My Lord Viking

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “I know why I am here.”

  “Do you? Have you become that Englishwoman’s traell, willing to do her bidding in exchange for her feminine favors?”

  “I am no one’s slave. I call no one—neither man nor woman—master.”

  Loki stood. “Nor do you recall the obedience you are to show those of us whom once you feared.”

  “I still respect those who will reside in Asgard until the day the world ends.”

  With a wordless screech, Loki raised his fists. He could not deny the truth of the sagas of how he was banished from Asgard to wait for the end of time in a cave, a punishment for angering those gods who possessed more power than he could claim.

  Nils lifted his hands as the room exploded with light. Behind him, the bottle of wine broke as it hit the floor. Something else hit the floor with a crash and the sound of more breaking glass. He was not sure what it was.

  Silence.

  Cursing, he tried to clear the fire from his eyes. He rubbed them, then groped for the chair. This was just as Linnea had described, so Loki must have invaded Frigga’s castle and sent them back here.

  “My lord! What happened here?” Jack’s shocked voice rang through the room.

  Nils turned toward him and opened his eyes wide. He could not see. The glare remained, blinding him to everything else. His hands fisted. Was this Loki’s ultimate revenge, stealing his sight so he could not complete his quest? He would find his chieftain’s knife, even if he had to examine everything in Britannia with his fingers.

  “Lord Barrington, are you all right?” Jack must be closer now, because his voice was louder.

  “Help me to a chair.”

  “Help you...?” Jack grasped Nils’s arm. “This way, my lord.”

  Groping for the chair, Nils dropped into it. He struck one of its arms, sending a pain down his leg.

  “Do you want me to send for Lady Linnea?” Jack asked.

  He was about to say no, then nodded. Pride would gain him nothing now.

  Hearing Jack rush to the door and out of the room, Nils leaned back. It might not be pride. It might be fear—there was no other word for it—that Linnea might not come to help him. She must know, as he did, that the hours they had stolen in Frigga’s castle bound them together in a way that could not be explained.

  A way that Loki was trying to destroy.

  “Vjofn,” he said quietly in his own language, “you were our friend in the water garden. Do not abandon us now.”

  He strained his ears for an answer from Asgard.

  A gasp came from the doorway. Linnea! Once before, she had been sent to assist him. Was she the answer to his prayers again?

  “Nils, what happened?” she asked as she rushed to his side.

  “I cannot see.”

  “Jack told me that. What happened?” Her despair was as apparent in her voice as it must be on her face.

  “Are we alone?”

  He could tell she had turned by the difference in her voice as she said, “Jack, bring cool, wet cloths so we can ease the pain in Lord Barrington’s eyes. Lots of them. Fetch a bottle of wine, and also bring some of that powder that Cook keeps in the stillroom for when someone has had too much to drink.”

  “I have not had too much to drink,” Nils growled as Jack ran out of the room again.

  The door closed, and Linnea’s soft steps came back toward him as she said, “I know, but the powder eases headaches.” Glass was pushed aside on the floor as she asked, “Can you see me?”

  He gulped great lungfuls of fresh air. Leaning his head on his hands, he kneaded his anguished eyes with the heels of his palms.

  “Nils?”

  At Linnea’s soft voice, he raised his head. They must be alone, for she used his real name. He could not be certain, for all he could see in front of him was a fiery red. His first fear that the flames were real vanished, because the air was cool and the smoke was just a lingering scent.

  “Nils, please tell me. Can you see me?”

  “No.”

  Her moan of despair seared him more fiercely than the embers from the fire that had burst from Loki’s hands.

  He reached for her. When her fingers clutched his hand and pressed it over her heart, he whispered, “I do not believe that I am blind. Simply blinded. Everything is a strange scarlet, as if I had stared too long into the rising sun.”

  Her finger against his lips halted him from saying more. He heard her rise and go to the door. She thanked someone and murmured more. The door closed, and she came back to him.

  A damp, cool cloth covered his eyes as she whispered, “Tell me. Was it Loki?”

