by Sandra Hill
She immediately wiped that thought from her mind, not wanting to contemplate such a horrific possibility. Besides, there were more important, more immediate problems. She was still trying to come to terms with that magical out-of-body experience that had occurred last night during the wedding. The spin through space and walls that had landed them, not back at Blue Dragon, which is what she’d hoped would happen after rescuing Hauk, but outside the castle, and now in the middle of the huge tent city of Sweyn Forkbeard’s army, roughly five hundred warriors, who were preparing for the upcoming battle.
There were a numbers of issues Kirstin had to deal with, ASAP.
First of all, what had happened to her, and Hauk, last night was unlike her first time-travel experience, from Rosestead to Winchester. Just poof! One place to the other! Easy peasy! But this time, there had been no poof involved. Instead, it had been a whirling, wide-awake thrust over a short distance, from inside to outside a building. Not really time travel. More like teletransport, or something.
Aarrgh! Where is Spock or a scientist to explain this phenomenon? If there is any explanation. She was still leaning toward the celestial involvement theory.
Secondly, this latest event had happened without her being in charge of the rudder, so to speak. A dangerous thing, that.
Can I trust a man…a Viking man…an ancient Viking man…to determine my fate?
Hell, no!
Nothing personal, Hauk. It’s a female independence thing. I wouldn’t let my brothers arrange a blind date for me, let alone arrange my future. As for my father, he’d probably have me wedded and bedded and heavy with child, if he had his way.
Third, she was now without the arm rings that presumably were the key to her reverse time travel.
What will I do if Hauk gets himself killed and I can’t get to his body before the scavengers arrive to loot the corpses? Morbid, yes, but I’ve got to get those arm rings back before tomorrow.
All these were problems to be pondered or solved later. For now, she had to appreciate the irony of the moment, a professor of Ancient Norse listening to people speak Old Norse, the real deal. Actually, she probably would have understood most of it anyway because Old Norse (which in no way resembled modern Norwegian) had a sprinkling of English words in it. In fact, many English words stemmed from Old Norse. The closest there was to Old Norse in modern times was Icelandic.
Anyway, sitting here among these Dark Age Vikings, well, it was like being in a History Channel video on medieval warfare. Or a reality TV show. And she was the star. Or one of them.
The other star was sitting next to her, calm as you please, unlike how he’d been on the way here, upset over his encounter with his son and then several almost-fights with Viking acquaintances who’d made jokes about “a caged Viking,” calling out such things as, “How does a caged Viking have sex?” The answer made had been, “Like a dog. He licks his own balls.” And yet another fool Viking had remarked, “Hmmm. To develop that skill I might live in a cage, too. Ha, ha, ha!”
Although there had been no all-out brawls, several Vikings were now sporting bloody noses or black eyes. And Hauk’s knuckles were scraped and swollen.
Men!
She and Hauk were listening to Sweyn prattle on about the events leading up to this day, mostly patting himself on the back for all his heroic efforts in pillaging many English monasteries and villages these past ten years. Presumably this was leading up to his current battle plans.
Ho hum!
If he’d let her speak, she could get them out of this mess. Lickety-split. Maybe. But no, she had to be careful not to say or do something that could alter the path of history. At least, she didn’t think she should do that, or could do that. After all, if that were possible, someone could go back and eliminate Adolph Hitler before the Holocaust, or go back to the fourteenth century and warn everyone that it was fleas that would cause the Black Death or Plague, which wiped out up to two hundred million people. The Stock Market Crash and the Depression...
Hauk took hold of her hand, linking their fingers, and squeezed hard. Under his breath, without looking her way, he whispered, “Pay attention. Sweyn was talking to you.”
A zing of pleasure swept over her, from her palm, up her arm, and throughout her whole body, leaving her warm and tingling. She glanced down at their still-entwined hands which he held over his thigh, which was pressed against her thigh. Then she looked up at him. He ignored her, listening intently to Sweyn, but she noticed a slight tic in his tightened jaw. He was as aware of her as she was of him.
