The Last Viking

  Strolling farther, she glanced at a crude worktable set up at the side of the house, above which several papers had been tacked on a makeshift bulletin board.

  Their duties have been organized into work groups, following detailed schedules that Rolf must have printed off from her computer.

  Cutting of planks. Wood shaving and sanding. Cooking. Weaving of wool and animal hair for caulking. Making wood nails. Trough for water soaking of timbers. Drying of skins.

  Huh? What skins? What drying?

  One sheet listed SCA Activities. Wait a minute here. When did the Society for Creative Anachronisms get involved in this project? When she'd asked for their help last month, they'd been uninterested. To her amazement, the schedule listed hands-on workshops, lectures, exhibits and whatnot on such things as Saga Telling: A Skaldic Tradition; Tenth-Century Costume; Quern-Made Bread; Soapstone Crafts; Medieval Fabrics; Viking Handheld Looms; Pennanular Broaches: A Norse Trademark; The Pattern-Welded Sword; Dragon-ships and Sea Wolves. And they were all to be held on her property over the next few months.

  There was a sealed envelope on the table with her name, "Merry-Death," written in almost childlike pencil handwriting. With her heart thudding, Meredith opened it to find a carefully folded sheet of notepaper with only one sentence on it. "I love you." There was also an erasure at the bottom that she was able to decipher—one that Rolf had wisely decided was inappropriate in this circumstance. "Did you buy more mead?"

  Tears filled her eyes. Oh, Rolf, you are going to be a very formidable foe in this battle of wills.

  She forced herself to stop daydreaming and move around the clearing. "Hi, Jerry, Pete, Frank," she called out. Having been in Maine the past three months, she knew many of the students by name.

  "How's it goin', Dr. Foster?" they replied, setting down their axes and wiping their sweaty foreheads with bare forearms. Most of them were shirtless, a fact not missed by a number of female students, whose eyes followed their every movement with appreciation.

  She waved them back to work and watched for a few moments as they engaged in the ancient method of clinker shipbuilding. The boys, all athletically fit, were energetically splitting logs along the radii to create wedge-shaped planks-as many as sixteen from one log-much like the slices from a round cake of enormous height. These "clove boards" would be overlapped to form the sides of the longship.

  "You're home, Aunt Mer," Thea said cheerily as she ambled up to her, a toddler on one hip. The baby wore denim coveralls and the cutest little black-and-white checkered athletic shoes. At Meredith's uplifted brows, Thea explained, "This is Teddy. He belongs to one of the SCA ladies." She pointed to the other side of the clearing, where several women were stirring a huge caldron over an open fire.

  Holy cow! That kettle would hold enough stew to feed an army, which it appeared she was accumulating here. "Dinner?" she asked.

  "Nah. Soap," Thea said. Her niece was wearing a long gown in the Viking style, the white chemise covered with the open-sided apron. Her dark hair was neatly plaited into two braids, and not a speck of makeup marred her perfect complexion. All this was a great backdrop to her nose ring.

  Soap? she mouthed silently. What did soap have to do with the building of a Viking ship? But whoever was responsible for this transformation in Thea deserved a huge hug.

  Unfortunately, or fortunately, she suspected who the big lug was, and no way was she going to risk giving that lug a hug, big or otherwise. Not unless he agreed to stay here in the present or take her with him to the past.

  "Would you mind holding Teddy for a while, Aunt Mer? He weighs a ton. And I hafta go check on the boar. "

  Gladly, Meredith took the child into her arms. He gazed up at her, blue eyes wide with curiosity, thumb stuck in his adorable mouth. Meredith closed her eyes.

  Babies always made her feel this way. Teddy, meanwhile, was tugging on her hair, causing the pins to come loose. He giggled as one side of her upswept hair flopped down. "What boar?" she squeaked out finally, opening her eyes to see Thea eyeing her new hairstyle with amusement.

  "It's not really a boar. There were none in any of the butcher shops we called this morning, can you believe that? Not one single boar! But Rolf said boar tastes similar to Pig. So, we're having a pig roast tonight," Thea announced joyfully. "It's been cooking all day in a pit we dug filled with hot stones and wet leaves. I'm so glad I came here, Aunt Mer. I'm having such a cool time."

