He’d thought a cage was his biggest problem until…
“Let me see if I understand,” Hauk said, his lips twitching with a combination of barely suppressed amusement and mounting impatience. “You traveled here from the future, a thousand bloody years in the future, your sole purpose to save me?”
“Exactly. The year two thousand and nineteen. Whew! I’m glad you finally understand.”
He rolled his eyes. This was the first chance he’d had to be alone with Kirstin and demand an explanation for the amazing feat that had the two of them twirling up in the air and out of the castle in some kind of magic whirlwind. And this was the answer she gave him? Time travel! Pff! More likely, she was a witch. Which was equally unacceptable.
He had to be careful. Yea, he owed her for her help. But he could not chance another sky ride. Leastways, not until the battle was over, and he’d sent King Dumb-as-Dirt to an early grave, hopefully in a dozen pieces.
They were in a small tent which had been assigned to Hauk and his entourage of Kirstin, Egil, and the lackwit maid Bergliot in the midst of the huge temporary settlement erected by Sweyn a considerable distance from Winchester. Hundreds of warriors had gathered already…a scene of organized pre-battle chaos, to be sure. But promising for the battle to come, which would be the following morning, if all went according to plan. They were waiting for Duke Richard of Norsemandy and his troops to join up with them.
Hauk was sitting on a chest, using a whetstone to sharpen his short sword. She was sitting on a pile of furs, opposite him, rebraiding her hair. Seen in the light of day, with the sun’s rays peeking through an opening in the tent, the pale blonde strands shimmered like spun silver. With her sapphire-blue eyes enhanced by the sky-blue of the suddenly (well, ’twas the first he’d noticed) form-fitting bodice of her gown and the deep blue stone hanging about her neck, she was more than comely.
And she was his.
He had mixed feelings about that.
So, she was not as uncomely as he’d first thought.
But she was strange, to say the least.
On the other hand, having a wife could be a convenience betimes.
But mostly they were a pain in the arse.
He cleared his throat and inquired with casualness that was forced, “And this…uh…what did you call it?...time travel…it happened just because you wished it?”
“Dreamed it,” she corrected.
“Wish, dream, summon, conjure, cast a witchy spell.” He drew the whetstone over the blade as he spoke. Rasp, rasp, rasp.
“Don’t get snarky on me. I’m pretty sure my time travel had something to do with these arm rings my brother Storvald made for me. That and the Viking reproduction hall in Maine where I was standing. Uncle Rolf’s hall somehow resembles the one in Winchester Castle. Suffice it to say, that’s why it’s important that I keep the bracelets on me, and that I don’t wander too far from Aethelred’s royal estate.”
Rasp, rasp, rasp. He continued to work with the sword, seemingly only half listening, to cover his distress. What had he gotten himself into? Out of a cage into…another kind of prison. Wedlock with a witch! So, she wanted to stay close to Winchester. Could it be this was all a plot, and she was a spy for Aethelred? “Why would you need to stay close to Winchester?”
“Well, duh! Otherwise, I might not be able to return home. Or, rather, we might not be able to return to my home in California. Since that’s where my bridge in time or wormhole, or whatever you want to call it, took place.”
“Worm hole? You crawled here through a worm hole?” he sputtered, then stood, dropping the sword and whetstone to the ground. “We?” he inquired with sudden alarm, taking a step back.
“Aren’t you curious to see what it’s like in the future?” She stared up at him through amazingly beautiful blue eyes, waiting for his answer, a picture of innocence. Which could be a deception, of course.
“Not in the least.” What a pointless exercise! He would have to accept her outrageous notions before he entertained speculation on what the future would be like. When boars fly!
“Believe me, there are fascinating advances,” she driveled on. The woman did talk a lot. And it was clear she considered herself of greater intellect, whereas everyone knew that women had smaller brains. “Life is much easier. For example, you wouldn’t need a couple dozen rowers for your longship. All you’d have to do is turn on the motor and steer the craft. Vroom-vroom.”
