Until Forever (10 page)

I
t was one of the worst hours Roseleen had ever spent, waiting to see if Thorn would leave or if he’d show up in the library. She tortured herself by not going to the library to wait for him, where he might have shown up sooner than at the end of the appointed hour—if he was going to—and relieved her mind about it. She locked herself in her room instead, and paced, and berated herself over and over again for giving him an ultimatum like that.

When was she going to get it right, in her dealings with him, that he wouldn’t think like a twentieth-century man, or react like one? It was no wonder he hadn’t answered her. She’d probably shocked him again with what he would consider her outlandish audacity. Women in his day just didn’t make demands or issue orders to men, not unless they were wearing crowns and sitting on thrones.

When she finally dragged herself down
stairs to the small library at the end of that hellish hour, she found it dark, but that was no more than she’d been expecting. Even if he’d wanted to stay, he would have gone, just to prove that he wouldn’t be dictated to by—

“Where is the switch to supply the light, Roseleen? I could not find its location.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. With the light from the hall behind her, she located Thorn in one of the three easy chairs the room contained. She quickly crossed to him and turned on the reading lamp next to his chair. Her heart was pounding hard, and not just from the shock he’d given her, but also from his presence.

But he wasn’t interested in her reaction to the fact that he hadn’t left after all. She was jumping around with delight on the inside, while all he did was peer up under the lampshade where her hand had gone to turn it on.

“I assumed this was a light source,” he said. “Yet did I not find a switch like those others on the walls.”

“No, It’s different on lamps. You don’t flip the switch up or down, you turn it.”

His look was reproachful now, as if to say she should have mentioned that sooner. She couldn’t believe they were even having this discussion about light sources, let alone that they both sounded so calm.

But she was too anxious to ignore the subject on their minds, at least on
her
mind, for very long. “I really thought you’d leave.”

“And give you the opportunity to make
bargains again when you summon me back? Nay, the control is mine now, and I mean to keep it.”

She went very still. How was it she hadn’t thought of that before now? She had put herself through hell for nothing, worrying about his leaving, when it would have been better for her if he had left. Then she would have had the upper hand again.

But she had completely forgotten about the power she possessed through the sword, power that wouldn’t be hers again until he did leave. Now—now she still didn’t know what he intended, but the fact that he was under no restraints was definitely upsetting her nervous system.

He wasn’t exactly jumping on her, however. He seemed perfectly relaxed, with no sexual tension that she could detect. Maybe he would still abide by the bargain—no, it had been based on her releasing him, and she’d already done that. Why should he abide by it?

She was the one now who wanted to avoid that particular subject, so she quickly introduced another, “Where did you learn to speak English so well? When you were last summoned?”

“I was forced to learn it after my third summoning brought me to this country, and in later years, I learned the Norman’s French.”

“But that would have been Old English, which is certainly nothing like the English language that has been around for the last half-dozen centuries. I spent a semester study
ing the old tongue myself back in college. It’s so archaic, it’s like a foreign language. And that doesn’t explain how you speak modern English now.”

“I had tutors.”

“Excuse me?”

Her surprise prompted a grin from him. “Jean Paul’s tutors,” he clarified. “His mother insisted. She wanted there to be no misunderstandings when she…spoke to me.”

A picture came to mind of him sitting at a child’s desk in some stuffy attic, which was where the children of the English upper crust tended to be taught in those days, with a stern-faced
male
teacher standing over him with a ruler in hand. She almost burst out laughing.

She restrained that urge, but she couldn’t hold back the smile. “You obviously had an excellent teacher.”

His grin widened a little. “Aye, she was most diligent in her efforts.”

She was surprised again—big time. “She? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doubting you, but women teachers were rather rare in the seventeen hundreds, if not nonexistent. How did you come by one?”

“The wench was an upstairs maid who sneaked into my bed each—”

She interrupted him before her cheeks got redder than they were. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear the details. Your actual
tutor
was male, though, wasn’t he?”

“Aye, and a more disagreeable creature
never lived in any century. However, his attitude much improved after I broke his nose.”

So simply he mentioned that, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. “Do you do that a lot?” she ventured hesitantly. “Breaking noses, that is?” When his grin started, she quickly amended, “Forget I asked. I’m sure I don’t want to know just how many you’ve broken.”

“In Valhalla, a feast would not be complete without a fight or two. ’Tis good sport.”

At least he wasn’t giving her specific numbers, but since he hadn’t dropped the subject, she was curious enough to ask, “You participate in those fights?”

“Always,” he replied with a pleased grin. “And I never lose.”

Bragging? Why didn’t that surprise her? As big and brawny as he was, he probably had a lot to brag about.

