by Sandra Hill
Njal implored Odin to give this couple wisdom as they melded their lives together and Thor to protect them from all enemies.
“Are vangels allowed to participate in pagan rites?” Andrea whispered to Cnut.
“Shh,” Cnut whispered back. “Some say Odin and God are the same entity.”
That is a stretch. But Andrea kept silent.
Taking a hammer off the table that had been set before them, Thorkel said, “Thor, god of thunder, I lift your mighty hammer, Mjollnir, pledging to protect my wife from all peril. With the fighting skills learned at your feet, I will crush her enemies. Her foe are my foe. My shield is now her shield.” On those words, he crushed a stone on the table with a sharp tap of the hammer.
Andrea was the only one to jump, not having known what was coming.
Njal then dipped his hand into a bowl of wheat seeds and sprinkled them over Dyna’s head. As Njal exhorted Frey, god of fertility, to bless her with many children of Thorkel’s loins, Thorkel grinned. Dyna, on the other hand, glanced up at Andrea and winked, a sign that she would be the one to control that particular issue.
After that, Njal asked, “Who stands witness to the handsal that binds this bride and groom?”
“We do,” Cnut and Andrea said, stepping forward. Cnut laced his fingers with hers, and the moment felt even more poignant. No matter what happened in the future, Andrea would always remember this time with fondness.
Cnut picked up a ewer and poured red bridal wine into a two-handled cup. Dyna took the cup and handed it to Thorkel for the first sip as she recited some age-old words:
Ale I bring thee, thou oak-of-battle,
With strength blended and greatest honor:
’Tis mixed with magic and mighty songs,
With goodly spells, wish-speeding runs.
Thorkel made the sign of Thor’s hammer over the cup and turned it for Dyna to drink, reciting at the same time:
Bring the Hammer the bride to bless:
On the maiden’s lap lay ye Mjollnir;
In Frigg’s name then our wedlock hallow.
The crowd yelled, “Skål!” and raised their horns of ale again.
Njal asked Thorkel and Dyna to extend their wrists, which he slit lightly with a sharp blade that had also been placed previously on the table. Then he pressed Dyna’s wrist over Thorkel’s and the two of them proclaimed together, “Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth.”
“With the blending of their blood, I declare Thorkel and Dyna are one,” Njal said.
Everyone stood and cheered, clapping their hands as Thorkel and Dyna smiled at each other, kissed, then linked their hands and made their way through the hall accepting well wishes from the attendees, many of whom were already half buzzed. Good thing the meal was about to start.
With great aplomb, three whole roasted pigs, their skin glistening with golden crispness, were carried in on huge boards lifted high by four men each and circulated around the hall for all to see before being returned to the kitchen for carving. Ten deer were likewise brought in. The oohs and aahs of the crowd brought tears to Girda’s eyes. She’d worked hard, probably hadn’t slept at all last night to pull this feast off. Of course, she’d had lots of help, Andrea included, but still . . . kudos to the cook!
Almost immediately, servants began carrying in the trenchers of sliced meat and joints, along with an enormous stuffed fish—a pike that had to be three feet long. There were also herring pies, spareribs and sauerkraut, and various side dishes that included cabbage, beets, peas, leeks, onions, lentils, and endive. For dessert, honey egg custard, apple currant nutmeg tarts, and honey oatcakes completed the meal. The menu wouldn’t have been near so varied if not for Reynilda’s food contributions, Andrea had to admit.
“I need to go get your gift,” Andrea told Cnut.
He arched his brows at her, but released her hand that he had been holding almost nonstop, as if he feared she would run away, or slap him for one of his many indecent touches under the table. She returned shortly with a wooden platter holding her latest creation. “Ta-da! Cream-filled doughnuts!” she said, placing the sweet treat in front of Cnut.
He grinned. “How did you manage this without sugar?”
“Honey cream on the inside, honey glaze on the outside. And a tube made by Hastein by peeling the bark off a fat twig and removing the pith. It took me three tries to get them right.”
