My Lord Viking

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “He does not need a healed arm to be on his way.”

  Linnea readjusted the heavy tray. “With a broken arm, he could not defend himself against any knights of the pad.”

  “What does he have that a highwayman would want?”

  “Whatever he must have had before. Thieves would not know that he had been robbed of everything of value.” She did not add that her real fear was that Nils would encounter Kortsson while still disabled by his broken arm.

  Olive sniffed, but walked back toward the stairs.

  Linnea sighed. Olive never had been so unforgiving of anyone, but her maid was furious that Nils did not show Linnea the respect Olive believed was her due. Under other circumstances, it would have been amusing to watch Olive stand nose-to-nose with Nils and insist on proper behavior. Nothing about this was amusing.

  “Good afternoon, Nils,” Linnea said, trying to put a lilt into her voice.

  She did not receive an answer.

  Puzzled, because usually at this hour Nils would be waiting impatiently for her arrival with his midday meal, she set the tray on the table and went to the screens set in the corner. She called his name in a near whisper, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep. Again she got no response.

  She started to edge away, but heard a low groan. Was he in such pain? She stepped around the screen...and froze, save for her gaze which slipped along the undulating strength of his naked back as he stretched. She should turn around, look away from the bare skin above his waist, save for his sling that concealed his arm band and the gold chain that held the pendant he had called Thor’s hammer. She should have gone back the way she had come, but she could only stare.

  His bare skin was as bronzed as his face, so she guessed he had seldom worn his tattered shirt when he was aboard his Viking ship. The powerful motion of his muscles revealed that his work in the past had been rigorous. Her breath refused to sift past her lips as she admired his shoulders’ breadth and how those sinews narrowed toward his hips encased in his tight breeches. She should look away. She should, but she continued to watch his easy motions as he stretched and compressed those enticing muscles.

  Was the sheen on his skin perspiration or just its natural warmth? Her fingers rose before she could halt them, reaching out to touch him.

  He faced her, his uninjured arm encircling her waist as he tugged her up against him. His mouth was on hers before she could react. When his hand stroked up her back, pressing her even closer, she was surrounded by his raw manliness. Its scent was in every ragged breath she took and on his lips and in the heat of his skin. When his tongue caressed hers, she heard another low groan. Was it his voice or hers? Lost in his embrace, she was not sure.

  When he abruptly released her, Linnea wobbled back one step. Her heel tangled in his blanket, and she collapsed to sit on his bed. Her first inclination to laugh at her own clumsiness vanished when he knelt beside her, A flash of longing mixed with alarm fled through her when she saw the desire—as naked as his chest—in his eyes. She started to lean away, then gasped when she realized she was tilting back across his bed.

  “Why do you look so put upon, unnasta?” he whispered. “You were watching me with avid interest.”

  “I came to tell you that your meal was here.”

  “And my lessons on how to be a proper English lord are about to begin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And a proper English lord would not have a lovely and most proper English lady in his bed?”

  “You are being ridiculous. Let me start your lessons, and you will understand why.”

  His fingers uncurled up into her hair. “I would rather teach you a few things that would show you what pleasure it gives me to think of doing something other than talking to you while you sit on my bed.”

  “Nils, you should not say such things.”

  “Just as you should not come here and stare at me with an invitation in your eyes.”

  Linnea inched away and stumbled to her feet. Wrapping her arms around herself, so she did not give into her craving to touch him again, she said, “I came here to tell you that it is time for your lessons.”

  “Yes, my lessons.” Standing, he smiled at her. “My lessons first, then yours?”

  “You should not say such things.”

  “You have mentioned that already, but I had thought you wanted the truth from me.”

  “All I want is to teach you what you need to know to go to London and do what you must and leave. Now, put on your shirt, for no proper lord comes to the table without his shirt.”

  He seized her by the waist as she walked out from behind the screen. Herding her back to him, he held her with her back pressed to his chest. His lips coursed up the side of her neck, and a quiver raced deep within her. As his fingers splayed across her stomach, she could not fight the need to soften against him.

  This time, she knew it was her voice when a soft moan drifted toward her ears at the same moment he gently nibbled on her earlobe. This was wondrous beyond anything she had ever imagined.

  Imagined...

  Linnea jerked herself away and rounded the end of the screen. Gripping the table, she sat on the bench beside it. She looked up as Nils hobbled around the screen, his shirt now on. Funny how she did not think of him as at all injured when he held her.

  She was silent until he sat facing her across the table. Then, she said, “The first thing you must learn is the proper way to address the people you will meet. While you eat, I will teach you that.”

  “I will endeavor to learn.”

  “Good.”

  He stretched across the table and cupped her chin. “I shall be a good student, and I hope to be rewarded for my diligence in learning.”

  “You will be when you find what you seek.”

  “True.”

  She frowned. “Won’t that be reward enough?”

  “I had thought so.” A beguiling smile tilted his lips even as it blazed in his eyes. “Even an hour ago, I would have thought finishing my quest was compensation for whatever I must do. Now I am not sure if I will be satisfied with only that as my reward.”

