“ ’Twas a demented idea to begin with, his wanting to become a Navy SEAL. Did he not learn from his Uncle Jorund how hard the fighting life can be? Why could he not be content to be a farmer, as I was most of my life, or a vintner as I am now? ’Tis a good life. Bloody hell, even his brief stint as a smoke jumper putting out forest fires was less nerve-wracking than this.”
“He has to find his own way, honey,” Angela said, reaching up to kiss him fondly on the cheek. Ten years they had been wed now, and he loved her as much or more than when he’d first seen her. In truth, that was what he wished for all his children—love.
She looped her arms around his neck and smiled, as if having read his mind. “You always said that your grandmother believed every man had a woman he was destined to love. Maybe Torolf has finally found his destiny, and he has been too busy to think of us.”
“Dost think so?” Magnus asked, hope ringing in his voice. “Yea, that is what it is. Torolf’s destiny has finally caught up with him.”
Chapter Thirteen
When brothers become a bother …
By the time the security specialists, the police, the FBI, a private detective, telephone reps, and Lillian had left her apartment late that afternoon, Alison was ready to pull out her hair … or what little her brother had left.
“This was not necessary, Ian,” she insisted, fixing herself a cup of herbal tea—the soothing-the-nerves kind. Security lighting that would make Lillian’s residence resemble a Wal-Mart parking lot, a new unlisted telephone number and caller I.D., triple-bolt locks, a movement-detection system … holy moly, she feared entering her own apartment. She wouldn’t be surprised if Ian had called in Henry Lee to double check for fingerprints.
Meanwhile, Ian was chowing down on a plateful of Lillian’s white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. “Yes, it was necessary. And before you protest that you can take care of yourself, I’m aware of that. But I’m still your brother. And by the way, thanks for the wallet, even if my birthday’s not till tomorrow.”
She made a face at him.
He grinned at her.
“Listen, Allie, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. I can take care of myself, too, but the title for my home in San Diego is listed under an alias, I use a secure cell phone only when in my home, and I have protective devices throughout the structure. Doesn’t mean I’m a scaredy-cat. It means I’m smart.”
She exhaled with disgust. “You did all that stuff when you were an active SEAL working on covert antiterrorist ops. Hiding your identity and location was essential then to keep the tangos from infiltrating intel in this country.”
“It still is essential. When are you gonna learn? You are a Navy officer with security clearance to a military base. You are the daughter of an admiral and sister to a SEAL, a pilot, and a midshipman living on important Naval Academy grounds. Hell, those Middle East terrorists whose plot was thwarted by David’s team five years ago may still be looking for revenge, and what better way to get it than through his fiancée? Or me.”
He blinked several times to stem the tears that welled in his eyes. Sometimes Alison forgot that Ian had been on that Lebanese op, as well … the only SEAL survivor. Once he got his emotions under control, he continued, “You are a potential target, whether you like it or not, whether you ever become a SEAL yourself.”
He was probably right, but she’d heard the lecture many times before. “Go home, Ian. I need to take a nap for fifteen hours or so … until tomorrow at least … to recover from you.”
He still grinned. Then his face went sober. “Are we going to talk about you and Magnusson?”
“No, we are not. Definitely not.”
“You are treading dangerous waters, sis.”
“Professionally or personally?”
“Both.”
“Let me just say one thing on the subject, then drop it. It’s been five years since David died. I haven’t been involved with anyone in all that time. Not one single man. I just haven’t been interested. If I’ve finally found a man who catches my eye … well, would you deny me that?”
“Does it have to be a subordinate? Does it have to be the goofball of SEAL Class 500? Does it have to be the number-one splinter in my behind?”
She shrugged. “I certainly didn’t choose him.”
“Can’t you unchoose him?”
“Unchoose?” She laughed and grabbed for one of the sinfully delicious cookies. She sighed and closed her eyes with delight.
“Yeah, unchoose him.”
“Don’t make too much of this thing with Max. Just because a girl, or woman, surrenders occasionally to the temptation of a cookie, it doesn’t mean she is dumb enough to suddenly maintain a steady diet of sweets.”
