by Sandra Hill
“You captivate me,” he told her later as she prepared to go to the grocery mart whilst Geek came here to tutor him. She had promised him that she would return.
“How do I captivate you?”
“I cannot get enough of you. I have always enjoyed bedsport. I am a Viking, after all. But with you, it is different. In truth, I have never had sex with a woman who shared my . . . um, enthusiasm.”
“And it’s even better when two people are in love.”
Oh, please! Bring on the skalds. “Well, I do not know about that. I just know that I have need of you in the most compelling manner. No sooner do I tup than I want you again. Mayhap you have bewitched me.”
“Or maybe it’s a miracle.”
He scoffed at that notion. “A sex miracle?”
“What? You only believe in miracles when they surround your supposed time travel?”
I wonder how soon we can have sex again. “Do your food shopping, sweetling. I will rest after Geek leaves.” He gave her a parting kiss. “There is something unusual I am thinking about trying later. Unless you will think it too . . . perverted.”
That shut her mouth, good and quick.
Now, he would have to think of something special.
Aaaahhhh.
Nude jogging? Now there’s an idea . . .
“Do you believe in miracles?” he asked Geek later as they sat before his lap computer on the scullery table, drinking beer and studying history. That Abe Lincoln was quite a fellow!
Geek cocked his head at Thorfinn. “I tend to look for scientific explanations for most things. Why do you ask? Oh, you mean the time travel.”
“That and other things.”
“I don’t know what happened with you and the rest of Max’s family that brought you here. Or why I went back in time with Max and the other guys that one time. We all have our own explanations, but mostly we try not to think about it, or we pretend it was a big joke that will be revealed to us eventually. Or, yeah, a miracle, I suppose. Myself, I expect someday there will be an explanation, that scientists will find that time travel really can work. But not anytime soon.”
“You know whose keep this is, do you not?”
Geek nodded. “Lydia Denton. Dave Denton’s widow.”
“She thinks I am a miracle, sent by her dead husband to console her.”
At first, Geek looked surprised. Then he chuckled. “Been doin’ a lot of consoling, have you?”
“That I have.” He could not help but grin.
“Where is she, by the way?”
“The food mart. And mayhap a stop at her dancing establishment.”
“Oh, that’s right. She owns that aerobics club in Coronado. ”
“Yea, she does. And truly, Geek, I cannot fathom a country where people pay someone to make them sweat and work their muscles ’til they nigh scream in pain. My men go to the exercise fields to practice their fighting skills, not to have a winsome thigh or shapely buttock.” Thorfinn tapped the computer then. “Dost think any of this is going to help get me in SEALs?”
“It can’t hurt. And believe me, Torolf made it through BUD/S on a lot less knowledge than you’ve gained the past couple months. Besides, getting in is mostly a physical thing, and you seem to be in pretty good condition. Have you been jogging?”
He groaned. “I hate running. ’Tis such a useless exercise, lest someone is chasing you.”
"Well, you gotta do a lot of jogging in SEALs. A whole lot.”
“I will run this evening on the beach.”
“How about your water skills? You’ll have to survive the drown-proofing rotation.”
“My father always said I was leather-lunged. I do not think that will be a problem.”
“I agree. Your problem is that you’re older than the average SEAL trainee. It’s only the past year or so with the shortage of special forces and the rising terror threat that they’ve been more lenient on taking older guys.”
“I am not yet in my dotage. I can do as well as any twenty-year-old.”
“Maybe.”
“Besides, the age on my identification papers says twenty-five. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight, but I’ve been a SEAL for six years.”
“Really?”
“It’s my baby face. Fools people all the time.”
“And works to your advantage, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Geek waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “More important, buddy, you have an ego the size of Baltimore. ”
“Ball-to-more?”
“My hometown.”
“As for ego, seems to me all you SEALs have overblown opinions of yourselves.” As do Vikings.
“You could be right. Still, while you’re in training, there are a lot of bullshit orders that you have to obey, without question. And, frankly, there are a few asshole instructors that’re gonna make your life hell.”
“Dost think there are no asshole Vikings?”
Geek chuckled. “I would imagine there are more than a few.”
A short time later, Geek left, promising to return on the morrow when they would be discussing: one, table manners—apparently, polite men used forks and did not belch at the table; two, his swear words—Holy Thor! and Freyja’s Tits! were not modern enough; three, clothing— in particular, boxers or briefs, though he thought a codpiece would do as well; and four, weapons—what kind of soldier carried no sword?
He had spent more time with Geek than he’d expected, and still Lydia was not home.
But he had agreed to trust in her.
After Geek left, Finn took a metal container of mead . . . rather, beer . . . out of the ice box and went outside. His patience and trust were rewarded shortly.
“Finn,” she said, sticking her head out the glass door. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”
“For a certainty. I have a treat for you.”
“I’ve had enough of your treats, mister,” she said, but there was mirth in her voice. “Any more sex and they’ll be putting your dick in the Guinness Book of World Records .”
Thorfinn had no idea what she meant, but he suspected it was a compliment. “Not that kind of treat,” he said, tweaking her on the chin.