But she reminded him, “I thought you said you lost to your brother occasionally.”

“When Thor accepts my challenge, ’tis official, with Odin presiding. And Thor is presently not welcome in Odin’s hall. They are feuding—again.”

Was she really interested in the doings of mythical gods—that she didn’t believe existed? She really ought to keep in mind that Vikings were known for tall tales—and bragging. Spinning yarns that would captivate their listeners was part of their daily life. They certainly didn’t have television to entertain themselves.

That thought made her smile, and so she allowed herself one more question on the subject. “What are they feuding about?”

Thorn shrugged. “It does not take much, with those two. On this last occasion, I believe my brother insulted Odin’s feet.”

Not exactly what she was expecting to hear, and now she just had to ask, “What? Did Thor say they were too big or something—how
do
you insult feet?”

“By calling them too puny to leave a noticeable mark behind. He was more—explicit—in the saying of it, than I would care to repeat for your ears.”

She almost laughed. She could just imagine how colorful the invectives of a Viking god could get.

“Thank you for sparing me—” she began.

But she was cut off when Thorn shot out of his chair, heading for one of the windows, and asking on the way, “From what does that sound come?”

She followed him to the window, but she didn’t hear any sound that was out of the ordinary…and then she did. An airplane, and a commercial liner by the sound of its jet engines. It was a sound a lot of people just tuned out, because it was so common. But someone who’d never heard it before, or anything like it, would notice it immediately.

And Thorn had not only heard it clearly, he’d now found its source and demanded, “What
is
that?”

She glanced around his shoulder to see
what he was looking at, and was thankful it was dark and the plane was merely outlined against the moonlit clouds. Seeing it clearly would probably put him into shock. Yet this was still going to take a great deal of explaining.

Roseleen opened her mouth to begin, but suddenly thought better of it. She figured she’d have a nervous breakdown if she ever tried to get him into an airplane, so she wouldn’t be trying it.

And instead of explaining
that
particular modern wonder, she said with a shrug, “It’s a bird. We grow them bigger these days.”

The look he turned on her was incredulous, either because he didn’t believe her, or because he did. She wasn’t going to ask which. She steered him away from the window instead, adding, “Don’t worry about it. They don’t attack people. They’re really quite harmless—as long as they don’t crash,” she added to herself, and to get his mind onto something else, “About that research I mentioned…”

He stopped abruptly. “Aye, I must own up to being curious. What is it that you cannot find, that you wish my help in searching for?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You wish to re-search for something.”

From his stance and expression, she gathered that he really liked the fact that she needed his help. He’d also stressed the word enough that she realized he was making two
words out of one and so was missing its meaning.

But before she could correct him, he asked her, “If I find what you have lost, would you be willing to grant me a boon for it?”

Was he trying to bargain with her now? Another way to get her into bed with him? She put her correcting on hold to find out.

“All right, I’ll bite,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest in the same manner that he was doing. “What is it you want?”

“The return of my sword.”

It was a bit deflating to hear that, when she’d been anticipating a quite different answer. “I’ve already told you I won’t—”

“What then do you want for it?” he cut in, frustration in his tone now. “Would you like riches? Slaves? Give me the sword, and I will grant your greatest wish.”

“So now you’re a genie who’s going to drop a pile of treasure at my feet?” she snorted.

At that he grinned. “Nay, I would rob one of the king’s tax collectors.”

“What king?”

“Any English king you like.”

“Any one? You’re not making sense, Thorn. England is ruled by a queen now. And besides, I wouldn’t sell that sword for any price.”

He looked disappointed, extremely so. He tried to hide it, but it was kind of hard to miss, with those drooping shoulders and that frowning countenance. But that was too bad. He wasn’t going to sweet-talk her out of
Blooddrinker’s Curse, no matter how strong an urge she felt to wipe that frown from his face.

“Can we get to that research now? And it doesn’t mean that anything is lost. Research is a thorough gathering of information on a particular subject.”

He grunted. He didn’t seem at all interested in her explanation, and was obviously still thinking about his sword. But he did offer a token reply. “I doubt I would be very skillful at the gathering of information.”

“No, I don’t want you to gather it for me, I want to get it
from
you. Your knowledge of the past, Thorn. I’m hoping it will aid me in researching the book I’m writing.”

“My knowledge? And if I choose not to give it?”

The sexual tension was there now, and so potent, she had to take a step back from him. “You can forget
that
,” she said, her eyes narrowing on him in a warning.

He didn’t bother to play the innocent and ask what she was referring to. He grinned instead, his mood much improved now, whereas hers had just gone sour.

“You are certain, Roseleen?” he asked, his voice lowered to a husky timbre.