  Thea started to walk off, but Meredith grabbed her shoulder with her one free hand. Teddy's sticky fingers were working on the neckline of her cotton knit sweater, stretching it out as far as it would go. "Whoa, Thea, hold on. Where are Mike and Rolf?."

  "They were here till about two o'clock. Then Rolf said he had lots of shopping to do." Thea averted her eyes with those last words.

  "What kind of shopping?" Meredith asked suspiciously.

  "Gee, how would I know?" Thea exclaimed, but she still wouldn't make eye contact.

  Meredith took Thea's chin in her hand and forced her to face her. "What's going on, Thea?"

  "Is it true that you and Rolf are gonna tie the knot?"

  "No!" she said too quickly and too vehemently, her cheeks immediately heating with embarrassment.

  "Rolf said I could be, like, a witness. That's the same as a bridesmaid in a Viking wedding, you know."

  Meredith groaned.

  "Did you see the roses yet?" Thea's voice was hushed with awe.

  Uh-oh! "The... the what?"

  "Roses." Thea pointed to the back of the house.

  "That's, like, the most romantic thing in the whole world. I told Phoebe and Cora in Chicago this morning, and they said it was, like, totally buggin', even better than the time Brad Pitt...

  Thea's chatter droned on, but Meredith had already spun on her heel and was stomping toward the back of the house, the side facing the ocean. Teddy, propped on her hip and hanging on by one hand around her neck, had managed to work his other grubby little hand inside her shirt tugging gleefully till one bra strap broke. The neckband of her shirt had lost its elasticity under his insistent jerking and now hung off one shoulder.

  Thea scurried after her, informing her in a rush, "Oh, and I totally forgot to tell you. Mom got up and took off this morning. She just left a note saying she was, like, called out of town on an emergency. She said she'd be back, but, you know Mom, maybe she will and maybe she won't."

  Who cares what my sister does now? Who cares if this baby turns my clothes to shreds? Who cares if half of Maine is overtaking my yard? I have more important worries.

  Meredith stopped dead in her tracks when she turned the corner. Dozens, literally dozens, of rosebushes had been planted around the patio and the wood foundation of what Meredith feared was going to be a Viking longhouse. The plants were large and small, budded and full-flowered, everblooming and late blooming, long-stemmed and climbing, but already the scent of roses filled the air. And Meredith couldn't stop the tears that overflowed her eyes.

  Teddy took one look at Meredith's tears and began to wail himself. She rubbed his back distractedly till he ceased sobbing and tucked his face sleepily into her neck.

  Meredith scanned her wonderfully transformed backyard. Rolf must have suspected how much the rose fragrance meant to her when he'd entered her bathroom last night. Somehow, he'd known. Oh, God, how she loved him!

  Before she walked away, Thea informed her softly, "Rolf said he wanted you to remember him, forever and ever, whenever you smell roses."

  Meredith sighed.

  "And he said it's your first bride gift."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Let me take Teddy."

  Mike came up to her and took the sleeping child from her arms with an ease that startled her for a young bachelor. Teddy blinked his eyes at the man nestling him onto his shoulder.

  "How ya doin', cowboy?" Mike playfully patted his well-padded rump. Amazingly, her grad assistant was wearing an Oxford collared shirt and jeans and a pair of black-and-white chec
kered running shoes that matched the miniature ones on the boy's feet.

  "Mike," the child murmured contentedly before nodding off again.

  "Do you know Teddy's mother well?" Meredith asked. It was a personal question she wouldn't have asked just a few days ago.

  "Sonja?" Mike squirmed under her scrutiny.

  Meredith glanced off in the distance where a blond-haired woman in Viking attire raised her hand and waved at them before resuming her soap-making demonstration. Meredith remembered her now. Sonja Wareham. A divorcee and new assistant professor. Although she'd only met her a few times at college functions, Meredith recalled her as being very nice. Rather quiet and serious, but definitely nice. Was it Mike's contact with Sonja, who was an active SCA re-enactor, that had gotten the organization involved in the project?

  Mike's ears turned red. "We've dated a few times."

