Rough and Ready

by Sandra Hill

  “Maybe you should chloroform her again,” Mr. Atkins said.

  “Why me? She bit me last time I tried.” The heel of his right hand was indeed bleeding.

  “She kicked me in the nuts.”

  “How about we both jump her at once.”

  “Maybe. I could shoot you, Ms. Berdottir,” Mr. Atkins warned, raising a piss-toll.

  While the two of them were arguing, Hilda eyed the bathing chamber door. If she could run in there, perhaps she would be able to lock herself in.

  “Don’t even think it,” Mr. Atkins said, clearly becoming angry. “I’ll shoot you in the damn leg, if I have to.”

  “Okay, on the count of three,” Dick declared. “One, two—”

  Just then, there was a loud banging against the door, followed by some curses. Mr. Atkins, recognizing potential danger, ran across the room and pressed the piss-toll to her head. She’d been too surprised by the noise to defend herself, but she was able to yank off her gag. This time when the loud banging came, the door fell in, followed by Torolf and a dozen other people, some of whom she had never seen before. All of them had weapons raised, pointing at Dick and Mr. Atkins.

  “Let her go, you sonofabitch.” It was Torolf, in a crouch, with both hands on a pistol aimed at Mr. Atkins’s heart. At the same time, he looked at her, noting her nude body, and asked in a choked voice, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Mother of Thor! Where have you been? What took you so long? Didst stop to have cunning-tingles with your female friend afore coming to get me?”

  Torolf grinned. So did some of the men behind him, despite the dangerous situation.

  She turned her head slightly to address Mr. Atkins. “If you kill the lout, I will have to kill you with my bare hands.”

  Mr. Atkins was disconcerted for just that one second, which gave Torolf and the others the opportunity to shoot the weapons out of his and Dick’s hands. Both of the miscreants fell to the floor, severely injured but not dead. At first, there was just chaos. Screaming, yelling, police sirens, and blood seeping from both bodies onto the light carpet.

  Torolf wrapped a linen sheet over her shoulders and led her into the bathroom. “Stay here for a sec till we wrap this up.”

  “Orders again?” she complained, sitting down on the closed privy seat.

  He turned and came back to her, lifting her up to stand on her tiptoes. Then nose to nose, he said in a raw voice, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” And he kissed her long and hard, then shoved her back down to a sitting position. “Do not move.”

  She stuck her tongue out at the closed bathing chamber door. The lout! He still had not learned that he was in no position to give her orders.

  There were noises and voices for a very long time, so Hilda decided to take a shower. The scurvy feel of Dick and Mr. Atkins’s hands on her body lingered. She was still angry with Torolf, and she had good cause. It was his fault she had time-traveled. Then, he had nigh locked her in a metal prison. And the final indignity, finding him holding another woman.

  But in the midst of the anger, she tried to be fair. He had rid the Norselands of Steinolf. He had taught her about love, the body kind and the heart kind. And he had given her a babe, although he did not know that yet.

  She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, drying herself. Staring in the mirror, she finger-combed her hair, then wrapped one of the big towels around herself.

  Who was this person she saw in the mirror? Brunhilda Berdottir, eleventh-century Viking woman? Or Hilda Berdottir, twenty-first-century Viking woman? She did not know, but there were some things she did know. She would not screech and rail at the lout. Nor would she jump right back into his bed and his life again. Leastways, not yet. In many ways, she had been forced on him with the time travel, just as he had been forced on her. Mayhap, he would prefer freedom. Mayhap, she would prefer freedom. They both needed time alone to think, and in her case, to plan.

  When Torolf opened the door, she said, “Take me home.”

  “Which home?” he asked, clearly concerned.

  “My home,” she said, and would not waver from the pain she saw in his eyes.

  And then the home troops came marching in . . .

  Hilda had kicked him out of the trailer at Hog Heaven, deeming it her home for the time being. That was a week ago . . . or, more precisely, seven days, four hours, and thirty minutes ago.