“Hastein has been a busy fellow,” Cnut remarked. “And so have you, sweetling.” He was about to pick up one of his edible gifts when Reynilda reached across, grabbed one, and said, “What are these?” She took a huge bite, and sweet cream squirted out onto her face and the front of her gown.
Cnut and Andrea and Zeb just gaped at her. The crowd below the dais started laughing.
Reynilda rose with a shriek and turned with clawed hands toward Andrea. “You did that on purpose, you filthy trollop.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Andrea said, holding up her hands. “Those were intended for Cnut, not you.”
“Did you hear that, Cnut? Did you? She intended to make the fool of you.”
“I know how to eat the things, Reynilda. Come, let me take you to your chamber where you can change your gown.”
Andrea arched her brows. And will you be watching?
“I can take her,” Zeb offered.
Yes, let him.
“No, thank you,” Cnut said, and he and the demon vampire Wise Man person exchanged meaningful looks.
What is that all about? “Why can’t she go herself?” Andrea hissed at Cnut.
“Trust me,” Cnut whispered. “I have my reasons.”
I bet you do.
Just before he left, Cnut grabbed one of the doughnuts, took a huge bite, and closed his eyes in delight. Then, he licked his lips and mouthed to her, Thank you. Then, to Zeb, he said, “Don’t touch my doughnuts.”
Zeb had already been reaching.
Once Cnut and Reynilda left, Zeb slid over onto Cnut’s seat and said, “So, Andrea, how would you like to go home to Philadelphia?”
Chapter 20
Road trip with a demon . . .
Cnut had no designs on Reynilda. In fact, he was doing his best to avoid her blatant attempts at seduction. But he had a job to do, as a vangel, and it required his getting her alone, in private.
“Where is your maid?” he asked when they reached his bedchamber, which she’d taken over, as evidenced by numerous gowns and other feminine items strewn about. “I’ll wait out here while she helps you undress.”
“I have no idea. Hedvig disappeared right after I came to the hall late this afternoon. Likewise, her brother Kormak. I sent for them numerous times, but they are nowhere to be found. Some skin is going to be flayed on the morrow, that I promise you. If they are off . . .” She let her words trail off, probably realizing how harsh she sounded, but Cnut understood. The brother and sister who allegedly shook the sheets together were suddenly gone.
Which reminded Cnut of something else. Finn had told him a short time ago that Red Ranulf went off in a huff that afternoon when chastised for bothering one of the laundresses, and he hadn’t been seen since. Ranulf and the late departed Igor were the ones who’d supposedly raped some village women.
The dominos were falling in place. Ping, ping, ping. Ranulf disappeared. Two of Reynilda’s entourage, who clearly smelled to high heaven of lemons, disappeared. And he would bet others who’d accompanied Reynilda would be found missing, too. Then Zeb the demon vampire arrived. What a coincidence! Cnut had a pretty good idea what was going on. Lucipires were having a grand old feast, and not the one inside his hall. Outside, the main entrée was evil humans.
Luckily there weren’t that many truly evil people left at Hoggstead for the Lucies to hang around. Except . . .
Which led Cnut to his reason for accompanying Reynilda upstairs. If he didn’t move quickly, the immoral princess was going to find herself in a palace named Horror. “Reynilda, I have something to say to you, and it is important that
you listen carefully.”
“Will I be naked when you are telling me this important thing?” she asked coyly.
“It matters not to Him who created you.”
“Huh?”
“There is no way to lead up to this. I am a Viking vampire angel sent by God to kill demon vampires, and save evil humans before it is too late.”
Reynilda’s blue eyes went wide, then she burst out with a fit of giggles. “Oh, Cnut! You are so funny. Really. I have no idea what a vim-pyre is, but an angelic Viking man? I do not think so.”
“’Tis the truth.”
“And which god did you say it was who sent you?”
“The One-God. There is no other.”
“A Christian now?” Reynilda rolled her eyes. Then she turned serious. And bluntly aggressive. “Are we going to have a quick swive in yon bed, or not, before returning to the hall? Hopefully, your cock did not shrink like the rest of you has. No matter. It will be big when I am done with you. Come now, best you help me out of this gown. It laces up the back and—”
“No swiving, m’lady.” And my cock is just fine, thank you very much.
