"All I wanted to do was build a really impressive powerboat," Tim was complaining to his buddies. "I don't see why Jill is so upset. The damage wasn't all that expensive. Women!"
"You weren't here when she needed you," the logical Al reminded him. "Remember. Jill told you that she was having problems with her job. The boys were driving her crazy. And she needed to lose ten pounds before her class reunion next week. Her female psyche was calling—for a male ego boost—sort of like the positive and negative electrodes on a battery." Al shook his head hopelessly at Tim. "Tsk-tsk! You let Jill down, Tim."
"You may have a point there," Wilson said. "Yes, indeedy!"
"Nah! She just needs a battery charge. Ha, ha, ha!" Tim quipped. "Real men know how to keep a woman's motor humming."
"Real men? Hah! I'm more sensitive to a woman's needs, Tim," Al declared with an air of self-satisfaction. "That's because I'm attuned to the feminine side of my brain. Just as you should be. Just as all men should be."
"Huh?" Tim and Rolf exclaimed.
"Where did you learn that bit of wisdom, my good man?" Wilson had moved into Tim's yard and his face was now hidden by... oh, good Lord!... a pair of huge breasts. Was that Ingrid he was attempting to affix to the front of the dragonship?
It was. A "real man's" figurehead, to be sure.
"Oprah," Al answered.
"That figures, " Tim and Rolf said at the same time.
As he considered AI's advice, Tim's helmet slid slightly off center and his horns went askew. "But Jill should be sensitive to my needs, too. A man's got to fulfill his... his..."
"Destiny?" Rolf prodded.
I'd like to show Rolf his destiny, all right.
"Yes!" Tim concurred. "Every man has to follow his destiny." The other men nodded.
Dolts! They are all dolts.
"It's true, Tim," the sage Wilson opined. "Yes, indeedy, when I was in Pango-Pango, I learned from a village chieftain that every man has a life goal to complete... a destiny, so to speak. Sometimes women don't comprehend when a man's honor is at stake. Isn't that the way it is in the Viking culture, as well, Rolf.?"
"Yea, some things ne'er change, no matter the culture, no matter the century," Rolf stated nervously as he shifted from foot to foot. "A man must protect those under his shield—wife, father, mother, friend. 'Tis the woman's place to demur to his better judgment."
Andrew Dice Ericsson—that's who he is. The ultimate Viking chauvinist pig.
"Yeah!" the other three idiots whooped.
"If a woman loves a man," Rolf continued, addressing the camera again, as if directing his words to her, she should have confidence in her man to follow the right path. She shouldn't dishonor him by questioning his loyalty."
But what about the man having confidence in his woman, Rolf?
"Did women nag their husbands in Viking-times?" Tim interjected, steering the conversation to a more humorous vein.
Rolf snorted, muttering something crude under his breath, which was bleeped out.
All the men, Rolf included, were laughing heartily, lifting long-necked bottles of beer to their mouths in salute to that bit of shared universal maleness.
Meredith plopped down on the couch next to Thea.
"Did you know about this?"
"No. All I knew was that Rolf asked me to tape tonight's show for him."
Meredith decided she had much to think about. The men were now on the set of Tim's TV workshop, constructing a clinker-built longship.
"The most important thing is that the woman... uh, wood, be pliable," Rolf explained, flexing a strip of green uh, wood, that had already been cut into a wedge shape. "That allows a man to bend them in the right direction."
"Right on, man!" Tim shouted, pumping the air with a fist.
"There 's naught worse than a stiff-boarded boat."
"Or a stiff-necked woman," Tim added.
Rolf grinned, no doubt patting himself on the back.
"A man must be in control of his ship, steering its course," he elaborated on his macho analogy. "A boat that is off keel will list through life... I mean, through the seas. Rudderless." He grinned even wider.
I'm going to take care of his rudder if I ever get my hands on him again.
"A good boat can be a man's greatest treasure, or his greatest heartache," Rolf concluded with a sigh.
"Of course, there's one sure way to stop a willful boat from tossing you to and fro," Rolf said casually, walking over to the wall of tools on the side of the set.
