The priest pondered for several moments, then said, "I will tell you the same thing I tell my parishioners on many subjects: God can be stern, but more than anything, he is a loving father. He wants what is best for us. He wants us to be happy, within his rules. And if the best thing for us requires flexibility, bending the rules on occasion, I cannot believe that God would be offended. Mostly our actions should not hurt others. So, in my humble opinion, when you must question whether some decision is right or wrong, ask yourself if anyone will be hurt."
"In other words," Magnus interpreted, "this is a decision between me and God."
"Precisely."
Magnus stood up, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"One other thing, my son…"
"Yea."
"If my instincts are correct, and you are headed in the direction I think you are, I would suggest your taking vows of a different sort."
"And those would be?" Magnus smiled broadly. He was in a cheery mood now that the priest had given him a dispensation of sorts from his vow.
"Wedding vows."
Magnus's smile disappeared.
Oh, Lord, spare me from the fury of a Norseman…
It was nine o'clock on the second night since Angela had left the Blue Dragon. Only a day and a half, but she missed everyone miserably—not just her grandmother, as usual, but all nine of the "Viking" children, each in his or her own way, and most especially Magnus, the most endearing of all to her. The only way she'd been able to handle her loneliness was to bury herself in work. As a result, she'd just returned from the office with a briefcase loaded with "homework."
That was when she heard a loud banging on her door.
Looking through the peephole, she saw nothing but the chest of a very tall man. Uhoh! She knew only one person who was that tall. Magnus.
How did he get here?
How did he manage to get past her doorman?
Had something happened back at the Blue Dragon… something so bad it required personal delivery of the news? Oh, God! Oh, God! Please don't let it be Grandma… or one of the kids.
Quickly she opened the door. It was open only a crack when Magnus shoved it wide. With barely a glance in her direction, he stormed past her and into the living room, leaving her to close the door. Was it ominous that he was back to wearing his Viking attire—wide-belted tunic and cross-gartered ankle boots? The only thing missing was his sword.
"Magnus! Is something wrong at the Blue Dragon? Is someone hurt?" Angela followed him into the living room, where he was pacing like a caged animal. He'd placed an old overnight bag of her grandfather's on the floor. He slammed the leather fanny pack that Grandma had bought him several days ago onto the coffee table. It looked as if he was planning an extended stay. "How did you get here?"
"I paid a friend of Juan's to drive me here. In his Jeep. My ears are still ringing from the heavy iron music on his raid-he-oh." He cast her such a look of hostility that she reeled. "Nothing is wrong at the Blue Dragon, and no one is hurt… except me."
"You? You're hurt? Have you been to a doctor?"
He waved away her concern. "Not that kind of hurt."
Reaching for his fanny pack, he unzipped it and asked her in a cool voice, "Have you ever heard of birthing control, Angela?" Before she had a chance to answer, he held up a very long strip of foil packets. Condoms. At least two dozen of them.
She tilted her head to the side in question. "Of course I've heard of birth control. Who hasn't?"
"I have not."
"Oh, come on, Magnus. Everybody over the age of puberty, and even those younger, have heard about birth control—pills, IUDs, injections, the works."
"I have not," he repeated. If looks could kill, the one directed at her then would have done just that.
"Magnus, I don't understand any of this. Why are you so angry? Why are you pretending to be unaware of stuff that is common knowledge everywhere in the world?"
Instead of answering her question, he asked, "Do you take pills that prevent conception?"
She nodded. Even though she hadn't been sexually active for a long time, it was a habit she had never dropped.
He appeared to breathe a sigh of relief, despite his continuing fury. "I cannot believe that you have tortured me these past few days with all that half-sex nonsense when we could have had whole sex anytime."
"I thought you liked the way we fooled around," she said, more than a little bit hurt at his criticism. "You said you were satisfied with almost-sex."
"I lied. Or else I was muddle-brained with frustration." He arched an eyebrow at her sardonically. "I like half-sex. I love whole sex."