“Because of that harlot down in the hall?”
That and other things. “Because I have work to do if I am to save you.”
“Save me then,” she said, and tugged the neckline of her gown downward so that her breasts were fully exposed.
They were very nice breasts, Cnut noted. Large and dark-nippled. He shook his head to clear it and with a whooshy sound, elongated his fangs.
Reynilda didn’t even notice. She was too busy feeling him up.
And a traitorous part of his body noticed.
Reynilda smiled like a cat who suddenly discovers its bowl of milk is actually cream.
Pushing her hands aside, he held her arms firmly at her sides and said sternly, “Reynilda, you have committed grave sins. Repent and I can save you.”
“By fucking?”
Nice talk for a princess! “By taking a bit of your tainted blood with my fangs and injecting a bit of my blood into you. Do you repent?”
She finally noticed his fangs and said, “Eeew, Cnut! What happened to your teeth?”
“Never mind that. Are you sorry for your sins? Do you promise to sin no more?”
“Bloody hell, no!” An expression came over Reynilda’s face that was no longer a pretense of innocence. It was pure evil. But then her attention was diverted to something behind Cnut, and the expression changed to one of terror.
Cnut could tell by the scent of sulfur, even before he turned, that it was Zeb, and he was in full demonoid form. Swatting Cnut aside, Zeb launched himself at Reynilda, who’d backed up against the bed. “Hello sinner,” he said, and bit her neck with fangs the size of pitchfork tines. Within seconds, Reynilda was dissolving until all that was left was a pile of pink fabric and a silver arm ring.
“Did you have to do that?” Cnut asked.
“I did.” Swiping the back of his scaly hand across his mouth, he burped and said, “Tastes like lemon meringue pie. Yum.” At Cnut’s glare, he added, “She was never going to change, my friend.”
Just then Cnut thought of something more important, and he turned toward the door. “Andrea!”
“She’s already gone.”
Cnut turned slowly, his hands fisted. He would kill the demon bastard, with his bare hands, if need be. “If you hurt her . . .”
“Oh please! She is fine. Already back in her Philadelphia apartment.”
A wave of relief, and utter grief, overcame Cnut. He would never see Andrea again, he just knew it. And his premonition came true when Zeb grabbed him in a tight bear hug—or you could say, a Lucipire hug—catching him off guard, and they began a swirling ascent up up up through space, spinning and spinning until Cnut was so dizzy he could only hold on. Zeb was a more powerful Lucipire than Cnut had thought, and he’d known him to be strong before. No way could Cnut fight him off!
Cnut prayed, “Please, God, take me now. Or save me. Michael, intercede on my behalf.”
Zeb laughed when there was no celestial response.
So Cnut was on his way to Horror and an eternity of torture, or a new life as a Lucipire, if he proved to be weak. Each equally horrifying.
But Cnut was wrong. Boy, was he wrong!
Home, Sweet Home . . .
Forget the Polar Nights. When Andrea came to her senses, there was bright sunlight. And she was lying on the sofa in her Philadelphia apartment.
Her first thought was that it must have all been a dream, which should have made her happy. None of those horrific things had happened. But oddly that prospect filled her with sadness because that would mean Cnut was not her lifemate. In fact, everything that had happened to them was a fantasy.
But then she put her hand to her throat and felt the amber necklace lying there, a warm reminder of Cnut’s love. Tears of relief filled her eyes as she glanced downward. Yep, she was still wearing the emerald-green gown.
None of it made any sense. Maybe she was losing her mind.
Think, Andrea, think. Backtrack a bit.
She had been sitting in Cnut’s great hall talking to a demon vampire named Zeb—and wasn’t that a sure sign of loose screws in the brain, that she would even accept that there were such things. Cnut had gone off with Reynilda because she had whipped cream on her gown (even now, she had to smile), and Zeb had asked her if she wanted to go home. She didn’t recall saying yes or no, but before she knew it, she was slingshotting through space and time until she landed here.