“That’s a helluva analogy, sis. Some women have been known to let themselves go because they get addicted to sugar.”
She laughed. “You’re right. It was a bad comparison. Not to worry, though. I can control my appetites.”
“Oh, God, I wish you hadn’t said that. You’re starting to scare me. Surely it hasn’t gone so far that you can’t end it here. Call it a blip on your hormone screen and move on to someone more suitable. A different cookie, so to speak.”
Her eyes went hard. No longer in sugar heaven or amused by the analogy game, she said, “Lay off, big brother. I’m a big girl. It’s my life. Whether I make the right choices or mistakes, they’re mine to make.”
“Oh, shit! It’s too late, isn’t it? You now have a sugar craving.”
Alison feared that was true. But then she smiled to herself. She couldn’t wait to indulge again.
If wishes were fishes, they’d all be whales …
Ragnor had been on San Clemente Island for one sennight, engaged in war games. Thor’s teeth! War was too serious a business to call it a game, but that was what these lackwitted military men did here.
He now knew how to shoot a rifle at both a stable or moving target with some precision. That was fun.
He now knew how to plant an explosive device that blew away everything within five hides, including buildings, trees, birds, and human eardrums. That was fun.
He now knew how to employ escape-and-evade and search-and-rescue tactics at night, with a team of instructors and other sadists hot on his heels. That was fun.
He also now knew how it felt to be captured by the enemy, subjected to endless grilling questions, forced to live with one’s own less-than-aromatic unwashed body, squeezed into a small bamboo-cage prison too small for a grown man to stand upright, and nigh starved to death, except for eating roots and loathsome grubs, which did not taste like chicken no matter what anyone said. That was not fun.
The only thing that could be worse, in Ragnor’s opinion, would be jumping out of sky machines called arrow-planes and floating to the ground under canvas tents, which was to be an upcoming “evolution” for the SEAL trainees. Demented, that’s what it was. He chose not to think about it, lest he shiver in his boots … an ignoble thing for a Viking to do.
They were seated in a small building waiting for a large motoring boat to take them, and a large number of other teams, back to Coronado. He’d tried to call Alison on her tell-a-fone before they left the base, but he kept getting a message that her number had been disconnected. Her brother Ian, who’d been along on the trip-from-Nifhelm, had told him to stop worrying about her, that she was in safe hands now. Hah! As if that would reassure him! The chieftain had also told him to bug off where his sister was concerned. He’d had the poor sense to tell the chieftain where he could put that bug, which had earned him several dozen more running punishments. By the time this time-travel nonsense was over, Ragnor was going to have limbs of steel … and a very nice arse, too.
“You’re muttering to yourself again. And smiling,” Cage pointed out. Cage sat next to him on a long bench. On his other side were Cody and Sly. Across the aisle from them were JAM, Flash, Pretty Boy, and F.U.
“I wish I was back in Loo-zee-anna, swimming in the bayou, catchin
g a few crawfish, scarfing down a bit of my grandma’s gumbo. A little joie de vivre, Cajun style. Nothing fancy, just the slow, easy, uncomplicated life. Of course, if you wanna throw in a Southern belle with hot pants as well, I wouldn’t object.” That was Cage speaking, of course.
“I wish I was walking down Forty-second Street in Manhattan, breathin’ in all the smells and sounds of the Big Apple.” Sly lived in a place that was alternately referred to as a man’s hat or an apple. What a country!
“Me, I wish I was in Nashville, at a Toby Keith concert,” Flash called over to them. “Man, I love that guy’s singin’. He’s a man with an attitude. Doesn’t hurt that he likes us guys in the military. ‘How do ya like me now?’ ” That last was sung as Toby Keith presumably did.
“Nah!” Cody said. He and Flash were always squabbling over their preferences in music. Bloody hell, till he’d landed in this mad country, Ragnor hadn’t known there were different kinds of music to pick from. Even now, he could not care. It was all just loud, in his opinion. “Better I be back in Asbury Park, cruisin’ the beaches for chicks,” Cody continued, “maybe lucking out with an impromptu Springsteen concert at the Stone Pony. Yeah, a little brew and The Boss, that’s the ticket.”