  Enough! How much space does one woman need?

  She was driving him crazy, not even allowing him to explain completely or apologize or freakin’ seduce her. And, most important, she never bothered to mention that she was pregnant.

  He knocked on the door of the trailer, glancing around, then doing a double take. There were quite a few vehicles here.

  Oh, shit! There was a van with a Blue Dragon Vineyard logo on it, and those two vehicles there, he could swear they belonged to Cage and Pretty Boy. Yep, they had base passes on the windows.

  He banged on the door harder this time. Torolf almost fell in when the door opened suddenly. Standing there, big as you please, was his father, who at fifty and more than fifteen years in this country, still wore Viking attire and long, light-brown hair down to his shoulders, with war braids on the sides. Torolf was tall; his father was taller and more husky. “It’s about time you got your arse in gear,” his father whispered. “I am sore tired of praising your dubious charms to the maid. Methinks she is no longer listening.”

  “Who asked you to come here?” Torolf hissed.

  “Dost think I would allow one of my countrymen to be here and not make an acquaintance? Then, when I got here, I realized the dilemma you two are in, and I tried—”

  “What are you two whispering about out there?”

  He cringed. His brother Ragnor! “What is he doing here?”

  “He came with me and Angela.”

  Torolf swore under his breath.

  “I heard that.” His father grinned and slapped him on the back, hard.

  Stepping into the small living room, he saw crowded onto every sitting surface available his father’s wife Angela, Ragnor, Cage, Pretty Boy, and in the middle of them all, a distressed-looking Hilda. She had to be overwhelmed by this crew.

  “What are you guys doing here?” he asked his buddies.

  “We’re your point men, doing some groundwork for you,” Pretty Boy replied, and Cage added, “Geek and JAM were going to be tail, but the XO caught them sneaking off the base and assigned them to do a ten-mile run with some of the training class.”

  “I saw you at the base this morning, you never mentioned coming here.”

  A toilet flushed in the bathroom behind him, followed by the sound of running water. He turned. Oh, this was the worst thing of all. There stood his sister Madrene—a very pregnant Madrene—and she had fire in her eyes.

  She backed him up against the door and pointed a finger in his chest. “You are the most lackbrained idiot in the world.”

  “But—”

  “How could you treat a highborn Norse lady so badly?”

  “But—”

  “And not bring her to us immediately?”

  “But—”

  “And then place her in such danger?”

  “But—”

  Her stern face softened as she added, “But you rid the world of Steinolf?”

  He nodded.

  She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her big belly against him, and hugged hard. Into his ear, she said, “Good choice in a life mate, Brother.” With those words of encouragement, she shoved away from him and huffed and puffed herself into sitting down in a big stuffed chair.

  “Get out of here. All of you,” he ordered. Hilda looked relieved at his words, which prompted him to repeat himself. “I mean it. Go away. We can handle this ourselves.”

  “Doan look like yer doin’ a good job so far,” Cage murmured.

  “I gave him a book to read, but he threw it at me,” Pretty Boy said.

  “What book?” Cage a
sked.

  “How to Win Women and Get Laid at the Same Time.”

  “Can I borrow it?” Cage put an arm over Pretty Boy’s shoulder as they went out. “Not that I doan know every-thin’ there is ta know ’bout wooin’ the ladies.”

  “Woo this!”

  Torolf shook his head at the hopelessness of trying to get his friends to behave. His father and Ragnor both had to lift Madrene from her chair. Torolf nodded to a smiling Angela as she passed by after giving Hilda a hug and inviting her to Blue Dragon. Ragnor was about to follow after their father when he hesitated. “I could give you tips on—”

  “Out!”

  “Tell her you love her,” was Madrene’s whispered advice as she belly-butted him in passing by. “And buy more body paint.”

  “I’ll try,” he whispered back.