He looked at her as if she was demented. She was. Not that he knew what a moat-whore was. “Even if I believe this time-travel nonsense, which I do not, are you capable of moving from one time period to another, at will? I mean, can you guarantee I would be able to return here, if I did not like the future?”
She blushed.
As well she should!
“I don’t know for sure,” she admitted. “This is actually the first time I’ve done it, on my own, and I certainly didn’t ask for it to happen. It was an accident.”
He threw his hands in the air. The woman was beyond unbelievable. “Listen to me well, wench.” And, yes, he had deliberately used the word wench to show her he was the one in charge here. “I am all for an adventure, but I am not sure I would want to risk my future in that extreme a fashion.”
She shrugged. “You can decide later.”
Easy for her to say when she’d just admitted that she’d ended up a thousand years in the past by accident. The gods only knew where he might end up, by accident. Mayhap that Biblical Garden of Eden that Christians believed in. Or in the other direction, mayhap the Norse estate of his very own great-grandson, assuming he ever had living children. Try explaining kinship to a great-grandson who is older than you.
Hah! A smart Viking did not depend on mischance for his future. “I doubt I will feel differently later. I have neglected my estates back in the Norselands far too long. ’Tis past time I returned to Haukshire and took care of my responsibilities. Gods only know what conditions I will find.”
Although the tent gave them some privacy, they could hear clearly the loud noises outside of wooden tent stakes being pounded into the ground with mallets, the neighing of huge war horses, the bellow of oxen pulling equipment wagons, the clanging of cooking cauldrons over open fires, the whistles of swords and arrows being engaged in battle exercises, shouts, and laughter.
Hauk felt almost human after having bathed in a nearby stream, shaved, then bathed again. With his long hair hanging in a single plait down his back, except for two slim war braids framing his face, wearing a clean tunic, braies and boots borrowed from Sweyn, he might not be as handsome as he’d once been proclaimed, and he’d lost a good two stone in body weight, but that mattered not when it came to the upcoming battle.
Mayhap later, when the sex urge rose like sap in a maple tree as it did for many soldiers following a good fight, he would be concerned with his appearance and his appeal to willing wenches. He was a Viking, after all, and vanity was a gods-given right to that favored race of men. Truth to tell, bedmates came easy for Norsemen, handsome or not.
Which brought him to his wife. “I would be barmy to believe your story of time travel.”
“I know how ludicrous it sounds. How do you think I felt almost twenty-one years ago, when I was only fourteen years old, living in the Norselands, and suddenly found myself along with my family on the other side of the world, America, a thousand years in the future?”
Hauk thought it best to humor the woman, who was clearly deluded, if not a mite insane. At the same time, he did a mental calculation. Almost twenty-one years ago she’d been fourteen. Which means, she is thirty-five now, or almost thirty-five. Long in the tooth, as I suspected. He was thirty-five, too, but age was different for men than it was for women. He was in his prime, or would be once he recovered from his ordeal.
“Are you saying that in your land…uh, time…when you left yesterday, it was…?”
“The twenty-first century. Yes, as I told you before.”
“Unbelievable!” he muttered. “But your family’s time travel or whatever it was is neither here nor there. It does not explain what just happened to us. Did you and your family travel to the future in a whirlwind like we just did? Which would be something to see! Your father is known to be the size of a horse. Ha, ha, ha!”
She shook her head, and did not smile at his jibe about her father’s weight. “No. There was a shipwreck off the coast of Iceland and we landed on a Hollywood movie set.”
“Uh-huh.” He had no idea what she meant.
“After that, we lived on a California vineyard, where my father remarried, had another child, and still lives.”
“Your father, who already had ten or more children, as I recall, is still breeding in the future? Your father, a noted farmer, now grows grapes?” Her tale grew more and more unbelievable. He laughed.
“Yes,” she replied. Still no smile at his humor. “He’s adapted.”