  He caught her hand, better able now to gauge where she was by the direction of her voice. He pulled off the cloth and squinted in an effort to see her face. It was still nothing but a ruddy blob.

  “How did you guess that?” he asked as quietly as she had spoken. He heard other footfalls in the room, so he guessed someone else was here.

  She must have guessed his thoughts, because she replied, “Jack will remain here by your side in case you need anything tonight.”

  “Having you by my side would satisfy my greatest need.”

  Her hands clenched on his arm. “Do not speak of that.”

  “Why not? It was because of what we shared that this happened.”

  “Loki?” She raised her voice and called, “Jack, please bring more glasses from the sitting room downstairs.”

  “I can get more in—”

  “The sitting room glasses are the ones Lord Barrington prefers.”

  Nils almost laughed. He did not need to see to guess Jack’s face was twisted with frustration at what seemed to be a senseless request.

  “Yes, my lady,” the lad replied. “I hope you are doing better, my lord.”

  “I shall be fine,” Nils said.

  As soon as the door closed, Linnea asked, “Do you really think so? Do you really think you will be fine?”

  “I must hope so.” He readjusted the cloth over his burning eyes. “And to answer your question, yes, it was Loki. Both today and when we were at Fensalir. As I told you, he is furious with me for refusing to be the source of all kinds of jests for him.”

  “I am sorry, Nils.”

  He lifted the cloth and squinted. Although the colors still flowed together like wet paint in the rain, he was able to see a little. His arm gathered her to him. “‘Tis not your doing, unnasta.”

  “But I thought Loki was going to bother someone else.”

  “This may be his way of bothering someone else. Who has been hurt by all that has happened since we saw Vjofn in the water garden?”

  “Me?” she whispered. She rested her cheek against his chest. “The words I spoke to you when we woke back here...I do not know where they came from. I chose to be with you. There was no dishonor in what we shared.”

  “Loki tore us from Fensalir, then wanted to be certain we did not seek such a paradise again.” He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “He has selected an ingenious way to hurt both of us for failing to be in awe of what he has done to our lives.”

  “I am in awe of all of this.” She hesitated, and he could hear her gown rustle. “Especially of this.” Her fingers guided his mouth to hers.

  He did not need to be able to see well to find her lips. Pain wrenched deep in his gut when he tasted the salt of tears she must have shed. Because he had been injured, or had she been crying when Jack called her here?

  Suddenly she cried out in horror. She jerked herself out of his arms. No, she was pulled away from him. What was going on? His fingers found his knife with the ease of years of practice. What was happening? Where was Linnea?

  Shadows moved and thickened. To his left. He tried to react, but hesitated. Was that Linnea? No, the shadow was taller than hers. He raised his knife. Too late. Something struck him. Fire burned up his left arm. He swung the knife again and found nothing. Footsteps! Too heavy for Linnea. He whirled. His knife hit metal, then was knocked
from his fingers. Instinct alone made him jump aside. The whoosh of a blade came within inches of his stomach.

  Where was Linnea? He shouted to her to flee as he turned to find something else to fight with. He tripped over something on the floor. He heard victorious laughter. Kortsson! Rolling over, he started to stand. He was knocked from his feet back to the floor by something long and heavy. Trying to push it off, he felt dampness on his hands. Warm dampness...blood! Not his! Linnea!

  He shouted her name in desperation. His fear for her strengthened him. Ignoring the agony in his left arm, he shoved the weight off him. He jumped to his feet and grasped the bottle that had been on the table. He raised it to fight off Kortsson. It was a paltry weapon, but his blood-enemy must be stopped from hurting her...again.

  “No!” Linnea cried as her slender fingers gripped his wrist.

  “Stay back. I—”

  “It is over.”

  “Over?” He squinted, wishing he could see something other than flimsy shadows.

  She took the bottle, and he heard her set it back on the table. Still holding his hand, she drew him forward and down toward the floor. His fingers recoiled when they touched blood again. The body was still. Not even a breath moved it.

