“You will not believe me.”
“I do not believe my own eyes.”
Walking to the edge of the abyss, he looked across it. “This is Bifröst, the great asabru. The great rainbow that hangs above Midgard. It hangs over the earth, the place where mortals reside.”
She stared at the crystal he still held. If this was a dream, she should know only what she knew. She had never heard the word the Norrfoolk used for rainbow. But if this was not a dream...“Did this globe kill us?”
“I am alive. My heart beats.” He touched the center of her breast. “And yours does as well, unnasta. If we—” The words he murmured were in his own language before he said, “Look at that, and tell me that you see it, too.”
Linnea could not even gasp. The huge building had been obscured by the sunlight, although she had no idea how. Resembling ruins of the old settlements left from before the Conquest, this castle glittered as if it had been raised from a single piece of gold. The walls were high, but the wide gate was thrown open. A path, as golden as the walls, reached toward the rainbow.
“What is it?” she breathed.
“It appears to be Fensalir, Frigga’s palace.”
“Frigga, the High Goddess? Frigga who sent Vjofn to give you that globe?”
“One and the same.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, then let them fall to her sides as she touched the fabric of her unfamiliar gown. “Nils, this makes no sense.”
“I think it does.”
“How?”
He cupped the globe. “Put your hands over mine, Linnea.”
She hastened to obey. When they both had touched the crystal before, they had been brought here. She took a deep breath and put her hands against his.
The bright light vanished. Linnea was about to crow with relief at the sight of stars in the sky above them, then realized she was seeing them through a gigantic window. This was not the water garden of Sutherland Park.
The room she stood in beside Nils was so tall she could not see the ceiling. No furniture was visible. A firepit was set in the middle of the floor, the flames making no smoke. She looked down. She still wore the strange clothing.
Nils smiled and held out his hand.
She put her fingers on his as she whispered, “What is this place?”
“We are within Fensalir. Stories are told by fires on cold wintry nights of the fires that burn here and give off no smoke, so none of the gods will be blinded when they decide to look upon Midgard from one of the windows here.” He ran his finger over the ball in his hand. “Each time we both touch this, it takes us somewhere else.” With a laugh, he set it on a stone by the firepit. “It is here that I wish to stay with you.”
“Why here?”
“Fensalir is Frigga’s castle.” He whirled her into his arms. As he scattered kisses across her face and along her neck, he whispered, “And Frigga is the goddess of love.”
“I thought...” She moaned as his tongue slid up behind the back of her ear. “I thought Freya was the goddess of love.”
“She is the goddess of lust.” His eyes glowed as fiercely as the light within the ball. “I want you, unnasta, for this time and as long as we can be together.”
Her breath burst from her when the gentleness vanished from his lips, and she tasted his yearning. She wanted this now. It did not matter if Frigga or Freya lived here. She wanted his love and his lust, his most basic animal need. It made no sense, but nothing did. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed, had to have.
He scooped her up into his arms and walked toward the closest wall. His hands slid up under her skirt, caressing her legs. When her lips parted with an eager sigh, his tongue jabbed at hers. He set her on her feet and pressed her back against the wall as his fingers grasped her skirt, raising it higher. She gasped when she heard material snag on the wall behind her.
“Nils...” Speaking was almost impossible when her breath careened through her like the flames leaping on the firepit.
With a laugh, he reached behind her and lifted a latch. He drew her forward as he opened a pair of doors that revealed a cupboard in the wall. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was not a closet, but a bed.
“Be my reward, unnasta,” he whispered. “Be mine in this time and in this place.”
“Yes.” Mayhap this was simply a dream. Even if it was not, it was a dream come true to be here with him. She wanted this. In this time and in this place, and in her time and in her place. The latter might not ever be possible, so she would grasp joy while she could.
He lifted her up to sit on the high bed. Unbuckling his sword, he leaned it against the wall, then set his metal helmet on it as he kicked off his boots. He knelt and drew off her shoes, his fingers stroking the arch of her foot. Slipping his fingers through hers, he sat beside her on the blanket. His fingers entwined through her hair, and an eager response flowed throughout her body. As his mouth moved along her neck, she drew him closer to her. She immediately sensed a difference. All the many times he had kissed her, he had held a part of himself back. She softened to him in answer to the invitation he had made so often. She shivered with unrestrainable hunger when his mouth moved along the curve of her breast.
He tilted her chin up with his fingertip, and she stared up into his eyes, unable to move, to blink, to breathe as he whispered, “I never thought we would have this chance.”
“I know.”
He silenced her with a fiery kiss. Sliding her arm around his shoulders, she sank into the rapture. He teased her ear with his tongue, and she knew this was where she wanted to be. She sifted through his hair and met his mouth eagerly. His arms brought her up against his chest. All thoughts evaporated into the heat of craving.
His lips coursed along her face as he leaned her back. The aroma of herbs surrounded her, but she paid it no attention as she drew him down with her. His eager fingers drew aside the band holding her hair in place. Tossing it away, he found her lips with all the longing so many sleepless nights had honed.