"But what difference does it make? You took a celibacy vow. That was why we couldn't have sex."
"Are you really that lack-witted, lady? I took the vow because I did not want to have more children."
"Why didn't you just practice birth control?"
"Aaarrgh!" he said, pulling at his own hair, which was tied back into a queue. "How could I practice what I did not know existed?"
"You're really confusing me, Magnus." And, frankly, scaring me a bit, too.
"Do men use these cone-domes"—he shook the foil strip in her face—"at the same time their women take birthing-control pills?"
"Not necessarily… usually only when they are with new partners and they fear the transmission of some disease."
"I have no disease. I tell you that now… just in case you might be interested."
Angela was totally baffled. "Magnus, there have been so many things this past week that have surprised you and your children. Normal, everyday things. And now birth control, which has been around for a very long time all over the universe. How is it possible that you don't know all this stuff?"
"That I will explain to you later. It is an unbelievable story, one I just learned about yestermorn, but I have a more important task to take care of now." He undid his belt and sat down on the couch to remove his boots. Then he stood and drew his thigh-length tunic over his head. All that was left was his jockey shorts.
Be still, my heart. If Magnus decides not to take an acting job, he can always model underwear. He'd do Michael Jordan out of a job any day. "Wh-what important task?"
"Tupping." He was already moving toward her on the other side of the room, and there was a determined glint in his eyes.
Tupping. I know what that crude, archaic word means. I also know what its vulgar modern counterpart is. Should I be offended? Nah. Maybe later. "But what about your vow?"
For the first time since he'd arrived, Magnus smiled, but it was a feral smile, and she was the target. Without thinking, Angela backed up a bit.
"I got a dispensation… sort of."
"From whom?" she asked in a strangled whisper. Magnus had backed her up against the wall and was beginning to unbutton her blouse. The enticing fragrance of Old Spice deodorant enveloped her, along with Magnus's very own male scent.
"The God-man at Saint Agnes," he murmured against her ear, even as he pulled her blouse out of her skirt and off her shoulders, and tossed it aside.
"Father Sylvester?"
"The very one." How he got the words out, Angela had no idea because his eyes were riveted on her breasts, which were encased in a flesh-colored lace bra. As he removed the bra it was obvious he had nonpriestly ideas dancing in his head.
"And he told you that you don't have to obey your celibacy vow anymore?"
"Not precisely."
Magnus shimmied her skirt down her thighs, leaving her in nothing but her panty hose and black pumps. Then he flicked the nipples of both breasts with his thumbs, sort of as an afterthought.
Oh… oh… some afterthought! She tried to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head and asked in as calm a voice as she could, "What, precisely?"
Magnus straightened and looked down at her, a small smile of satisfaction on his face. "The priest said it was a decision that I had to make with God." He inserted the fingers of both hands
in the waistband of his underwear and dropped them nimbly to the floor.
Oh, geez! Oh, boy! Wow!
Magnus was sporting nothing but his two silver arm-rings, as usual, and an erection that was anything but usual.
He grinned and did the same with her panty hose.
The look on his face as he gazed at her was the highest form of compliment.
"And what did you and God decide?"
"Of course, I did not talk to God," he chided her with a playful flick of his fingertips to her chin. "But I did hear a voice in my head… sort of."
She had to smile at that. "And did the voice say, 'Go for it?' "
"In so many words." He returned her smile. "Or mayhap it was wishful thinking on my part. Whatever."
She let her eyes roam downward again, unable to stop looking at the immense erection pressing against her belly.
Noticing the direction of her stare, he ducked his head sheepishly. "Do not expect such a spectacular show all the time, dearling. This one has been building for quite a while."
Oh, good heavens! Is he really calmly discussing the size of his penis with me? But while he is on the subject… "Listen, Magnus, I'm sorry to be a spoilsport here, but it's been a long time for me, and I don't think I can take all—"
Before the words were out of her mouth, Magnus had lifted her off the floor by the waist, parted her dangling legs with his own, and entered her wetness with a surprising surge. To the hilt. I… do… not… believe… this. Apparently she could hold his impressive length and width, after all. Angela felt incredibly full, almost to the point of pain, but her inner muscles shifted and soon accommodated his size.