  “Kortsson?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Yes.” She shivered so hard he could feel it all along her as she knelt beside him.

  “You killed him?”

  “He would have killed you.” She gulped and whispered with a half-sob, “I used your knife.”

  He gathered her to him. She might be as brave as a Viking woman, but she was of this time, when slaying a blood-enemy was not deemed proof of restored honor. As she wept against him, he smoothed her hair. His fingers delighted in what his eyes could not see. Quietly he said, “Linnea, I owe you my life once more.”

  “He would have killed both of us.” She paused, then drew back. He knew she was gazing up at him. “He does not have the knife, Nils.”

  It was as if he had been slashed again with Kortsson’s blade. Lifting his hand, he found Linnea’s cheek with a sense that he could not name. She leaned her face against his palm. Even though he knew how unlikely it would that his blood-enemy still had the knife after a journey of a thousand years, he had hoped when he faced Kortsson, he would regain both the stolen knife and his honor.

  “What happened here?” came Jack’s shout from the doorway.

  Nils stood, facing the area where the light was brighter. That must be the door. “An intruder attacked. Linnea—”

  “Was saved by Niles’s quick actions,” she interrupted.

  He wanted to ask her why she was giving him the credit for slaying his enemy. The honor all should be hers. As Jack and then others of the household surged into the room, everyone talking at once, Nils had no luck getting anyone to listen to the truth. They all—including a most grateful Lord Sutherland—were too busy thanking him and taking the body away and sending for the authorities.

  While everyone discussed whether this was the same man who had disrupted Dinah’s wedding, Linnea finished bandaging his arm. The wound was not deep, but it had to be cleaned so it did not fester. When she was done, she remained as silent as she had been since Jack had arrived at the door.

  Nils waited for the others to follow the footmen who were taking Kortsson’s corpse out to the stable. He stood as Linnea moved past him, the hint of her fragrance telling him just where she was. Taking her by the arms, he brought her close. Gently he kissed her. When her lips quivered beneath his, he whispered, “Unnasta, what is wrong?”

  “What is wrong? That man almost killed you!”

  “But you killed him first. You are as valiant as a Valkyrja.” He closed his eyes, but still could see little when he opened them. He bent to kiss her again, but she turned her face away. He cursed. If he could see her expression, he might know why she was denying them the pleasure they had shared so seldom. He framed her cheeks with his hand and tipped her face toward him. Straining to see, he said, “Tell me the truth, unnasta. Was that a kiss farewell?”

  “Farewell?”

  “You are pulling away from me as completely as when Kortsson jerked you out of my arms.”

  “I promised to help you find that knife, and I will. Kortsson did not have it, so it must be in London as I had guessed. I will help you find it. A Sutherland never breaks a promise.”

  “And then?” He kissed her tenderly, although he wanted to hold her close and steal her breath with his caresses.

  “You know what you are and what I am. You will go back to live your life in your own century, and I will stay here. Despite all that has happened, nothing has changed, has it?” She stepped away from him and was gone before he could reply.

  Even if he had had a reply.

  * * * *

  Nils readjusted his cravat, looking at the room reflected in the glass. He was grateful that his eyesight had returned, although it had taken almost two days and multiple visits from the village doctor. On the doctor’s orders, during the day, he had sat in this room with the drapes closed so he did not strain his eyes. It was good that Tuthill’s assembly was being held after dark, or else Nils would have been unable to attend, for the sunlight still sent pangs shooting through his skull.

  He glanced over his shoulder again and again as he finished pulling on his coat and adjusted his sleeves. Only Linnea would understand why he was so edgy. Jack just tried to stay out of his way.

  Hearing a noise, he turned, but saw no one behind him. Stepping away from the glass, he resisted rubbing his still itchy eyes. Loki may have intended to teach him a lesson, but it was one he had already known. Loki was as insane as some of the old stories had suggested.