“Vikings do not adapt. They conquer. They do not surrender and adapt.” He spat the last word as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. For a moment, he realized that was just how his Viking comrades would regard his being a caged Viking…surrender. They would make mock of him and say he should have fought harder and died in battle afore giving in to his captors.
She shrugged. “My father is an enlightened Viking.”
Did she imply that he was not enlightened, whatever that meant? At least she was not calling him a coward, as some might, or a weak specimen of a man. “And you…have you a husband waiting for you in the future?”
She shook her head.
“Dead?”
She shook her head some more. “No, I never married.”
“And you live with your father and his new family on this vineyard?”
“No! Of course not. Not anymore. I’m a college professor. I live alone in the city.”
He blinked at her with confusion.
“A professor is a teacher of high education. And a college is a place where students…boys and girls both…go to study for various professions after twelve years of high school.”
“Good gods! Are people so dumb in your time that they need twelve years of study?”
“Sixteen or more years, actually, if you include college.”
He rolled his eyes. “What could they possibly study over all that time? Never mind. What do you teach?”
“Ancient Nordic Studies. In other words, this time period.”
Is she saying I am ancient? He sighed. Talking with her was like swimming through mud. Hopeless. “If reverse travel through time is possible…” He couldn’t believe he was actually saying that. “…why did your father and your entire family, for that matter, not return to the Norselands long ago?”
“Because life in the future is so much better…well, easier.”
“No wars?” I have no idea why I mentioned wars first off. Vikings ever do love a good battle; therefore, a world without wars would not be “better” for a Norseman. What would a Norseman do with his time, if there were no wars? Ride his longship for trading only? Or visit foreign lands just to chatter with new people? Or farm? How boring! Holy Thor! I am blathering in my head now, as bad as my wife with her running tongue.
“Well, yes, there are still wars,” she said.
“Whew! Thank the gods for that.”
“In fact, three of my brothers are in the military.”
“More wealth then? Is that what makes your country…uh, time…better?”
“My father was wealthy enough here.”
“Adventure? Vikings are ever up for a good adventure on their longships.”
“Hah! My dad is pretty much land-bound. In fact, I can’t recall the last time he was on a boat.”
“And yet you consider it a better place…uh, time…to live.”
“It’s hard to explain. There are so many modern conveniences, like horseless carriages and, suffice it to say, inventions that would boggle the mind. Like…oh, never mind. I can tell you everything later. For now, all you need to know is that I was sent here to save you.”
And I was a dunderhead just sitting there waiting to be saved by a female? Hah! I beg to differ. Still, he wanted to be polite until he understood his path in this mire of confusion. “By whom, pray tell?”
“God, I think.”
He laughed. “The Christian One-God has a care for a pagan Viking? Why? What is so special about me?”
“I can’t explain why. I just saw you in my dreams and here I am.”
The dream story again! “I hope I performed well.” His mouth twitched with amusement.
She waved a hand dismissively. “There are some things you should know about the near future. What’s going to happen right here in your time period. Like, I know that Sweyn is waiting for Duke Richard’s forces to join up with him before attacking the Saxon castle. But news flash! The duke is playing both sides of the field. He’s probably already sent men in to rescue his daughter, her husband Aethelred, and others in the royal household, scooting them off to Normandy for safe exile.”
“What? Are you certain?” He paused and stared at her to see if she was serious. She was. “I should go tell Sweyn immediately. But, Frigg’s Foot! Sweyn will want to know how I gained this information, and how will I explain that my witchy wife from the future told me so?”
She arched her brows at him, for doubting her words, no doubt, or perchance because he’d referred to her as witchy. “You could tell him and let the facts prove their truth.
“You are so sure of the facts?”
She nodded. “I am. And here’s another fact. A few years from now, the Normans will invade Britain and conquer the entire realm. For a period of time, starting with William the Conqueror in 1066, Vikings will actually rule the English world.”
