My Lord Viking (21 page)

     
“I do not intend to use it to separate Tuthill’s head from his throat, if that is what concerns you.”

     
“It did not concern me.”

     
Nils was amazed at what sounded like regret in the lad’s voice.
 
Maybe this time was not so different from his, after all.
 
There had been those in his century, his brother included, who preferred such simple solutions to problems, but Nils had followed the lead of his chieftain who saw bloodshed as necessary only when fighting a blood-enemy or for honor.
 
Yet he could not hesitate to do what he must to be certain Linnea, his only ally in this time, was able to help him find his chieftain’s knife.

     
It was all that should matter to him.

     
He glanced toward the far window as he heard Jack speak Linnea’s name.
 
Going to it, he looked out to see her sitting beside the man she called
Randolph
.
 

     
All he should be thinking of now was recovering the knife.
 
Yet his hand fisted on the sill when he saw the man next to Linnea take her fingers and kiss them fervently.
 

     
Listening for Loki’s laugh, he suspected this was all another prank dreamed up by the wizard.
 
Any other explanation was bound to create more problems.

     
“Loki?” he called lowly, so his voice would not reach the man who was coming to his feet and keeping Linnea’s hand in his.
 
“If this is your idea of a way to keep me from doing as I vowed, it will not work.”

     
He hoped he was not lying.

Eleven

     
Nils took a tentative step, then reached for Linnea’s hand.
 
Bowing over it, he fought not to fall onto his nose as he heard Olive’s superior sniff.
 
The accursed ankle was bothering him more today than it had earlier in the week.
 
Mayhap it was because of the rain rushing past the partially open shutters.
 
The dampness had arrived with the morning, and the day had grown only more gray and dismal with each passing hour.
 

     
“This is stupid.”
 
Nils sat on a bench, glowering at Linnea.

     
“What is stupid?”

     
“Kissing a woman’s hand when a man would rather kiss her lips.”

     
“Nils!”
 
She glanced away from him and toward Olive, who was sitting in her customary place by the window next to the stairs.
 
Those windows were securely closed and locked, so Olive had to bend close to her knitting needles to watch the pattern of her stitches.
 
Other than the one sniff, Olive had seemed to take no note of them.

     
“Oh, do not get huffy, Linnea.”
 
He bent and kneaded the aching skin along his ankle.
 
“I was not speaking of you personally.”

     
“I see.”

     
He looked up.
 
Her lips were pursed with indignation.
 
“You do?
 
It seems to me that you are quite blind to the meaning of my words.”

     
“I do not believe so.
 
You clearly consider any woman yours to pursue as you wish.”

     
“That is a man’s prerogative.”

     
She started to rise, but he reached across the table and grasped her hand, pinning it to the weatherworn boards.
 
“Release me,” she ordered.

     
“When you release your misconceptions.”

     
“You were the one who spoke of kissing women.”

     
“A merry pastime when one has the inclination.”
 
He watched her color rise as he eyed her up and down.
 
“I do admit to having kissed other women before you, just as you have kissed other men.
 
Maybe the only difference is that you are the only one I kiss now, and you cannot say the same.”

     
“What are you talking about?”

     
“I have eyes.”
 
He gestured toward the shuttered windows and grimaced as raindrops left by a passing shower sprinkled through onto his hand.

     
“Jealous ones, it would seem, although I do not know why you would act so.”

     
Slowly he pushed himself to his feet.
 
“‘Tis not jealousy that I feel.
 
Nothing must halt me from doing as I must.
 
For that, I need your attention focused on this quest.”

     
“Olive,” she said as she stood, “the rain is easing.
 
Will you go back to the house and get our luncheon?
 
Jack will be here any time now.”

     
Her maid nodded.
 
Picking up her knitting, she went down the stairs.
 

     
Linnea faced him again.
 
“Speak of this without thought when others are listening, and you may find that you have more help on your quest than you wish.”

     
“Finding my chieftain’s knife matters only to me.”

     
“That knife is nearly a thousand years old.
 
I suspect there are many collectors who would be eager to find such a relic.”

     
Nils frowned.
 
“I had not given that idea any thought.”

     
“Along with all the others you did not think clearly about.”
 
She walked back toward him.
 
“I agreed to help you finish your quest, Nils.
 
When you find your missing knife, you will be on your way back to your own time.
 
Your life will go on as it has before you came here to
Sutherland
Park
, and mine will do the same.
 
It is something you should keep in mind.”

     
His arm was around her waist, bringing her to him, as if it had a mind of its own.
 
A mind which shared his thoughts, because the seductive caress of her breasts against his chest was the very posset he needed to ease the sickness within him when he had seen her with Tuthill.

     
She put up her hands to halt him as he tilted his mouth to kiss her.
 
He refused to be stopped.
 
She had not pushed Tuthill aside, and she would not do that to him.
 
