The Very Virile Viking

by Sandra Hill

  "Puhleeze!" She raised her head to look at Magnus. Even though he was sitting, his height was still immense.

  He stared back at her, looking concerned. He kept flexing his hands in an agitated manner.

  She roiled over on her back so she could see him better. "You're mighty virile for such an old man."

  "Do not make mock of me, Angela."

  "How can I not make fun of you? You're trying to say I just made love with a man old enough to be my grandfather more than fifty times removed."

  "Precisely."

  "This is a joke, right? Next, you will be proposing another one of your sex games, though I can't for the life of me think what the appeal would be in senior-citizen sex games."

  "Huh?" Magnus scratched his head and appeared to ponder her words. "Exactly what would senior-citizen sex entail?"

  "I haven't a clue." She had to laugh at his interest in what would surely be a perversion. But then she sat up and wrapped the sheet around herself, sarong-style. It was obvious Magnus had something he wanted to discuss, and it wasn't sex, despite his momentary curiosity about yet another fantasy game.

  "I do not know how to tell you this, Angela, except to blurt it out. Alas, I am a time traveler."

  "Ha, ha, ha! You and Jules Verne. Quit joking."

  "I wish I were joking."

  "Okay, big boy, exactly how long have you known you were a time traveler?"

  "Since yestermorn. I was in the winery cellar with Miguel and noticed the date on the bottles from your last year of producing wines. It said 1997. That gave me my first clue."

  She rubbed her forehead with one hand to erase the headache that was beginning to throb behind her eyelids. "There is no such thing as time travel, Magnus."

  "That is what I would have thought… till yesterday. Now it is beginning to make sense."

  "How could it possibly make sense? By the way, Flash Gordon, did you come by spaceship? Ha, ha, ha."

  "I came by longship, not a spaceship. And what I meant by 'making sense' is that all the wonders that have stunned me and my children since our arrival make sense when you consider that we are of another time."

  "I do not believe in time travel. I'm sorry, Magnus, but it just doesn't pass the giggle test."

  "I do not believe in time travel, either, but…"

  "But what?"

  "I do believe in miracles."

  "You're crazy."

  Still crazy… the next morning…

  They were in a nearby Barnes & Noble before noon the next day with books on Viking history spread out on the reading table before them. Angela was determined to prove to Magnus that he was not from the tenth century and therefore not a time traveler. In a way she felt foolish just making the effort.

  "Before you start your proof-search, let me tell you some facts, and see if your books can back them up.

  "I, Magnus Ericsson, am a Viking, born and bred. I lived in the Vestfold province of the Norselands… from 963 till the year 1000, when I started on my voyage. My father, Eric Tryggvasson, was a Norse jarl… comparable to a Saxon atheling, or high nobleman. My uncle, Olaf Tryggvason, was high king of Norway."

  In addition, Magnus took a pen from Angela's hand and drew a quick sketch on her notepad. "That is our family crest. See, it is similar to that which is etched on my armrings, and those of Torolf, as well." Magnus's rough drawing showed writhing wolves intertwined with runic symbols, which meant "Honor before self," he explained. In addition, he gave her detailed information about his brother Geirolf, a famous shipbuilder, and the names of his ships, all of which began with the word fierce, as in Fierce Wolf, Fierce Dragon, and so on. He also told her of his other brother, Jorund, a warrior-for-hire who was known for his military prowess. His sister, Katla, was not famous, but she was married to a Viking of noble birth in Normandy. She had been married at the ungodly age of fourteen.

  After an hour and a half of reading and note taking, Angela slammed the last book shut. Everything—everything—that Magnus had told her proved true, right down to the design of his family's crest, the wars in which his one brother had fought, and the ships his other brother had built. Had he somehow researched all this material ahead of time? If so, for what purpose? Just to get a part in a movie? To impress her?

  None of it made sense, least of all Magnus's contention that he was a tenth-century Viking who had somehow shot through time to land in Hollywood.

