She gave him a weak punch in the arm. “You lout! Don’t you dare think of making love with another woman.”
He smiled at her ferociousness. They both knew she would be in no position to know what he did or to do anything about his transgressions.
But then he moved his ministrations lower, caressing her neck and shoulders, even her hairless armpits and the silken skin of her sides leading down to her waist. He grinned when he saw her navel ring glittering in the moonlight.
“Kiss it,” she demanded.
Her words caused his groin to tighten and his male organ to swell. He gave the golden ornament and the enticing little cavity behind it a soft lick with his tongue.
She inhaled sharply.
That was a good sign. Viking men knew how to read erotic signals better than any others. At least, that was what Norse fathers had taught their sons.
Best I look for more signs now, he thought with a barely suppressed chuckle.
He worshiped her breasts then. Wetting them to sensitivity, he watched appreciatively as the rosy tips sprang to life under his expert fingers.
“Your mouth is so hot,” she said, moaning as he suckled her deeply.
He considered that a compliment, and so did his engorging staff. Another sign. He took her nipple deeper, including the puffy areola. His tongue pressed up from the underside, and the roof of his mouth held her breast from the top. Then, and only then, did he show her things he would warrant no modern man ever had. She had taught him about kissing. Now he was showing her the best ways to pleasure a woman.
When he was through tasting her breasts, he reposed on one elbow and examined his work. She had peaked once already—a definite sign—and her nipples were wet, rigid pebbles, standing up on swollen breasts like rose-colored sentinels. If he knew what he was doing—and he did—even the air would feel like a caress on her hardened buds now. He would guess that she ached for him…not just in her breasts, but below. Signs, one and all.
Still leaning over her on a braced elbow, he let his fingers walk their way from breasts to abdomen, which she sucked in sharply, over the slight hillock of her belly, to the dark curls below. Without hesitation, he dipped into her womanly folds and came away with telltale slickness.
“You are ready,” he informed her with a groan.
“Yes,” she said, spreading her legs in welcome. “Come inside me. Now.”
“Yea, I will.” He gave her a quick kiss. “But not quite yet. There is something I need to do first.”
She groaned. “I’m already wild for you, Joe. What else do you want?”
“This,” he said, and rolled over atop her, kneeling betwixt her thighs. He could see by her widened eyes that she knew what he intended next.
She surprised him, though, by saying, “I want to do the same for you, Joe.” And then she used wicked, deliciously wanton and explicit words to tell him exactly what she would do to him…later. Apparently she was not as timid as he’d thought.
He almost spilled his seed upon the sheets. So much for signs!
With adoration, he made love to that part of her body now. He felt almost possessive about the distended folds and sleek moisture, and especially the raised nub that was the seat of her woman-pleasure. The end result was that she lay writhing for satisfaction. The scent and taste and texture of her would remain with him forever.
There was probably a sign in there somewhere, but he’d stopped counting or caring.
Soon he eased himself into her hot sheath. She pulsed as inch by inch he slid into her depth till he was deeply seated, and they were one. Only then did he gaze into her eyes, which were wide and blue and staring directly back at him, reciprocating the adoration he had lavished on her. “I love you,” he vowed then. The spoken sentiment came effortlessly to him now…straight from his breaking heart.
“I love you, too, Joe,” she whispered, and the words imbedded themselves in his soul…to be replayed over and over in some solitary future.
He made slow love to her then, as he had pledged. And from then on, till their simultaneous, crashing peaks, they murmured words of love to each other, poignant expressions of feelings so deep and eternal they seemed hard enough to last a lifetime, and so fragile that they could very well shatter at any moment.
As Mag-he lay, drowsily sated, he glanced through the wide windows and noticed a strange constellation of stars that resembled, of all things, a whale. He did not call the star shape to Mag-he’s attention because he knew its significance. It was a time omen.
Jorund wanted to make promises to his beloved Mag-he, who wept silent tears now, but he could not. So he held her through the night, and as she slept, he kept saying over and over, in one form or another, “I may have to leave you, my love, but I also leave behind my heart, forevermore.”
Two days later Joe was gone. And this time, Maggie feared, it was for good.
The girls had returned to school for the first time since holiday vacation, and Maggie had spent the morning and part of the afternoon at the hospital till some inner voice had told her to go home. This was not one of Joe’s days for working out with the patients in the physical-fitness program, and he should have been at the house. Beth had conned him into helping her with her Keiko project. She was fascinated by what Joe had told her about whales and Viking sailors in the tenth century. Of course, Beth did not know that he knew of these legends firsthand. Beth had shown him how to speak into a tape player to record his tales, which she intended to incorporate into her Web site at a later date.
The house was empty, as she had somehow known it would be. Rita snoozed complacently on her window-seat cushion. If Joe were at home, she would have been off harassing him, with hissing, or shedding, or whatever. She wondered with hysterical irrelevance if Rita would miss him as much as she would.
Even before Maggie entered the den and saw the evidence of Joe’s departure, tears were streaming down her face. On the sofa Joe had piled all of the clothing he’d been given or purchased while here, even the running shoes and the cowboy boots that he’d never gotten used to. He must have worn the Viking clothing that his brother Rolf had given him at Rosestead.