He kissed her. Only kissed her, until she groaned with the need that would no longer go unsated. She tugged open the lacing on the front of his tunic, then slipped her hand up beneath it along his smooth back. Her groan became a gasp of delight when he bent to taste the skin bared by her gown’s modest neckline.
Sliding her hands from beneath his tunic, she framed his face. Slowly she drew his mouth to hers. In the instant before his lips covered hers, she whispered, “Be my reward, too. Be mine in this time and in this place.”
The warmth of his laughter vanished into a ferocious flame as he tugged her into his arms. His hard muscles pressed her into the bed. His lips delighted her with a rapid shower of kisses across her face. Touching her eyelids, her cheek, the corners of her mouth which ached for his lips, he dared her to abandon herself to passion. When he captured her mouth, she moaned against his lips. His tongue jousted with hers as it explored every slick secret within her mouth.
He loosened her gown, pausing so his fingers brushed against the skin over her rapidly beating heart. She held his gaze with hers as she slid his hand beneath the front of her gown to cover his. With a wordless moan, he slid her sleeves down along her arm, freeing her breasts to the heat of his gaze.
Her fingers tightened on his arms as his tongue etched its flame into her skin. She gasped his name when it followed a twin pattern on one breast as his finger did on the other, trailing up to its very tip. The rough texture of his face burnished her skin with delight. Fumbling to pull off his tunic, she ached for the sensation of his skin on her.
She pulled his tunic off, and she brought his mouth to hers, arching her back so her breasts touched his chest. He murmured against her lips before he crushed them beneath his. Slowly, he pulled her gown off. His hands slipped under her shoulders as his lips brushed her neck. At the same time, he undid the laces on her undergarment, sliding it down with the same slow intensity he had her gown.
Pushing aside his hands, she rose
to her knees and let the garment fall to the bed. She tossed it atop her gown. Even if this was not a dream, she wanted to throw away all her constraints along with her clothes. When he reached to bring her back into his arms, she took his hands and rested them on the top of her stockings, just above her knees. She bent forward to meet his lips as she guided his hands down her legs. His palms, made hard by his work, stroked her eagerly. She moaned as his breath brushed her skin.
She knelt beside him, and he pulled her down to him. The sensation of her bare breasts on his chest weakened her. The craving for all of him against her dared her fingers to settle on the waistband of his leggings.
His hands framed her face, bringing her mouth to his, as she lowered them over his strong legs. The hardness of him pressed against her hand, and she wondered how they could have waited so long for this. When she pushed his clothes aside, he caught her trembling fingers and drew them to him. As she stared up into the purple fires of his eyes, he led her fingertips along the broad plane of his chest toward the narrowing of his hips and the sharp delineation between his sun-darkened skin and the paler areas below.
Her breath grew ragged when his mouth covered hers. Their breaths mingled, hot and pulsating to the rhythms taking control of her body. When he leaned her back again, the splendor of his naked skin against her was both savage and sweet. She wanted to savor it forever, but was sure she would go mad if it lasted another second.
Her sigh became a moan as his mouth twirled about the tip of her breast. The ache deep within her demanded satiation. Now. She must be freed from this exquisite ecstasy.
When her fingers moved along him, discovering every sensual angle of his male body, his quick gasp seared her skin. As she gripped his shoulders, he rose over her and brought them together. His mouth captured her gasp as they moved as one, wanting the same satisfaction. As his breath burned through her, she surrendered to the frenzy she never thought she would be able to find in his arms. The sudden, lightning-hot explosion severed her from everything but him.
* * * *
Linnea opened her eyes to discover Nils sleeping beside her. His head was against her breast, his breath warming her skin and enticing her closer. She reached to draw him to her as she woke him with her kisses in hopes of leading him to more of the passion. Then she heard the distant sound of triumphant laughter.
Who was laughing? Who was here?
She edged away from Nils so as not to wake him. Sitting, she drew the covers up over her and stared out into darkness broken only by the firelight and the glow of the stars overhead. Not just from overhead, because a powerful glow blossomed near the fire.
The crystal globe!
She watched it rise as if lifted by an invisible hand. It began to spin. She reached to wake Nils. Would he understand what was happening now?
The ball shattered, shards flying everywhere. She threw herself over Nils, screaming out his name. Fire seared her, then it was gone.
Linnea sat up again and gasped as she saw the familiar outlines of her own bedroom windows. Rain was falling against them. She reached for her wrapper at the foot of the bed. Flinging it over her shoulders, she realized she was wearing her favorite nightdress.
Had it been only a dream? No, because even in the faint light as she drew the collar of her nightdress back, she could see on her breast the marks left by the bristle of a day’s growth of beard. Nil’s beard. They had been lovers. It had not been just a dream.
She reached for the door. If loving Nils was a disease, she feared she was infected. More than that, she feared she would resist any cure, for she was beginning to believe she had found what she had been seeking forever.
Forever...
Nils threw open his door as soon as she knocked. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with the passion they had found in another place. “Unnasta,” he whispered, “praise Thor that you are safe.”