Hauk must have found some place to bathe because he looked like a different person than the creature she’d found in the cage. With his newly washed blond hair pulled off his clean-shaven face, except for two thin war braids on either side, and borrowed clothing befitting a Viking of upper status, he was certainly attractive. Not godly handsome like he’d been reputed to be, but once he regained his lost weight and his prison pallor faded, he would no doubt pose quite a figure.
Suddenly she had an image of herself lying on soft-as-silk furs, with him leaning over her, minus said garments, whispering wicked words, just before his lips pressed…
Oh, my God! Seriously! In the midst of this mayhem, I’m thinking about sex. I must be losing my mind.
Hauk did look at her then, and he knew what she’d been thinking if that twinkle in his eyes was any indication.
Was he having similar thoughts?
Oh, boy! She did not need these complications. With deliberate care, she turned her attention to Sweyn, who sat at the head of the table on a high-back chair he must have brought with him. He was indeed expounding on something related to her. He said that he’d been told third-hand, via an aide who’d spoken to Egil who’d been told by Hauk who’d relayed what Kirstin had said about Duke Richard of Normandy reneging on his agreement to stand with Sweyn in this upcoming battle. “The interesting thing is, my comrades-in-arms, a scout just arrived with news from Gastonbury where our allies were presumably landing. Finan, speak.”
A middle-aged man took a last swig from his horn and stood, swiping with the back of his hand across his heavily mustached mouth. “No sign of the duke. He ain’t comin’.” He then started to sit back down.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sweyn said. “You must have discovered more than that.”
Finan straightened and said, “Well, yea, a bit more. Whilst there were no signs of the Normans, there was talk of some sighting of a boat hidden in a cove nearby. Not a longship. One of those Frankish designs with a room built below deck to hold passengers. When I checked the area, there was no sign of a boat, though.” He took another draw on his horn and frowned, realizing that he’d emptied it already. “Also, I spoke to some villagers nearby and they claimed to have seen some foreign-looking men with that strange hair style them in the Franklands favor. You know, the one where they comb their hair forward and cut a line across their forehead and they also lob off the hair shoulder-length in a straight line, too. Makes ’em look like lackwits, if ye ask me. You know what I mean,” he said, demonstrating by drawing a line across his forehead.
Others at the table nodded, understanding what he’d meant. He meant a pageboy hairstyle with bangs, a medieval version of the later mushroom haircut popularized by the Beatles.
“I’d shave me head afore I’d cut my hair so,” said one burly Viking who had a wild bush of graying brown hair.
“Makes ’em look foppish,” another man, whose blond beard was braided intricately with colored beads, said. Like a braided beard wasn’t a tad foppish!
“Next they’ll be wearing ruffles on their tunics and bells on their boots. Ha, ha, ha!” This from a man with no teeth, who’d been sucking on what looked like a dragon bone, it was so big.
“Enough!” Sweyn bellowed. “It appears that what the woman, Hauk’s wife, has said is proven true. What say you?” Sweyn and every other person at the table turned to look at her.
Hauk squeezed, then released her hand, helping her to
stand. Not that she needed any help, but she appreciated him standing beside her. Finan breathed a sigh of relief that he was no longer being grilled and sat down, waving at a maid for more ale.
“What did she tell you, Hauk?” Sweyn asked, while he gazed at Kirstin’s chest area, no doubt looking for signs of a third breast. If she’d had time, or had thought ahead, she would have put some padding there, just to confuse the fool.
But Hauk was speaking.
She listened carefully.
“All she told me was that Duke Richard would not be coming or sending troops to stand with you in this assault. Oh, and mayhap I forgot to mention…she said that the king and queen would be offered exile in Norsemandy should the assault prove successful.”
Everyone seemed to realize at once that the boat Finan had mentioned must have been sent for the royal couple. “Arne, go at once to investigate and take a hird of soldiers with you. Find the bloody boat and make sure the vessel is destroyed. If ye find any Frankish men about, take them captive and bring them here for questioning.”