Taking down an S-shaped metal bolt, he held it in the air. "Norse shipbuilders make such a device, carved from wood, Tim. Have I e'er told you about the famous Viking Snail? Nay? well, perhaps another time. 'Tis a sure-fire mechanism for securing a wayward boat, or, in the case of the famous Viking S-spot, putting a woman in her rightful place...
Then Rolf winked into the camera lenses.
Meredith knew—she just knew—that the wink was intended for her. A promise. The Viking lout intended to put her in her "rightful place."
Dusk already blanketed the countryside as Meredith drove up the long lane to her cottage the next evening.
She'd just come from the airport, where she'd put her niece on a shuttle for Chicago. Thea was going to spend a few days with her father and his family—the first visit since she'd moved in with Meredith. It wasn't a trip the young girl had looked forward to, but she'd consented to a short visit, at Meredith's urging. The girl needed her father's love.
Approaching her darkened A-frame cottage, Meredith felt a sense of déjà vu. It had been a long time since she'd come home to an empty house—almost three months, in fact. That was when Rolf had first entered her life, and then Thea.
At that point, the Trondheim longship hadn't been built. She hadn't given up her tenured position at Columbia to stay on here at Oxley College. Her life hadn't been turned upside down and inside out. She hadn't been pregnant.
A solitary few days would be good for her, Meredith resolved as she parked the car and then walked to the front door. She needed time alone to make some decisions about her future and any relationship she might have with Rolf, whom she presumed was still in New York where the Home Improvement show was taped.
Or was it L.A.? Whatever.
Mike had been decidedly mum when she'd questioned him about Rolf that afternoon, except to tell her that Tim Allen had offered Rolf a periodic guest spot on his program—a Viking philosopher role, similar to Wilson's. Apparently, the show's rating had shot sky-high last night.
She'd gone slack-jawed with amazement at the news. That was all she needed-Rolf as a TV celebrity.
"Rolf declined the offer," Mike had related.
Thank God!
As she inserted the key in the lock, a loud yipping noise greeted her. She smiled, realizing some other things were different from her lonely life of a few months ago. She wasn't entirely alone now. She had Dog.
Yippee! she thought wryly.
No sooner did she step into the entryway than rough arm wrapped around her waist from behind, lifting her off the floor, while a knife was pressed against her neck. Time stood still, and the last three months slipped away like snowflakes in the wind.
In an exact recap of the previous experience, she dropped her briefcase to the floor, its contents spilling everywhere. Even her words came out the same as she flailed her arms and legs, shrieking, "Let me go!"
Dog barked loudly, but Meredith wasn't sure if he was trying to scare the "attacker" off, or encourage him.
"Hljólt! " Rolf ordered the animal, who slunk off to lie down obediently in the corner. Geez, did Dog understand Old Norse?
Her "attacker" spat out the single guttural command of "Hljólt!" Or "Quiet!" to her, as well, when she continued to scream and fight his painful hold on her. Finally, he exhaled loudly with disgust and tossed her over his shoulder.
"You want a vicious Viking, you'll get a vicious Viking," he muttered. Carrying her into the living room, where the only light came from the blaz
ing fireplace, the wretch threw her down to the sofa and followed after her, his braced hands pinning her shoulders flat and his right hip nudging her body firmly against the backframe.
"You're... You're despicable," she screeched.
"Yea, I am," he seethed. "And best you accustom yourself to my baser nature, because even your screeching will not drive me away this time."
"You can't just barge into my home. A civilized man would respect my wishes and stay away," she stormed weakly.
"Like Jeffrey? Blód hel! Is that the kind of man you favor now?" The contempt in his voice ripped through the air.
"No!" Then, realizing she'd conceded a point, she added, "But that doesn't mean—"
He put up a halting hand and inquired frostily, "Wouldst prefer that I go back to my own time, Merry-Death?"
She shook her head, unable to speak over the torment such a possibility evoked. What a dog in the manner she was. She didn't want him here, but she didn't want him gone.
