Walking out of the tent, heading toward the keep, King Olaf stopped him. “Where do your allegiances lie, Steven?”
“With truth and justice.”
“Even if it goes against your betrothed’s family?”
Now would be a good time for him to bring up the betrothal, but he hesitated for some reason. “You must be fair. If Hogar was blameless, what harm is there in hearing Brodir?”
King Olaf sneered, but at least he did nothing to prevent the hearing. For now, leastways.
Just then he noticed some of the entertainers arriving for this evening’s after-dinner amusements . . . jugglers, musicians, and acrobats. Oh. My. Gods! There was Rita, wearing a tunic and braies, doing a series of front flips, six in a row after a running start, contorting her body in a manner that should be physically impossible. The acrobats that he had hired watched her closely, then attempted to do the same, most of them failing after two flips.
“Is that the strange sea wench that you rescued?” King Olaf asked.
Steven jerked to attention. He thought the king had gone on ahead of him.
“Yea, that is Ree-tah.”
“Why is she dressed like a man?”
How would I know? “Because it is more comfortable, I suppose.”
“ ’Tis scandalous.”
If only that were the most scandalous thing she does! He shrugged. “The customs are different in her country.”
“And what country would that be?”
“America.”
“Ah. Is that not the country just discovered by Erik the Red?”
He nodded hesitantly, wary of where this conversation was headed.
“Will she be entertaining us this evening?”
I sincerely hope not.
“I understand that she thinks we Vikings stink, and that she teaches your women wicked songs and wanton dances. I understand she is your mistress.”
Steven narrowed his eyes at the king. Someone here at Norstead had a big mouth. First reporting to Brodir, then to the king. He did not like spies in his midst. Not one bit.
“Rita is protected by my shield. If you have any complaints about her, bring them to me. Otherwise, watch what you say. King or not, you cannot malign her without maligning me.”
“You do not speak as a betrothed man, Steven.”
“Well, mayhap that is because I do not consider myself a betrothed man.”
The king bristled, sputtering with outrage.
And he was the one stomping toward the keep then, knowing this was not the time or place for this conversation. Not when he was so boiling angry.
Just before he entered the back door of the keep, he turned and saw that Rita now had a bow and arrows in hand and was walking toward the competition area. Nay, nay, nay!
“Oslac!” he yelled, seeing his comrade coming up behind him. “Go grab the wench and lock her in the bedchamber until I have a chance to talk to her.”
“With pleasure.” Oslac grinned at him. “Shall I tell her to remove the tunic and braies afore you arrive to talk to her?”
“Not unless you want a carrot chop to your manparts.”
“Uh-oh! Methinks someone is getting grumpy again. Do you know what the left nut said to the right nut . . . you know the nuts betwixt your legs?”
“Oslac! Not now!”
“The one nut told the other nut, the lackwit in the middle thinks he is sooo hard.”
“What is he talking about?” King Olaf wanted to know.
“Nothing important.”
“Steven needs some cheering up,” Oslac explained.
“Why?” Olaf wanted to know. “Is there something I should know about afore I welcome him to my family?”
“Well—” Oslac began, still grinning.
“Enough!” Steven turned to Oslac. “On second thought, leave Ree-tah alone. Just tell Geirfinn that she is not permitted to enter any competitions, and that includes archery, spear throwing, swordplay, arm wrestling, bear baiting, horse racing, running, or swimming.”
King Olaf’s eyes went wide at Steven’s implication that a woman would dare try any of those activities. A few sennights ago, pre-Rita, he would have had the same reservations.
When he got to the great hall, he directed King Olaf and other nobles to the high table, and he was about to go speak with Arnstein to make sure everything inside the kitchen was ready to be served when he was approached by one of his neighbors. It was Jarl Brandr Igorsson of Bear’s Lair, located far north of Norstead.
“Steven, I have something important to discuss with you.”
Does not everybody?
“Have you met my wife Joy? Her name had been Joy Nelson.”
He motioned to a beautiful red-haired lady in noble Viking attire, clearly with child, talking to Lady Thora a short distance away. “I would not usually bring my wife so far in her condition, but we heard some things about your visitor, and . . .”
“My visitor?” He sighed. “You mean Ree-tah. Sweet Valhalla. Word must have spread afar that I have a freak here at Norstead.”
“Not a freak,” Brandr said, putting a hand of sympathy on his forearm. “A time traveler.”
Steven was shocked, and he moved back a step. While rumors had traveled about a strange sea siren that he had rescued, even stories about her inventing armpit cream and doing weird dances, no one knew about the time-travel tales except Oslac, and he would not be loose-lipped.
“Do not be alarmed. We can talk later, in private, but for now just let me say one thing.” He pointed to his wife and rolled his eyes. “Female Navy SEAL? Uncle Sam’s WEALS?”
“No way!” Steven said, repeating one of Rita’s favorite expressions.
And Brandr, eleventh-century Viking to the bone, said, “Way!”
Chapter 18
Will you be my new BFF, m’lady? . . .
