The Caged Viking

by Sandra Hill

  “He was no longer in a cage by then.”

  “How did you get married…I mean, who married you? Was there a law speaker?” Vikings, especially those of upper classes, usually employed a law speaker at one of their Things to perform the ceremony.

  “No, it was a priest. Actually, an archbishop,” she revealed.

  Angela, who was a devout Catholic, looked impressed. Her father looked concerned.

  “Does that mean that the marriage would be valid?” Kirstin asked.

  “I would think so,” Angela offered, tentatively.

  Her father shook his head with dismay, then said, “Hold on with your story. I think we need something stronger than iced tea to hear this tale.”

  Soon, a decanted bottle of vintage Blue Dragon wine sat on the table and three wine glasses were filled to the brims.

  As she continued telling them about her adventure, both Angela and her father intermittently asked questions. Her father wanted to know the details of the battle, what kind of weapons were used, and what size of longship Hauk had used when he kidnapped her. Angela was more interested in the ladies in the Saxon court, the food served, and wasn’t it romantic that her husband had “kidnapped” her?

  That latter remark of Angela’s caused a grunt of disapproval from Kirstin’s father. What man wants his daughter to be kidnapped?

  Even though it was only a cursory summary she gave of the events, Kirstin noticed that they’d gone through one full bottle of wine and half of another. She was beginning to feel the effects.

  Her father’s brow furrowed with puzzlement, and Kirstin could tell he had a lot more questions. “Why did you say things were a mess when we were walking to the house? Why were you wailing like a cat with its tail caught in a trap?”

  “Because I fell in love with Hauk.”

  “I knew it, I knew it!” Angela sighed.

  Her father, who was not a sentimentalist, made a sound of disgust. “And did he fall in love with you, too?”

  She nodded, unable to speak over the sudden lump in her throat.

  “You said your return was accidental,” Angela remarked. “Would you have tried to come back, deliberately, if given a chance?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What a mess!” her father concluded.

  Vikings had busybodies, too…

  “You should plan on going a-Viking first thing next spring,” Egil advised. “Nothing like a little plunderin’ to wipe the mind clear.”

  Didn’t we bring enough plunder back from Aethelred’s royal court?

  “We could use snowshoes and travel north to where the polar bears roam. A white bed fur would make you forget soon enough.” This from Horrick, one of his best hunters.

  And freeze my toes, and another important body part?

  Bjorn had another gripe. “I thought you were giving me a mother. Couldn’t you have been nicer to her?”

  I tried.

  Frida didn’t waste words, “Go find the girl.”

  As if I could!

  “What you need is a good tupping,” Thorkel said.

  With whom?

  The voice in his head had yet another opinion. “Pray.”

  In essence, everyone felt the need to give Hauk love advice. Was he so pitiful? He determined to stop acting like a lamebrained idiot. If nothing else, he should keep these emotions inside.

  Hauk did not forget about Kirstin after that. Nor did he stop hurting at her betrayal, when he allowed himself to think about it. But he kept busy, from daybreak to bedtime, and could say that he was surviving. It helped that he gave Signe and Frida free rein to plan both the wedding and yule feast, which might have been a mistake since the entire keep, from the barns to the great hall, were decorated with evergreen boughs. And the sweet succulent scents that emanated from the kitchen tempted even the most hardened warrior who claimed a preference for a meaty bone of beef or pork.

  To his surprise, his neighbor Ingolf, the one who lusted after Haukshire lands, invited Hauk to join his family at Stormstead for a yuletide celebration. The date did not interfere with Hauk’s plans, but he had no desire to be away from his estate at this time of year. However, he felt the need to reciprocate the invitation, and, to his disgust, Ingolf accepted on behalf of himself and his family.

  “You know why he’s extendin’ the hand of friendship, don’t ye?” Frida said.

  “Nay. Why?”

  “He has two unwed daughters,” Frida told him with a cackle at his obvious dismay. “If he can’t get his hands on yer lands by force, he’ll do it by marriage.”