Her lips were intoxicating beneath his.
 
Slowly, as he deepened the kiss, her hands unclenched against him.
 
Her fingers spread across his chest, sending a savage need ripping through him, urging him to satisfy his craving with her.
 

     
She stiffened abruptly.
 
Jerking herself away from him, she pulled aside his shirt.
 
“How did you get that knife back?”

     
“Jack brought it to me.”

     
“He should not have.”

     
“Why not?”
 
He stroked her arm and watched her eyes glow with the longing he suffered.
 

     
Then her gaze hardened.
 
“Because you are most certain to do something stupid and ruin your recovery as well as your chance to do as you vowed.”

     
“I will do nothing stupid.”

     
“No?
 
Kissing me just now was very stupid.”

     
Nils scowled, but she did not look away.
 
“I will try to remember that, and not be so stupid again.
 
However, you shall not persuade me to return this knife to you.”

     
“Have it your way.”
 
Linnea stamped to the top of the stairs.
 
“I know I am a mere woman, and an English one at that, but you might—just once—acknowledge that I may know more about something than you do.”

     
“Linnea!”

     
She squared her shoulders and went down the stairs.
 

     
He jammed the crutch under his arm, then tossed it aside as he hobbled toward the steps.
 
When Jack stood at the bottom and looked at the door where Linnea’s shadow was all that remained of her, Nils turned back toward the window.
 
The white of Linnea’s gown flitted like an earthbound cloud through the wet greenery of the garden.
 

     
The sweet flavor of her lips remained on his.
 
He wanted her, and he wanted to finish his quest in a blaze of success. Why couldn’t she understand that?

     
“She cannot because she is not like the women you have known, Nils Bjornsson.
 
She is of this time and this place.”

     
Nils slowly turned away from the window to stare at the woman in the middle of the room.
 
Her hair was like plaited gold, catching its fire from the sunlight that was piercing the clouds.
 
The embroidered silver and copper robes draping her voluptuous body emphasized every curve, drawing his eyes along them with their motion which suggested a gentle breeze was wafting through the pavilion.
 
But the air was still.
 

     
The woman was exquisitely beautiful, so beautiful that he knew he was in the company of a goddess.
 
Freya was desired by every god, every giant, every creature who lived in the earth, on it, or above it.

     
Save for Nils Bjornsson.
 
Even the temptation of the greatest temptress ever known could not steal his mind from his quest...and from the woman who held the key to redeeming his vow.
 

     
Bowing his head, he said, “I am honored to greet you, Freya.”

     
She laughed, the sound like the first precious trickle of water freed from the ice with the coming of spring.
 
Bending, she put a pale gray cat on the floor.
 
He had not noticed the creature until now.
 
Her fingers lingered along it, and its purr filled the room.
  

     
“I was not so sure of that, Nils Bjornsson.”
 
She ran her fingers along his shoulders as she had her cat.
 
“Why did you make such a vow and deny yourself the amusements and glory of
Valhalla
?
 
You would have earned a place high at the table for your deeds that were worthy of
saga
.
 
Even Thor would be entertained by the tales of what you have achieved in service to your chieftain.”

     
“I could not think of myself when my service to my chieftain remains undone.”

     
“But you do think of your pleasures.”
 
Her eyes became as calculating as the cat she picked up again and held to her full breasts.
 
“Your thoughts are no longer focused totally on that pledge.”

     
“I think of getting hale once more.”

     
“And you think of spending time with the woman who found you by the sea.”

     
Nils knew it was useless to argue with a goddess who might know his thoughts before he did.
 
“I cannot travel far when my arm is broken and I know nothing of this place.
 
She professes to have seen the knife I seek.
 
I will use that knowledge she possesses to complete my pledge to find my chieftain’s knife.”

     
“Broken arm?
 
Is that and your sprained ankle all that keep you here?”
 
She laughed, the sound like water rushing from beneath the ice with the coming of spring.
 
“Eira will attend to it.”
 
She glanced to her left.

     
As a form appeared as if stepping from a thick fog into the clear, Nils bowed his head toward the woman whose hair was as red as a wound.
 
He recognized Eira, the goddess who was also a healer.
 
Unlike Freya, her clothes were simple and without gaudy decoration.
 
Her gown hid her shape rather than accenting every sensual curve.
 

     
“Nils Bjornsson, in this time and place,” Eira said, her voice sounding as if it came from a distance, “your arm should not be broken.”
 

     
He waited for Eira to say something else or wave her hands or do something.
 
She turned and walked toward the steps.
 
Whether she descended them or simply vanished he could not tell.
 

     
“Well?” asked Freya in a jeering tone.
 
“For what do you wait, Nils Bjornsson?”

     
He opened and closed his hand, amazed that the pain was gone.
 
“It appears you have done me a great favor this time, Freya.”