“And you! I feared you had been hurt by the ball exploding.”
“Is that what happened?” He combed his fingers through her hair. “Jack, you are not needed.”
The lad, who was groggily peeking into the room, said, “Yes, my lord.”
As soon as the door to the dressing room closed again, Nils said, “What happened does not matter. What matters is that you know the truth now. You belong with me. Once I find the knife, we can go back to—”
“To your time?” Shaking her head, she stepped out of his arms. “Nils, we have talked about this before. You know that is impossible. I do not belong there any more than—”
He interrupted her as she had him. “Than I belong here?”
“That was not what I was going to say. I was going to say that I belong there no more than I belong in Frigga’s castle.”
“That was my reward for putting honor first.”
“Ahead of my dishonor?”
His eyes grew hard. “Is that what you believe? That I brought dishonor to you by showing you how much I wanted you?”
“No.” Her shoulders sagged. “You did not bring me any dishonor. I did. I am the daughter of an English lord—a 19th century English lord. You are...you are a Viking! You do not belong here, and I do not belong in your arms.”
With a gasp, she ran out of the room and along the hall. How could she have been so foolish? He had been honest from the beginning that he had given up the glories of Valhalla to tend to his oath. He intended to find the knife and return to his time.
But why had she spoken so to him when she wanted to give him her heart? The words had spouted from her mouth, cruel and hateful.
She faltered when she heard the echo of distant laughter again. Victorious laughter. With a sob, she flung open her door and rushed to her bed. Her dream come true had become a never-ending nightmare.
Twenty-Two
Nils stormed into his room. When he saw Jack was nowhere to be found, he knew the lad had learned that it was wise to keep his distance just now.
Tossing his coat onto the closest chair, Nils dropped next to it. He opened the bottle of wine he carried and tilted it back. Bothering to get a glass was silly when he was tired of the affectations of this time.
He could not blame English customs for the mess he had made of everything. When Vjofn had appeared in the water garden, he had been suspicious of Loki manipulating all of them. He had let Frigga’s handmaiden persuade him that Loki played no part in the reward that the Allfather’s wife had sent to him. Maybe Loki had not been part of the gift, but the wizard had taken advantage of it.
Destroying the globe and sending Nils and Linnea back to Sutherland Park must have been Loki’s work. Linnea had trusted him enough to become his lover when they were within Frigga’s fortress, but, back in her own time and in her father’s house, she believed what they had shared was a mistake. If they had had a chance to discuss this in the haven of Frigga’s castle, it might have been possible to find a compromise.
Instead, for the past day, Linnea had avoided him. She had turned and walked the other way to keep from speaking to him.
He took another deep drink of the wine. He hoped it was more potent than what he had drunk in his own time. If he became intoxicated, he might be able to forget the pain and betrayal on Linnea’s face when she had fled from his room last night.
Dishonor? How could anything so splendid cause dishonor for her?
His hand clenched on the neck of the bottle. She had explained to him again and again how closely a young woman must guard her virtue in this time. It was no different in his time. Freya could have an endless listing of lovers, but a mortal woman should be faithful to the man she wed.
If he offered Linnea marriage, it would not change anything. He could not remain in this time once his quest to find the knife was complete. She would not come with him to his time. The gods’ favor would not extend to letting him come back here when he had returned the sax to his chieftain. There was no solution.
“It is time you realized that, Nils Bjornsson.”
Hearing a self-satis
fied chortle, Nils stood. He was not surprised to see Loki perched cross-legged on a stool by the hearth.
Nils set down the wine bottle and pressed the cork into it. “I thought you were done with giving me a look-in, Loki.”
“How like an Englishman you sound.”
“I must learn to be like those in this place if I hope to be successful in my search for that which was stolen from my chieftain.” He put one foot on the low chair beside where Loki sat. “You have had your fun with destroying what was so wondrous between Linnea and me. You have hurt her as you vowed when you deemed me no longer amusing. Why are you back here again?”
Loki was abruptly frowning. “Once you would not have kept me waiting even the length of a heartbeat, Nils Bjornsson. Then you did whatever I wished of you.” His voice became a sneer. “Or do you recall that Nils Bjornsson is your name now that you have become the spoiled pet of these English?”
“I know who I am.” He held up his empty hand. “When Vjofn put Frigga’s gift in my hand, I accepted it as a warrior of the Norrfoolk, not as an Englishman. When I shared it with Linnea, I brought her to the wellspring of my people’s soul, so she could share it with me while she shared herself with me.”
“Before choosing her father’s honor over yours.”
“It was her choice,” Nils replied quietly, hoping his serenity masked his pain at speaking those simple words. His eyes narrowed. “Or was it? Have you put words into Linnea’s mouth that do not come from her heart?”
“You may believe that as you wish. Or you may believe that some things will never change.” Loki laughed. “Those who call this island home cannot be trusted by the Norrfoolk. You should be grateful that I have helped you see that.”
“I did not need your interference to see the truth.”
“No? Do you recall why you are here? It was not to make that Englishwoman your lover.”
My Lord Viking Page 26