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As they passed under the first street lamps leading into the town, Angel studied the man next to her, seeing him properly for the first time.
When she’d opened her eyes in the hut, halfway toward being in a shivery coma, she’d honestly thought she’d travelled back over twelve-hundred years to when the Northmen had first arrived in their longboats. The guy was huge, with wild black hair and a thick black beard that made him look as if he would happily carry out a blood eagle on you if he didn’t like the way you looked at him.
But he’d taken off his big wax jacket for her, and she could see now that although he was definitely tall and well built, and his beard needed trimming, his hair was only wild because he’d been out in the stormy night, and his blue eyes surveyed her with real concern. He was still intimidating, though, his visage stern and unsmiling. She suspected he hadn’t ruled out the blood eagle idea considering she’d forced him out of his car into the cold weather and then insulted him several times within the space of a couple of minutes.
She wasn’t shivering quite so badly now, although she desperately needed to get out of her wet clothes. But she couldn’t get into the cottage... and her cases were in her car at the bottom of the ocean... Maybe he’d let her keep his jacket. It smelled nice. She tugged the sides closer around her and buried her nose in the fabric, inhaling the remnants of his scent, some nice body spray that smelled of lemons and sandalwood.
Halvar Carlson. If that name wasn’t right out of the ninth century, she’d eat her hat. Or she would have, if she’d been wearing one.
“So, you really are a Viking,” she said.
His eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps as they neared the town. “Is that why you called me Ragnar?”
“I was... confused. I think it was the beard.”
He ran a hand over his chin. “Yeah. I need to shave tonight. My daughter hates it.” He sent her an amused glance, then returned his gaze to the road as they started passing houses. “You’ve mentioned shield maidens too... Are you interested in the Vikings, then? You like the TV show?”
The car lights lit up rows of houses, a post office, a pub. Her brain was struggling to compute everything, but his comment rankled. “My Masters included a study of the distribution of bone combs in early Viking settlements across Northern England,” she said somewhat defensively. “It won the Research Project of the Year at the English Archaeology Awards.” Even as she said it, though, she realized how dull she must sound.
But Hal’s eyebrows rose, and he stared at her for so long she worried he might come off the road. “I don’t believe it. You’re not Angel Matthews?”
Angel stared at him. “What?”
“I work for English Heritage,” he said. “I’m an architectural illustrator. I design leaflets and guidebooks for their sites. I’ve used your research project several times.”
“Holy shit.” His words warmed her through better than any hot water bottle could have done. “You’ve really heard of me?” she whispered.
“Of course. Yours is widely acknowledged to be the definitive study for the distribution of early sites.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if surprised she wasn’t aware of it. Slowing the car, he pulled up outside a small house and turned off the engine. “That was over five years ago, though. Have you done any further studies since then? I heard that the recent excavation at Alnwick uncovered two similar combs.”
Her head was whirling. “Um... not really...” She was having trouble getting her brain to work properly. He’d heard of her?
He blew out an impatient breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be quizzing you when you’ve been submerged in the North Sea for five hours. I’m going to take your temperature, and if it’s lower than thirty-five degrees, I’m taking you to hospital. If not, you’re definitely staying the night with me. Come on.” He got out and walked around to her side of the car.
She opened the car door, and immediately started shivering as the cold wind sliced through her wet clothing. She pushed up to her feet, but her legs wobbled, shocking her with how weak she felt, and her turned ankle stung.
Without another word, Hal bent, slid an arm under her knees, and lifted her into his arms. She squealed, expecting him to complain or make a joke about how heavy she was, but he merely shut the car door with his foot and then marched up the path as if she weighed no more than a cushion. She barely had time to notice a low stone wall and small front garden with tidy shrubs before he was unlocking the front door and carrying her in. She would have complained about the fact that he hadn’t asked her permission, but she honestly didn’t think she’d have made it up the path on her own.
At least he hadn’t slung her over his shoulder. She should be grateful for small mercies.
“Hal! God, I never thought you’d get here.” A teenage girl walked into the hallway and stopped dead as she saw them. “Oh!”
“She was stranded by the tide.” Hal lowered Angel’s feet to the floor, although he kept his other arm tight around her. “I found her in the refuge hut on the bridge. She’s probably got hypothermia.”
“Jesus,” the girl said. “It’s bloody cold tonight, too.”
“I know.” Angel’s teeth were chattering so loud they sounded like a set of maracas.