She arched her eyebrows with skepticism.
“I am going to let you chase me on the beach,” he informed her with a bright smile . . . well, bright for him. “And you will not even have to be naked.”
Chapter 10
’Twas the season for gift-giving . . .
“Are you sure it’s not five miles yet?” Finn asked her as he dropped down to the blanket next to her, even though he was hardly panting.
“No, it’s only three miles. Get your butt in gear, buddy,” Lydia told him with a grin. For some reason, he’d set a goal of five miles of jogging for himself, but she’d never heard such a physically fit man complain about exercise so much. When he’d done a series of sit-ups and push-ups earlier, you would have thought he’d been plucking out his fingernails.
“It is insanity, that is what it is. Grown men running for no reason at all, just to develop muscles. I can grow more muscles by engaging in swordplay exercise. Or riding a destrier over a Saxon field. Or wrestling with one of my hirdsmen.”
Lydia just let him prattle on, admiring him as he stood above her, wearing nothing but nylon shorts and athletic shoes. Other than Dave, he was the most attractive man she’d ever met, and she couldn’t exactly say why.
His long hair was pulled back off his face, which was hard-planed and mostly somber. Well over six feet tall, he was broad-shouldered and by no means lean . . . not in terms of fat . . . no, he did not have much body fat, but he was big-boned, and, well, just big all over. He had a man’s body, with all its various scars. She’d have to ask about those later. And a man’s face, too, which showed his age with brackets about his eyes and mouth.
“Dost like what you see, wench?” he asked, giving her a rascally wink, which was unusual for him. Thus far, he had not been playful by nature.
“Too much,” she admitted.
He put up a halting hand. “Do not say I remind you of Dave again or I may heave the contents of my roiling stomach.”
Truthfully, she was still confused, but even the remotest possibility that Dave had sent him, or that God had sent him to make up for Dave, had her willing to accept him as he was. Even his stupid Viking time-travel story.
“Let’s go for a swim,” she suggested, standing and tugging the long T-shirt off and over her head. “Then I’ll run with you.”
He just stood, staring at her.
“What?”
“In that garment”—he waved a hand to indicate her one-piece maillot bathing suit, nothing scandalous— “there are other things I would rather do with you.”
“Don’t you think we need to give it a rest?”
“It? Dost mean my manpart? Believe you me, it needs no rest.”
Still, he followed her out in the shallow water, then dived into an oncoming wave after her. Once on the other side, however, he proved that he did, indeed, need no rest, and he gave new meaning to the term “a dirty swim.”
Later, he showed her the famous Viking S-Spot on her body, which resulted in a number of unending, spectacular multiple orgasms. Once sated, or rather depleted . . . both of them . . . Lydia stared up at Finn, too stunned to speak.
“We Vikings are a generous people,” he told her with one of his rare, dimple-flashing smiles. “We like to give gifts.”
“Some gift! I have none to give you in return.”
“Well, I do not know about that.”
That night, she did a dance demonstration for him in her basement. With the pole as a stripper prop and Aretha Franklin belting out “A Natural Woman.”
Afterward, with both of them splatted out on the carpet, naked, and the mirrors all fogged up, he said, “Are you sure you are not Viking?”
She was pretty sure that was his way of saying he liked her gift.
The lackwit maiden thought he was the answer to her prayers . . .
In the middle of the night, Thorfinn awakened to find himself alone in bed.
Quickly, he pulled on his den-ham braies and stomped out into the solar, where he stopped dead in his tracks.
The room was dark, but dim light filtered through the windows from a half-moon outside. Wearing a silk robe, Lydia was on her knees, hands folded in front of her breasts.
“Dear God,” she prayed. “Yeah, I know. Long time no see.” She sighed, then continued, “Ever since Dave’s death, I lost my belief in you and everything holy, but this Finn . . . God above, did you send him to me? Did Dave ask you to send him? It feels like a healing since Finn’s arrival, and I can’t help but think . . .”
He realized then that she was weeping. Conflicted, he leaned against the wall, not sure whether to interrupt her and proclaim the idiocy of any god having an interest in him, never mind sending him on a blessed mission, or whether to just back up and pretend he had never missed her in the bed. He did neither. He stayed and continued to listen.
“Please, God, let Finn be the answer to my prayers. Let him stay and be a family with me and Mike. Let him be Dave, but if not Dave, let there be love in my life again. Just not another military man. I cannot face the fear with every mission.”
Uh-oh! Thorfinn realized in that moment that she did not know he had been a warrior, or that he planned to become a SEAL. Somehow, deliberately at first, but later, without planning, he had failed to inform her of those crucial facts. And why do women always have to confuse lust or liking for that love pap?
“If you do these things for me, I promise to be a better person. To go to church. To have Mike baptized. All the things I’ve neglected these past five years.”
Lydia put her face in her hands and began to sob.
He could stand by and watch her pain no more. Without warning, he walked over, picked her up in his arms, and carried her outside, where he sank down into the cushioned glider. Using his feet to propel the gliding motion, he rocked them forward and backward, over and over, her on his lap, his arms wrapped around her, his lips in her flower-scented hair.