  Soon they were alone, and Hilda looked as miserable as he felt. She wore jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair hung in a single braid down her back. No makeup. In other words, so beautiful he wanted to take her into his arms and never let her go.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he sat down on a chair next to the sofa where she was perched, tense with apprehension.

  Okay, he was here. How to start? “I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a wary look. “For what?”

  “Everything, but mostly because you misunderstood my dancing with that girl.”

  “You were engaging in foresport, and don’t you deny it.”

  “I was not. I was merely dancing with her, as directed by my commander. I also danced with his wife, who weighs about two hundred pounds. Do you think I was hitting on her, too?”

  “You didn’t come after me.”

  “I did, but I had to be excused first.”

  “Please. If you wanted something badly enough, you would not wait for permission.”

  “You’re right. I should have come after you right away, but I didn’t know you would really run away . . . or that you would be taken. My God, Hilda, I thought I would die when I couldn’t find you.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. I’m losing here. I’m losing big-time.

  “Why did you not come this past sennight?”

  “Huh? You told me to stay away.”

  “And this time you chose to heed my words?”

  Is she saying she told me not to come, but she really wanted me to come? I will NEVER figure out women.

  With a deep inhale, then an exhale, he dropped down to one knee in front of her and handed her the small velvet jewelry box.

  He’d surprised her, and she stared at the box as if it might have something nasty inside that would jump out at her.

  “It’s an engagement ring.”

  “What’s an engagement ring?”

  “It’s when a man asks a woman to marry him, and she accepts. The ring is a symbol of that promise.”

  “A betrothal ring.” She opened the box and gasped. “ ’Tis beautiful.”

  “Hilda, will you marry me?”

  She stared at him, and she stared at the ring. “I do not know.”

  She didn’t say no. Hallelujah! He took both of her hands in his, ignoring her attempt to pull away. “Forget all this other crap. Apologies. Misunderstandings. The bottom line, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Where?”

  Now we get down to the nitty-gritty. “A life here. I’m not going back again.” In the silence was the unspoken admission, Not even for you. “Will you stay with me?” He thought about mentioning the baby, but he didn’t want that to be her reason for staying or to think it was his reason for proposing.

  “I have a life there. The Sanctuary. My women.”

  “You can help women here, if you want.” Torolf ’s emotions were banging off the wall, waiting. “There’s only one thing important here. Do you still love me?”

  “You are such a clodpole. Women do not fall in and out of love like that.”

  He blinked several times. She loves me. “Well, hell’s bells, Hildy, why didn’t you say so?” He shoved the ring on her finger, then picked her up and carried her down the hall to his bedroom. At first she was stunned. Then she began to squirm. “Nay! Unhand me! Put me down! I did not agree to anything.”

  He tossed her on the bed, then crawled over her so that she would not be able to get up. “I love you.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head.

  A crushing weight came down over him. It shouldn’t be so hard.

  She put a hand up to his face. “I have been so angry, but alas and alack, it appears as if we are stuck with each other.”

  “Oh, Hildy.” That’s all he could say as tears welled in her eyes, probably a reflection of his own eyes. He already had her naked and was shrugging out of his jeans when he remembered something. “I bought you a present,” he said.

  Rushing up and outside, wearing only a pair of unbuttoned jeans, he got the package and came back inside. She was sitting on the side of the bed, naked, with her arms uplifted, undoing her braid. He stood in the doorway for just a moment, wanting to imprint this image on his brain.

  He finished undressing and sat down beside her, handing her the gift-wrapped package.

  “You bought me a present? Besides the ring?”

  It was strawberry body paint.

  “Why strawberry?”

  “I thought you might have a craving.”

  It took several seconds for her to realize that he knew she was pregnant. Taking his hand, she placed it over her flat stomach and laughed. “The only craving I have is for you.”

  Strawberry Shortcake never tasted so good . . .

  Afterward, they were both sated and lying in each other’s arms, as well as in a pool of sticky strawberry goop.