  “You jest,” he said.

  Frida just laughed.

  Chapter 21

  Home is where the heart is...

  Kirstin slept for twelve straight hours. Well, she got up twice during the night from her bed in her old bedroom, once to pee, and another time to get a glass of water to combat her wine-dried mouth. She had been both hopeful and afraid that she would dream of Hauk, but her slumber had been dream-free.

  She finally awakened to the gleam of a morning sun and the sound of voices.

  Lots of voices.

  From a distance.

  Downstairs.

  Or outside.

  Maybe both.

  Lying still, with her eyes closed, she tried to discern the voices. There was Torolf. And Ragnor. And her sister Madrene. Her father must have called everyone last night, and now they were all here, or arriving, by the sound of car doors slamming. Each of them would be wanting to welcome her, but also to get the real story of her time travel.

  Kirstin sighed. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be drowning in family so soon, but maybe it was for the best. The less she was able to think, the less miserable she would be. Or so she told herself.

  By that evening, all…every single one…of her half-brothers and sisters were there. Even Jogeir. Actually all eleven of her siblings were halfies because her father had had so many wives and concubines, though thankfully not all at the same time; so, while they all had the same father, there were numerous mothers, most or all of whom had died or run off when they realized there were so many children to care for. Except for Angela. By the time they’d arrived in modern day California, her father had turned monogamist. No more extra wives or mistresses. Angela would never have stood for that, and hopefully her father no longer had the inclination to spread his virility.

  Kirstin took a long shower, one of the things she’d missed most while in the past. She blow-dried her hair and pulled the long hair back into a ponytail. No make-up. Just some lip gloss and mascara to her blonde eyelashes. After that, she dressed in beige yoga pants and a multi-colored sweater which had been left here from a previous visit.

  Finally, she was ready to brave the assault of her family. And it was an assault of sorts, a well-intended but almost overwhelming barrage of hugs, cries, laughs, questions, opinions, and enough food to feed a Viking army. It wasn’t just Angela who’d been busy in the kitchen, but her half-sister Marie, the professional chef-in-training at some culinary school in Colorado, shared the stove. Marie must have hopped a plane as soon as her father called. Same was no doubt true of Dagny who’d come from FBI headquarters in Virginia. And now she sat talking to Torolf and Hamr, who’d come up from San Diego to welcome her home, along with Madrene, Ian, and Njal.

  She’d already described her time-travel “adventure” twice now, but then she had to repeat it again for those who arrived via later flights: Kolbein, a priest from his parish in Florida, Lida, who was from New York City, and Jogeir, who’d come, not from his home in Iceland, but Chicago, where he’d been attending an international farm conference. Storvald was particularly interested to find out that it was the arm rings he’d made for Kirstin that proved to be a time-travel device.

  Kolbein, of course, disagreed, and said it was God’s doing, not some particular object, like a boat wreck, or lightning, or a piece of jewelry.

  Kirstin wanted to ask Kolbein if that meant that God did not want her to be
with Hauk, but she’d yet to discuss the emotional entanglements of her trip.

  Her father walked up to where they were all sitting around the dining room table and passed around bottles of beer and glasses of wine before commenting, “So, did she tell you she got married?”

  Everyone turned to look at Kirstin.

  “No, she failed to mention that,” Lida said.

  “He must have been really hot. Bet he was Hollywood good-looking. Was he good looking?” Dagny asked.

  “Like some kind of Viking god, I’ll bet,” Marie added, nodding her agreement at Dagny.

  “Bet the sex was spectacular,” Madrene remarked.

  “Madrene!” her father rebuked. “Betimes you go too far.”

  Madrene just shrugged and grinned.

  “And did she tell you she was married by an archbishop in the Saxon church?” Marie asked, coming in with a tray of cheeses and crackers.

  Kolbein looked at Kirstin steadily and said, “Well, that settles it then.”

  Kirstin wasn’t sure what Kolbein meant, and she wasn’t about to ask. Not now, anyhow, in front of everyone.