“What can I do?” the girl asked.
“It’s all right.” After checking that Angel was okay to stand, he pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, fished out several notes, and handed them to the girl. “I’ll sort it. Thanks so much, Em. I know I’ve inconvenienced you, and I’m really sorry.”
Em waved a hand and stuffed the notes in her pocket. “You sure you don’t want any help?”
“She needs dry clothes, a hot drink, and a warm bath once she’s thawed a bit,” Hal said. “She’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Well, good luck.” Em shoved her feet in her shoes. “The kids are asleep, but Jamie wanted you to wake him when you got in.”
“Thanks, I will. See you later.” He let her out. The girl gave Angel a lingering curious look before Hal closed the door.
He turned back to Angel. “Come with me.”
He led her down the short hallway and into the small living room. “Wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll only be a minute.” He disappeared out of the room.
Even in her hazy state, Angel could see that the cottage looked old, possibly eighteenth century. Her observant eye noted the whinstone rubble around the fireplace, the low ceilings with wooden beams, and the twelve-pane sash windows. It was probably Grade II listed, she thought. It also had a real fire, flames leaping up from the logs burning in the grate behind the safety guard. Ohhh, the heat was heavenly.
A Christmas tree stood in the corner that had obviously been decorated by his kids, with lopsided tinsel and handmade ornaments that had been colored in with felt pen. Bits of cotton attached to tiny pieces of foil paper told her that the tree had once held Christmas chocolates, but they obviously hadn’t lasted long. A large Rudolph pulling a sleigh sat on the mantelpiece above the fire. It reminded her of the pen she’d used to guide her way to the refuge hut. The battery had eventually run out, but it had almost certainly saved her life.
Thanks, Santa. She sent the prayer up to whomever might be listening.
In less than a minute, Hal was back, carrying a couple of large towels and a pile of clothes. “They’re mine,” he said. “I don’t have any female clothing apart from Brenna’s, and she’s only four so I doubt it would fit you.”
So, there wasn’t a Mrs. Carlson on the scene. Divorced or died? She watched him place the clothes on the sofa and then turn to her hesitantly. “You’re welcome to get changed in the bathroom,” he said, “but I thought you’d rather dry off in front of the fire.”
“Okay.”
He had a thermometer in his hand. “Here.” He held it up. “As I said, if it’s lower than thirty-five degrees, you’ve got hypothermia and I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Rectal is more accurate,” she said absently. She was sure she’d read that somewhere.
He raised his eyebrows. “Let’s start with the mouth. I don’t know you well enough yet to try anything else.”
She blinked and would have blushed if she wasn’t frozen. Taking the thermometer, she placed it in her mouth. They watched each other while they waited for it to beep. His lips curved up a little at the corners, and she dropped her gaze to her feet. She could barely feel them.
Please, Santa, don’t let me have hypothermia. I want to stay here.
It beeped, and Hal took it out of her mouth. “Thirty-five-point-one,” he said wryly. “Wow, you escaped that by a whisker. All right, I’ll go in the kitchen and make you some soup. Is tomato okay?”
“That would be lovely,” she said, still shivering.
He met her gaze for a moment, his blue eyes bright in the firelight. A warm tingle ran down her back, although that could just have been her spine defrosting. Then he gave a brief nod. “Shout when you’re done,” he said, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
She stared after him for a moment, then looked down at the pile of clothes. He’d left her a pair of cotton boxer-briefs, a T-shirt, some track pants, a sweater, a couple of pairs of socks, and three blankets.
Well, she had no option, and the sooner she was out of her wet clothing, the sooner she’d stop shivering. Moving quickly, she stripped off her sweatshirt, then struggled out of her jeans, exhausting herself in the process. Finally, she took off her bra and panties, dropping them all in a sodden heap onto the stone hearth.
She wrapped herself in one of the thick towels and stood in front of the fire, unable to stop shivering. She had to get the clothing on soon or Hal was right—she’d end up in hospital. Her fingers bent stiffly, and she couldn’t even feel her feet. Forcing herself to move, she dried her skin briskly, then pulled on the boxer-briefs, track pants, T-shirt, sweater, and the pair of thin socks followed by the thick pair. Everything was way too big, but by that stage she didn’t care.
Walking to the door, she opened it and then called out, “All done.” She placed her boots by the fire to dry. Then, folding herself in one of the blankets, she curled up on the sofa.
