My Lord Viking (46 page)

     
Her finger against his lips halted him from saying more.
 
He heard her rise and go to the door.
 
She thanked someone and murmured more.
 
The door closed, and she came back to him.
 

     
A damp, cool cloth covered his eyes as she whispered, “Tell me.
 
Was it Loki?”

     
He caught her hand, better able now to gauge where she was by the direction of her voice.
 
He pulled off the cloth and squinted in an effort to see her face.
 
It was still nothing but a ruddy blob.
 

     
“How did you guess that?” he asked as quietly as she had spoken.
 
He heard other footfalls in the room, so he guessed someone else was here.
 

     
She must have guessed his thoughts, because she replied, “Jack will remain here by your side in case you need anything tonight.”

     
“Having you by my side would satisfy my greatest need.”

     
Her hands clenched on his arm.
 
“Do not speak of that.”

     
“Why not?
 
It was because of what we shared that this happened.”

     
“Loki?”
 
She raised her voice and called, “Jack, please bring more glasses from the sitting room downstairs.”

     
“I can get more in—”

     
“The sitting room glasses are the ones Lord Barrington prefers.”

     
Nils almost laughed.
 
He did not need to see to guess Jack’s face was twisted with frustration at what seemed to be a senseless request.
 

     
“Yes, my lady,” the lad replied.
 
“I hope you are doing better, my lord.”

     
“I shall be fine,” Nils said.

     
As soon as the door closed, Linnea asked, “Do you really think so?
 
Do you really think you will be fine?”

     
“I must hope so.”
 
He readjusted the cloth over his burning eyes.
 
“And to answer your question, yes, it was Loki.
 
Both today and when we were at
Fensalir
.
  
As I told you, he is furious with me for refusing to be the source of all kinds of jests for him.”

     
“I am sorry, Nils.”

     
He lifted the cloth and squinted.
 
Although the colors still flowed together like wet paint in the rain, he was able to see a little.
 
His arm gathered her to him.
 
“‘Tis not your doing,
unnasta
.”

     
“But I thought Loki was going to bother someone else.”

     
“This may be his way of bothering someone else.
 
Who has been hurt by all that has happened since we saw Vjofn in the water garden?”
 

     
“Me?” she whispered.
 
She rested her cheek against his chest.
 
“The words I spoke to you when we woke back here...I do not know where they came from.
 
I chose to be with you.
 
There was no dishonor in what we shared.”

     
“Loki tore us from
Fensalir
, then wanted to be certain we did not seek such a paradise again.”
 
He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound.
 
“He has selected an ingenious way to hurt both of us for failing to be in awe of what he has done to our lives.”

     
“I
am
in awe of all of this.”
 
She hesitated, and he could hear her gown rustle.
 
“Especially of this.”
 
Her fingers guided his mouth to hers.
 

     
He did not need to be able to see well to find her lips.
 
Pain wrenched deep in his gut when he tasted the salt of tears she must have shed.
 
Because he had been injured, or had she been crying when Jack called her here?

     
Suddenly she cried out in horror.
 
She jerked herself out of his arms.
 
No, she was pulled away from him.
 
What was going on?
 
His fingers found his knife with the ease of years of practice.
 
What was happening?
 
Where was Linnea?

     
Shadows moved and thickened.
 
To his left.
 
He tried to react, but hesitated.
 
Was that Linnea?
 
No, the shadow was taller than hers.
 
He raised his knife.
 
Too late.
 
Something struck him.
 
Fire burned up his left arm.
 
He swung the knife again and found nothing.
 
Footsteps!
 
Too heavy for Linnea.
 
He whirled.
 
His knife hit metal, then was knocked from his fingers.
 
Instinct alone made him jump aside.
 
The whoosh of a blade came within inches of his stomach.
 

     
Where was Linnea?
 
He shouted to her to flee as he turned to find something else to fight with.
 
He tripped over something on the floor.
 
He heard victorious laughter.
 
Kortsson!
 
Rolling over, he started to stand.
 
He was knocked from his feet back to the floor by something long and heavy.
 
Trying to push it off, he felt dampness on his hands.
 
Warm dampness...blood!
 
Not his!
 