  "Well, well, well," she teased. "Apparently, your taste isn't as atrocious as I thought." Teasing was another thing she'd always avoided with her employees.

  Why? she wondered now. Was her reserve a trait she'd picked up from her parents? The them-versus-us mentality separating people into classes, whether they were lines drawn by intelligence, money, birth, or occupation.

  "Hey, just 'cause I lick my chops over a jelly donut doesn't mean I can't appreciate a bagel once in a while."

  Meredith laughed. "I don't think Sonja would appreciate being compared to a bagel. And by the way, the jelly donut left a message for you on the office answering machine."

  "Oh, that," Mike said, his ears burning redder. "I think she's more interested in Rolf than me."

  Why did that not surprise Meredith?

  "Oh, no!" Mike said. "Rolf's gonna cut out my loose tongue."

  "So, where is the matchmaker from Valhalla?"

  "Out front, unloading the truck." Mike started to walk away.

  "Whoa!" she said to his back. "Where have you two been?"

  His shoulders slumped as he realized he wasn't going to escape so easily. Turning, he asked, "Is it true that you two are gonna get hitched?"

  "No!"

  Mike's blue eyes widened. "Rolf seems to think so."

  "He doesn't listen to me, that's why."

  "Honest to God, Dr. Foster, he's convinced that you re in love with him. I mean, you wouldn't believe all the stuff he bought today because he's so crazy in love. And he thinks—"

  Crazy in love? "Mike, I never said I didn't love him. I do, even though we've only known each other a few days. But I won't marry him." Was she really telling Mike about her intimate feelings? It was so inappropriate. "I won't marry him," she repeated nonetheless.

  "I wouldn't be so sure about that," he muttered.

  "What?"

  "Oh, nothing. Damn, I'd better tell you some of what we did today before you hear it somewhere else and come after my butt."

  She folded her arms over her chest, waiting.

  "Remember when Rolf tried to give you and me his silver arm rings in exchange for money and our help? Well, we both gave them back, but today Rolf insisted I take him to an upscale antiques dealer in Bangor."

  He took a deep breath while he unconsciously rubbed Teddy's back; then he informed her, "He sold one of them for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

  Meredith gasped. "That man is so stubborn. I told him not to do that. Over and over, I told him. But he doesn't listen. I think he's been eating too many Oreos. They're eroding his brain and clogging his ears."

  Mike's mouth twisted with amusement at her vehement response. "The dealer said he'd give him three hundred and fifty thousand for the pair, but he refused.

  And the dealer practically went into a drooling fit over the belt, which Rolf insisted was not for sale under any circumstances."

  "Oh, Mike, he probably could have gotten three hundred thousand for just one arm ring by putting it up for auction at Sotheby's or Christie's."

  "Rolf knows he was lowballed, but he said he didn't have time to haggle. And, man, when it comes to making good use of time, that guy is a black belt shopper."

  "Exactly what did he buy today?" She already knew about the roses, but what else?

  Mike waved a hand airily but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Let's suffice it to say, we've been to jewelry stores, landscapers, car dealers, seamstress shops, furriers, a farm..."

  She groaned, but had no time to press the issue because a loud noise diverted her attention to the side of the house—the side away from the shipbuilding enterprise. With the roar of a revving engine, a flatbed truck was backing up slowly, easing its way past the swimming pool, toward the longhouse.

  "Oh, no! Please, don't tell me—" She jerked around to address Mike and saw that he was already gone. The coward!

  Turning back to the truck, she got her second shock of the day. Well, actually, her zillionth shock of the day. The driver of the truck was none other than Rolf.

  She braced an arm against the house for support.

  The man was a thousand years old. He didn't have a modern identity, except for the fake one Mike had obtained for him, let alone a motor vehicle license.

  Even so, he was driving a... well, practically a semi, for heaven's sake. And it was loaded down with long rectangles of precut sod. Sod? Her eyes shot to the longhouse foundation.

  He wouldn't.

  She gawked at Rolf behind the wheel of the truck.

  He would.

