understanding.

“You have resisted me mightily because I do not have…buns of steel.”

She burst out laughing and couldn’t stop even when he stood and glowered at her. Finally, she was able to choke out, “Rolf, I have no idea whether you have buns of steel or not.”

Which was a big mistake.

Pivoting 180 degrees, he dropped his sweatpants to the floor and asked over his shoulder, “What do you think?”

He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“And
Nordic
Trak—did you see that? They have a machine for Norsemen alone. We must have some special deficiency.”

Once she pushed her eyeballs back in their sockets, she sputtered, “I think you have nothing to worry about in that department.”

But what she really thought was,
I am going to have some very strange and very vivid dreams tonight
.

“
Aaaccckkk!
” Meredith screamed when she opened her front door the next morning to get the newspaper. Parked in her driveway, tied with a huge ribbon, was her latest bride gift, one of those 1950s classic convertibles with winglike back fenders. It was as big as a Viking longboat—probably got about one mile per gallon—and it was (Meredith shuddered) pink.

Rolf came rushing from the side of the house, hair all disheveled, bed furs thrown over his bare shoulders. He wielded one of the long wooden “spears” he’d improvised the other day. And he couldn’t have looked fiercer if he were a true Viking warrior about to do battle.

“What’s amiss, my lady?” he said, pivoting his head this way and that, scanning the area. “Where’s the enemy?”

Once she snapped her gaping mouth shut, she pointed to the left. “
What
is that?”

“Do you say your keep is safe from attack?” His body relaxed when he comprehended that no imminent danger loomed, but he cast her a disapproving scowl. “Have I mentioned afore, you have a shriek that would drive a sane man mad? You would do well, my lady, to hear the saga that skalds tell in our lands about a boy who cried dragon once too often.”

“Don’t you mean the boy who cried wolf?”

“What wolf?” Once again, he was surveying the yard, this time ridiculously searching for a wolf.

“Never mind.” She tapped her foot impatiently and indicated with a motion of her head that he hadn’t answered her question about the pink monstrosity in her driveway. It was probably a vintage Mary Kay car.

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t find a suitable horse for you on such short notice.”

“A horse?” she squealed.

“Besides,” he said with an open-mouthed yawn, “did you know they have zone laws that prohibit you from building a barn on your property? I am planning to appeal to a higher authority…mayhap even the king. Is King Clinton the only sovereign you have in your land?”

“A barn? A barn? Don’t you even think of building a barn! That longhouse is bad enough. And if you dare to phone the White House, I’m going to disconnect our telephone service.”

“Whate’er you say, dearling.” His mouth turned down in one of those sad-sack moues, and he said with boyish hurt, “Methought you favored the longhouse now ’tis nigh complete.”

She snarled and Rolf dropped an arm heavily around her shoulder, drawing her back into the house. Once he realized that the pout wasn’t going to cut it, he advised, “Settle down, Merry-Death. You need to relax more. ’Tis good you’re taking the day off from working. You’ve been much too high-strung of late.” His seeming consideration flew out the window when he added, “No doubt it stems from sexual frustration—I learned that word on
Sesame Street
.”

“You…never…did.”

He cocked his head. “Oh. Mayhap so. Well, it must have been the
Dr. Ruth Show
, then.” He waved a hand airily. “Leastways, ’tis a well-known fact that when the sap runs, the sap must run. Denying the body juices their free course clogs the pores and muddles the mind.”

“You are incredible.” She laughed.

“I know,” he acknowledged, beaming at her.

Actually, Meredith was glad to have the day off. Once she’d vented her newfound assertiveness with Jeffrey last night, she’d gone whole hog and called her parents, telling them in no uncertain terms that they were unwelcome in Maine. Despite vehement protests at their carefully laid plans being destroyed by her insensitivity, she’d held firm.

Rolf had been so proud of her.

Thus encouraged and under the influence of a rush of adrenaline, she’d called Jared and given him the same message. Much more conciliatory, he said he was buried in work anyhow.

So, with her schedule unexpectedly free, Rolf proclaimed a vacation day for the project, inviting her to go on a calendar event with him…a date. Since it was Saturday, she agreed, but only if Thea, Mike,
Sonja, and Teddy could go with them, sort of a four-pack of chaperons.

They decided to visit the zoo.

Meredith’s first date with Rolf was a disaster.