  She looked across the table at Magnus, who was leaning back in his chair, his ankles crossed and propped on another empty chair. He was flicking through the pages of two magazines—Cosmopolitan and Playboy—which he'd insisted she purchase for him after seeing the pictures and titles of articles on the front. There was a photograph of a nearly nude nubile young female on the one, which he'd proclaimed looked just like Girta the Great. She hadn't bothered to ask what Girta was so great at. The other magazine had articles such as, "The World's Greatest Sex Fantasy," "How to Get a Hard Butt in Half the Time," and "Best Methods of Oral Sex."

  "Is oral sex like the pop-sigh-call game?" Magnus asked, putting his magazines aside.

  "Shhh," she said, not wanting anyone to overhear. Her long, tall, way-too-handsome Viking was already garnering enough attention. Even in jeans and a plain black T-shirt, he was drop-dead gorgeous, with a butt that needed no hardening, thank you very much. Not that appearance mattered to her. Much.

  He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Well?"

  "Yes, it is." She felt her face heat up with embarrassment, though how she had a shred of modesty in her after the past twelve hours was beyond her.

  "Tsk, tsk, tsk!" He flashed her a mischievous grin. "I was wondering about the Norse history books you have been buried in."

  "Oh." Her face heated up some more. "Yes, I have to admit that everything you say is true, but that doesn't mean you are a time traveler."

  "What does it mean then?"

  "I don't know, but I'll think of something." She bent over to pick up her purse from the floor and gather her papers. When she straightened, she caught him in the act of doing the one major thing women hated— ogling her behind.

  "I am hungry," he said.

  "You just ate four cheese danishes and two blueberry muffins with two lattes."

  "I am hungry," he repeated.

  She looked at him then, giving him her full attention.

  He licked his lips slowly and sensuously, the whole time staring at her—and her behind—with unwavering… hunger. "I am hungry."

  Angela thought of a dozen answers she could have given him, but the only one that seemed appropriate was, "Me, too."

  Unfortunately—or fortunately—they made love on the front seat of her BMW, under a lap rug, in broad daylight, at the far end of the Barnes & Noble parking lot. It was by far the most scandalous thing Angela had ever done in all her life.

  Who knew reading could whet such appetites?

  A-viking he did go, via the TV…

  Angela had to go to her office to work that afternoon, but she had stopped on the way home to rent some videotapes for Magnus to watch while she was gone.

  Magnus lay on the sofa for more than four hours watching one incredible tape after another on the tell-a-vision. First he viewed The Vikings, or started to. It was a very old move-he that starred Kirk Douglasson, and was silly beyond belief. If Dare-All No-Land thought Magnus was going to prance about a longship wearing a helmet with a giant eagle atop it, like this act-whore did, he had better think again. Magnus shut that video off after only a half hour.

  Then he began another move-he called The 13th Warrior, which was bad… but not quite so bad as the Kirk one. In this story, the Vikings were portrayed as vicious and fanciful, believing in sea monsters and such, but the most unpalatable character was the Arab merchant as portrayed by Aunt-toe-knee-oh Band-arrows. Or was it Aunt-toe-knee-oh of the Band of Eros? Whatever. This fellow had a heavy accent more like an Italian than a Saracen. Plus, the move-he perpetuated the most outlandish theories about Vikings. First the
re was the claim that Norsemen were filthy in their daily habits; in truth, they were often fastidious to a fault. In addition, this Arab claimed that Vikings routinely had sex with their servants in front of everyone. Ironically, this move-he was based on a book that purportedly portrayed legendary events taking place in the tenth century… his very time period.

  Finally Magnus began a series of five videos that were produced by Pea-Bee-Ess, entitled, Vikings, and narrated by a man with a fine Norse name, Magnus Magnusson. These were documentaries, according to Angela, and therefore more reliable historically. Some of the subtitles were, "Hammer of the North," "From the Fury of the Northmen," "Here King Harold Was Killed," "Halfdan Was Here," and "England at Bay." He was riveted to the screen by these mostly accurate portrayals of the Vikings of his time, and he was still watching closely when Angela returned early that evening.