  Cutting the motor, he jumped down from the truck and sauntered over to her. If Meredith hadn't been speechless before, she was now. Wearing Gucci loafers, a white Polo shirt, pleated Ralph Lauren slacks, and, of course, the talisman belt, he was so handsome he made her teeth hurt. A new addition was a small leather fanny pack, probably to hold all his loot. His hair was pulled off his face with a rubber band at the neck, which showed off his deep tan, especially when he favored her with one of his dazzling white smiles.

  "Merry-Death." He greeted her in a husky whisper before lowering his mouth to kiss her.

  Hello! Meredith said in her head. Is anybody home? I'm supposed to be resisting this guy. I'm supposed to be laying down the law. I'm supposed to... oh!

  She averted her face at the last minute, and he kissed

  her neck instead, which didn't bother him at all. Chuckling, he propelled her, body to body, up against the house and nibbled at the curve where a pulse began to thump against his warm lips.

  Who knew the neck was an erogenous zone? Oh, my.

  "You are not building a longhouse, Rolf," she protested on a whimper.

  "Whate'er you say, dearling," he agreed, and then grinned when he got a gander at the stretched neckline of her shirt, which left one shoulder bare. "You have the nicest garments, Merry-Death," he drawled, fingering the edge of the neckline till it slipped even lower. "Will you wear this for me one day with your wanton hose? Or with those sheer pan-tease I bought for you at Victory's Secret?" Meanwhile, his teeth were nipping the curve of her neck.

  "Stop it!" she demanded. "There are people all around here."

  As usual, he heeded only what he wanted. "Was there a strong wind at the college today?" He'd just taken note of her half-up, half-down hair style, and he was smirking.

  "No, I got a new hair stylist," she snapped. "Mr. Ted."

  Over his shoulder she saw Mike, who'd returned after changing his clothes. He still wore jeans and the checkered sneakers but had donned a leather Viking tunic on top, belted at the waist. He was directing some college boys where to unload the sod.

  The sod. Jolted back to the present, she shoved Rolf away. "I am not going to marry you, Rolf. So cut all these seductive moves. Are you listening? I... am... not... going... to... marry... you. " It had been a nonstop refrain of hers the past two days. He'd been unwilling to budge on his plans to leave her eventually; so, she'd been equally resolute in her refusal to marry him. She glared at him now.

  "You are wearing your wanton hose today," he observed, his eyes flashing appreciatively. "For me?"

  She was wearin
g stockings, but she'd deliberately chosen a calf-length skirt and a sedate, short-sleeved cotton sweater. Definitely unwanton. She glared even harder at him. He was filtering her words again.

  "You have lipstick on your teeth," he commented irrelevantly.

  "'What?"

  "Would you like me to lick it off.?"

  She put a forefinger to her front teeth and started to rub till she remembered something. "I'm not wearing lipstick."

  "Oh." He grimaced in one of those it-was-worth-a-shot expressions.

  At her raised eyebrow, he explained sheepishly, "Whilst we were driving home from Bang-whore, Mike regaled me with tidbits from a book he bought. How to Seduce Wenches in Ale-Houses, or some such. That remark about lipstick was one of the lines guaranteed to break the frozen water. Since you were scowling so at me, I figured 'twas worth a try."

  "Mike was telling you how to pick up women in bars?" She laughed. "Take my advice, Rolf Stick to the Viking charm. It'll get you a whole lot farther."

  "It will?" He smiled. "Well, that is what I told Mike."

  "Aaarrgh!" She'd just noticed that Mike and the students were continuing to unload the sod. When he'd come back a few moments ago, she'd been about to order him not to touch the stuff, but somehow she'd gotten distracted. "Put that sod back on the truck, right now. Rolf, I mean it, you're not building a longhouse."

  Mike and the students halted their work and glanced questioningly at RolfHe shrugged. "Whate'er Merry-Death says. After all, 'tis her bridal home." With an exaggerated sigh, he added, "Mister Burgess will be so-o-o disappointed."

  "Mister who? Oh, no! Don't tell me. You're not talking about Frank Burgess, the foundation board member."

  "Yea, that's the one." He beamed. He came to visit this morn."

  "That does it. Now we're going to lose our funding. Frank Burgess is the most cantankerous, short-sighted, hard-to-please, stingy man I've ever met."