“Grelod is not a slave. She helps me with Harry,” Juliana explained. “And she has been my companion for many years.”
Arik continued guiding the boat back to shore, and Harry woke up just as they arrived. He chattered happily, and though he tried to understand the boy’s dialect, it was beyond him to make sense of it. Even so, just being around the child brought a warmth to his heart. He’d always wanted a son of his own.
He gave the boy a smaller basket of fish to carry, and Harry proudly marched beside him. Arik hefted the remainder, holding his own basket on one shoulder. When they reached the dwelling, he took a closer look at the structure. The wood had aged, and no one had bothered to repair the holes. No doubt it was freezing at night with most of the heat escaping.
“If you prepare our meal, I will seal up the cracks in your house.”
Juliana looked startled at the offer. “You needn’t, really. We’ll manage.”
Did she think him incapable of it? He eyed her with a hard stare. “No woman or child should live in a house this ill-protected from the wind. I intend to change that.”
Without waiting for her answer, he set down the basket in front of the door and left.
Arik mixed thick mud and clay that he’d brought back from a source farther inland. It had been difficult to dig it up, for the ground was cold and partially frozen. With the help of water, he managed to create a blend that would seal off the crevices. The young boy had followed, and he’d given Harry two empty buckets to carry. After they filled the containers with the clay and mud, Arik had carried the buckets back, since they were too heavy for the child to lift.
The child continued to speak words he didn’t recognize, but from his tone, Arik recognized the boy’s words as questions. It struck him as unusual that the boy would not have learned the Norse language, since both his mother and her handmaiden spoke it. In the end, he decided that speaking was unnecessary. It was easier to demonstrate to Harry how to repair the cracks in the walls.
When he reached the far side of the house, he lifted a handful of mud and smoothed it into one of the open crevices in the wall. The boy came closer and pointed to the earthen mixture. “Mud?” he asked.
Arik nodded and placed a handful in the boy’s palm. He guided Harry to fill in the cracks, and as his larger hands covered the boy’s smaller ones, regret spilled over him. Had he lived, he might have sired a son such as this. He could have trained him in the ways his father had taught him, showing him how to sail and hunt.
But he would never have a son if he was truly dead.
A pang of loss filled him at the realization that he had no future remaining. Only the gods knew why he had been sent here. Perhaps it was not for Juliana but for the boy.
Why had she remained here alone without her family? As far as he could tell, there were only the two women and Harry. His gaze shifted to the sea. Although they likely believed they were safe enough, he intended to move them from here as soon as possible. It was too easy for an invading fleet to sail upon these shores at dawn, attacking at first light. Juliana would become a prize of war, raped or enslaved, if she had no one to guard her. He could not let that happen.
Though he could repair the house to last them for a few months, he intended to bring them to a safer dwelling and help to conquer the lands that had been stolen.
The wind shifted, curling a chill over his spine as the sun grew lower in the sky. He was caught in a half life, a world between worlds. He didn’t doubt that there was magic at play here, a test he had to face. It was like a dream, one from which he longed to awaken.
As he continued to spread the mud, a daydream caught him unawares. In the vision, he saw a man who resembled his father... and yet the man wore clothing that was different. He heard himself speaking a strange language he’d never encountered before, and while Arik daydreamed, he could almost imagine that he understood Harry’s words.
“Will you be my new papa?” the child was asking.
He broke free of his dream, startled. Words came to his lips, but he knew not what they meant. He should not have understood the boy just now. The language Harry spoke was foreign, a tongue of the Anglo-Saxons.
And yet, for the slightest moment, he’d understood the boy’s words. Unease filled him, for surely it was Loki’s mischief at play.
The boy spoke again, and once more, his words became senseless chatter. Arik forced himself to pay closer heed to the task at hand, but the truth remained—there were visions in his mind that did not belong to him. He had seen this world through another man’s eyes, heard a language through another man’s ears.
It was a strange magic, one that made the hair stand up on the back of his arms.
When Juliana opened the door and saw them repairing her home, her face softened. “I told you, you didn’t need to do that.”
“It is cold at night, is it not?” He continued smoothing more mud into the cracks, trying to push away the uneasiness of the vision.
“Yes, but we’ll find somewhere else to go, Mr. Thorgrim. I won’t be keeping Harry here much longer. Once I’ve found the proof of my marriage, I’ll return to my true home.”
“With my help.”
Her expression turned wary, as if she didn’t trust him to succeed in this task. But he had gone a-viking many times in the past, and rarely had he failed. Nor would he fail in this.
He guided her son to fill another crevice, watching as the boy took pride in his work. Juliana winced at the mud on his hands, and Arik said, “I will help him wash after we have finished here.”
The boy beamed at his mother and uttered words in their language, his tone filled with excitement.
“Both of you are covered in mud,” she said. “I’ll have Grelod heat water so you can bathe.” She spoke to the boy in her own language, and the child grimaced as if he didn’t want to wash.
Arik took a step nearer, watching the play of nervousness upon her face. The wind blew against her hair, tearing a few honeyed strands free of the knot she’d pinned up. He remembered the tangle of her wet hair against her shoulders while she’d embraced him against her bare skin.