  “You must be.” She looked down at the tray where his lunch was growing cold. A deep iciness tightened around her heart as she added, “I should not be in your arms.”

  “Because you are of this time and I am not? Or is it because of the man who held you by the road?”

  Linnea gasped, “You saw me and Randolph?”

  “It is very interesting that you speak of what is proper, but you are in his arms and then in mine.” His smile became lopsided. “Or within my arm. Is that how a proper Englishwoman acts?”

  Her hand rose, but Linnea forced it down to her side. How could she slap his face when he was right? She was letting Randolph kiss her and believe that she might be willing to be his wife. At the same time, she was welcoming Nils’s kisses.

  Quietly she said, “First we will begin with a discussion of how to address a peer and his wife and children.”

  “So you will avoid answering my question?”

  “I can answer any question you have, but I thought you were eager to complete your quest and abide by your pledge to your chieftain. If that does not matter to you...”

  “It matters greatly.” The words were squeezed past his clenched jaw.

  Hating herself for reminding him of the pain that was more vicious than that of his broken arm, she began listing what he needed to know. She might be able to hide from him how sorry she was for hurting him, but she could not conceal it from herself. Not that she had said those hateful words to keep him away...or how much it hurt to think that soon he would be leaving for good.

  How had she become accustomed in such a short time to her anticipation of seeing him each day? How had she become so captivated by his touch that she could barely resist it? She had no answer for either question, or for how she would find a way to say good-bye to him when he recovered his chieftain’s knife and returned to his own time.

  Nin
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  Nils rubbed his aching ankle. He could now walk short distances on it, but he had not let anyone else know that. If Olive saw him, she would have reported back to Linnea before he could draw another breath. He had few advantages in this uncomfortable situation, so he wished to hold onto any he had.

  Across the table, Linnea was selecting items off the tray that held his lunch. She was setting the various things in front of him. Although he knew he should be heeding her words, he could not keep from thinking how soft and beguiling those strands of hair had been when his fingers had loosened them to curve along her neck and drape across her breasts. She had a rare fire that she tried to conceal. Hiding it from him was no longer possible.

  His hand fisted under the table. He must concentrate on why he was here. Not to enjoy the charms of this English lord’s daughter, but to find his chieftain’s knife. He had reminded himself of that over and over. If he could disregard Loki’s taunts, he might be able to believe that there existed some connection between why he was here and the past.

  “Nils, go ahead. Let’s see how you do.”

  He forced a smile. “I suspect I shall do quite well. After all, I have been eating since I no longer depended upon breast milk for my nutrition.”

  Linnea’s hand halted him as he was about to pick up a slice of meat. “No, you must not use your fingers to eat. If you want to be welcome in a fine house in London—”

  “I must appear to be one of you.” He grimaced. “You need not repeat yourself endlessly on this, Linnea.”

  “I would not need to nag if you would pay more attention to your lessons.”

  “Paying attention would be far simpler if my tutor was not so distractingly lovely.”

  He had thought his words would vex her, but she said only, “If you wish, I shall find someone less distracting to give you your lessons. My oldest brother, mayhap, although I suspect he would not be willing to take over your tuition without an explanation of who you are and why you are here.” Picking up a pronged instrument next to his plate, she said, “I suggest you use this.”

  He took it, tilting it one way, then another. “What is it?”

  “A fork.”

  He continued to examine it, running his finger lightly across the top of the tines. They were blunt, so he could not guess what this instrument did. Looking past it to Linnea, he saw she wore a faint but superior smile. Was she trying to infuriate him now? He would not grant her that satisfaction.

  Quietly, he asked, “What is this fork’s purpose?”

  “To hold food while you cut it and then to bring the food to your mouth.”

  “I have fingers for that purpose.”

  “Not in this time. It would be too improper to use your fingers, as I have told you already.”

  Dropping the fork onto the tray, he said, “This time has too many useless devices.”

  “Mayhap we do not consider them useless.”

  “Because you are too accustomed to them.” He put his finger on the fork’s tines again and rocked it against the metal tray. “But who decided that such a tool was necessary when fingers serve as well? What a waste of time to invent this and then decree its use!”

  “Mayhap its inventor had the luxury of time that was lacking...before.” Linnea glanced at Olive who was talking with Jack. The two servants were spending more and more time together, because, Linnea suspected, they shared a common belief that Linnea was wasting her time trying to teach a vagabond the manners of a gentleman. If she could have revealed to them what she knew, they would understand. She must not do that. Jack had suspected right from the beginning that Nils was not exactly what he appeared. She was not sure what the stableboy believed, and she did not dare to ask because she might divulge something to let him guess the truth.

  “What do you mean by that?” Nils asked.

  Linnea had to search her mind to recall what she had last said. This deception was becoming more difficult as each day passed because she could find no time to relax. Even when she tried to sleep, her disquiet kept her awake.

  Remembering what she had said, she answered, “I meant only that in times past, people did not have the luxury of time to have pleasant manners as we do now.”

