Twenty-Three
Linnea followed the maze of corridors in Tuthill Hall until the music from the orchestra was silenced beyond the stone walls.
When she reached a door opening to the gardens, she faltered.
Rain was beginning to pelt the walkway, and a chill clung to the air.
Mayhap the storm was her escape.
Surely no one would follow her out into it.
But Nils would.
Averting her face from the rain, she went down another passage.
There were no wings on this house as there were at
Sutherland
Park
, and she had to find somewhere to hide, somewhere where she could have a chance to think.
She came around a corner and gasped.
A soft glow floated along the passage in midair directly in front of her.
It was like the light reflecting through the crystal globe that had taken her and Nils to
Fensalir
.
What was it?
She hurried forward, not sure what she would find.
Fear trembled through her.
When last she had seen such a glow, it had been accompanied by what Nils insisted was a Norse god.
That made no sense, but neither did this light that seemed to be coming from nowhere.
As she got closer to the glow, she stopped, then inched forward.
It vanished.
Stepping back, she watched it reappear.
Her disappointed laugh was shaky as she raised her hand and moved it up and down.
The glow appeared and vanished in the center of the passage.
It was just lamplight reflecting in a looking glass on the wall.
Letting her longing to be in Nils’s arms betray her was stupid.
Nils...
Linnea saw a tufted settee just inside the door.
Going in, she dropped onto it.
She loved Nils.
That was the only thing she was certain of as her life spun out of control.
Her eyes widened as she stared across the room and saw a glass case set between the two windows.
It had three shelves.
The uppermost one held only a single, ragged bag.
Bits of embroidery clung to it, but most of it had been ripped away. The middle one was filled with stones marked with the strange sort of writing she had seen on the memory stone by the mound.
She paid them no mind, for on the bottom shelf was a knife in an ancient, water-stained sheath.
She jumped to her feet and ran across the room.
Although time had stolen much of the glorious color from the haft, she could see the dragon’s open mouth and how its tail vanished beneath the sheath.
She stood on tiptoe to see the knife better.
A gasp burst from her when she noted the three small creatures holding up one part of the dragon’s elongated, snakelike body.
She stared at another figure carved within the dragon’s mouth.
Not a man, but a god.
Loki!
This must be the knife Nils’s brother had stolen, the knife that had compelled Nils to come to this time so he might find it and fulfill his oath to his chieftain.
Why had she thought she had seen it in
London
instead of here on the neighboring estate?
She frowned, then recalled how
Randolph
had spoken of cleaning out his father’s house in Town before it was sold.
She must have seen it there when she went with Papa to call on the late Lord Tuthill.
Why hadn’t she recalled that?
She had been at the Tuthill house in
London
a score of times.
The sound of distant laughter was faint, but she could not fail to recognize it.
Loki!
He had had a hand in this from the very beginning.
Somehow, he had betwattled her memory, playing tricks on her mind as he had with Nils.
It no longer mattered!
The knife was here.
Looking back at the doorway to make sure no one was there, Linnea lifted the hook closing the door of the glass case.
The hinges screeched as if to warn that she was trespassing.
She lifted out the knife and cradled it in her hands.
It was heavier than she had expected, and it would take a strong man to wield it.
A man as strong as Nils.
A half-sob threatened to bubble past her lips as her exultant smile faded.
If this truly was the knife that Nils sought—and it must be because she doubted if there could be another— once he had it, he could be returned to his time and the completion of his quest.
She stared at the open case.
She could put the knife back in there, blow out the lamp in this room, and leave, closing the door behind her.
Nils had no reason to suspect the knife was here.
They could go to
London
, and he could search there.
He could seek and seek and seek the knife...and he would remain in this time with her.
“Linnea?”
She whirled to face the door and Nils.
“I know you wished to be alone,” he said, “but we must talk about what has happened between us,
unnasta
.”
Without speaking, Linnea raised the knife in both of her hands.
A gray sheen ruined Nils’s healthy bronze complexion.
It was as if she were seeing him again when he was lying battered and near death on the shore.
Taking the knife from her, he ran his fingers along the dragon’s head.
He drew it out of the sheath and touched the carving in the blade.
When he tilted it toward the light, she said, “Loki and the dwarfs are on there as well.”
She touched the haft.
“Right here.
Just as you described it.”
“This is my chieftain’s
sax
.”
He put it back into its sheath.
“Thank you,
unnasta
.”
“Now you can return it to your chieftain.”
His lip curled with fury.
“When I have repaid Tuthill for not telling me about this knife.”
“No, you cannot blame
Randolph
for denying you that knife.”
She grasped his coat sleeve.
“Nils, you must listen to me.”
He whirled to face her.
“How many times have I mentioned my search for anything of the
Norrfoolk
?
He never spoke of this.”
“
Randolph
may not even know it is of the
Norrfoolk
.
He is not interested in old things.
How many times have you heard him mention
that
?”
She touched the knife.
“He probably considers this nothing more than a useless trinket that was not worthy of his time, although he clearly considered it valuable enough to bring it from
London
.”
“This?
You believe he sees no value in my chieftain’s blade?”
He raised the sheathed blade between them.
“
You
recognized its worth.”
“Because you spoke candidly to me of it.”
She put her hands on his arm, lowering the knife so she could see past it to his eyes that were slitted with rage.
They widened as she added, “To you, Nils, this knife is the reason you were denied the death you believed would be your reward as a loyal warrior.
It is the symbol of an obligation you have taken upon yourself to redeem your brother’s name and your family’s honor in a way that slaying your blood-enemy never could.”
She touched the jewels sewn into the embroidery on the fraying sheath.
“For
Randolph
, it is only one of the many things collected by the Denner family during the past thousand years.”
“My vow is my vow, Linnea.
I told Freya that I would see the man who kept me from doing as I pledged would pay for that with his life.”
Gripping the knife, he drew it from the sheath.
“Nothing Tuthill can say will persuade me to spare his life.”
Linnea stepped between him and the door.
“You cannot kill him.”
“Do not get in my way.
You cannot understand.”
“Because I am a woman?”
She folded her arms in front of her.
“I thought you said a Viking woman had rights and knowledge to match a warrior’s.”
“You cannot understand because you are a part of this time when honor means so little.”
“How can you say that?” she cried, her serenity severing to reveal her pain.
“You know that I care as much about my family’s honor as you do.
That is why...”
She hid her face in her hands.
“
Unnasta
,” he whispered.
When his hand stroked her hair, she looked up at him.
“Nils, I love you.”
There.
She had said it.
The words that had filled her heart until she feared it would burst had been said.
She waited for him to smile, but he scowled.
“You say that and yet you are willing to give yourself to a most dishonorable man and tarnish the name Sutherland.”
“Do not change the subject.”
“I thought Tuthill and his dishonor and the dishonor he will heap on you were the subjects.”
Linnea shook her head slowly.
“No, the subject is why you cannot kill
Randolph
.
I beg you to heed me.”
Sorrow dimmed his eyes.
“I did not realize that you cared for Tuthill so much.
You say that you love me, but do you love him, too?”
“‘Tis not how I feel about Randolph that matters.
‘Tis the fact that he is not your prey.
He is not the one who kept you from finding this knife.”
She took a deep breath and raised her chin.
“I am.”
He held her chin in his broad hand, a smile returning to his expressive lips.
“I know you wish me to heed your gentle heart,
unnasta
, but you, who have not denied me the secrets of your soul and the sweetness of your lips, would never deny me the chance to succeed in doing as I had pledged.”