His eyes about bugged out at her amazing prediction…and that is all it could be, of course…a prediction. “And do we Vikings still rule these parts in your time?”
“Oh, no! The Vikings die off as a separate culture soon after that.”
“Die off?” he sputtered.
“Well, not die off precisely. More like they meld into other cultures. Marriage, settlement, and so on. In fact, modern-day Iceland is the closest we have to Vikings.”
He laughed. “You should be a skald. Your sagas are as absurd as any I have ever heard the poets and storytellers relate during the long winter nights afore the hearth fires.”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth. You’ll find out. At least some of these things will be proven true soon enough.”
He tried to decide what to do. Tell Sweyn about Richard’s possible defection and risk ridicule. Or tell him nothing, and have them all waste precious time awaiting the duke’s arrival. “Come,” he said, taking her by the elbow, “Let us go brave the lion, and inform Sweyn of your news. But, please, enough of this nonsense about time travel! Instead, just say that you know by way of Queen Emma, or other family members.”
She appeared unsure of his plan, but allowed him to lead her out of the tent, making their way through the various camp sites.
“So, you are not a witch. That is a relief,” he said as they walked along. “I have no liking for mating with a witch. Afeared I would be that the least misstep and my witchy wife could turn my favorite body part into a black cat.” He was teasing, but she did not smile.
“There’s going to be no ‘mating,’ let’s understand that right away.”
“Oh, really?” He’d only been teasing with the “mating” remark. Holy Thor! He’d had no time in the past twelve hours to even think of sex.
But now...
He eyed his new wife up and down in deliberate scrutiny. As he continued to stare at her, he felt a clutching sensation in his chest, which moved lower. Probably hunger. Of one kind or another.
Until now, he’d had mixed feelings about her. Yea, she was passably pretty. And, yea, he would have no trouble swiving her when the occasion arose. But then, considering the length of his prison celibacy, most any woman would do.
Or not.
Was she insinuating that she did not want him? Hauk knew his worth and she dared to rebuff him? The nerve of the wench! “Are you saying that I am not comely…that you do not find me attractive?”
“Hardly!” she said with a note of disgust. “You’re so hot you would make any girl’s bones melt.”
He assumed that “hot” was a compliment, and a slow smile grew on his lips.
“Not that you don’t know that already.”
Of course he did, or leastways he used to. “And your bones…are they melting?”
“That’s not the point,” she said huffily. “What’s with this sudden interest in me…that way?”
“Which way?”
“You know…sexually.”
Truly, this woman was more blunt and outspoken than he was accustomed to, especially a woman of the upper class. Not that he was objecting. He rather liked the honesty of her words. “’Tis well that you ask that question about my interest! Look around. Dost notice men staring at you with lust?”
She waved a hand airily. “That’s just because I look different from the camp followers.”
He shook his head. “Egil tells me that you were accosted at least a dozen times as you walked, unescorted, around the camping grounds today, despite my orders to the contrary, by the by, that you stay in the tent. He followed you and witnessed several arse pinches, two embraces that lifted you off your feet, a half dozen offers of coin for tupping, and many rude insults.”
“Egil has a big mouth.”
“You are just now realizing that?”
She sighed with impatience. “Get to the point. I can’t stay in hiding forever. What’s going to change their attitude?”
“Consummation.”
“Whaat? Do you mean sex?”
“That is what I said, is it not?”
“Actually it wasn’t. You tossed that out there as if consummating a marriage was an everyday occurrence. You could just as easily have said, ‘We need to bake some bread.’”
“Did you hit your head when we did that whirly dance through the sky and fell to the ground?”
“You know, your attitude is really annoying me. Certainly not a way to woo a woman to your bed.”
Well, she certainly put him in his place. He blinked with surprise.
“So, consummation would change the way men view me?”
“Probably. Word has spread that you and I were just wed, with no chance for the ritual bedding. Until that happens, some consider you fair game. ’Tis a well-known fact that the sap rises in warriors as they prepare for battle. Any willing, or unwilling, female will do. And there you are like a bloody haunch of roast reindeer on a silver platter.”
