Sandra Hill - Viking II 01 - Truly, Madly Viking (v1.0)

by Truly, Madly Viking (v1. 0)(lit)

  Maggie had to smile, despite herself. Joe certainly put the fun in dysfunctional. But enough of this nonsense! She put her hands on Joe's shoulders and pushed him toward the hallway. "Go!" she ordered. "Go, take a shower."

  "God, I love it when you go Valkyrieish on me. Mayhap it is my destiny to be saddled with a pushy wench."

  "I am not pushy. I am not a wench. I am not your Valkyrie. And, most definitely, I am not your destiny."

  But Maggie wasn't so sure about that last.

  A short time later, while Joe showered noisily in the bathroom down the hall, Maggie heated up the Texas chili she'd made the girls for dinner, along with a loaf of warm sourdough bread. She glanced out the kitchen window and noticed something important... the first star of the night. Could it possibly be shining brighter than ever before? And that constellation over there... surely it wasn't configured in the shape of a whale, just as the girls had noticed many weeks ago.

  No! It's just my imagination.

  Still...

  "Thank you, God," she whispered.

  "Look at him. Look how handsome he is, even asleep."

  "Shhhh. Mom told us to stay away... not to disturb him."

  "He's so big. No wonder he ate the entire pot of chili Mom made for our dinner, and a whole loaf of homemade bread."

  "I've always wanted a big father."

  "Me, too."

  "He looks a little bit like Kevin Sorbo... that guy who used to play Hercules on TV."

  "I think he looks more like Ricky Martin."

  "I think he looks better than both of them."

  "I think he looks like... a dad."

  There was a long sigh then. Actually, two long sighs at the same time.

  As Jorund emerged slowly from a deep sleep, he heard voices discussing him. Whoever they were, they must be pay-shuns of the hospital if they actually thought he resembled that Greek man of strength, Hercules. Right now Jorund felt weaker than dragon piss. And had someone really said that he resembled that infuriating singer with the magic hips, Ricky Martin? Jorund would never swing his hips like that in public... or in private, either. It was not manly, in his opinion.

  He cracked both eyes open to mere slits, then shot bolt upright, which caused him to almost fall off the piece of cushiony furniture called a sofa, where he had fallen asleep after a most satisfying shower and dinner. He'd been talking with Mag-he about what he would do next when his eyes had drooped shut.

  He had not wanted to be here when her daughters returned. But it was too late now. Two young girls with blond braids and silver jewelry on their teeth were staring at him. Twins.

  "Go away," he said in a growl.

  They looked fearful, but stood their ground.

  "We've been praying for you every night," one of them said.

  "Me? Why would you pray for me?"

  "Mom said you were lost, and we prayed that she would find you. Mom drove around the bay lots of times, trying to find you."

  "She did?" But Jorund had forgotten himself. He wanted naught to do with these urchins who reminded him so much of his own daughters. "Did I not tell you to go away?"

  "Where should we go? This is our house."

  "Can you not go to another chamber?"

  "We want to watch TV. This is the TV room."

  "Where's your mother?"

  "Taking a bubble bath."

  Now that conjured up some interesting pictures. "She's using the lilac bath salts I bought her last Christmas," one of the twins informed him with total irrelevance. At least, he thought it was totally irrelevant till the other twin inquired, "Do you like lilacs?"

  "I like lilacs fine," he snapped. Just for the meanness of it, he added a loud growl, like a grizzly bear.

  The girls just giggled. They actually giggled at his fierceness.

  Just as his own daughters would have done.

  In misery, he informed them, "You are breaking my heart. Can you not see how painful it is for me to be around you two?"

  "You don't like us?" they both asked in unison, their voices squeaky with hurt.

  "'Tis not you that I mislike, particularly. I have trouble being around young girls." To his surprise, he noticed that his right hand had been lying over his heart protectively the whole time he spoke. Why did I divulge that? 'Tis none of my concern if their feelings get hurt at the least little jab. Oh, holy Thor, why do they not go away?