A tall, black-haired Viking with a vicious scar running from his left eye, down his cheek and onto his neck stood and left immediately. Outside the tent, he could be heard calling out orders.
“Now then…m’lady Kirstin, isn’t it?...start from the beginning and tell us everything.” The steely glint in Sweyn’s eyes told her that Hauk had been right. This was a man who would as easily kill you as listen patiently.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she said. “All I know is that Aethelred, Emma, and the king’s children will escape to Normandy…uh, Norsemandy…while you overtake the castle.”
“And this is an accomplished fact, in your informed opinion?”
“Well, I meant that this is what is planned,” she amended.
“You speak familiarly of Aethelred and Emma, as if you are personally acquainted with them.” He narrowed his eyes with suspicion, no doubt still thinking she might be a spy, or on the side of the Saxons.
“Well, Emma is related to me…” Hauk groaned softly beside her, and she realized she was giving too much information. But she couldn’t stop now. “My aunt, Lady Katla, is Emma’s godmother.”
Sweyn’s eyes widened with surprise.
In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided then. “My father is Magnus Ericsson. I grew up…my early years anyway…in the Norselands.”
Hauk stiffened beside her, fearing she would tell the time-travel story. She knew better than that.
“Is your father here with you?”
“No, he is—”
Sweyn waved a hand dismissively. “’Tis of no importance now. Tell us how you knew of these plans for escape.”
“Emma told me. In fact, she invited me to go with them,” Kirstin lied, “but I couldn’t abandon my betrothed.” She batted her eyelashes at Hauk, as if she was love-struck.
Hauk pinched her butt. Luckily no one stood behind them who could see.
She put a hand over her mouth and whispered to Hauk, “Should I tell him that he will be crowned king of all England before Christmas, but that he will die about a month later?”
Shocked, Hauk said, “No!” Failing to lower his voice, as she had, everyone heard his response and looked at him with curiosity.
“What did your wife just say to you?” Sweyn demanded.
Hauk glared at her, then told Sweyn, “It’s rather intimate.”
“So?”
Now everyone was really interested.
Hauk sighed in an exaggerated fashion before telling him, “She said, with all the male virility around this table, her woman dew is pooling like hot honey. She wondered if we could take a short break and go swive somewhere.”
Kirstin gasped and elbowed him. Then, realizing they were being watched closely, she pretended embarrassment and said, “You didn’t have to tell everyone, you lout!”
“Sorry, sweetling,” he replied, not at all sorry.
Puzzled, Sweyn stared at the two of them. “I thought your marriage had not yet been consummated. You two seem very familiar with each other.”
“Oh, the marriage might not have been consummated, but that does not mean that we haven’t been engaged in some…activity.” Hauk rolled his eyes suggestively and added, “You’d be surprised what can be done between the bars of a cage.”
At first, there was a stunned silence as each of them tried to figure out what Hauk meant, but then everyone burst out laughing. Even Kirstin.
After that, they discussed at length specific plans for the morning’s assault. Kirstin had to give these Vikings credit. They didn’t rush into battle like wild berserkers, although there were no doubt plenty of those. Instead, they took the time to plan battle strategy, optimum times and locations, weapon readiness, even specific fighting techniques, like the famous skjaldborg or shield wall, or the svinfylking or wedge formation. They would move toward Winchester during the night, with the assault to begin at dawn.
Once everyone was clear on their roles and where they should be at the call to move out some ten or so hours from now…roughly three a.m., by Kirstin’s estimate, it being five p.m. now…the council broke up. Sweyn gave her a look that said he wasn’t done with her yet, but he let her go for now. Hauk held her hand again as he led her out, probably fearing she would bolt. She would, if she knew where to go. Or if she had her arm rings.
Hauk just plodded on, wending their way through the troops and camp fires, presumably heading toward his tent. He remained silent and frowny faced.
“Moody much?”
He ignored her question.
“Have I done something to annoy you?”