“Thanks a lot for the compliment. So, we should just do it? Now? Should we duck into some empty tent? Or go behind a tree? Assuming your sap is up and running, like all the other randy men. And, by the way, do women have sap, too?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated fashion.
“Sarcasm ill-suits you, wife.”
“Likewise, husband. That’s another thing. I’m not really your wife. That farce of a wedding…? Pfff!”
“Oh, that your assumption were true!”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you forgetting that the rites were performed by a priest? I saw him sign a document, which I assume gets a church seal.”
Any further discussion on that subject was interrupted by Egil rushing up to them, huffing to catch his breath. “My Lord, please stop and listen. There is something of importance I must discuss with ye.”
Egil had been trying to speak with him about some “important matter” all day. When Egil had admitted that it was not a matter of life or death, Hauk had put him off. “Later.”
“Nay, m’lord. It must be now,” Egil contended.
Hauk groaned. “Egil, please. I must needs meet with Sweyn first about something my wife just told me. Then, Sweyn wants my help with battle strategy, and a map of the inner design of the castle to weed out any stragglers once they break in. You could help with that, Egil, since you moved freely about the lower regions of the castle. After that, he expects me to regale him with a history of all that I suffered under Aethelred’s imprisonment. And, you can be sure, he’ll want an explanation of that Holy Fuck dance I just did up in the air.” He glanced at Kirstin on mention of this last thing. “Sweyn will want to know if you can you do that at will, wife, and if so, he will think that such a skill could come in handy during battle.”
“What will you say to that?” she asked.
“I will say, Sweyn, my friend, if you think I will willingly subject myself to that terror again, I have a bridge to sell you over the North Sea. If he wants to win this battle, he will need weaponed men, the more the better. Not tricks.”
“Speaking of seasoned fighters,” Egil broke in, “some of yer shiphird, who have been hanging about Jorvik these many months manning your longship, Sea Wolf, have arrived and are looking to join the ranks. They need direction on where to gather. There aren’t many of them left, actually, about two dozen or so, but…”
Hauk pointed a hand in the opposite direction. “Find an empty space in my formation for all of them, and I will come by shortly to talk to each of them. Make sure they are fed and have places to lay their furs for rest.”
He could use both of those himself…food and sleep. A short nap somewhere private to prepare for battle. Anywhere would do. Even the hard ground, against a tree if there were any left in this clearing with all the cook fires now blazing, or spooned against some mongrel dog in an open field. Or a wife, he thought, and immediately wiped that idea from his lame brain, but it made him smile.
Egil mistook his smile for agreement to talk with him, now. “It all started about a year ago when I happened—”
Hauk cut him off with a halting hand. “Is this about that bedmate of yours again?” he growled. “I swear, I have seen and heard enough of—.”
“Yea, ’tis about Bergliot, but not what you think,” Egil inserted quickly.
If you only knew what I think! “Where is the maid?”
“Guarding your tent, after you left. You have no idea how scarce such accommodation is, even ones so meager.”
In addition, there was a pouch of gold coins in the chest inside the tent, of which Egil was unaware. “You left a girl to guard my few possessions from a horde of thieves mixed in with this lot?”
“Well, see, that is the thing. Bergliot is not a girl.”
“Well, for a certainty, she is not a woman full grown. How old is she? Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“Twelve. And she is a he…a lad.” Egil ducked his head at that latter announcement.
Hauk cocked his head to the side. Already, various folks were gathered, wanting his attention. One of Sweyn’s hersirs motioned for him to follow, a guardsman from Haukshire who must be newly arrived was waving a greeting, and a buxom wench was inviting his custom with obscene gestures toward her nether region.
“Bergliot is a male, is that what you are telling me?” Hauk asked with not a little consternation.
“Yea, that is exactly what I am saying.” Egil appeared relieved that Hauk understood his meaning.