F.U., who was known as an extreme sports enthusiast, said, “I’d love to be in Wyoming, skiing down Mount Moran’s Skillet Glacier.”
Vikings skied, too, but only when the snow was so high there was no other way to get from here to there, like from the great hall to the privy on a cold winter day. Not Ragnor’s idea of a grand fantasy.
“Or mountain climbing—I wouldn’t mind that either,” F.U. added. “The north face of the Grand Tetons … man oh man, that is heaven on earth.”
Hah! Ragnor had climbed more than a few mountains, usually when attempting to chase some bothersome, land-grabbing band of Danes who’d dared invade his land. ’Twas not an activity he would willingly seek out.
Pretty Boy’s wish was pretty straightforward. Being a former race-car driver, he said, “Just one more time I’d like to compete in the Daytona Five Hundred.”
JAM had a totally different view of what he’d like to be doing. “I’m thinking about getting engaged.”
“Oh, jeez! JAm’s got a bad case of the hornies, but he’s too guilt-ridden by all that Catholic teaching to do anything about it outside of marriage,” Sly said. “You’re not a Jesuit anymore, son.”
JAM smiled, not at all offended. “I never was an actual Jesuit. I attended seminary, but never took holy orders. Besides, it’s not my religious background that makes me think about getting engaged. I’ve known Laura forever. She’s an elementary school librarian in Los Angeles. I love her.” He shrugged as if that said it all.
“Well, don’t tell the brass about getting engaged,” Pretty Boy advised.
JAM frowned with confusion. “There’s no rule against being engaged or married in SEALs.”
“No rules, per se, but if the Navy wanted you to have a wife, they would have assigned you one. What they don’t know at this point, before you graduate and are deployed to a team, is your business,” Pretty Boy said. “My opinion only.”
Several of the others nodded, apparently sharing his opinion.
“How ’bout you, cher?” Cage asked him. “What’s yer wish?”
Without thinking, Ragnor said, “I wish I was back in the Norselands, in my own time.”
For some reason, they all turned on him with shock.
“Not that I believe all that time-travel crap, but why would you want to live in such primitive conditions?” Cody asked.
“Some modern inventions I would miss. Like cone-domes. And some of your foods, like cheeseburgers and pizza. But what need has a man for motoring vehicles when a good horse or a fast longship will do in most circumstances? Yea, your bathing rooms are cleaner, with all that flushing and running water, but a privy is a privy, when you get down to it. Besides, I have house carls aplenty to scrub out the garderobes; thus mine are less stinksome than many. You have nice keeps here in Ah-mare-ee-ca, as far as I have seen, but the timber castle I have at Norstead is magnificent, even by your standards. As for battle tactics and weapons, yours are far superior, but when the fields are level, as in sword against sword, I have no need of a repeating rifle.” He could see that everyone was gaping at him as if he’d lost his mind. He must have, to be blathering so. And he hadn’t even mentioned the one thing he would miss if he returned to the past. Alison.
“Mon Dieu, you are scarin’ me,” Cage said, patting him on the arm. “I thought you were gettin’ better with all those tapes you’ve been listenin’ to at night.”
“I am getting better at adjusting to your country, but it does not change the fact that I was born in 983, a very different time from yours.”
“Shit, that would make you about a thousand years old,” Pretty Boy hooted. “You do age well, buddy.”
“I want to know how he manages to get his pecker up after all these years,” F.U. chimed in. “And without Viagra even.”
“So horniness doesn’t go away with time, eh?” JAM asked, an appropriate question since they’d just teased him about being horny in love.
“You ever meet Attila the Hun?” Cody teased, bent over with laughter.
“I believe Attila the Hun was a bit before my time.”
“How ’bout Genghis Khan?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“I didn’t think anyone was before your time, except perhaps Jesus,” Flash offered.
“I have met Leif Ericsson, though. The Viking who supposedly discovered your country. A more arrogant Norseman there never was. He probably claimed to have invented sex, as well.”