He gave her a look that pretty much said, “Are you kidding?” What he said was, “You, m’lady, have become the biggest thorn in my arse.”
“What? Me? After all I’ve done for you. Now you’re pissed off at me for some little annoyance or other? Big whoop!”
He arched his brows at her, but after that remained deliberately silent, forcing her to skip to keep up with him. He didn’t let go of her hand, though.
She tried the silent treatment in reverse, but he couldn’t care less, probably welcomed her mute tongue. So, she gave in. “Well, that went well,” she said. “The council, I mean.”
“You talk too much.”
Ah! So that’s what had him out of sorts. “I hardly said anything,” she replied huffily. “I didn’t give any specifics of tomorrow’s battle. I didn’t mention Sweyn’s upcoming untimely death. I didn’t warn him to stay away from horses, especially ones that might cause him mortal injuries. I didn’t tell him about his sons. I didn’t—”
“Like I said, you talk too much.”
“I want my arm rings back.”
“I want to be back at my estate in the Norselands enjoying a warm hearth, a good mead, and my mistress.”
“You have a mistress?”
“I used to.”
“What? You don’t think she’d stick around and wait for you?”
“Are you still talking?”
“And you aren’t talking at all, most of the time,” she pointed out. “Tall, dark, and brooding went out with the Regency novel, Heathcliff.”
“What cliff?” he asked. Then, “Never mind.”
“So, what has your loincloth in a twist, husband? You have every reason in the world to be happy. You’re free of your cage. You’ve discovered a son you’d thought was dead. In no time at all, you and your mistress will be boinking like bunnies. But instead you go all grumpy-faced.”
His lips twitched as he fought a grin.
She was making headway.
As they continued to walk…well, he walked, she trotted…she noticed Bjorn off to the right a short distance, practicing swordplay with some young Vikings. Without appearing to notice, Hauk veered to the right, taking her with him, grabbed his son by the scruff of his neck and dragged him along with them, his sword dragging on the ground.
And God bless Hauk, but he remained silent while Bjorn hollered and
called him a long line of colorful insults and threatened all kinds of retaliation. They drew the attention and laughter of everyone they passed.
“Do you really think this is the way to handle your son?” she asked.
He stopped, turned slowly inch by inch, Bjorn dangling with his boots a foot in the air, and said to her, “Stop. Talking.”
Okaaay. It’s his funeral.
When they got to the tent, Hauk directed Egil and Kirstin to do something about a fire and food. “Meanwhile, my son and I are going to have a talk. Isn’t that right, Bjorn?”
Bjorn, who was still dangling, nodded.
Hauk released him, heading in the opposite direction, and Bjorn had the good sense to follow after him. Kirstin looked at Egil then and shrugged. “What should we do?”
“Fire first,” Egil said.
Which wasn’t as easy as it should have been in the middle of a forest. Since so many trees had been felled to make the clearing and were now smoldering away on numerous camp fires, they had to go into the woods to find deadfall which the two of them dragged toward their tent. Once they had enough to start a fire, Egil worked at getting it started while Kirstin made two more trips for extra wood. By now Kirstin’s wonderful reproduction gown designed for Rosestead was looking dirty and bedraggled, and her underarms were beginning to reek, despite her twenty-four hour deodorant, which was hardly noticeable in a field of five hundred or so mostly unwashed male bodies. Later, she’d see about bathing in the stream which apparently ran about a quarter mile away, if she could find a private spot.
Once Egil got the fire going, the two of them went out through the various campsites until they found one where an elderly woman was stirring a broth. She looked relatively clean, which was a big plus for Kirstin. Egil pulled out a small sack of coins and was able to convince the woman to part with several circles of flat, manchet bread and a small cauldron of what was some of kind of rabbit stew…chunks of meat in a broth thickened with oats, dotted with wild onions and carrots, and even a dash of precious salt. The woman even gave them four wooden bowls, for coins, of course. They wouldn’t need utensils since the bread could be used as scoops and the liquid could be slurped.