Now that he thought on it, he could see the signs had been there all along. How could he have missed them? “Good gods! You are a sodomite now?”
“Nay! Of course not. ’Twas just a ruse.”
Hauk put a hand to his face and counted to five, silently, ein, tver, Þrir, fjórir, fimm, before looking at Egil. “Why would you need a ruse?”
“To protect the boy.”
Hauk picked up Egil with hands under his armpits. Staring at the little man face to face, he demanded. “Spit it out so I can get on with the business of this mad day.”
“Bergliot is actually Bjorn. Your son.”
Hauk’s brain went numb for a moment and he shook his head to clear it. “Bjorn?”
“Yea. I found him wandering in a daze outside Oxfordshire the day of the head loppings.” When Hauk continued to gape at the little man, Egil continued, “I saved him. Hid him under a wagonload of headless bodies, I did. Never saw a person vomit so much in all me life. Me, not the boy, who was brave as Thor. You would have been so proud.”
Oh. My. Gods! Hauk thought for several long seconds before dropping Egil to the ground and putting a boot on his chest, preventing him from jumping to his feet. “Is this a jest?”
“No jest,” Egil said. “I could not tell ye when ye were still in the cage. Afeared I was that ye would attempt to break loose and get yerself killed afore we could escape.”
Hauk grunted his disgust and lifted his leg, letting Egil scramble to his feet. Turning, Hauk began to stomp back toward his small tent at the far end of the field.
Egil continued to talk to him as he ran to catch up. “This is good news, m’lord. A happy reunion. But best ye be prepared, Bjorn has a gripe against ye for years of neglect.”
Hauk stopped suddenly and Egil ran into him. Kirstin had followed after them and was listening with interest, nodding her agreement. “Don’t blame Egil for what was obvious.”
He turned slowly to stare at her. “So, you were aware of this deception, too?”
“Well, any fool could see that she was a boy, but, no, I didn’t know he was your son. How wonderful!”
Righting himself, Egil raised his chin and said, “I did what I thought was best to protect you and yer son.”
“Hmpfh!” was the most Hauk was willing to concede. With a sigh, Hauk said to Egil, “Go, tell Sweyn that I will be there shortly…with my wife. First, I must see for myself that the maid is my…my…son.”
Even as he spoke with reasonable calm over the lump in his throat, Hauk’s mind swirled with this unexpected turn of events.
Bjorn is alive!
My son.
A second chance to make things right?
Bjorn is alive!
Praise the gods!
And, yes, a bit of praise for Egil, too.
Happy at his apparent pardon, Egil scampered off in his crab-like gait, gained after years of riding one longship after another over rolling waves. Thus, Hauk was alone, somewhat, except for his wife who trailed behind him, when he approached the tent and saw his son, clearly a boyling now, dressed in a belted tunic over slim braies and ankle boots. His blond hair was pulled off his face and tied at the nape with a leather thong. There was a strong resemblance that should have been apparent to Hauk before.
“Bjorn!” he called out.
The boy turned abruptly at his greeting, his expression wary. He was skinny as a pike, just as Hauk had been at that age.
“I had no idea…Egil just told me,” Hauk choked out. “By thunder! This is the best news I’ve had in years.”
Bjorn’s chin went up and he backed away from Hauk’s extended arms.
“Son?” Hauk said. “You have naught to be afeared of. I am your father.”
“Hah! You are no father to me.” He spat on the ground for emphasis. “Where have you been these ten years and more? Where were you when my mother was dying? Where were you when the bloody Saxons murdered my foster father, Pallig Tokeson, and his family? And then you let yourself be caged like a tame dog. No matter.” He waved a hand dismissively, as if Hauk and his misdeeds were of no importance to him and continued to back away.
Hauk grabbed Bjorn’s upper arm and yanked him to a halt.
“Bugger off!” The boy tried to squirm out of his hold, to no avail.
