He bent toward it and nearly toppled.
“Sit,” she ordered.
“You shall be able to see it more easily that way.”
She thought he would refuse, then he nodded.
Dropping heavily onto the nearest bench, he took a shuddering breath.
Only now did she notice how pale his face was beneath his deep tan.
He was trying to keep her from seeing that he still was weakened by his pain.
Sitting beside him, she balanced the book on her lap.
“This is a book displaying what happened when the Vikings invaded
England
.”
Linnea was silent as Nils stared at the picture.
The Viking warriors were pouring off their dragon-prowed ship with its square sail.
The buildings in the village were topped by flames.
Bodies were scattered in every direction, and at the far left of the picture a Viking was dragging a woman by her hair toward the shore.
Looking from the horrendous portrayal of brutality to his face, she waited for him to say something.
She wanted him to assure her that this was far worse than anything he had witnessed, that history had darkened the name of the Norse warriors, that he never would have been part of something like this.
“This picture is wrong,” he said.
“Is it?”
Her heart bounced within her, elated that he was not a beast like those depicted in this drawing.
He touched the helmet on a warrior stepping ashore.
“This is not correct.
No one among the
Norrfoolk
would wear horns protruding from a battle helmet.
They would be knocked off with a single blow and make a warrior vulnerable to the jab of a blade.”
“But otherwise?”
“Otherwise, the drawing of that man could be a portrait of Gyrd.”
He pointed to the man holding a handful of the woman’s hair.
She swallowed her disgust as she asked, “Who is Gyrd?”
“My cousin.”
Tapping the center of the warrior’s chest, he said, “Gyrd wears such an amulet with Thor’s hammer, as I do.”
“Like on your arm band?”
“And like this.”
He drew out the gold chain and pointed to the strange ornament.
“This is Thor’s hammer.”
Linnea looked from the picture to the charm he wore.
They were identical.
“So you recognize this?”
“I just said so.”
He pulled the book from her lap and tipped it on its side.
With a grimace, he handed it back to her.
“I may speak your language, but I cannot read its swirls.
What is the name of this book?”
“
The Vikings in Old
England
.”
“So this is why you call me a Viking instead of a
Norrfoolk
.”
“The term is the one we are familiar with in this time.”
“Viking is not what we called ourselves.”
Linnea closed the book and set it back on the table.
“I am sure you were called many other things by the English of that time.”
“I have heard those names spoken in anger and in fear.”
His mouth tightened.
“However, what is not shown in this book is the attacks made by Ethelred’s men on the peace-loving people of the Danelaw.”
“Danelaw?”
He picked up the book and paged through it.
Pointing to a picture of a village where children played while the adults tended to their tasks, he said, “The Danelaw was the eastern half of this island that had been ceded to the
Norrfoolk
.
There, English and
Norrfoolk
lived in peace for many years until the English broke that peace with raids that left many dead.
Not just warriors, but women and oldsters and children.
Only then was it determined that all of this island must be brought to its knees before our king.
The English could not be trusted.”
“They only were trying to get back what the Vikings had stolen.”
“The Danelaw was created by treaty between the kings of the English and the
Norrfoolk
.
The English broke that treaty and showed their dishonor.
Our leader was a
daari
to trust them.”
“
Daari
?
You said that before, but I do not recall what it means.”
“It means fool.”
He ran his fingers over the picture of the quiet village.
The pain on his face was not from his broken arm or his ankle.
Instead there was a dullness to his eyes, as if he were hurt in places no one but he could see.
“All of us were fools.
We did not expect Ethelred to denounce the treaty of his fathers.
So many died.”
“On both sides of the battle.”
Raising his head, he met her eyes steadily.
“Save for Nils Bjornsson for whom death has been denied.”
“You think you can’t die?
That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard.”
“I mean only that I was not granted a warrior’s death in my own time, that I was brought here.
If Kortsson finds me here before I am healed, I know he can slay me.”
He closed the book.
As she set it on the table, he took her hand and drew her back to sit beside him.
“I know you find this difficult to believe.”
“As you do.”
He nodded.
“As I do.
However, I cannot deny the truth that is before me.
This is not the year I was in when I closed my eyes upon making my prayer to Freya.”
“The goddess?”
“The one who takes the dying warriors to the
Valhalla
and their reward for their service and bravery.
I asked her to help me complete my vow to my chieftain.”
“To find a knife?”
“You remember?”
“How could I forget something so ludicrous?” Linnea asked, then wished she had not when his eyes became violet slits.
“There is nothing ludicrous about a blood-vow.
I need to find the knife that belongs to my chieftain, so I can return it to him.”
She put a hand on his arm.
“It might not even exist any longer.”
The hint of a smile tipped his lips as he touched her cheek lightly.
“It must, or I would not have been brought here.
Although I would like to think that you are my reward,
unnasta
, it—”
“What did you call me?”
He chuckled.
“Some Norse words do not translate easily into your language.”
Linnea ignored her curiosity.
When his laugh took on that playful tone, she had learned that he would not give her a reasonable answer.
He was enjoying teasing her.
Standing, she said, “I find it difficult to believe a knife would survive for a thousand years when it was lost to begin with.”
“Not lost.
Stolen.
It is possible that Kortsson has it now.”
He held up his hands about eighteen inches apart.
“The knife was this long, and it was made by a master.
Its haft was gilded to accent the outline of Loki and a dragon that spiraled along it, its tail becoming the blade.
Two red stones glistened for its eyes, and its tongue was painted a midnight black.
Only when one looked closely could the tiny dwarves be seen holding up the coils of the serpent.”
“Tiny dwarves?
A trio of them on either side?”
“Yes!”
“I have seen that knife.”
“You have?”
His eyes brightened with anticipation and other emotions warning that anyone who had challenged this fearsome warrior had been a fool.
“Where?”
“I am not sure.”
“Linnea, I must know.”
“In
London
it must have been.
When we visited there during the Season before Dinah announced her plans to marry.”
“We must go to
London
before Kortsson learns of this.
I had thought he might have it, but if you have seen it, he does not.”
She frowned.
“You cannot travel now.”
“I will heal.
Then we shall go there.
You will lead me to the knife before Kortsson can find it, and I shall take it to my chieftain as I have vowed.”
“Back through time?”
His shoulders sagged as she never had seen them do before.
“I had not considered that.
There must be a way for me to satisfy my oath.
Otherwise, there is no logical reason for me to be here.”
His jaw clenched.
“Even Loki would not be so cruel.”
“The god of mischief?”
“You are learning quickly, Linnea.”
“I must if I wish to help you.”
He looked up at her in amazement.
“You wish to help me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She sat again beside him.
To speak the truth of the obligations she had would only magnify this unbelievable situation.
To speak of how she wished to see his eyes glitter with joy as they did when he drew her close would be foolhardy.
To speak of how she could not trust herself when she was in his arms would be even more imprudent.
The wisest choice she could make now was to believe they had been brought together so she could assist him in his quest.