But where was Cnut? Still back at Hoggstead (Nobody could make up a name like that!) in the year 850? Or . . . oh my God! Had Zeb captured Cnut and taken him to that northern (way northern!) castle of horrors for an eternity of torture?
Cnut was in dire danger.
She had to do something to help him.
But what? Should she go to the police? Oh, that would be fun! She could imagine the conversation now. “You see, Officer, I was sitting at the banquet in an 850 Norse castle. Yes, a castle, a wood castle, but a castle nonetheless. Anyhow, this demon vampire captured my Viking, and I think . . .”
It all sounded bizarre and unbelievable.
So no police.
First things first. She had to find out what day it was. Sitting up, she grabbed the TV remote, turned it on, and saw by the date/timeline on the right bottom corner of the screen that it was Friday, July 22, one p.m. So only a week had passed since she’d been here last. How was that possible? So much had happened—the trip to the Montana ranch, the teletransport back to the past, the weeks at Hoggstead, the famine, the hunting, the yule celebrations, making love with Cnut, so many things—and only five days had passed by here in present times?
Just then, she noticed a news bulletin coming on the TV screen. The channel had last been on CNN; so a grim-faced Wolf Blitzer was detailing the latest atrocities by ISIS. A massacre taking out an entire village in Pakistan, the beheading of three American journalists in the capital of Nigeria, and a suicide bombing at a Florida mall, resulting in five dead and forty wounded shoppers. All this, despite the good news that had been announced three days ago by the FBI, which had broken up a massive ISIS recruiting ring on a ranch in Montana.
Andrea perked up at that news.
An update was given on the story, accompanied by pictures of the Circle of Light Ranch, a seemingly peaceful setting that had housed more than fifty of the terrorists and dozens of new recruits. A number of the militants were shown being led off in handcuffs. Some of them were Arab-looking but a number of them were other nationalities, including Americans. Then there were deliberately blurred images of a few recruits who had been rescued, although some were protesting that they were there willingly, not victims.
None of them was Celie.
The field reporter also said there were sightings of an odd slime in various places around the ranch that was yet to be identified. Samples had been sent off to the FBI crime labs.
Cnut had said Celie w
as safe, but . . .
Andrea wasn’t sure where to start. Celie or Cnut?
She could call her parents’ home to see if they’d heard from Celie, but they would be on their cruise. Maybe they had cell phone coverage. Otherwise Andrea would have to look for the paper her father had given her with the ship’s contact information.
To other people, her father’s carefree attitude, going on a vacation when he had a daughter in peril, might seem unsympathetic, but Andrea knew better. This latest ISIS debacle was just one in a long series of Celie mishaps. Most of them proved to be harmless. Unfortunately, like the boy who cried, “Wolf!” too often, this time Celie really was in trouble and no one was listening. Except Andrea.
Just then, she heard the shower turn off in the bathroom connected to her bedroom. Cnut? Was it possible he had come through, too? That Zeb! What a teaser!
But it wasn’t Cnut, Andrea soon found out.
She rushed into the bedroom, just as Celie was coming out of the bathroom. Totally nude and drying her hair with a towel. “Andy,” she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging her tightly. “Oh my God! Where have you been?”
“Me? Where have you been, Celie?” she asked, handing her a short robe hanging on the back of the door.
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it! That Kahlil turned into a total dirtbag.” She pulled on the robe and tied it at the waist. Then she took a comb off the dresser and began combing through her long hair, which was its usual blonde color now.
“C’mon, let’s have a cup of tea. You can tell me about it.”
They walked toward the kitchen—Andrea in her emerald gown and Celie padding barefooted over the hardwood floors.
“What’s with the gown, Andy? You been to a Renaissance fair, or something?”
“Something like that.”
While Celie sat on a high stool at the counter and Andrea began brewing some ginger chai (last time she’d made it had been right here, for Cnut, a lifetime ago), Andrea asked, “What happened to the black hair? You had dark eyebrows on that picture you sent to Dad.”
“Yes, and it was so ugly. Kahlil insisted that I dye it, and he wouldn’t even let me shave my legs or underarms. What a chauvinist!”