  Eventually, everyone who lived in the state left, each of them giving their opinion or advice. Despite her long sleep of the night before, Kirstin felt totally depleted…exhausted mentally and physically. All those who lived out of state stayed overnight. They were all in the living room, chatting, while her father streamed his favorite Vikings episodes, with the volume turned off.

  But Kirstin didn’t think she could talk anymore. She was about to sneak off when Dagny caught up with her and asked, “Do you still have that drawing I did for you when you described the man you saw in your dreams?”

  Her question surprised Kirstin because she had totally forgotten that day when Dagny did a drawing for Kirstin based only on the dream image. “I think I do.” She went up to her bedroom and pulled out a dresser drawer. Yes, there it was, at the bottom, under some underwear. When she went back to the dining room, where Dagny had laid out her sketch pads and charcoal, she put the rendering on the table.

  “Well?” Dagny asked. “Does it look like him?”

  Kirstin looked down, and her heart skipped a beat. “It does, and it doesn’t,” she said. “His cheeks are wider, but the bones are more sculpted in the Nordic fashion. The lips are wrong. Hauk’s lips are fuller, and they should have a slight grin on them. The eyes…hmm, I’m not sure what’s off. He has what I call talking eyes. When they look at you, you know exactly what he is feeling.”

  Dagny went to work, her fingers working deftly, following some more tweaks that Kirstin suggested. It took several tries, making corrections according to Kirstin’s memories, before she was finished. When Dagny lifted up the final product, Kirstin just nodded, unable to speak at first over the lump in her throat. Finally, she said, “It’s almost perfect.”

  “Good! Be careful in framing it. The charcoal could smudge if it’s not done professionally.”

  Kirstin felt an odd sadness at Dagny’s suggestion. It was as if her sister was assuming she would never see Hauk again and would want to have some memento. But wasn’t that a given? Why would Kirstin even harbor a different opinion? She was home where she was supposed to be.

  Wasn’t she?

  The road to recovery is a bumpy one…

  Life goes on, and so did Hauk.

  He’d finally resigned himself to the fact that Kirstin had left him and he would never see her again. There remained a dull ache in the region of his heart when he allowed himself to think of her, which wasn’t often during his hard-working, demanding days, but the nights…ah, the nights were difficult, especially since he was no longer falling into bed only when he was blindfuller with drink. What he needed was a woman to while away those late hours, but that would have to wait until the springtime when he was no longer landlocked. For now, he survived. Even so, it hurt.

  He swore to himself that he would never again in the future allow himself to be so emotionally entangled with a woman. Love? Ha! From now on, it would be lust, and only lust.

  “Are you ready to perform our wedding?” Thorkel asked, coming up behind him in the great hall where Hauk sat at one of the far trestle tables.

  “Pff! As ready as I will ever be,” Hauk replied, knowing that his friend was taking great pleasure in Hauk’s discomfort over such a duty. Usually the duty fell to the lawspeaker at the Viking assemblies called Things, or Althings where many weddings took place, or at some royal estate where a lawspeaker was in residence, but since they had no such person here, Thorkel had asked Hauk if he’d perform the task for him and Signe.

  Hauk had tried to pass the chore off to Egil. After all, Egil had been married enough times, and should know the words by now. But Egil had outright refused. “Me, I’d rather kiss a boar’s arse as speak the ancient words afore a crowd of drinking Norsemen, not that I remember them,” he’d scoffed.

  Hauk’s sentiments exactly.

  Signe and Frida followed after Thorkel, one carrying a pitcher of ale and the other four wooden goblets. Hauk had asked them to come share a cup with him to discuss some plans to be made, both for the wedding and the yule feasts. The Vikings celebrated twelve days of yule, or Jol, from the solstice onward. The Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year, would arrive a mere two sennights from this Thorsday, with much to be arranged.

  If Hauk had a wife, she would be the one doing all this planning. Not him. Hauk didn’t want to think about the irony of his actually having a wife, but having to do this anyway.