His insolence and lack of respect would merit a whomping if they came from anyone else. Should he try to explain his absence? Should he force the squirming Bjorn to stand still, and to hell and Muspell with any explanations? Should he tell him of his regrets and how much he loved him? Should he try to explain how he’d been taken by the Saxons? With a grunt of disgust at his wavering thoughts, he pulled the boy into a tight bear hug, murmuring, “My son! Alive! And you helped Egil rescue me? Praise the gods!”
Bjorn bit his shoulder and muttered, “Kiss my arse!”
Hauk chuckled. He had to admire the boy’s spunk.
But then, said spunky boy kneed him in the ballocks, hard. Reflexively, Hauk loosened his embrace, and Bjorn took advantage of the lapse, running off, laughing.
Hauk was bent over at the waist, cupping his private parts, gasping for breath, when Kirstin came up to him. She dared to grin at his position. “Still think you could handle consummation?”
Not any time soon, he thought, but what he said was, “Betimes, a man must endure a little pain to gain his reward.”
Then he winked at her, just in case she didn’t get his meaning.
She must have because she gave him a look of disgust, which was not the usual reaction he got from women when he winked at them.
He gave her a shove into the tent and followed after her. “Heed me well, you headstrong, willful woman. Before we go to meet with Sweyn, you must needs listen to me. If you speak to Sweyn the way you do to me, he will discount anything that comes from your mouth as that of a barmy person who is wasting his precious time. Or he may deem you a spy for the Saxons, which would be just as bad for you. Believe you me, Sweyn is not known for his patience or kindness. On a whim he could slit your tongue, or strip you naked and let his archers use you for target practice.”
“Blah, blah, blah! I don’t care a fig about Sweyn or what he thinks of me,” the impudent wench said, plopping down on the travel chest. “I came to rescue you, and now that you’re free, there’s no reason for me to be here anymore. Suffice it to say, mission accomplished!”
He paced the small space inside the tent and glanced intermittently at her, trying to figure her out. Why was she not shivering with fear, as any normal female would, or many a male, as well?
“If you hadn’t touched my arm rings and thought of escape to the outside of the castle,” she continued, speaking slowly as if he were a slow-witted youthling, “we could have been far, far away from here. Maybe back in America, which is what I would have pictured in my mind.”
He gave her a glance of horror. Did she honestly believe that was a situation he would desire?
“But do you care? No. You are where you want to be and that is all that matters. So, go off and do your war things.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ll go home on my own, somehow.”
“Barmy as a bat drukkinn on mead,” he muttered.
“Really. Go off and fight your silly war and probably end up dead, defeating the whole purpose of my rescue mission.”
“You are not going anywhere until I discover why you are here, wife.”
“As if you have any say in the matter! As long as I have my arm rings, I can go wherever I want,” she asserted.
But that was her mistake, giving him information to use against her. “Is that so?” Hauk said, and before she could run away, he wrapped his hands in scraps of linen and pulled her arm rings off, tucking the bundles inside his tunic. “For safekeeping,” he assured her with a self-satisfied grin.
She attempted to hit him then, but he ducked and she ended up tossing the shield which she probably intended for his head but instead landed at his feet. He laughed, he couldn’t help himself.
“Where is that cockson Hauk Thorsson?” a male voice boomed outside the tent, interrupting whatever his wife intended next.
It was Sweyn and he was not in good humor, as evidenced by the sounds of Egil trying to explain their delay. “There was a family crisis, which required my master to handle some other priorities.”
“Other priorities? How dare he fail to obey my summons to council? How dare he force me to come to him?”
“I’m sure he will apologize profusely when he gets a chance—”
“Apologize? Apologize? I’ll give the loutling an apology with the side of my sword across his arse. And where is that blonde sorceress? The witch best not have flown away afore I have a chance to examine her myself. Legend says witches have three tits? What think you, Egil?”
“Um,” Egil said. “They are both inside the tent.”
“Praise the gods! I am in the mood to lop off a head, or two.”