  “Yes, you have come a long way since the days when the English lived in filthy huts with their pigs.”

  “No doubt so the swine were not stolen by Vikings who were raiding these shores in a crusade to gain some sort of despicable honor in killing whoever could not outrun them.”

  “I told you that the English broke the treaty and attacked our allies who lived in the Danelaw. We were fighting for our survival.”

  “And guaranteeing that others did not survive.” She snatched the fork away from him to halt the vexing tap-tap-tapping. “You cannot whitewash such savagery.”

  “Whitewash? I do not understand.”

  “Pretend it did not exist, along with other brutal, unspeakable acts.”

  “You are speaking of them.”

  Linnea tossed the fork back onto the tray. “Just as you wished, but I have had enough of this conversation.”

  “Because you fear the truth?” Nils retorted as she stood.

  “What truth? That you are a beast?”

  He gripped her arm as tightly as he had on the beach. This time when she gasped, he loosened his hold. Surprised, she stared down at him. Her gaze was caught by his, as it was too often. She could not guess his thoughts because his eyes drilled her like whetted blades.

  “I am no beast, Linnea. I am a man who was raised to defend what belonged to his chieftain and to honor the gods and my family. Do not belittle my ways that you do not understand.”

  “I would not if you would not belittle my ways which you do not understand.”

  Nils flinched as if she had dealt him a fierce blow to the jaw. Fury bristled from every inch of her, but with a regal dignity that was breathtaking. He doubted if he had ever seen a woman who was so courageous in defying a warrior. Or a woman who was so irresistible. But he must resist her and his escalating need for her. She was his sole ally during this unexpected journey.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he said releasing her. “You are trying to help me. I should not be a gaurr.”

  “A what?”

  “A rude fellow.”

  “‘Tis most rude to keep talking in a language I do not understand.”

  He smiled. “But you will come to understand it if I use it often enough.”

  “And what good will it do me to learn a language that has not been spoken on this island for centuries?”

  Nils looked away, and Linnea knew it was her turn to apologize for using words as weapons aimed at hurting him. When he came awkwardly to his feet, she gazed up at him. She had met a few other men who were more classically handsome. She had spent time with many other men who were dressed better, but she doubted if she had ever seen a man who had such a silent aura of strength as Nils Bjornsson. He was dangerous to his foes and unquestionably loyal to his allies. He was a warrior by choice...and his kisses thrilled her so much that the memory lingered like the impression of a flash of lightning on a stormy night.

  Knowing she must say something—anything—to hide the no longer strange course of her thoughts, she whispered, “It gains us nothing to keep using words in an effort to hurt each other. We should remember we are allies.”

  His crooked finger brushed her cheek. “You give voice to my thoughts, unnasta, but you know that is not likely. There are too many aspects of our lives that are so different that we will never allow ourselves to trust each other.”

  “I trust you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Stepping away before his questing finger could tease her into granting him the freedom to do more than caress her cheek, she said, “Because I know you need my help to keep you from betraying yourself when you are among others.”

  “That is why I should trust you, not why you should trust me.”

&
nbsp; “I know. I cannot explain it further.” I do not want to explain it further, for then I might divulge how much I long for your kisses. Pretending to be oblivious to her own thoughts was foolish, but she must. “Shall we continue our lesson in how to eat with those of the Polite World?”

  As he nodded, she wondered if he was as anxious as she was to act as if there were nothing between them but the common goal of finding the missing knife. Mayhap that had been true at the beginning, but she no longer was sure.

  She wondered if he was.

  * * * *

  Linnea rolled her eyes as Martin finished the joke he was telling. When his wife, Minnie, slapped his arm playfully, Linnea’s smile broadened. She had always liked Minnie, who was not as fancy as some of the ladies who had vied for Martin’s attentions when he was an available bachelor. Minnie took her duties as the next Lady Sutherland seriously, but she did not flaunt her place in the household. Her dark brown hair was drawn back in a plain chignon, and her dress was simpler than the one Dinah had chosen to impress Lord Simmons.

  Looking at her sister, sitting next to her betrothed on a gold settee in the small parlor, Linnea was astonished at a pinch of envy. She did not wish she was the one marrying Lord Simmons, that was for certain. Harvey Simmons was a pleasant fellow and had the wealth to afford an excellent tailor who made his coats to hide his bony form. Dinah seemed utterly taken with him, although Linnea was still waiting for him to speak of something other than wine or cards or horses.

  Her envy was not of her sister’s fiancé, but of the fact that her sister could openly admire a man who had caught her eye.

  Was she out of her mind? She might not have changed her mind about marrying Randolph, but she would be insane to consider entangling her life with Nils’s. Even if Nils was not determined to return to a time long past, he was the most overbearing and condescending and beastly man she had ever encountered.

  “Martin,” Minnie said with a laugh, “you should take care what jokes you relate when your younger sisters are in earshot.”

  “They are both husband-high,” he returned as he refilled his glass from the bottle that still had dust on it from the cellars. Holding up the bottle, he smiled when Lord Simmons held out his own glass.