  “ ’Tis odd, but I have a craving for so many different flavors these days,” she remarked idly, trailing a finger over his nipple, which caused another body part to react.

  “Not to worry, sweetling. They have dozens of flavors, enough to satisfy all your cravings. Peppermint, peach, apple, coconut . . .” He smiled, and she kissed him.

  He smiled again when she whispered against his smiling mouth, “Dearling, my favorite flavor is . . . you.”

  With sheer joy, he burst out laughing and told her, “There’s an old saying that the best lover is a man who can make his woman smile in bed, but I think they got it wrong, Hilda. It should be: The best lover is a woman who can make her man smile in bed.”

  They both smiled then.

  A lot.

  And for many years to come.

  Epilogue

  Christmastime at Blue Dragon Vineyard was a marvel to behold in any circumstance, but this time it was spectacular.

  Tiny white dancing lights were wrapped around the rare, speckled oak trees that lined the drive up to the big Victorian house. Red poinsettias were showcased in terracotta pots every ten feet or so on the low stone walls that bracketed the road. Blinking white lights, pine and holly garlands, and hundreds of huge red poinsettias decorated the wraparound porch. Lights also sparkled on the willow trees and all the grapevines. The inside of the huge house was equally festive.

  It was going to be the first Yule wedding at Blue Dragon, and everyone was there. Except Hilda.

  Where are you, baby? Don’t chicken out now.

  Torolf, in full dress uniform, stood alone on the porch, having shooed everyone else inside, forcibly. But it was past five p.m. The guests were here, both inside the house and in the lighted tents spread about the lawns . . . two hundred in all. But he had not seen Hilda for the past seven days, not even spoken to her on the telephone, thanks to his interfering family, who claimed it was bad luck.

  Come on, Hilda. We can do this.

  Everyone had thought she would ask Spike to give her away. He was there, of course, with Serenity and the others from Hog Heaven. But for some reason, which Torolf did not want to examine too closely, she chose Slick. Cage would be his best man, and fat-as-a-boat and shrewish-as-ever Madrene, Hilda’s matron of honor. Seven ot
her SEALs would form a sword honor guard, matched up with Lizzy, Linda, Jolene, his sisters Kirstin, Dagny, and Lida, and his stepcousins Suzy and Beth. In other words, a mob.

  In the distance, a limousine could be seen approaching.

  Thank you, God.

  His heart started racing. He’d thought he was ready for this, but he was not. His collar felt suddenly tighter. His breath came out in pants. He heard voices behind him and raised a halting hand. He wanted no one here for this initial meeting but him and Hilda.

  Once the vehicle stopped, the chauffeur got out and opened the back door. Slick, also in his dress whites, got out first and winked at him. Then he reached out a hand for Madrene.

  “Oh, my God!” He put a hand to his mouth to stifle a cry.

  It was Hilda, but a Hilda like he’d never seen before.

  The chauffeur drove off, and Slick made himself scarce. It was only him and Hilda.

  He went down the steps to her.

  Maggie, his Uncle Rolf ’s wife, had lent Hilda her Norse wedding attire for tonight, but this was the first he’d seen it. The undergown was made of a gauzy white linen, ankle-length in front but trailing the ground in back. The wrists and circular neckline and hem were embroidered with intertwining roses in green and gold against a red background. The red silk overgown was open-sided in the Viking style with matching bands of embroidery, the colors reversed. Rose brooches held the shoulder straps together, and a gold-linked belt circled her waist. Her silver hair lay loose about her shoulders, a circlet of roses on her head. There was never a Viking queen who looked better than his bride-to-be.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said.

  “I feared you would not be here.”

  They both smiled at each other.

  He took her hands.

  “You look pretty,” she said, preempting him.

  He laughed. “And you look spectacular.”

  For a long moment, they just stared at each other in wonder, that they were finally going to do this thing.

  “Hilda, before we go inside, let’s exchange our own vows here. Alone.”