  "So what do you think?" she asked as she sank down to the carpet next to the sofa and gave him a quick greeting kiss. He liked the way people in this country gave each other greeting kisses, farewell kisses, congratulatory kisses, sympathy kisses, kisses for each and every occasion. He could become accustomed to that.

  "I think that there are many false rumors perpetuated about Vikings," he answered, "but these last videos are interesting. Even I am learning things about my own people."

  She smiled gently at him.

  His heart tightened with emotion, just looking at this woman. He had only told her one time, back at the Blue Dragon, that he loved her, but Magnus feared it was so. At this late date, in these unbelievable circumstances, he was falling in love. And it might very well be an impossible love… one with no future. That was why he had not repeated the words. Then, too, she had never said the words to him.

  "Would you like to go out for dinner?" she asked.

  If you only knew what I would really like! Hot, perverted, blister-my-bones sex, but I would settle for plain sex… for now. "Nay. Can we not eat here?"

  "Sure, but no more pizza."

  Just sex. He laughed and chucked her playfully under the chin.

  "How about if I cook a steak and baked potato, with a salad?"

  And sex. "Whatever you want… though I could do without the weeds."

  It was her turn to laugh. "Okay, I'll put the potatoes in the oven, but I won't start the steaks for an hour. I think I'll take a shower first." She rose to her feet by bracing one hand on the low table.

  This must mean sex. "All right," he agreed, and stood as well.

  "All right?" She cocked her head to the side in question.

  "What? That was not an invitation?"

  At first she seemed not to understand. Then she smiled her understanding. "You are insatiable."

  Sex, sex, sex! "Yea, 'tis one of the best things about us Vikings… but you won't find it on any of these documentaries."

  "The best-kept secret?" She giggled.

  He loved it when a grown woman like Angela giggled. It made her appear girlish and not so lofty. Plus, it must mean sex. "Only our special women know about it," he proclaimed.

  "And I am special?"

  "Oh, lady, you are more than special… to me." And we are, for a certainty, going to have sex now.

  As it turned out, they never got a chance to take their combined shower, or to eat the steak dinner, or to engage in sex. The tell-a-phone rang just then, and it was bad news from Grandma Rose. There was a huge fire at the Blue Dragon in one of the grape fields, and it had been deliberately set.

  Chapter Twelve

  When life kicks you in the grape cluster…

  It was the middle of the night by the time they got back to the Blue Dragon, and Angela was frantic with worry.

  The fire trucks were just leaving when they arrived, and Grandma was waiting for them on the porch as they drove up. All the lights were on in the house, and spotlights illuminated the fields in the back.

  "Is anyone hurt?" Magnus asked.

  "No, thank God!" Grandma said. "Except for Jow. The dirty rotten scoundrel kicked the dog in the ribs pretty bad. Jow must have followed him into the field."

  "Oooh! I could kill the guy, whoever he is, for that alone. Anyone who hurts an animal is lower than low." Angela grabbed her grandmother and hugged her hard. She knew how much she and the whole household loved that damn dog.

  "Where is Jow now?"

  "Miguel tied his ribs up real tight with Ace bandages and took him home with him for the night."

  "Boy, I am going to give Jow the biggest, juiciest marrow bone when I see him tomorrow."

  "One tenth of the crop is lost," Grandma told her right off as soon as she finished hugging her. "Not as bad as it could have been, but devastating just the same." As an indication of her concern, Grandma was back to smoking furiously. But then, the children were probably off in bed by now.

  "Don't you be worrying about how devastating anything is," Angela told her grandmother. "We'll survive this, just like we have everything else."

  She noticed that Magnus was studying them both closely, his forehead furrowed with puzzlement. As the three of them began to walk toward the ravaged field, he asked, "Why is the loss so devastating to you? And what do you mean about 'everything else' you've had to survive?"

  "Well, it's not the first time we've had suspicious arson or vandalism here at the Blue Dragon. We suspect it's either someone who wants to buy the place at a bargain price, or a competitor who wants to lower the price of our products." Angela shrugged. "We've never had any proof. And it hasn't happened for several years now."

