My Lord Viking (16 page)

     
“I have told you I will be happy to give you what help I can when the time comes for you to leave
Sutherland
Park
.”

     
He released her hand and swore under his breath.
 

     
“What is it, Nils?”

     
Knowing he should say nothing, he explained the vision that had increased his determination to continue on his bizarre journey.
 
He watched her face closely.
 
When he saw her disbelief, he wondered how he could blame her for her lack of faith.
 
The old ways had not been part of
England
even during his time.
 

     
“It must have been a dream,” she whispered when he was finished.

     
“A vision from the gods should not be belittled as a dream.”

     
“True, but...”

     
He cradled her chin in his hand as he asked, “You think the blow to my skull has unsettled my mind?”

     
Pulling away, she came to her feet.
 
“How can I suggest that when
my
mind believes you are here from a time long past?
 
I was not struck, yet I face something that is impossible.
 
I would be a hypocrite to suggest that you had not been visited here in my father’s water pavilion by a Norse god.”

     
“But you cannot believe.”
 
He sighed.
 
“Nor does the rational part of my mind.
 
Yet I am here in this impossible place.”

     
“To complete your vow, and that is what you must do.”

     
He looked up at her.
 
On the beach, he had wondered if she was some sort of dainty
Valkyrja
.
 
Now he suspected she had the heart of one, for she spoke of honor and duty with the certainty of a warrior.
 
“Yes,” he said, waiting to see what scheme she had in mind.

     
“To do that, you must go to
London
.”
 
She counted on the fingers of one hand.
 
“First, you must get well.
 
Second, you must go to
London
where you will have the chance to search for the missing knife.
 
For that, you will need to pass yourself off as someone who belongs in this time and in
England
.”
 
She shuddered.
 
“Your accent is a liability in this time when we are at war.”

     
“At war?”

     
“With the French.”

     
He frowned.
 
“But I thought you said that the descendants of the
Norrfoolk
on the continent won the English throne.”

     
“Almost 800 years ago.
 
Since then, there have been many wars between the French and the English.
 
We have been battling Napoleon for years.”

     
“
This
is the sort of thing I must know if you want someone to believe I am of this island in this year.”

     
“Tomorrow...”
 
Linnea glanced at the shuttered window where no hint of the sun’s arrival could be seen.
 
If Olive had not come to her to prevent Nils from leaving, it could have been hours before they were able to search for him.
 
In that time, he might have been found by someone else who would have deemed him completely mad.
 
“Today...Later today, we will devise a plan to help you do what you must.
 
The first thing you must have is a name.”

     
“I have a name of which I am proud.”

     
“But Nils Bjornsson is not the name of a gentleman to whom the doors of the
ton
will be opened.”

     
“The
ton
?”

     
“The upper classes who meet in
London
each spring to arrange for business and marriages.”

     
“Then I must have another name.”

     
She nodded.
 
“And a title.
 
If you were to claim to be a baron or a viscount—”

     
“These words mean nothing to me.”

     
“They are respected titles, and there are enough men who claim those titles that no one would take note of you never having come to
London
before.
 
If you were a duke or a marquess—”

     
“Again, those are not titles I know.”

     
“What do you know then?”

     
“In my time, your island had a king and his jarls.”

     
“Jarls?”

     
Nils smiled at her bafflement, and she tried not to believe that he was enjoying betwattling her with his strange words.
 
“Forgive me, Linnea.
 
Jarls is the term the
Norrfoolk
use.
 
Earl is what the English say.”

     
“Earl?
 
That title is still in use now, for my father is an earl.
 
You can be the earl of...of...”
 
She tapped her chin as she considered what title he should claim.
 
“
Barrington
.
 
That is close enough to Bjornsson, so you should notice when someone uses it.”

     
“Earl of
Barrington
?”
 
His nose wrinkled.
 
“That name stinks of this island.”

     
“Stinks?”
 
She scowled at him.
 