On the desk were two audiocassettes with childlike block lettering on them. One said SUE-ZEE AND BETH, and the other said MAG-HE. There was also a scattered pile of photographs…the ones they’d received in the mail from Rosestead yesterday. He must have taken some with him. A cursory examination showed that two were missing: the one of him, her, Suzy, and Beth standing in front of the Rosestead archway, and the one of him and his brother, smiling for the camera, just before they’d left for the airport.
With a sigh, Maggie first listened to the tape intended for her daughters, who were going to be devastated when they got home to the empty house. And it was empty without Joe in it. How had they survived without him before?
“Sue-zee and Beth, daughters of my heart, do not be upset that I have gone. I must go. My father needs me more than you do. Do not think that you have done aught to send me away. In truth, you made my leaving all the harder. Please be strong. Your mother will need your loving support now. Someday, if I am able, I will come back. But if I cannot, go visit my brother Rolf and his family often. I have told him to treat you as he would have my own precious daughters. I love you, dearlings.”
Maggie was sobbing aloud by the time she finished the short message. Rewinding the tape, she turned to the other side of the desk. There was a huge pile of paper money. The jerk! Leaving me money like some paid mistress, or something. Then she listened to the tape intended for her.
“Ah, heartling, what can I say? The time has come, and I must go. Do not be bristling over the money, as I know you are, for I have no use for it where I am going. Deep down, I know this is the right decision for me…my destiny…but it is so hard, Mag-he. So very, very hard. I ne’er thought I would love a woman as I do you. You make me a better man, and in essence that is why I must go now. A better man heeds his responsibilities. I know how it feels to lose t
wo children. I cannot let my father live out his life, never knowing that his two sons are safe and well. There is no other way. But, heart of my heart…my beloved…this is the hardest thing that I have ever done. Love me for all time, sweetling, as I will love you.”
She noticed that Joe had made no promises to try to come back, as he had to her girls. And she knew why: he did not really think he would.
With a hand over her mouth, Maggie tried to stifle the silent sobs that were racking her. Soon she let loose and cried out her pain loudly.
The phone rang then and Maggie rushed for it, hoping beyond hope that it might be Joe, having second thoughts.
“Hello,” she said, her voice cracking on even that one word.
“Mag-he? Is that you?” a male voice inquired. It wasn’t Joe. “This is Rolf Ericsson.”
“Yes.”
“Is Jorund there?”
There was a long silence, and then she told him, “He’s gone.”
Rolf muttered a bunch of unintelligible words, which she assumed were Old Norse swear words. Finally he declared forcefully, “He’ll be back.”
“Did he tell you he would?” she asked hopefully.
“Nay, but I know him. He’ll return when he comes to his senses. Should Merry-death and I come to be with you and your daughters?”
“No. We need to be strong, by ourselves. It’s what Joe wanted.”
She could hear Rolf talking to someone. Then Meredith got on the line. “You have to believe, Maggie,” she advised. “He will come back.”
Maggie wished with all her heart that she could believe. But Joe’s words echoed in her head: There is no other way.
Despite all that, there were three McBride females, eyes red from crying, who refused to give up hope that night. Each, of her own volition, went to her bedroom window in hopes of seeing the wishing star. But the night was as black as eternity, and only hopelessness loomed on the horizon.
The next afternoon…
“Thora!” Jorund bellowed at the top of his lungs. His throat was sore from all his hollering, and he feared he might soon lose his voice altogether. “Get your bloody damn slimy carcass back here.”
Nothing.
“You know, there are greedy men, even in these times, who would love to harpoon you, just for the sake of your skin and blubber. Methinks I should tell them of you.”
Nothing.
Ever since he had left Mag-he’s home the day before, Jorund had been sitting or standing on the land overlooking Galveston Bay, trying to make contact with his time-traveling orca. He’d been certain that the time was right now, but the stupid animal refused to connect with him.
“Thora!” he tried again. He refused to go back to Mag-he’s, defeated, as he had the last time he’d left. In his breaking heart, he knew this was the right thing to do.
You don’t have to scream, a clicking voice said to him in his head.
Finally! He peered outward, and sure enough, on the horizon he saw the infuriating killer whale leaping in the air, carefree, oblivious to the fact that she had ruined his life. Or was she oblivious?
“Where the hell have you been?”
Here and there.
Jorund rose to his full height, beat his fists against his chest in frustration, and made a low, rumbling sound in his throat, like a huge black bear he had once come upon in the forest.
Temper, temper, the whale chastised.
“I would like to show you my temper, you lackbrain whale. Come get me, and take me home.”
The whale was swimming closer, going for long stretches underwater, then leaping high in the air. The bloody exhibitionist! Jorund thought. But where is home, Viking? the whale asked with its usual groans and clicks and squeals.
“What? Riddles now?” Jorund snarled, tearing at his hair in frustration. “Do you know how hard it was to make this decision? And now you question me?”