  Nils walked down the stairs toward the foyer. The buzz of excited voices met him. He was surprised to see Linnea standing off to one side with Dr. Foster. While her parents and Martin and Minnie waited by the door, she seemed to be in intense conversation with the professor.

  “How do you fare?” Lady Sutherland asked as Nils stepped down from the lowest riser.

  “Much better.” He bowed over her kid glove-encased hand.

  “Such a freak accident.” She shook her head. “I have never heard of its like.”

  “Nor I.”

  Martin asked, “Has your eyesight fully returned? The doctor was hopeful that it would be restored completely by next week.”

  Lord Sutherland clapped his heir on the back and laughed. “Haven’t you seen how he keeps looking toward Linnea? Of course the man’s eyesight has returned.”

  Nils smiled at his host, but walked to where Linnea was still talking with Dr. Foster. Although he could not hear her words, her expression held an earnest desperation. Was she seeking some way to prevent their inevitable farewell? He did not want to remind her that he was far more acquainted with the way of the Norrfoolk than Dr. Foster, because that might still the last wisps of hope.

  He could not keep from admiring her beauty. Her ebony hair was woven with small white flowers that matched the ones on her gown. With her pink cheeks and enticing smile, she invited a man to come closer and explore every bit of her sensual warmth. Her eyes glittered, but that light dimmed when she glanced at him.

  The now familiar ache twisted inside him. He should be making her ecstatic, not miserable. Were the gods laughing along with Loki that, in helping him as she had promised, she was sacrificing her happiness...and his?

  “Ah, Barrington,” said the professor with a broad smile. “Now I understand why Lady Linnea’s attention has been wavering during my explanation.”

  “I am so very sorry, Dr. Foster.” Her words sounded sincere, and maybe they were, but Nils could think only of having a chance to speak with her alone. “I think we are ready to leave now.”

  Linnea was not surprised when Nils’s hand on her arm kept her from catching up with the rest of her family as they walked out of the house. He drew her to one side, away from the lanterns on the house and the pair of carriages that would take them to Rando
lph’s estate.

  “I must know one thing before we leave tonight,” Nils said softly. “We have not spoken of Tuthill since...since the accident.”

  She looked at where her family remained in earshot and understood why Nils did not mention Loki by name. “No, we have not, but nothing has changed. Randolph expects to announce tonight that I will wed him.”

  “I thought you told him you would not.”

  “No matter what I say, no matter what I do, he refuses to acknowledge my words or my actions. His mind is so set on a single course, he will not be shaken from it.”

  “Only a fool will not heed the words of another, especially when they have been repeated over and over.” His fingers swept up along her face. “But then, I can understand his reluctance to let you go. You do look like an engill tonight.”

  “Engill? You called me that the first day when you were in the pavilion. What does it mean?”

  He smiled, and something quivered deep within her. “Your language and mine are not so different on many words. Engill and angel sound much the same, don’t they?”

  “Angel? I didn’t think...that is, do the Norrfoolk have angels?”

  “At least one of them does.” He pulled her more deeply into the shadows, and his laugh warmed her mouth as his tongue glided along her lips, decorating them with liquid longing. When her fingers curved along his nape, his kiss deepened until her swift breaths thundered almost as fiercely as her heart.

  “Linnea! Where did you go?” Her mother’s question was impatient.

  Linnea put her hand on Nils’s cheek, then hurried to where her father was waiting to hand her into her brother and Minnie’s coach. She wished she could shake this feeling that tonight she would be saying good-bye to all she had dreamed of.

  * * * *

  The ballroom was filled with so many candles and lights that it could have been midday. As Linnea sipped on her wine and listened to the myriad conversations around her, she could not help worrying that this would hurt Nils’s eyes. She might have asked him, if she had seen him. He had ridden here in the other carriage with Dr. Foster, and the professor had been talking enthusiastically to him when they entered Tuthill Hall. By the time she had finished greeting Randolph and extracted her fingers from his grip, the two men had disappeared into some other room while Nils was congratulated for saving her from a thief.