  The twins exchanged worried glances with each other, then some whispered words he could not hear. They appeared ready to depart. Finally he seemed to have gotten through to them. But why were they approaching the sofa where he still sat?

  "Mom always says a hug is the best medicine for a breaking heart," one twin told him, already reaching out her skinny arms toward him.

  "No!" he cried out.

  But the other twin had an even more horrifying idea. "Can I sit on your lap?"

  "No!" he repeated in an anguished cry.

  Short seconds later, Jorund Ericsson, the most barbarous Viking in all Vestfold, wept silently into the hair of two little girls who sat on each of his knees, arms wrapped around his shoulders, faces pressed into his neck. Oh, the little-girl smell of their skin was so familiar to him he could scarce breathe.

  And then... oh, he should have been surprised—but he was not—when a strange voice in his head made a click-click-clicking noise and a whalelike grinding. To Jorund, it seemed to say, Now you know why you are here, Viking. Now you know.

  "Mommy, please don't send him away," Beth begged from her bed, where Maggie had just tucked her in. "It's the magic of killer whales and God and wishing stars—all these things—that sent him to us. I just know it."

  "There's no such thing as magic," Maggie chided her gently. "You're old enough to know that."

  "Even from God?" Beth argued. "You mean there's no such thing as miracles?" Beth blinked innocently at her.

  Oh, that was a low blow. "Of course there are miracles. Joe hardly qualifies as a miracle, though." Or does he?

  "Can't you just believe in dreams come true, Mommy? Just a teeny-tiny bit?" Suzy added from her twin bed.

  "But, honey—"

  "You always told us anything is possible if you pray hard enough." It was Beth who addressed her now, and it was hard for Maggie to counter that argument, especially when she was quoting Maggie's own words.

  "But sometimes the answer God gives us is no," she reminded them.

  "And sometimes it's yes," they both exclaimed in unison, bright smiles on their faces.

  Maggie would have liked to contradict her daughters—to tell them that reality had to be faced, that Joe was very likely a mere blip on the screen of their lives, not a permanent fixture—not to be depended on. But she couldn't get the image of Joe out of her mind... Joe holding Suzy and Beth on his lap... Joe weeping silently over them... Joe putting aside his grief to comfort her precious darlings...

  Needless to say, in the end it took Maggie an exceptionally long time to get the girls to sleep that night. They were just so excited.

  Maggie was excited, too, but for different, more personal, and very alarming reasons. That prompted her to call to Harry at his home.

  "Joe is here," she informed Harry without preamble.

  "Is he all right?" was Harry first question. His second was, "Are you all right?"

  God bless Harry's good heart. No recriminations, no ranting or raving about unwise psychologists or ungrateful patients. Just a genuine concern for the well-being of all concerned. "We're fine," she assured him.

  "You know he can't return to the clinic."

  "I know. And he does, too. Harry, this is going to sound crazy, but—-"

  He laughed softly. "Odd word to come from a psychologist."

  She laughed, too, but there was a hysterical tone to her laughter.

  Harry must have noticed, because his voice was serious when he prompted, "You were saying?"

  "I was about to say that, despite all the appearances to the contrary, I don't think Joe is mentally
ill."

  "Are you sure that isn't just wishful thinking?"

  Maggie sighed. So her feelings toward Joe were apparent to others. "That may play some part, but my gut instinct is that there is some other reason for all these things he claims. To tell you the truth, I've felt that way from the beginning, and I just can't get rid of this sense I have that there's something more to Joe's story... something beyond the explanations of science and logic."

  "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. The man says he's a tenth-century Viking who was delivered to this land by a killer whale."

  "I know."

  "And you believe that?"

  "I'm not sure what I believe. I just know that he's not insane, or deranged, or mentally ill."

  There was a long pause while Harry digested all that she'd said. They both knew there were cases that defied all the textbooks, that sometimes instinct was the best measure... but would he accept what she said now?