’Twas a good question. Where is home?
“’Tis…’tis…” Jorund sputtered.
Precisely. Now do you see?
“See? I see naught.”
I have shown you your destiny, Jorund, and still you are blind.
“Do you mean Mag-he?”
That is for you to say.
The whale was closer now, several ship lengths away, but not close enough for him to lop off its irritating tongue…if whales did in fact have tongues. But, oh, the inclination to do the animal harm was strong.
“You brought me to this land, whale. Why?”
’Twas a gift, Jorund.
Those words made his eyes bulge. He was speechless with surprise.
Are Norsemen so thickheaded that they cannot see what hits them in the face?
“This one apparently is. Spit it out, whale.”
You have a choice. It is for you to make, not me.
Enough of games and riddles! “Can you take me back to my time?”
Yes, I can. Actually, your brother Magnus is combing the seas near Iceland as we speak, searching for you still. And a dangerous enterprise it is, at this time of the year, as you well know.
“He is?” Jorund’s breath hitched, but he was not sure why. Yes, he did know. In his heart of hearts, he had hoped that his departure from this time—and from Mag-he—was impossible. In that case, he would be unable to fulfill his responsibility. “Then I have no choice.”
Have you heard a word I’ve said, Viking? You do have a choice.
“I cannot abandon my father. My mission will not be complete till he knows that Rolf and I are safe. And the only way for me to let him know is by returning to the past.”
Oh? Really? The whale click-squealed, then went off into a series of spectacular leaping exercises. Sometimes the whale stood straight in the air for long moments. Half-wit show-off! Jorund thought. In the distance he could see some employees of Orcaland watching the exhibitionist whale through special eye devices called binoculars.
Frowning, he contemplated the whale’s tantalizing question. Was there some other way to let his father know that Rolf was safe without Jorund’s delivering the message in person? Please God, he prayed to the Christian One-God, if there is a way, show me. Then he added a plea to Odin, as well: Your wisdom is needed here, god of all the Norse gods.
Suddenly tears filled his eyes, and he shouted with the sheer jubilation of his discovery. “There is a way; there is a way,” he shouted excitedly to Thora, who swam close again. Jorund was practically jumping up and down with glee.
Of course there is, the whale replied smugly.
Jorund took his sword from its scabbard, the leather thong from his hair, and the zipper bag with the two photographs from his tunic flap. Carefully he wrapped the photographs around the sword till they were secure. Where’s duct tape when you need it? His brother Rolf had taught him about that modern man’s miracle.
Then, before he could think of the consequences, Jorund tossed the sword high in the air out over the water. End over end the sword sailed until the talented whale caught it by the hilt in its huge mouth.
“Can you deliver this to my brother, Magnus?”
I can.
“Will I see you again?”
I doubt it, Viking. My mission is complete.
“Who sent you?”
The whale just laughed. Deep down, you know.
“Good-bye then,” Jorund called out.
The whale did an enormous backflip, creating a wave of huge proportions, the whole time holding the sword between its teeth so that it glittered in the bright Texas sun. The Orcaland people would soon be upon them.
One last thing, Thora told him before swimming off. Tell Beth that Keiko sends his regards.
“Keiko? You know Keiko?”
If whales could smirk, Thora did now. Then she flipped him a big splash of water with her tail fins and swam off. He thought he heard Thora mutter, Can’t wait to straighten out that Magnus and all his women!
“Thank you,” Jorund said then. Simple words, but they were from the heart.
You are welcome, Viking. Use your gift well.
Left alone then, Jorund glanced at his surroundings. So this would be his destiny. With a smile, he headed for home.
Maggie’s first sign came from Rita. She was hissing in the front window, her back arched with outrage. Joe was the only one who brought that hostility out in her pet. Was this Rita’s way of telling them that the man of the house had come back?
“Mom! Mom! It’s Joe!” Beth shouted. She and Suzy were out the front door in a flash and running down the street toward the tall man who was walking purposefully along the sidewalk toward the house. He was wearing the usual Norse attire: a belted leather tunic over tight leggings and cross-gartered half boots. His blond hair was loose and blowing slightly in the breeze. He didn’t look any the worse for wear, as he had the last time, but then he’d been gone only for a day. A lifetime!
By the time he reached her open front door, where she stood leaning against the frame for support, he had one girl in each arm, both of them chattering away and kissing his neck and face in welcome. But it was Maggie to whom he looked.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said, mimicking the line he must have heard on the TV a hundred times. His tone was flip, but his eyes were dead serious, and vulnerable with question. He had to wonder if he was still welcome. After all, how many times could he leave and still be able to return?
“For how long?” she asked, trying to sound querulous, but failing because she was so happy to see the lout.
He set the girls on their feet and shooed them toward the house. Surprisingly, the twins scooted inside, giving them privacy. But the look they gave her as they passed was clear: Don’t screw this up, Mom.
“Forever,” he answered then, and opened his arms imploringly to her.
She hurled herself forward into his tight embrace. Against his neck she whispered, “Forever sounds just right to me.”
Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 02] Page 29