Rolf's expression softened as he stared at her. "In truth, I suspect you don't know what you want. Most of your resistance these past days stems from hurt, and I understand that. Truly, I do. I've muddled your senses with my lackwit actions, Merry-Death. Let me explain myself. Mayhap it will help."
He leaned back slightly, though still pinning her to the sofa, and she got her first good look at the "new" Rolf. He wore the same outfit he'd had on in her office a week ago—loafers, designer jeans, a white, collarless linen dress shirt, and a dark blue blazer. But his long hair had been cut. Not short-short, like Mike's, but close-clipped on the sides and collar-length in the back.
"Why did you cut your hair?" She gasped.
"I'm adapting," he said sheepishly.
A sadness rushed through her then that Rolf sought to lose his Viking persona. "Oh, Rolf, a haircut won't make you a nineties man, nor fancy clothes. You can take the man out of the Viking, but you can't take the Viking out of the man."
"That's not why I bought the clothes, nor submitted to a barb-whore." His jaw jutted out in affront.
She bristled as she recalled that it had been her question about where he'd bought the apparel that had prompted their estrangement a week ago.
"Don't you pike-stiff on me, Merry-Death," he advised. "I've had more than enough of your willful ways this past sennight. 'Tis time you shut your teeth and opened your ears to my story."
The crude clod! She squirmed, trying to break free.
"I will gag you, if necessary," he warned.
She turned her face away, but he took her chin in a vicelike grip, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"I love you, Merry-Death," he said, "but sometimes you make it sore hard. And know this, I'll not pursue you forever."
Biting her bottom lip, she tried to keep tears from welling in her eyes at his words. She wanted him to say he loved her.
"My time-travel reversal did not work," he started.
She speared him with a condescending glare. Tell me something I don't already know.
"In the beginning, I contemplated coming back to your keep, but I worried about putting you through the agony of repeated leave-takings. I would have had to try the time reversal, over and over. Then I saw you on the television screen. The news scribes questioned whether the project would be canceled because of the danger. That gave me further evidence that my return would jeopardize not only your well-being, but the Trondheim Venture."
"So, you went to London?" she scoffed, her upper lip curling with disdain.
"Nay, I went to Norway. Many weeks I searched my homeland, its libraries and museums. Finally, I found the answer. Ah, Merry-Death, 'twas wondrous news I discovered. The famine ended when I entered the time portal-the night of the Demon Moon."
Despite herself, Meredith was interested in Rolf's intriguing story.
"Can you see what that means, dearling? My return to the tenth century is no longer necessary."
Meredith's heart expanded at that significant disclosure. Still, there were so many puzzles. And forgiveness for his cruelty in pretending to be dead came hard for her. "Exactly when did you make. that discovery?"
He hesitated and avoided direct eye contact, mumbling something under his breath.
"What did you say?"
"Three sennights ago," he admitted more loudly.
"Three weeks ago!"
"Now, Merry-Death, I still needed to know why I was sent through time, to another country... to you."
All these endless weeks I've suffered, and he stayed away because he needed answers. I'm going to kill him.
"Did you find the answers?" she inquired with icy sweetness.
"Well, some of them. I went to Lindisfame—Holy Island—to return the sacred relic."
Lindisfame? He was sightseeing while I sat here crying my eyes out.
"There I met a monk. You'll not credit this, I warrant, but the man claimed to be St. Aidan. In any case, the priest took the crucifix from me, and then directed me to go find my destiny."
"Destiny?" she sputtered. If she wasn't so angry, she'd laugh. Or cry.
Rolf released her shoulders and raked his fingers distractedly through his hair. She sat up with her legs still extended behind him on the sofa.
"Yea. At first, I didn't understand... till I saw a single rose blooming in the ruins."
The fine hairs stood out on Meredith's skin as she sensed what would come next.
"And I knew—" his eyes lifted to hold hers with bleak entreaty "—I knew that you were my destiny."
"Me?" she choked out, her defenses crumbling with each soft-spoken word. Oh, this Viking was a formidable warrior, even in the battle of emotions. She couldn't stop the tears from brimming over now, but she pushed his hand away when he attempted to brush them off her cheek. No way would she concede this fight yet. "If that's so, why did you go to London? I presume that's where you went after Lindisfame."