  "Okay," he agreed finally. "What happens next?"

  "I just want to go on record as stating that Joe Rand is no longer my patient."

  "Uh-oh."

  Uh-oh is right. Major uh-oh. "You've already said he's not a patient at the clinic anymore. I want to establish a paper record that he's not my patient, either."

  "For the lawyers?"

  "If need be."

  "Maggie, be careful. You've got children to consider."

  "I'm doing this for my children... as well as myself. He wouldn't hurt them any more than he would hurt his own children." No matter what Joe said, she couldn't lay the blame for his daughters' deaths on his shoulders.

  "Are you sure about this, Maggie?"

  "As sure as I've ever been about anything in my life." And she was, she recognized with a freeing. sort of ebullience.

  "I wish you luck then... or a miracle."

  Maggie suspected she'd already been handed a bit of both.

  "You can stay...."

  Jorund glanced up an hour later to see Mag-he standing in the doorway of the den chamber. He lifted one eyebrow in question. He hadn't realized that his staying or not staying had ever been an issue. He'd just assumed... well, he supposed that had been presumptuous of him.

  "For a while. Till... till we figure things out."

  "What things?"

  "I just talked to Harry—Dr. Seabold—and everything is settled."

  "What has Dock-whore Sea-bold to do with my settling?" Understanding struck him like a lightning bolt. "I am no longer your pay-shun."

  She nodded.

  Despite all that weighed him down, Jorund couldn't help grinning. If he was no longer considered her pay-shun, then that opened the doors to all kinds of... well, possibilities.

  "Don't get any ideas," she chided him. Meanwhile, her gaze kept coming back to his exposed chest, visible through his unbuttoned shert, which he hadn't bothered to tuck into his braies after his recent shower.

  "Oh, I have ideas aplenty. I wonder if my ideas coincide with your ideas."

  "Probably."

  "Probably? Probably? Sweetling, you'd best not toss out such seductive words unless you plan to follow up on them."

  She just shrugged, but that shrug shouted a thousand things to him... all of them sexual.

  "Sweetling, huh?" she asked with a soft smile. "I like the sound of that." Her voice was even huskier than usual. Jorund had been fond of that huskiness from the start. Now he would like to experiment with different ways of tuning that huskiness to his own satisfaction.

  "Come here, Mag-he," he said, and was surprised that his voice, too, was husky.

  She backed up a step instead. "Slowly... we've got to take things slowly here."

  At first he wanted to balk... to argue that going fast was the better course. But perhaps she was right. He had been assailed by so many new emotions these past hours.

  "For now, let me help you make up a bed for the night." Motioning him to stand, she stepped into the chamber. The soft folds of her scarlet silk robe outlined her body as she moved, especially where it was belted at the waist. He felt an immediate jolt of awareness at the joining of his thighs. Was she wearing undergarments under the robe? Or had she come to him naked, already prepared for his lovemaking? Oh, what a heady thought that was! His entire body went hot and throbbing with the mental picture. He had been without a woman for a long time. He had been without Mag-he for a long time.

  Was now the time?

  As she showed him how to pull out the bed mattress that was magically enclosed inside the sofa, the scent of lilacs wafted his way, and he recalled that the girls had said their mother was taking a bubble bath. Then, taking soft pillows, bed linens, and blankets from a close-it, she began to make up the bed. Each time she bent or turned, the filmy robe clung to a different, more enticing curve of her body.

  He smiled.

  Turning suddenly, she caught him in the smile, and seemed surprised—then embarrassed. Did the blush that now flooded her face and neck also color other parts of her body?

  "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, Joe," she informed him as she turned her back to him and worked to smooth out the wrinkles in the blanket. That gave him a good view of her backside as she bent to the task. Holy Valhalla, the wench had more curves than a Norse fjord.

  But then Mag-he's words registered, and jolted him out of his erotic musings.