“You clearly need lessons on how to behave in polite company, Nils.
 
On the morrow, your lessons will begin.”

     
“Such lessons are certain to prove to be a waste of time.”

     
“You have plenty of time to waste, Nils.”
 

     
“A millennium’s worth.”

     
She started to reply, then drew the collar of her wrapper up as if a chill struck her.
 
It had.
 
Just the thought of how Nils had traveled through time unsettled her.
 
Hurrying down the stairs and forcing a smile for Jack who was coming in the door, she did not slow as she went back toward the house.
 

     
A thousand years.
 

     
She could not imagine that length of time, yet Nils had traveled almost all of it to come here.
 
His tales of speaking with half-forgotten Norse gods here in
Sutherland
Park
bothered her almost as much as the idea that he had come so rapidly from the past.

     
And somehow he must find his way back to his own century to take the missing knife to his chieftain.
 
She wondered if he had any idea how he would make such a journey.
 

* * * *

     
Olive shook her head and scowled.
 
This was an expression that was becoming habitual.
 
“My lady, I do not know how you have the patience to deal with
him
.”

     
“Nils is a guest here.”
 
Linnea took the tray her maid held out to her.
 

     
“No guest at
Sutherland
Park
has ever been like
him
.”

     
Wanting to agree, Linnea did not.
 
She was unsure if either Olive or Jack guessed how Nils had come here or from where or when.
 
She had taken great care not to say anything that would reveal the truth.
 
Nils was certain to be as circumspect, because the greatest danger was to him and the completion of his vow.
 

     
Instead of saying what she was thinking, Linnea replied with, “Jack should be here any time now to get the list of items you need from the house.”

     
“How much longer do you think
he
will be here?”

     
“It has been just over a week.
 
His arm should take another four or five to heal, I would think.”

     
“
He
does not need a healed arm to be on his way.”

     
Linnea readjusted the heavy tray.
 
“With a broken arm, he could not defend himself against any knights of the pad.”

     
“What does
he
have that a highwayman would want?”

     
“Whatever he must have had before.
 
Thieves would not know that he had been robbed of everything of value.”
 
She did not add that her real fear was that Nils would encounter Kortsson while still disabled by his broken arm.

     
Olive sniffed, but walked back toward the stairs.
 

     
Linnea sighed.
 
Olive never had been so unforgiving of anyone, but her maid was furious that Nils did not show Linnea the respect Olive believed was her due.
 
Under other circumstances, it would have been amusing to watch Olive stand nose-to-nose with Nils and insist on proper behavior.
 
Nothing about this was amusing.

     
“Good afternoon, Nils,” Linnea said, trying to put a lilt into her voice.
 

     
She did not receive an answer.

     
Puzzled, because usually at this hour Nils would be waiting impatiently for her arrival with his midday meal, she set the tray on the table and went to the screens set in the corner.
 
She called his name in a near whisper, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep.
 
Again she got no response.
 

     
She started to edge away, but heard a low groan.
 
Was he in such pain?
 
She stepped around the screen...and froze, save for her gaze which slipped along the undulating strength of his naked back as he stretched.
 
She should turn around, look away from the bare skin above his waist, save for his sling that concealed his arm band and the gold chain that held the pendant he had called Thor’s hammer.
 
She should have gone back the way she had come, but she could only stare.

     
His bare skin was as bronzed as his face, so she guessed he had seldom worn his tattered shirt when he was aboard his Viking ship.
 
The powerful motion of his muscles revealed that his work in the past had been rigorous.
 
Her breath refused to sift past her lips as she admired his shoulders’ breadth and how those sinews narrowed toward his hips encased in his tight breeches.
 
She should look away.
 
She should, but she continued to watch his easy motions as he stretched and compressed those enticing muscles.
 

     
Was the sheen on his skin perspiration or just its natural warmth?
 
Her fingers rose before she could halt them, reaching out to touch him.