After being denied permission to compete in any of the games, Rita went off to the side of the palace with more than a dozen young women and children. They were singing and line dancing, some of them laughing so hard they fell on the grass with laughter.
They’d added “The Hustle” and “The Chicken Dance” to their repertoire, but their favorites were still “Achy Breaky Heart” and “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
With every stomp of her foot and every belting refrain of the songs, Rita was letting loose some of her anger and frustration toward Steven. How dare he make love to her when he was engaged to another woman? How dare he even indirectly agree to trading her to a pirate in exchange for his sister? How dare he walk away from her last night without resolving their issues?
And where had he slept, anyway? If he’d been off with some other woman, a Viking bimbo, she was going to be really, really upset. Even more than she was already upset.
She had lots to be upset about, too, and not just the little itty problem of her time travel. When she’d awakened this morning, it was to a roiling stomach, which prompted a quick rush to the chamber pot, where she hurled the contents of her stomach, over and over until there was nothing left. Then, when she’d come downstairs with Sigge, the smell of oatmeal cooking in the kitchen caused another mad rush, this time to the garderobe.
Even more telling, she’d then been famished. In fact, the sviâ didn’t seem quite so horrific. She’d ended up scarfing up a slice of manchet bread oozing butter and honey, a cup of milk, an oat cake, and two slices of rare roast boar.
Then she’d had to pee just about every hour.
And she’d burst into tears for no reason after her last potty trip.
If she didn’t know better, she would think she was pregnant.
In fact, Sigge had turned to her and said, “Methinks you are breeding.”
No kidding!
Which was impossible, since she still had the implant, which should last at least another month or so. Assuming birth control implants traveled well . . . like a thousand years and God only knows how many miles. Well, duh! She’d felt like whacking herself upside the head for that idioc
y in relying on a modern-day device in a Dark Ages setting.
Really, that would be the final icing on her cake if she found herself pregnant to an engaged man a thousand years in the past. Would she ever be able to go home then? Would she want to?
But for now, she wasn’t vomiting, peeing, craving, or crying. She was singing and dancing. Like a lunatic.
That’s when she noticed the small audience they’d garnered. And in the front was Steven, who stood between a tall, dark-haired Viking and a red-haired, pregnant Viking woman. The woman strode right up to them where they were singing and dancing and asked, “Can I join you?”
Huh? “Sure. Why not?” She moved aside to make room for the newcomer.
“My name is Joy . . . Joy Nelson. My husband is Brandr Igorsson from Bear’s Lair. We live north of here.”
Joy Nelson? The name sounded familiar to Rita. She decided that Steven must have mentioned her when talking about all the people who would come to the Althing. “I’ll teach you the dance steps,” she offered.
“That won’t be necessary.” The woman smiled at her and said, “Billy Ray Cyrus, right?”
Rita gasped . . . then fell into a dead faint.
Friends throughout time . . .
Rita awakened to find herself on her bed in Thorfinn’s room, her only company the woman she’d just met. Joy Nelson.
Oh, good Lord! It just came to her. A few years back a WEALS trainee named Joy Nelson had disappeared on a SEALs mission abroad. An explosion or something. Although it had been a covert op, there had been a lot of publicity because one of her brothers had been a POW killed by al-Qaeda the year before, and another brother was an NFL football player. Still was.
Could it be?
Sitting up, she removed the cool, wet cloth from her forehead, handing it to the woman sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her with sympathy. “Time travel?” Rita inquired.
Joy nodded.
“How is it possible?”
“Honey, I’ve been here a year and a half, and I still don’t know why. Well, that’s not exactly true. I believe I was sent here by God . . . I know, presumptuous of me, huh?”
Hey, she’d had similar thoughts.
“Brandr had been in such a dark place. A berserker, he had suffered so much that he needed someone to rescue him. Me.”
“You’re kidding! Everyone thinks I was sent here to lighten Steven’s life. He’s been in such a blue funk following . . . well, lots of things. There are two witches here who think they’re responsible for my time travel, if that’s what it is.”
“Witches, huh?” Joy shrugged. “I prefer to believe in miracles. Godly miracles.”
“Me, too.” Rita swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed next to Joy. “Where is everyone?”
“Steven had to go down to address the Althing. Something about a pirate. He’s very worried about you. In fact, he didn’t want to leave your side until I assured him I would stay until he returned.”
“Don’t be fooled. He’s a jerk.”
“Aren’t they all? At times.”
“I only got a glimpse of you with your husband. You seem very happy.”
“I am.”
“I guess you had no choice but to stay here.”
“I had a choice. At least, I told JAM to try to go back to the future without me.”
“JAM was here?” Rita wasn’t sure how many shocks she could take in one day.
“Yes. Oh, my goodness! If you know him, that must mean he got back safely. I’m so glad to hear that. We weren’t sure the time travel could be reversed.”
She put a hand to her aching head. “So, I could go back if I wanted to?”
“Uh. I’m not sure. All I know is that in my case . . . and JAM’s . . . our portal to the past was through Hedeby, a Viking trading town that is now located in Germany. It’s where my last mission took place. He planned to hang around there in hopes that something would pull him back. Apparently, it did. I suspect he prayed a lot.”