“You are a piece of work, Max,” Flash said with a grin. “And you say it all with a straight face.”
“You can all make jest at my expense. Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves. But know this: I ne’er believed in time-travel afore either … until it happened to me. Remember that move-he Starman that you told me about, Cage, where a man from another plan-hat arrived here?”
“He’s talking about that old Jeff Bridges movie where an alien lands in Colorado and impregnates a modern woman,” Cage explained. “Oh, Dieu, you didn’t knock up Lieutenant MacLean already, did you?” Cage asked in horror.
Whaaat? Where did that idea come from? Ragnor shivered with horror at even the hint of his impregnating a woman in the midst of all his other turmoil. Shades of his father! “Would you all stop interrupting?” Ragnor said with exaggerated disgust. “What I was trying to say is, if an alien is possible, why not time-travel?”
“Max, Max, Max!” Sly shook his head sadly at him. “That movie was fiction … make-believe … not real life.”
“And you, JAM,” Ragnor persisted. “With all your religious studies, surely you believe in miracles, don’t you?”
JAM’s face flushed, which was remarkable for a dark-skinned person such as he. “Yeah, I believe in miracles.”
“So … what? You’re a friggin’ miracle?” Cage wanted to know.
It was Ragnor’s face that heated up with embarrassment now. “That’s exactly what I think I am. A friggin’ miracle of a time-traveler.” He burst out laughing.
Until the chieftain walked into the building and came up to loom over all of them.
“Dum-dee-dum-dum,” F.U. sang in an undertone.
“Magnusson!” the chieftain bellowed. Did the man ever talk in a normal tone of voice? He made an abrupt signal with his thumb, indicating he wanted Ragnor to follow him to the back of the room.
“Uh-oh! What did I do now? Are you going to make me run up and down the length of this room? Or have you changed your mind about meeting my sister Madrene?”
The chieftain looked as if he’d like to hit him.
“Have I mentioned that Madrene resembles a cross between two famous women whose pictures I have seen on various SEAL lockers. A bit of Faith Hill and Pamela Anderson,” he lied.
The chieftain’s jaw droppe
d open before he had a chance to catch himself. He was interested, despite himself, Ragnor could tell.
“Shut your trap,” the chieftain said bluntly.
“She is tall and blond and beautiful like Faith Hill, but she has two of Pamela’s attributes, if you get my meaning.” Madrene would kill him if she ever heard him describe her thus. He was not about to mention Madrene’s shrewish disposition or the fact that she would as easily wallop a man as kiss him.
His SEAL trainee friends laughed uproariously as they blatantly eavesdropped on his and the chieftain’s conversation.
“Shut … the … fuck … up!” Ian said. He was not laughing.
When they got to the back of the room, the chieftain told the two instructors there to go to the front, giving them some privacy. Then he sliced Ragnor with a glare intended to intimidate, which intimidated him not in the least. “Sit,” Ian ordered.
They both sat down, and Ragnor started to ask him about Alison, whether he had heard from her, whether there were any more stalking calls, but the chieftain put up a hand. “I have a few things to say to you. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“I have a few—”
“Did I give you permission to speak?”
“Nay, but—”
“Are you in love with my sister?”
“Huh? I hardly know your sister.”
“That’s what I thought. Just a notch on your sword, Viking, right?”
Ragnor drew himself up straight. “Do not dare to speak for me. Chieftain or not, you have no right to misspeak me. You asked about love … an emotion I have ne’er experienced afore, so I cannot say for sure how it feels. I do know that your sister is my destiny.”
“Destiny? What kind of bullshit is that?”
He shrugged. “I cannot explain it. I just sense that Alison and I were meant to be together.”
“And the sex just happened to take place along the road to your destiny.”
“That is correct. I am pleased that you understand.”
“You kumquat! I don’t understand anything. How my sister could be interested in a goofus like you. How you managed to make her acquaintance, let alone an acquaintance with her bed sheets. How you even remotely think there’s a chance of a future between a SEAL trainee and an admiral’s daughter.”