“You could wash me as well,” he said softly, “when all of them are asleep.”
Juliana colored and took a step back. “No. Y-you’ll be spending the night with the horses.” She rubbed her shoulders, glancing down at the ground. “It might be a little cold in there, but it’s all I have.”
It was a lie. She could have invited him inside her own home, but it was clear that he intimidated her. Her gray eyes held wariness. “Or you could still leave.”
He let the last of the mud fall from his fingertips. “Are you afraid of me, Juliana?”
She bit her lip and gave a single nod. “It isn’t proper for you to be alone with us.” She took Harry’s hand in hers, but Arik took the boy’s muddy palm before she could leave with him. He pointed toward the sea water, and with reluctance, Juliana allowed him to lead the boy there.
“In the morning, we will travel to your husband’s home,” he continued. “And we will take it back from your enemies.”
In her eyes, he could see the shocked protests forming. “What do you mean—take it back? Hawthorne House isn’t a fortress you can invade and simply conquer.”
“But it is.” He continued leading the boy down to the edge of the shore, and she followed, hurrying to keep up.
“You’re just one man. There’s nothing you can do,” she pointed out.
Arik ignored her protests. She might doubt him, but there were mercenaries who would follow his bidding, no matter what sort of world this was.
He let go of the boy’s hand and bent down to the salt water. It was freezing, numbing his skin as he washed. Arik showed the child how to wash the mud from his hands and forearms, but Harry didn’t at all look eager to get clean.
“At dawn, we will ride out. The boy should stay here with the old woman, and you will show me the place that rightfully belongs to you,” he told her.
Already she was shaking her head. “Mr. Thorgrim, no.”
He didn’t understand the title Mister that she kept calling him. “My name is Arik. And believe that I will not fail you in this.”
She stared at him in disbelief, and he countered it by pressing her weakness. “Do you want your son to spend the remainder of the winter in a place like this?” He rested his hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “Or would you rather see him warm and dry with enough food to eat?”
“It’s not a good idea. Marcus could—”
“Does he live there, at Hawthorne House?”
“No, but he’s taken possession of the property. The servants won’t allow me anywhere near the grounds.”
“We’ll ride out in the morning and make our plans.”
Juliana grew silent at that, looking doubtful. Arik knelt beside the boy and took Harry’s hands in his. The boy yelped when he helped him dip his hands into the water, washing them.
“Yes, it is cold,” he agreed, rinsing his own arms again from elbow to wrist. The boy put on a brave face and washed his hands a second time, shivering hard. Arik reached out to take Harry’s hand but was startled when the boy hugged him. The impulsive gesture was unexpected, and it bothered him that this child had never known a father. He wasn’t at all a person the boy should grow attached to. He was as good as dead, his spirit transported across time.
When this task was done, Arik didn’t want the boy to feel abandoned. Better that he should keep his distance. Though it bothered him, he extricated the boy from his embrace and kept a stoic face as they returned to the house.
Juliana was beginning to understand exactly how Eve had felt when the serpent tempted her with the apple.
Arik stood near the fire with his back to the room. She’d given him a basin of warmed water and a towel to dry himself. He’d soaked the cloth in the water, and though she was helping Grelod bathe Harry, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him. Stripped of his tunic, the broad-shouldered man had the most muscular form she’d ever seen.
Water rolled in heavy droplets down his bare skin, and as he reached back to wash, her mind drifted to the night they’d spent together. It was no wonder she’d believed he was a dream, for she’d never imagined any man could look like this. His face wasn’t at all like the other men she’d known—charming and handsome. No, his held the scars of battle, his dark hair rough and wild. He seemed to sense that she was staring, and he turned toward her. His dark brown eyes held wickedness, and he let her look her fill.
Goodness, he really did seem like a Viking, foolish thought that it was.
The ridged muscles across his chest held a dusting of hair, while his abdomen was lean and firm. Her skin tightened against her gown, and Juliana hardly heard a word her maid was saying.
“Mama,” Harry interrupted. “Isn’t the house warmer? Did I do well, helping Mr. Thorgrim fix the cracks?”
“You did, son.” She forced her attention back to the boy, who was shivering while Grelod dressed him in his nightclothes.
“Come and eat, both of you,” Grelod urged, guiding them to the table. To Mr. Thorgrim, she said in Norwegian, “I want to speak with you alone. Out near the horses, where you’ll be sleeping.”
He eyed her maid with a discerning look and gave a shrug.
“Wait,” Juliana said, before he could follow the older woman outside. His tunic was still wet from the sea water, and he needed something else to wear.
She rummaged through a trunk containing her father’s clothes and brought over one of his shirts, as well as a coat. “These won’t fit you well, but at least it will keep you warm.” Holding it out to him, she saw the slight flare in his eyes, before he nodded his thanks. The sleeves were several inches above his wrists, but the garments were better than nothing.
After he left with Grelod, curiosity urged her to stand near the door, where she could eavesdrop on their conversation. “Hush, Harry,” she told her boy, leaning against the wood. She overheard her maid speaking in Norwegian to the man, but the woman’s words made little sense.