They smiled at each other, knowing about JAM’s priestly past.
“He’s in love with Kirstin Magnusson.”
“Is he? That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to hear all the news from the future. How’s Obama doing as president? Are Brad and Angelina still together? Who won on American Idol? No, wait. There’s probably been another Idol season since I left. I’m sure the show will go on and on as long as Randy, Simon, and Paula are around. What’s the latest computer gizmo? Anyone interesting on the SEAL teams these days? Is Cage still there?” Tears filled her eyes then and she asked hesitantly, “Do you know anything about my brothers? How did they react to my ‘death’?”
Rita told her as much as she could, and Joy was as incredulous as the rest of the country over Paula Abdul’s being dumped and the boom in e-books triggered by Amazon’s Kindle. Plus, the crash in the economy. Then Rita mentioned the fact that Joy’s brothers had gone suddenly mum on the talk show front several months after her “death.” She assumed now that it was because JAM had reported to them. That made her feel better.
“I’m really confused, though,” Rita said. “Are you saying that if I go to the spot where I arrived here that I can go back?”
“No, I don’t think it’s as simple as that. I believe it has something to do with destiny . . . celestial destiny . . . but also choice. You have to believe that you would be better off . . . that destiny would be better served . . . by your return to modern times. It’s really very simple, in the end.”
“Not so simple in my case.” Rita put a hand over her belly.
“You’re pregnant?”
“I think so, despite my birth control implant. It’s early days, but the signs are there. Wish I had a pregnancy test.”
“That does change things,” Joy remarked. “Whatever you decide to do, I suspect it should be soon. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
Just then, the door swung open. Didn’t anyone knock here?
In strode Steven, who ignored Joy and picked Rita up, hugging her. “Are you unwell? I have been so worried. Was it bad fish? Or some other malady? Should I fetch the Arab healer from Birka? Can you walk? Should I carry you?”
“No, no, no, no, no, in answer to your questions. Why do I need to go anywhere?”
He held her at arm’s length, and she saw the worried expression on his face.
“Uh-oh!” she and Joy both said at the same time.
“King Olaf wants to meet you. At dinner tonight. And he has ordered you to appear before the Althing council on the morrow. He wants you to wear your mermaid garment.”
Women! Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them . . .
Rita was behaving very strange. Even stranger than usual.
By that evening, she had said the word “No!” to him more times than he could count.
No, she would not attend the dinner.
No, she would not sit at the high table.
No, she would not wear the mermaid garment.
No, she would not talk nicely to the king.
No, she damn well would not appear before any heathen council comprised of men only.
No, she would not show her pant-hes to the noble ladies visiting here at Norstead.
No, she would not sing and dance to entertain one and all. Actually, he had vetoed that one, as well. He did not want her turning men lustsome with her sexy moves.
No, she would not let him within an arm’s length of her, even to help her dress.
And there were other strange things.
Every time he turned around she was running for the garderobe to relieve her bladder. It was probably just an excuse to avoid his company. Still . . .
And weeping! For a woman who claimed never to cry, her eyes were leaking water like a broken rain barrel.
Lady Igorsson, Brandr’s wife, constantly shot daggers at him with her eyes, for what crime he was not sure. She’d probably heard about his supposed betrothal.
Brandr kept hinting to him that his wif
e had time-traveled, too. More than that, it seemed that Lady Igorsson had been a wheel, just like Rita, one of those female seals, for Thor’s sake!
He tried to make sense of it, to no avail.
But, leastways, when Rita had adamantly refused to don the black skin apparel, he had forced her to wear one of Luta’s more precious garments with a threat of the thrall collar. She wore a white, finely pleated, long-sleeved gunna, or shift, covered with a sky blue apron embroidered with silver thread on all the edges and connected at the shoulders with highly embossed gripping beast brooches. From her ears dangled sapphires that matched her sparkling eyes.
In silence, they left the bedchamber and walked down the stairs to the great hall.
“You look beautiful,” he told her.
“Bite me!” she replied.
He was fairly certain she did not mean that literally.
“Are you wearing deodorant? You smell like lavender. Can I smell your underarms?”
“Only if I can break your nose.”
Now they were approaching the dais where two dozen notables were already seated, including a scowling King Olaf and a red-eyed Isrid. Brandr and Joy were there, as well. Rita would not have come otherwise.
The hum of conversation died down as they passed through the great hall’s center aisle. Her short hair was attracting many comments.
“I hate you for making me do this,” she said in an undertone, though her chin was raised high.
“No one is picturing you naked,” he assured her. “I warned them not to.”
“Idiot.”
He smiled. If she was insulting him, it meant she was getting back to her old self.
“Is that King Olaf up there? The one with red hair who is scowling at me?”
“It is. Behave yourself, Ree-tah.”
“I don’t have to bow down to the old fart, do I?”
He groaned. “Please, do not call him that.”
“And that must be your sweet, virginal fiancée. How sweet! Oh, no! It looks like she’s been crying. What did you do to her?”