Several times, she tried to speak.
“Did you hear everything I—”
“I didn’t mean for you—”
“You must think I’m cra—”
But each time he soothed her, “Shhh!” and kissed her gently into silence. He did recall her prayers, though. All she wanted was love.
Thorfinn had never been in love, and would not know how to be. He was, in fact, repelled by the notion.
But family . . . she wanted a family for her and her son.
Thorfinn’s heart ached at the possibility. A family! Was it possible at this late date?
There had to be a trade-off. What would it be? The gods . . . even the One-God . . . gave naught without exacting some payment; leastways, that had always been his experience. What would he need to give up? His heart? His need for vengeance? His return to the past? His very freedom?
Thorfinn felt as if he were knee-deep in quicksand, and he was not sure he wanted to be saved.
Hair today, gone today . . .
It was probably the biggest mistake of her life . . . taking Finn with her to her dance studio. It was an indication of his trust in her, so she felt the need to reciprocate.
Still, she’d made sure that Torolf and Hilda were gone when she went over to their apartment to pick up clean clothes for her Viking. And she’d double-checked her class rosters for the morning to ensure there would be none of the Magnusson clan around.
Despite her misgivings, she was having fun. Finn was a regular chatterbox today. Worse than Mike with his “Why? Why? Why?” questions.
“Why do women wear garments that expose their legs and bosoms if they are not harlots?”
“Why are all these people being led on leashes by their dogs?”
“Why do you need so many food marts in this country?”
“Why are there no forests?”
“Why do you moan when I touch the back of your knees?”
“Why do women here wear breast harnesses? Do their men not like jiggling flesh?”
“Why are some condoms called ticklers?”
“Why does that Scotsman need so many eating establishments? ” He was referring to McDonald’s, of course.
“Why have I seen not one horse whilst in this country?”
“Why do you rouge your lips when their natural rosy hue is so enticing?”
They arrived at her studio early, and she showed him around before any of her employees or customers would arrive. He seemed impressed, showing an interest in everything she said. “Do you earn a great amount of coin for these services?”
“Enough to support me and Mike. Although I’d never be able to afford a house on the beach, even a modest one like I have, if David hadn’t inherited some money from a great-aunt. The house passed to me on his death. Plus, I used the insurance money to buy the studio.”
He nodded, though she wasn’t sure if he understood everything she’d told him. There was something weird about Finn, but she wasn’t ready to accept that he might have actually time-traveled. For now, she chose to put him in the miracle category.
Leading him back to the lobby, she introduced him to her manager, Lisa Malone, who was clearly interested in the handsome man and what his relationship to the owner might be. Lydia ignored Lisa’s raised eyebrows and told Finn, “I need to teach two classes. Why don’t you wait for me here, or maybe you’d like to walk down by the water?”
He nodded.
She hesitated then, not sure if she should give him a kiss or not. If it were Dave, she certainly would have. What the hell! she said to herself, walked up, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a fleeting kiss. “See you,” she said.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Finn stood in the same place, rather stunned. She wondered what he was thinking.
Thorfinn was thinking that the quicksand was getting deeper and more enticing. That he could be ar
oused by the mere touch of her lips was a sure indicator of his declining control. And, really, he needed to regain control of his life.
So, he made his own choice. He did not sit. Nor did he walk to the water, where an early morning haze would soon be melted away by the hot California sun. Instead, he went outside and headed in the other direction, away from the town center.
Coronado was a peninsula only a mile wide from the Pacific Ocean side to the San Diego Bay on the other. The North Island Naval Air Station occupied the whole entire north half of Coronado, and the Naval Amphibious Base, where the Navy SEALs trained, was on the south side. Then there were the town center and residential areas, where he was now.
Under the warm sun, its beaches were a great attraction to swimmers, bodysurfers, sand sculptors, and whale watchers, and wasn’t it a wonder that people here had the time or inclination to stand about doing such frivolous things? SEAL trainees could be seen jogging along the shores, chanting out songs.
Coronado was beautiful, and as different from the cold, mountainous terrain of his country and its thousands of fjords as night from day. Not that there was no beauty in the Norselands. Just a different kind of beauty.
As he walked the tree-lined roads he noticed all the keeps around him. Well, not keeps. Houses, they called them here, no matter the size. None of them had much land with them, no more than some of the cotters’ huts at Norstead, and not a bailey or drawbridge in sight. With good reason. The population of the world, according to Geek, had gone from 55 million to 6.5 billion in the past one thousand years, even with the birthing control devices. No room for everyone to have even one hide of property.
There was a similarity, Thorfinn noted. What many people did not realize was that Vikings were not vicious rapers and plunderers, as the monk historians portrayed them—leastways, not all of them—but just men wanting to find homes for their families. The rocky terrain of the Norselands had little tillable land and could not provide for them all.
Despite all the fine prattle in this country about equality, Thorfinn had learned that there were classes of society here, too. He and his brother Steven straddled the lines between karls, or wealthly landowners, and the higher jarls, which could be anything from all-kings to chieftains, comparable to English earls. Below these two classes were the cotters and then thralls.