  With disgust, he realized that he had been ogling her body like an untried youth before his first swiving. "Thanksgiving?" he inquired in as level a voice as he could manage. Well, I certainly hope I will be having something to be thankful for, after tonight. "In our country it's a special day when everyone gives thanks for their bounty. In our home we have our Thanksgiving feast early so we can go to the Orcaland amusement park for the last day of the season... weather permitting, of course."

  "And?" he prompted. Why was she telling him this now?

  "And I want to make sure you will be all right with that. Will you be able to stand being around my daughters? You've had a rather strong reaction when I've mentioned them previously."

  He thought long and hard. It was a good question. Could he be in the company of twin girls, when his own cherished twin daughters were dead? "I think I will be all right. If I have a change of sentiment, I will take myself from their presence."

  "I don't want my girls to get hurt. I mean that."

  The fierce expression on her face bespoke a mother's protectiveness. Just as Jorund had been aroused by Mag-he's sex-voice and her alluring robe, he was also stimulated by this aspect of her personality. "I won't hurt them."

  "Not just physically. I want your assurance that you won't hurt them emotionally, either."

  "How can I promise that?" he cried out. At the first opportunity, he was going to leave this time and place. The way things looked now, it might not ever happen. But then again, the window in time might open for him suddenly, without warning. How could he make pledges that might be beyond his power to keep?

  "My daughters love you, Joe."

  To his dismay, he groaned aloud. A warrior should not display his weaknesses, but, in this instance, he could not help himself.

  "Don't ask me why or how that happened; it just did. At least promise me that you will do your best not to hurt their feelings... or break their hearts."

  "If I have that much power, I should depart your home now. I do not want to be responsible for their joy, or their sorrow."

  "It seems to me you have no choice."

  He nodded, suddenly choked up. But then he thought of something else... something that caused his throat to clear and his heart to lift. If he was going to be stuck in this land, then he was going to commence enjoying the benefits, such as they were. He had been docile too long... allowing events to lead him, instead of being the aggressor like the military chieftain he was.

  Mag-he stood on the other side of the sofa bed, wearing her siren robe, staring at him. There was no fear in her luminous blue eyes, just curiosity. And boldness.

  Her gaze kept returning to his chest, w
hich was bared by his unbuttoned shert.

  He smiled with satisfaction. So the wench liked his body. That was encouraging news.

  She saw his smile. "I was just checking to see if Rita had scratched you badly."

  He made a scoffing sound of disbelief. It was his finely honed body she was examining, not some piddling scratch.

  Her stubborn chin jutted out defiantly. Foolish wench. Even a hardened warrior knew when to yield to greater forces.

  He began to move around the mattress, a predatory rush of blood beginning to surge through his body. It was the selfsame feeling he had before every battle.

  "Wh-what?" Mag-he stammered. Her shaky voice belied her brave stance. Still, not one step did she back off. He had to admire her for that.

  "'Tis time," he said, and took another step toward her.

  "Time for what, Joe?" she whispered in that sex-voice of hers. He felt it all the way to his man parts, which began to thicken in appreciation. Truly, that voice of hers was going to be his undoing yet, if he were not more careful...

  "My name is Jorund." Only a few more steps. Her intoxicating lilac scent was making him dizzy.

  "Jorund," she rasped out. Her head was still tilted in confusion, but she had the good sense to back up one step, then another.

  He followed after her, in stalking mode now. "'Tis time," he repeated.

  "For what?" she repeated, too. But now her back hit the wall.

  "For unfinished business."

  Maggie's senses reeled under Joe's heated gaze.

  She should look away. She tried to look away. But she could not. She was too entranced by the sensuous flame that had ignited in his smoky eyes, scorching her inch by inch, as they roamed her figure in the Victoria's Secret silk wrapper—a birthday gift from her girls two weeks ago. They'd obviously considered her frumpy old chenille robe unsuitable attire for daddy hunting.

  His voice was low and raw as he whispered, "You are so beautiful."

  And Maggie felt beautiful at that moment. And raw.