“Damn certain,” she shot back, ignoring the leap in her belly that reacted to his sexy tone. “If you don’t want to help me, that will be too bad. It will simply mean that we have nothing further to discuss.”

Now he laughed. “You think to dismiss me
again? You will find that not so easy to accomplish. But I did not say I would refuse you the knowledge you seek. You have yet to tell me what that knowledge is.”

Suddenly faced with his cooperation, she wasn’t sure where to begin. But her excitement was building, mixed with her relief. And then she remembered the poster and knew exactly where to start.

“When you saw that medieval poster in my classroom that night, and you thought it was William the Bastard, it seemed as if you’d actually known him—personally. Were you ever summoned during his day?”

He was surprised, then seemed excited himself. “I have met him, aye. Would you like to?”

W
ould she like to meet one of the greatest kings of England? The question so surprised Roseleen that for long moments she simply stared at Thorn. And she could blame that surprise for the ridiculous question that came out of her mouth next.

“Do you mean you can bring the ghost of William of Normandy here?”

“Nay, but I can take you to him, when he was flesh and blood.”

Hearing that, she sighed. These ups and downs of excitement and disappointment were becoming tedious. Take her to him? What he was suggesting wasn’t possible and she told him so.

“That isn’t poss—” she began, but stopped herself.

What was she saying?
His
being here wasn’t possible either, yet there he stood, six and a half feet of very real Viking.

So, she amended hesitantly, almost with
bated breath, “Okay, how would you manage that?”

“With Blooddrinker’s Curse in my hand.”

“The sword? Are you telling me this is yet another power it has, that it allows you to actually travel through time?”

“Aye.”

“How?”

“I need only envision a place I have been to, and there I will go.”

At that point, her excitement returned. “Then I could do the same thing?”

“Nay, the sword is bound to me. It lacks power unless I am present.”

She sighed again, much louder this time. There was the catch, and she really should have seen it coming. She was beginning to think he’d do or say anything to get that sword in his hands again—including spinning a tale like this one just for her benefit.

But for the moment, she played along with him, asking, “In other words, I have to lend you my sword and trust that you
and
it won’t disappear on me?”

“It will not work unless you go with me.”

Why did that sound familiar to her? Ah, he’d said it once before. Well, at least he was being consistent in these tall tales.

“All right, let’s suppose I do give you the sword, and we’ll even suppose that I agree to go with you. What happens then?”

“The control of it will be mine. I will be able to go wherever I have previously been.”

“That’s rather limited in choices, isn’t it? Or
have you been summoned so often over the years that you have a great many times to choose from?”

“The number of my summonings matters not,” he explained. “Because the time need not be the same. It wouldst depend on what I envision. If naught has changed in a place from the way I remember it, then the time can be advanced forward or backward from when I was previously there. The time need not be only when I was there.”

“How much time leeway are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “A week, a year, a hundred years. Again, it wouldst be determined by what I envision. A beach or an uninhabited countryside would be less likely to change over the years than a city street.”

“And if you tried to go back to a time you hadn’t been to, say a year after you’d last been somewhere, and the place
was
changed, then what would happen?”

“I would appear in the place at somewhere in between the two times, when the place was last as I remembered it.”

“What about going forward, say a week from now, or a month?”

“Nay, the sword will not go beyond its present time. It will only journey to its past. Yet will it always return to its present, no matter any changes that might have occurred.”

A fail-safe clause that would get them back home no matter what? That was nice to know. And Roseleen wasn’t really interested in trav
eling forward anyway, so hearing that she couldn’t was no disappointment. It was the past that fascinated her, and she got back to that subject.

“So if nothing has changed in the past, then you can pick an exact date to go back to?”

“Aye, and anywhere I have previously been.” And then he grinned at her. “Also, I can fight in whatever war I have witnessed. Odin has assured me all this is possible.”

Odin? She groaned inwardly. Oh, sure, take a Viking god’s word for it, when she didn’t believe in Viking gods? She should have put a stop to this particular tale when he’d started it, instead of humoring him. But then it clicked,
exactly
what he’d just told her.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Are you saying you haven’t tried it yet?”

“Nay, I have been denied that chance. As I have stated, the female possessor of my sword must accompany me, yet have none thus far agreed to do so.”

“So you don’t even know for sure if it works?”

“Odin has—”

“Yes, yes, he assured you,” she cut in, barely managing to keep to herself how little that counted in her book. Insulting his god wouldn’t go over very well, and she did still want to keep the peace with him—even if he was trying to con her out of her sword.

“Okay, just for the sake of clarity,” she continued, “you’re saying that right now, right
this minute, if you had my sword in your hand, we could go and visit King William?”