As they headed for home later that afternoon in the pink mega-car, a morose Rolf stared blindly out the window, watching the landscape pass by. Mike was driving, with Thea in the front seat beside him. Meredith sat in the back with Sonja and Teddy on her right and Rolf on her left. They’d put the top up when the air turned cool and talk had been impossible over the roar of the motor and the wind, not to mention the mortifyingly loud muffler.

She slipped a hand in Rolf’s—something she didn’t often do. “I’m sorry, Rolf. It never occurred to me that a zoo would upset you so much.” They’d all observed from the beginning that the zoo experience revolted Rolf, but Teddy had been enjoying himself so much they’d stayed.

Rolf turned bleak eyes on her, the bourbon color flashing with outrage. “How could civilized people torture animals? ’Tis surely an affront to the gods, caging wild beasts so.”

She pursed her lips pensively. “I never thought much about it before, but The Silver Oaks Zoo is one of the most reputable in the country. Believe me, there are zoos that treat their animals in an inhumane way, but this isn’t one of them.”

“Don’t they have zoos in your country?” Mike asked over his shoulder.

Meredith tensed. Rolf had never discussed his time travel with anyone but her, though she sometimes caught Mike looking at him strangely. Who wouldn’t?
Despite his mastery of the language, he used enough ’tis’es and ’twas’es to make anyone suspicious. And some of his ideas were definitely archaic.

Rolf made eye contact with her and took heed of her unspoken warning. “Nay, we don’t cage our animals.” It seemed that was all he would say, but then his jaw jutted out angrily. “You are Christians. Your Bible says all creatures have dignity and a reason for existing. What dignity do you leave animals when they are gawked at day and night, with no privacy for body functions? Even their mating is observed, for the love of Freya!”

“It’s not all entertainment, Rolf,” Meredith told him gently. “Scientists study the animals in captivity. And sometimes they learn things that help mankind.”

“Then I say ’tis too high a price to pay,” he stormed. “Damn the scientists!”

Meredith cringed, wondering if he put her in the same class as those scientists.

“But you have nothing against hunting, do you?” Sonja inquired, sincerely trying to understand.

“’Tis different,” he said, folding his arms over his chest and slinking lower in the seat with exasperation. “All animals, man and beast alike, fight the battle for survival. There is no shame in the hunt and chase.”

He gazed imploringly at Meredith. “Didst you see that aged Bengal tiger, Merry-Death? His eyes spoke to me. ‘I have no pride,’ the beast said. ‘Warrior to warrior, I ask you. Give me peace.’”

“That is so totally awesome,” Thea interjected. “Like I never heard of anyone talking to animals before, except maybe Walt Disney.”

“If I’d had
Brave Friend
with me, I would have put
my trusty sword through the tiger’s heart. ’Twould have been a blessing, too.”

Mike and Sonja exchanged worried glances. Thea chortled, “Wow!” And Meredith breathed a silent prayer of thanks that she’d laid down the law when Rolf had suggested going back to the antiques dealer to buy a sword.

“Many a time have I seen polar bears in their ‘natural habitat,’” he continued. “Tell me true, Merry-Death, dost think that regal white-furred creature in the zoo was fooled by a mock glacier?”

“Some sociologists contend there are layers in all civilization,” Mike speculated tentatively. “You know, animals and humans fall into classes—by wealth, or birth, or physical fitness, or whatever. Aren’t some species supposed to dominate others? Isn’t that what the whole Viking way of life was about?”

Rolf inhaled sharply. “You haven’t studied enough, Mike, if you conclude thus. ’Tis true that Norsemen invade other countries and subdue their peoples, but that is because our own lands have become so over-crowded or are terrorized by brutal kings. We seek new lands to settle. This raping and pillaging word-fame is unearned by most Norsemen, I tell you.”

“But the Vikings took captives, Rolf, remember that,” Mike reminded him with reckless bravery.

“Ah, but we don’t put our slaves in cages. We don’t treat them as freaks of nature. We allow them to earn their freedom. And best you remember that the Saxons and Franks take captives, as well.”

“Gee, Rolf, you talk as if you’re a real Viking,” Sonja said with a giggle.

“Yeah,” Thea put in.

Mike waited expectantly for his answer.

Rolf rolled his shoulders. “Who can say what is a
real
Viking.”

“Rolf comes from a region where they practice the old ways,” Meredith hastily explained. “Sometimes they forget it’s the twentieth century.”

He sliced her a reproving glare. The constant pretense annoyed him, she knew, but, luckily, he said nothing more.