Meanwhile, Magnus had his head thrown back, and veins were sticking out on his neck. His eyes were closed and his teeth bared and gritted. Down below, he was imbedded in her, but unmoving.
Angela felt like a rag doll, pinned to the wall, bare shoulders to bare buttocks—not by a stickpin, but a spear… a most erotic, welcome spear.
Magnus opened his glazed eyes finally and blinked at her. Then he did the most outrageous thing. He pulled out of her, sank to the floor, and put his face on his arms, which were folded over his bent knees. She'd landed on her feet, but continued to lean back against the wall.
Oh, my God! He's changed his mind. He doesn't want me after all. Is it my body? Now that he's really seen me naked, I'm probably not that desirable to him. "Magnus? What's wrong?" She barely got the words out, so empty and bereft and, yes, still very aroused did she feel.
Without looking up at her, he said, "I came here in anger. I just realized that I do not want to make love to you in anger. Not the first time. Not ever."
If I were a squealing kind of girl, I would be yelling "Yippee!" about now. Angela's heart lurched at his words. Trying for a lighter tone, she asked, "How long do you think this anger will last?"
He turned his face on his arms without raising his head. "Why?"
Dumb, dumb, dumb! Does he really need to ask that? "Because I'm feeling a bit lonely and vulnerable standing here like a naked vestal virgin."
"Naked vestal virgin, eh?" Magnus had raised his head and a small smile was twitching his beautiful lips. "Exactly what are you trying to say, wench?"
"I want you." That was certainly blunt.
"Well, why did you not say that afore?" He threw his hands in the air with mock disgust. Then he stretched out one arm, gesturing for her to sit down on the carpet beside him. With an arm looped over her shoulder, he kissed the top of her head and said, "We make quite a pair, do we not?"
"Without a doubt. The vestal virgin and the virile Viking."
He laughed, but then he rose smoothly to his feet, leaned down just as smoothly and lifted her into his arms, and began to carry her toward the bedroom. Just before he laid her on the bed, he whispered against her ear, "I hope you slept well last night, sweetling, because there will be no slumber this night."
Angela thought that was the best offer she had had in a long, long time.
An-tic-i-pa-tion…
Magnus looked down at Angela, who lay naked on her bed, awaiting him, and knew he was blessed. If this was his destiny, he welcomed it.
"You are so beautiful," he said, and he meant it, too. Some men liked women with more flesh on their bones, but not him. Her body was perfect in terms of curves and slimness—not too skinny and not too fat. And he loved her round breasts with their rosy peaks, just the right size for his big hands. He also was partial to her indented navel… and her raven black woman curls… and the mole above her kiss-some red lips… and the arch of her foot… and her long, long legs. Plus, he liked the way she was not embarrassed by his perusal of her body.
"You are beautiful, too," Angela said.
Well, of course, I am. I am a Viking, am I not? He was about to remind her of his big ears, but stopped himself. It pleased him that his appearance pleased her, even if he lacked the proper humility.
What the future held for them, he had no idea. He still had the time-travel notion to deal with himself, and to discuss with Angela, especially concerning how long he would even be here in this time and this land. For now, all he could control was the present. And he was determined to make their coming together the best either of them had ever experienced. But how was he to do that when his need for her was so out of control?
If he were back home in Vestfold, he would probably take her to the sweathouse, or lay her down on his sensuously soft bed furs, or show her the famous Viking S-spot. That latter could be employed in any culture or time, but he would save that discovery for more advanced sexplay… mayhap later tonight. For now he went over to Angela's high chest to see how he might improvise. With a hoot of, "Oh, ho!" he pulled several silk scarves out of the drawers. Now, these had possibilities.