  “You two still want to marry on Jul eve?” Hauk asked. “We could do it during the first night of the Jul feasts.” Which made more sense to him, lumping all of these celebrations together.

  Signe and Thorkel looked at each other and nodded at some understanding they must have decided on aforehand. He noticed that they held hands, even as they sipped at their drinks.

  Signe spoke for the two of them. “We prefer our ceremony to be separate from the yule ones. It would have more meaning to us on a separate day.”

  Thorkel’s face flushed and he took a quick swig of ale to cover his embarrassment. It was obvious this was Signe’s idea, and he was going along with her, to avoid an argument. Smart man!

  “You do not have to worry about anything. The decorations, the food to be served, the music. We will do everything,” Signe was quick to add.

  Except perform the ceremony.

  And was I supposed to be worrying about these things?

  And what’s this about music?

  Aarrrgh!

  “By the by, I hope no one is expecting us to hold a feast for twelve days. The first and last night will be it,” he declared, and he didn’t care if it went against tradition or expectations or anything else, or if folks started calling him “The Grumpy Viking,” along with “The Caged Viking,” or “The Forsaken Viking,” all of which he’d overheard in passing. This jarl business was getting more involved than he’d ever imagined. He would resign, if he could.

  “So, is Ingolf still planning a yule visit?” Thorkel asked, having the good sense to change the subject.

  “Yea, he is. He and his family and guardsmen will arrive three days before Jul begins, in plenty of time for your wedding.” He waggled his eyebrows at the two of them.

  “How will they get here? The snow is thigh high, and even though we keep paths dug to the out buildings and cotters’ homes, I can’t see them tramping by foot through the snow.” This from Thorkel, who’d had to supervise much of that digging.

  “As long as there is a crust of ice on top of the snow, he will probably come in a sleigh,” Hauk mused. “That means you must make sure there is room in the barn for the horses, both the ones pulling the sleigh and those ridden by any retainers he might bring.”

  Thorkel nodded.

  “I will need to have the bedchambers and bed closets made up for all of them,” Signe said. “What do you plan?”

  Again, they expect me to be planning these things? By the gods,
I wish I were off a-Viking, or wintering in the Rus lands. Anyplace without all these responsibilities. He sighed and decided, “We will let Ingolf and his wife have my bedchamber. His two daughters will share the guest bedchamber. And you and Thorkel will get Bjorn’s bedchamber for the yule season.”

  “Nay, you cannot do that,” Signe protested. “Where would you and Bjorn sleep.”

  “In bed closets. It won’t be the first time for either of us,” Hauk said.

  “Really, Hauk, we appreciate the offer, but we had planned to use one of the cotters’ huts,” Thorkel said.

  “Nay! This is our wedding gift to you, mine and Bjorn’s.”

  They agreed, reluctantly, but thankfully, compromising that they would use that bedchamber for their wedding night only.

  “Now, what about the food, Frida?”

  “We will do several haunches of venison for the wedding. Signe is working with me on the menu. Then, for the yule feast, we will roast the traditional boar,” his cook told him. Frida had been uncommonly quiet during all this discussion, up till now. No doubt she was still harboring ill feelings toward him since he’d snapped at her two days ago when she asked if he was ever going to look for his missing wife.

  “You have everything you need?” Hauk asked her, kindly, wanting to make peace.

  “I do, especially with all the extra vegetables and spices that Egil brought back from Hedeby.” She did not mention all the game he and his hunting party had brought back as well. Ah, well, she would get over her sulk with a few honeyed words. All women did.

  “Thank you kindly, Frida. I knew I could count on you,” he said, smiling at her.

  She lifted her chin and gazed at him haughtily.

  Well, mayhap it will take a little more time.

  Frida and Signe left then to various duties, while he and Thorkel finished the rest of the ale in the pitcher.

  “So, do you think your wife will allow you to go a-Viking next spring?” he asked Thorkel.