“King William? You mean Duke William—”

“Whatever you called him. Could we?”

“Aye.”

“Or even some other king in a different century?”

“Aye—or any war I have fought in.”

Roseleen frowned. He was repeating himself, and if it were any other subject, she might not have noticed, but war? She knew how much he loved fighting, and his expression clearly told her how delighted he was right now, that they were having this conversation. Was it possible that he really believed he could travel through time, that what he was telling her wasn’t just a ruse to get his sword back?

Again she experienced a leap of excitement. If she let herself believe, even for a minute, that everything Thorn had just told her was true—the resulting possibilities would be astounding. To be able to travel through time, to have the opportunity to meet the very people who had changed the course of history. With that at stake, how could she not give him a chance to prove it to her?

But that meant giving him her sword, or rather
lending
it to him. How could she take that risk? Then again, how could she not? If there was even the smallest likelihood that she could visit the past, actually see history in the making, gather her research firsthand…

“Wait here and I’ll get the sword,” she said before she could change her mind.

He didn’t, of course. She didn’t know what made her think he would. He was right on her heels as she left the library. It seemed he was even closer than that as she mounted the stairs, though it was only her awareness of him that gave her that feeling. But that feeling kept her from hesitating when she entered her room—at least until she had the heavy sword in her hands.

At that point, she was assailed again by indecision. Having a sword that was capable of slicing through time was just too much for her logical, want-to-see-the-proof mind to accept. Her first conclusion was more than likely the right one. And she didn’t want to lose her sword, she really didn’t…

“Give it to me, Roseleen.”

She closed her eyes. She almost groaned. It wasn’t the sword that came to mind with those husky words. But
he
was talking about the sword.

She turned around to face him. He wasn’t as close as she’d thought. And he was holding out his hand, silently demanding that she place the sword in it.

It worked. She did. In fact, she practically shoved the weapon at him. And she was so anxious, she almost missed seeing the transformation in Blooddrinker’s Curse as Thorn’s fingers curled reverently around its hilt. She did think she was imagining it, the filling in of those two small chips on the
double-edged blade, the age-blackened metal slowly changing to a shining silver. And the amber gems not covered by his large hand were no longer murky, they sparkled with crystal clarity in the overhead light.

She
had
to be imagining it, a trick of the light, her own anxiety in thinking her sword
and
her Viking were about to vanish from her life. And yet there was still that small, budding hope that if she closed her eyes, she’d open them and be in another century, that somehow, miraculously, everything he’d told her was true.

She did close her eyes now, to give him the chance to prove it to her. Of course, nothing happened. She could still hear the soft tick of her bedroom clock, still feel the fragrant summer breeze coming in from her open—

“We cannot depart,” Thorn said. “Not until I hear your words of agreement, that you wouldst go where I go—of your own free will.”

Her eyes snapped open. They
were
still in her bedroom—well, of course they were, he’d just said they couldn’t leave yet. And he was standing there, Blooddrinker’s Curse still gripped tightly in his hand, and looking somewhat…disgruntled. Because of her silence? Could he really not leave without her cooperation?

Her anxiety lessened quite a bit with that thought. She even considered asking for her sword back to relieve the rest of it. But she didn’t want to see disappointment in his ex
pression again, or at least she didn’t want to be the cause of it. And as the logical part of her mind reasserted itself, she reminded herself she didn’t want to be disappointed either.

She was going to trust that Thorn really did think time hopping was possible. But he was going to feel disappointed soon anyway, when he found out for himself that his Odin had been pulling his leg. But he had to hear her agreement first.

She was torn now about giving it, because she really
didn’t
want to see him downcast again. But she knew neither one of them would ever be sure unless she did.

So she was going to say what he wanted to hear, but first she said, for her own peace of mind, “Just so there’s no misunderstanding here, I’m only
lending
you my sword, Thorn. I do want that clear between us. And you will give it back when I ask for it, right?”

His answer was a long time in coming, and it wasn’t verbal. All she got was a curt nod that he was obviously reluctant to give. That was good enough for her, though. But there was one more point she wanted him to confirm.

“And I want your promise that you’ll return us here when I say so.”

This answer came a little more easily but not much. “You have it.”

“Very well,” she continued, and even gave him a half smile, for what it was worth. “You have my agreement to go with you wherever you like, and I’m giving it willingly.”

His smile was immediate, and incredibly beautiful in the delight that prompted it. And Roseleen didn’t need to close her eyes again. Suddenly, there was nothing but blackness in front of them, and a sensation of floating in air. But seconds later, there was a lot more, the clang of metal striking metal, horses screaming, and what appeared to be thousands of mail-clad warriors trying to kill one another.