  "But each one of these events puts us further in the hole, financially, and we've never been able to crawl out," Grandma explained. "That's why Angela's job in the city is so important. Her pay helps to keep this place going."

  "Now, Grandma. I only do a small part. You work hard here, too, in your own way. Your contribution is immense."

  Grandma blew out a huge cloud of smoke and nodded. No false modesty with her.

  "I hope this won't interfere with Darrell and the film crew coming here," Angela mused aloud.

  "It shouldn't matter. We can always let them use the south fields, far away from the devastation," Grandma said.

  "Why… ?" Magnus started to say, then shifted gears. "It has always puzzled me why you would invite Dare-All and his crew to come here, when you so clearly are not fond of him."

  "Money, honey." Grandma patted Magnus on the shoulder as if she spoke to a small child, which Magnus was not. She had to reach up to pat him. "It all boils down to money. Darrell is going to pay us up to seven hundred thousand dollars just to use the Blue Dragon vineyards as a backdrop for one of his movies."

  "And if I decline to participate in one of his move-hes?" he asked Angela. "Will that jeopardize his agreement to film here?"

  "Probably," Angela said, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. The fire and loss of Darrell's money would definitely bury them for good.

  Magnus was silent the rest of the way.

  They were all silent when they arrived at the field, where workers were still dampening the vines and making sure that the smoldering debris did not ignite a new fire.

  "It is like the death of a child," Magnus murmured.

  And that was the truth.

  A Viking to the rescue…

  Magnus spent the morning reassuring the children that everything was fine and would be back to normal soon.

  More than one of them had confessed fears that they would be forced to leave the Blue Dragon soon, especially Kolbein, who was shivering just like he had in the old days. Did they not know that their visit here was only temporary? They were only guests, after all.

  "I think we should get out our swords and go looking for these scoundrels who would do such a cowardly act," Torolf said. "Sword dew aplenty we could spill betwixt the two of us."

  "Mayhap," Magnus agreed.

  "Don't you dare," Angela said. "Violence begets violence, and then nothing is accomplished."

  "Sometimes 'tis necessary t
o bring the guilty to justice," Magnus argued, "and if it takes a sharp blade or a battle-ax to do it, then so be it."

  "If I had a sword, I would use it," Grandma Rose said, much to Angela's chagrin, and his and Torolf's delight. "I think I'll go buy myself a gun. An uzi, or something. Do they sell uzis in Wal-Mart?"

  "I would stand guard all night long, if someone would just buy me a bow and arrow," Hamrsaid, walking into the kitchen where they were all sitting. The noon meal had ended some time ago. No one seemed motivated to go about everyday work.

  "You will shoot your eye out," everyone said at once.

  "Angela," Magnus said more seriously, taking one of her hands in his. Grandma Rose noticed immediately and her eyebrows rose with interest. She and Juanita, over by the stove, exchanged quick looks of approval. "I will investigate and find out who perpetrated this outrage against you. I will organize guards and enact safety measures to make sure it does not recur. Have you ever heard that famous Anglo-Saxon saying, 'God spare me from the fury of the Northman'? Well, this Northman is furious. But there is another problem that must be addressed first."

  "And that would be?" Angela asked, and tried to pull her hand from his grasp. He could not understand why she would blush at mere hand-holding when they had done so much more.

  "Money," he said. "And I have the solution."

  "You do?" she said.

  "I do." He rose from the table and went upstairs to his bedchamber. When he returned, he noticed that, though the baby still napped, all his other children had gathered in the kitchen to see what he was up to. He carried a small leather sack, which he proceeded to empty onto the table. "I will pay you not to have Dare-All and his crew come here… and to have him stop pestering me about becoming an act-whore. Is this enough?"

  There were roughly two dozen coins on the table. "Since one of the previous ones brought me fifty thousand dollars, and I was probably cheated at that amount, I figure this should be more than enough… especially if you find me an honest coin tradesman."

  Everyone's mouth was hanging open, except his children's. They were grinning at his cleverness.