He flinched at her sarcastic tone, and then nodded.
"You said once that I'd be unable to live in your modern times, that I couldn't adapt. I needed to prove that I can make a life for myself here, with you. So, I went to Hair-rod's in London to purchase myself some business apparel. From there, I journeyed to Christie's. That's an establishment that auctions artifacts."
"I know what Christie's is," she snapped. Her fuzzy brain suddenly cleared. "Oh, no! You gave them the talisman belt. "
"Yea, I did. And they assured me that it would bring a half million dollars, possibly more."
She rolled her eyes.
"Those funds, in addition to the three hundred thousand additional dollars I got from the dealer in Bangor, should be enough. The dealer had a strong craving for a set of arm rings." He smirked at her, obviously pleased with his business acumen.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Enough funds for what?"
"Rosestead: A Viking Village," he said, beaming.
"What Viking village?" A stress headache kicked in behind her forehead, and she could barely comprehend all the information he was throwing at her.
"The one we're going to build together, dearling."
She snarled with frustration at his confusing answers.
"You plan on building a village on my property?"
Over my dead body!
"Nay, there is not enough room. That's why I needed money—to buy more land. Later, I will take you to view the property I am considering. 'Tis a beautiful spot, close to a narrow river leading to the Ocean, about thirty miles from here."
"How much land?" she asked reluctantly. The man had not only been gallivanting all over Europe while she'd been salting the earth with her tears, but he'd been roaming Maine, as well. He must have a death wish.
"Oh, a hundred acres or so," he informed her, waving a hand airily.
"And why would you be needing so much land?"
She braced herself for his reply, fearing the worst.
"The longhouses, farms, shops, shipbuilding wharves, schools. It would be a working village—entirely self-sufficient,"
he explained with boyish enthusiasm.
"I'm thinking about manufacturing and selling fine sailing boats, along with textiles and soaps in the old style, perhaps Viking-style jewelry.... Do you think Jillian would come live in our community as the master jewelry maker? Herbs, swords, a mead brewery, and, of course, raising animals. Cows, horses, pigs, ducks, chickens... How do you feel about goats, Merry-Death?"
Yep, it was the worst. Her eyes were so wide she feared they might pop out. "G-g-goats?" she sputtered.
"Now, sweetling, do not distress yourself. We don't need to have goats, if you do not favor them. In truth, they are smelly beasts. And contrary."
"Aaarrgh!'
"I knew you would be pleased, dearling," the block-head said, leaning down to kiss her lightly on her gaping mouth. The fact that her lips tingled in no way mitigated her heightening anger. "You could assist me in managing this working village. Or else you can scribe that book you once said you yearned to relate about outrageous medieval women. I could help you, especially if you seek data on medieval women." He jiggled his eyebrows at her, undaunted when she didn't smile.
"You've been a real busy bee, haven't you, Rolf? Making all these plans... all on your own. But the big question is 'why'? Surely, all this isn't just to prove you can adapt. In fact, you'd be doing just the opposite, trying to establish a Viking community in modern times."
"Destiny... it's my destiny." He took her hands in his and spoke with heartfelt sincerity, his voice raspy with emotion. "Oh, don't you see, Merry-Death? I finally realized why I was sent to your time. There is no Viking culture today. By blending into all the societies of the world, we Norsemen lost the most important thing—our own identity. You referred to me once as The Last Viking. Well, that's just what I am. And it's my mission to teach future generations all the good things about my people and our way of life."
Meredith was about to tell him then that he wasn't The Last Viking, that his line would endure with the small child growing already in her womb. But her throat choked over with emotion as she fought for words.
Rolf stood and walked over to the patio doors, staring out at the ocean. "There is another reason I want to establish this village," he said softly. "In my travels, I saw so much poverty and despair. So many homeless people. Homeless children, even. Can you credit that, Merry-Death? There are children wandering your streets with no one to care for them. Do you not think it would be a good idea to bring those children here... at least, some of them? Do you not think they would benefit from living the simple Viking life?"
Sandra Hill - Viking II 03 - The Last Viking Page 30