"Magnus?" she inquired tentatively, drawing his name out slowly.
"Shhh!" he said, and tied her wrists together with one scarf, securing them over her head to the spindle on her bed frame.
"Magnus?" she inquired, more shrilly this time. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to?" he offered. It was as good an answer as any. She probably thinks I am a pervert. Well, I could be, if that is what she wants. Ha, ha, ha! Bloody hell, my brain must be melting from the heat of my excitement if I am laughing at my own unspoken jests. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth to make sure he wasn't smiling and inquired sweetly—or as sweetly as a six-foot-flve-inch Viking with an erection the size of a battle lance could ask—"You are not frightened, are you?"
"No. Just confused. We could have had sex against the wall in the living room, but you stopped because you didn't want to take me in anger. Now you're tying me up, even though you must know I'm willing. Is this some kind of Viking rape-and-pillage fantasy?"
Fantasy? Did she say "fantasy"? Praise the gods! A woman who likes fantasy play. That was what he thought, but what he said was, "Huh?" He was a lack-wit, after all. Then he blundered on: "Oh, why must everyone repeat that rumor about us Vikings? Rape and pillage, rape and pillage. 'Tis just the bad reputation jealous Saxon clerics choose to give us. All I have in mind is a little forceful seduction." Glory be to the saints and goddesses! Where did I think up that one? Forceful seduction, indeed!
"Well, tying someone up is a bit more than forceful seduction, don't you think?"
"Do you want me to untie you?" Please, please, please say no.
"Yes… no… I don't know. I just want you to be aware that you don't have to do this. After all, I am willing."
Talk, talk, talk. Why do women always feel the need to talk? "That is the problem."
"Pardon me. My being willing is a problem?"
Mayhap I should put one of these scarves over her mouth as a gag. Nay, that would not be a good idea. Then I would be unable to kiss her, and I very much want to kiss her. "You are overeager… as am I," he said, pointing to his still-rampant erection. "I am determined to make our first coupling special… I want it to last a good long time… but if I allow you to t
ouch me—and I know that you would if you were unrestrained—the bedsport would be over afore it began. That I cannot allow. I want you begging for completion before I ever enter your body. I want to touch every inch of you, most especially your secret places. I want you so out of control for me that I could do anything to you, and you would not protest." Sometimes I am so good I surprise even myself.
A flush covered Angela's face and swept downward. A full-body flush. He took that as a good sign. Yea, smooth as cream on fresh-churned butter, that is how smooth my tongue is betimes.
"Are you sure this isn't about revenge?" she asked in a raspy voice. "For my 'torturing' you this past week, as you put it?"
Revenge? Hmmm. She did put me through hell. She does deserve "punishment" for that. He thought a moment. "Perchance a little bit of it is for revenge… but mostly it is for my lady's pleasure." Did I go too far that time? Too much sweetness can make a person gag.
"Oh, boy!"
Apparently not. "I am no boy."
"Oh, man!"
"That is better. Now, should I tie your ankles to each of the posts at the bottom of the bed?" By thunder, the erotic fantasies that conjures up. But if I am not careful, this cock of mine is going to get so big, just with anticipation, that it will explode afore the main event. "Nay, I do not think that will be necessary," he said with a coolness that he did not know he had in him. "Just one more scarf here." He folded the piece of fabric and tied it over her eyes.
"Oh, I don't know about this, Magnus. I want to see what you're doing."
Since I am not sure what I will be doing, perchance that is not a good idea. There is no battle plan here, dearling. Just me, acting on instinct, and my instincts in the love arts are mighty rusty. He laughed softly. "It will enhance your sense of touch."
"I think it is enhanced enough."
"Nay, not nearly enough." Magnus had never been much into sex games. Simple lovemaking was his style, and it had sufficed well over the years. But it was so very important that he please Angela. He would do anything, try anything to make their time together memorable… for as long as they might have. He hoped he wasn't trying too hard. "Now be still, dearling, and ponder over what I will do next. I will be back shortly."