“The moon will complete its phases in a month,” Grelod was saying. “Your time grows short.”
“And how would you know this?”
“I know what you are. And I know from whence you came, Viking. I prayed to Freya on my lady’s behalf, and the goddess summoned you here for her.”
Summoned? Juliana frowned, not understanding what her maid meant by that.
“Was it you who kept me from my afterlife?” he demanded, his voice filled with fury.
“You did not wish to die, did you?” When Arik gave no answer, Grelod continued. “Juliana needs your help, and you were chosen by the gods for it. But such magic cannot last beyond the moon. I have foreseen it. Death will come, and a great reward awaits the one who makes the necessary sacrifice.”
A silence descended between them, and a sudden chill came over her. Although Grelod had always believed in magic and foretelling the future, Juliana thought it was all nonsense. She only trusted what she could see or touch.
And yet, last night, there had been too many unexplained events. Hadn’t her boat been swept out to sea, leaving her in danger of drowning? Every part of that night defied logic. Her father’s boat was still missing, and a longboat was here in its place. The man who had come to her was primitive and domineering.
She could almost believe that he was conjured, not real. Like one of the Greek gods, brought down to earth to seduce a human woman. But could he be a Viking?
No. He reminded her of someone she had met, though she couldn’t remember who. He was only a man—and a familiar one—not some lost soul summoned from another time.
And yet, her body had reveled in Arik’s touch. She could not forget his hands upon her skin, the aching sensuality of his body moving inside hers. The memory was raw enough to arouse her once again.
Stop this. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall beneath that spell. Her mind shielded itself from thoughts of the impossible, as she turned back to her son. She distracted herself by serving Harry the fish Grelod had cooked, eating her own small portion.
When Thorgrim and her maid returned, she tried to behave as if she’d overheard nothing at all. But as she ate, she could feel his eyes upon her, watching. Juliana stole a few glances at him, noticing how her father’s shirt strained against his muscles. He was a man who could easily be mistaken for an immortal god, with his fierce nature and strong sensuality.
Clearly, her brain was turning soft.
But as he ate, he used his hands to pick up the food, not touching the fork she’d placed beside his plate. He drank the ale she’d given him and seemed pleased by the meal. Juliana finished her food and stood from the table, helping Grelod clear the dishes away.
“Will you show me where I am to sleep?” he asked.
“I thought Grelod...” Her words trailed away when she suddenly realized that this was his way of wanting to talk with her again.
“I’ll put Harry to bed,” her maid offered. The old woman gathered up a large quilt and handed it to Juliana.
Though she accepted the quilt, her heart began quaking within her. She led the man outside, and her breath formed clouds in the air. It had grown dark, and she shivered in the cold.
The tiny shelter was barely large enough for two horses, let alone this man. Still, she brought him inside, searching for a place where he could sleep.
Guilt filled her up inside, for the interior was freezing and filthy. No man should have to sleep like this. It simply wasn’t right. She faltered, not knowing what to say, when Thorgrim took her hand and led her to the back of the space. His palm was warm against her own cool flesh.
“Your servant says I may stay only until the moon completes its phases.”
Words failed her, for she didn’t want to believe that any of this was happening. “You don’t have to stay at all. This isn’t your problem, and I—”
“Do you want me to stay?” His voice was dark and deep, reac
hing past her inhibitions. In the darkness, she was fully aware of him. He pressed her back against the wood, his body so near, she could sense the heat of him.
Yes, I want you to stay. How she longed to lean on someone, to have him share her burden and help her overcome it. In this darkness, she was acutely aware of him. The heat of his skin allured her, making her want to rest her cheek against his chest, enclosed in his arms.
“There’s nothing you can do,” she said at last. “This is about proving I was legally married.” She wished now that she had never taken those vows with William. At the time, she had been young and naïve, believing every word he had spoken. But after he’d gone, she had learned to rely upon herself. She had grown stronger, realizing that her husband had abandoned her. Though it had hurt her feelings, she understood that she was better off without him. A marriage in name only was better than a husband who constantly belittled her.
And yet, within a single night, she had reverted to the weak woman she had been, blindly succumbing to a man’s seduction. It bothered her deeply that she’d let this stranger touch her as if she was a woman starved for affection.
“You are wrong, Juliana,” Arik said. “There is a great deal I can do before the moon grows full again. The gods sent me here for that purpose.”
She doubted if he could do anything at all to help. And yet... her own efforts had been unsuccessful. Was there anything to lose by letting him try? She was beginning to wonder.
“We will return to Hawthorne House at daybreak,” he insisted. “I will speak to your enemies and fight on your behalf.”
She half-imagined him wielding a battle-ax against the helpless butler, and the vision made her bite back a smile. “Even if we did go to Hawthorne House, the servants would turn us away.”
“Let them try.” He stood taller, and crossed his arms. The arrogant expression on his face was that of a man who believed he could conquer any enemy. “Or are you too afraid to fight for your son?”
A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors Page 5