Meredith sighed with relief. If nothing else, the visit to the zoo had brought home to her the danger of Rolf’s presence in the twentieth century. Fortunately, Rolf hadn’t told anyone, other than her, about his time travel. If he had, and if by some remote chance, someone believed him, scientists would cage him as surely as they did those wild beasts in the zoo. And he’d be treated as a freak, too.

She perceived another thing, too. It was necessary for Rolf to return to his time for a reason besides his father’s mission. If he stayed here much longer, eventually he’d let something slip. There were too many hazards for him in this land and time.

“Blessed Thor! You’re going to weep again. Over my growling, of all things! ’Tis naught to cry about, sweetling,” he said, pulling her close. Then he whispered in her ear, “If you are going to cry when I roar, what will you do when I bite?”

She blinked away her tears and smiled. “Bite you back.”

He howled with amusement. “I scarce can wait.”

He wasn’t laughing fifteen minutes later when they entered the house. Mike had taken Sonja and Teddy home, and Thea skipped upstairs to play her music. Too late, Meredith saw that she was trapped between the refrigerator and an angry Viking.

“Wh-what?” she stammered at the menacing figure he posed, fists clenched at his sides, his lips white with vexation. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“Nay, Meredith, I do not.”

“Then what do you want?” He was closing in, inch by inch. Girding herself with resolve, she refused to shiver. But inside, she was shivering like a bowl of Jell-O.

“You.”

Oh, boy!
“I will
not
marry you,” she insisted, “under your conditions.” She assumed that was the cause of his sudden fury.

“Whate’er you say, dearling,” he drawled with a mocking grin.

It wasn’t a grin to engender warm, fuzzy feelings.

“What’s the problem, Rolf?”

“Mike isn’t the only one who knows naught of Vikings,” he went on in a voice whose calmness contrasted ominously with his take-no-mercy eyes. “You two study Norsemen in your books but fail to see us true.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nay, you do not. That is a certainty. You have caged the wild beast here, Merry-Death,” he informed her, pounding his chest with one fist, “but it is about to break free.”

The quiver in her stomach escalated to an earthquake. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

“Do I?”

“No.”

He smiled, but it was more a feral baring of the teeth. “Foolish wench. I realized today that I have allowed myself to be caged voluntarily, chained by my excessive lust for you. I have played the tame pet for you
overlong. ’Twas my mistake, granting you time to give your free consent to our joining. Enough! If you will not be my wife, then you will be my thrall.”

“A slave?” she twittered nervously.

“Yea, a love slave,” he said softly. “How do you view the prospect of being a Viking captive? Hmmm? Subject to my every whim?”

“Stop playing games with me, Rolf.” She tried to edge away, but he put a palm on either side of her head, his arms braced tautly. She had the coolness of the refrigerator at her back and the heat of an aggressive male at her front. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience, she admitted to herself.

“Mayhap, slave, I will keep you naked till you bend to my will. Or wearing the scant garments I choose.” His eyes took note of the angora sweater she’d donned earlier at his request.

A mistake, she discerned now as he licked his lips slowly. With anticipation?

Did he suspect that she’d also put on the Victoria’s Secret panties he’d bought for her?

He did, she saw as his hot scrutiny briefly settled there. She was wearing loose linen trousers, but he knew. He knew.

“Put your hands over your head, thrall,” he demanded.

“What?”

“Do you question your master’s authority, slave?” he said with lethal calmness, taking a steak knife from the counter and pressing it against her throat. “A recalcitrant slave must be punished.”

She wasn’t really frightened, except perhaps of the thudding of her heart. She surprised herself by doing as he’d commanded, raising her hands to the top of the
refrigerator, where she grasped the edges of a casserole dish. But, despite her compliant pose, she tossed her hair over her shoulder in a gesture of petulance.

“Ah, a defiant slave,” he cooed. “Are you wanting to be tamed, wench?”

She shook her head.
Do I?

Before she realized his intent, he eased the small knife inside the neckline of her sweater, first to the left, then the right, slitting the straps of her bra. He did the same from under the hem in front, cutting the center band of her undergarment. With the flick of his fingers, he pulled the wispy lingerie out and dropped it to the floor.

“Nay, do not move,” he ordered when her hands began to lower.

Holding her eyes, he undid the button of her slacks. The rasp of the sliding zipper echoed loudly in the silent room. In an instant, the fabric slithered down and pooled at her ankles. She was bare from ankle to waist, except for the French-cut, flesh-colored silk briefs.