Linnea!
 

     
He shouted her name in desperation.
 
His fear for her strengthened him.
 
Ignoring the agony in his left arm, he shoved the weight off him.
 
He jumped to his feet and grasped the bottle that had been on the table.
  
He raised it to fight off Kortsson.
 
It was a paltry weapon, but his blood-enemy must be stopped from hurting her...again.

     
“No!” Linnea cried as her slender fingers gripped his wrist.
 

     
“Stay back.
 
I—”

     
“It is over.”

     
“Over?”
 
He squinted, wishing he could see something other than flimsy shadows.

     
She took the bottle, and he heard her set it back on the table.
 
Still holding his hand, she drew him forward and down toward the floor.
 
His fingers recoiled when they touched blood again.
 
The body was still.
 
Not even a breath moved it.

     
“Kortsson?” he asked in disbelief.

     
“Yes.”
 
She shivered so hard he could feel it all along her as she knelt beside him.

     
“You killed him?”

     
“He would have killed you.”
 
She gulped and whispered with a half-sob, “I used your knife.”

     
He gathered her to him.
 
She might be as brave as a Viking woman, but she was of this time, when slaying a blood-enemy was not deemed proof of restored honor.
  
As she wept against him, he smoothed her hair.
 
His fingers delighted in what his eyes could not see.
 
Quietly he said, “Linnea, I owe you my life once more.”

     
“He would have killed both of us.”
 
She paused, then drew back.
 
He knew she was gazing up at him.
 
“He does not have the knife, Nils.”

     
It was as if he had been slashed again with Kortsson’s blade.
 
Lifting his hand, he found Linnea’s cheek with a sense that he could not name.
 
She leaned her face against his palm.
 
Even though he knew how unlikely it would that his blood-enemy still had the knife after a journey of a thousand years, he had hoped when he faced Kortsson, he would regain both the stolen knife and his honor.
 

     
“What happened here?” came Jack’s shout from the doorway.

     
Nils stood, facing the area where the light was brighter.
 
That must be the door.
 
“An intruder attacked.
 
Linnea—”

     
“Was saved by
Niles
’s quick actions,” she interrupted.
 

     
He wanted to ask her why she was giving him the credit for slaying his enemy.
 
The honor all should be hers.
 
As Jack and then others of the household surged into the room, everyone talking at once, Nils had no luck getting anyone to listen to the truth.
 
They all—including a most grateful Lord Sutherland—were too busy thanking him and taking the body away and sending for the authorities.
 

     
While everyone discussed whether this was the same man who had disrupted Dinah’s wedding, Linnea finished bandaging his arm.
 
The wound was not deep, but it had to be cleaned so it did not fester.
 
When she was done, she remained as silent as she had been since Jack had arrived at the door.
 

     
Nils waited for the others to follow the footmen who were taking Kortsson’s corpse out to the stable.
 
He stood as Linnea moved past him, the hint of her fragrance telling him just where she was.
 
Taking her by the arms, he brought her close.
 
Gently he kissed her.
 
When her lips quivered beneath his, he whispered, “
Unnasta
, what is wrong?”

     
“What is wrong?
 
That man almost killed you!”

     
“But you killed him first.
 
You are as valiant as a
Valkyrja
.”
 
He closed his eyes, but still could see little when he opened them.
 
He bent to kiss her again, but she turned her face away.
 
He cursed.
 
If he could see her expression, he might know why she was denying them the pleasure they had shared so seldom.
 
He framed her cheeks with his hand and tipped her face toward him.
 
Straining to see, he said, “Tell me the truth,
unnasta
.
 
Was that a kiss farewell?”

     
“Farewell?”

     
“You are pulling away from me as completely as when Kortsson jerked you out of my arms.”

     
“I promised to help you find that knife, and I will.
 
Kortsson did not have it, so it must be in
London
as I had guessed.
 
I will help you find it.
 
A Sutherland never breaks a promise.”

     
“And then?”
 
He kissed her tenderly, although he wanted to hold her close and steal her breath with his caresses.
 

     
“You know what you are and what I am.
 
You will go back to live your life in your own century, and I will stay here.
 
Despite all that has happened, nothing has changed, has it?”
 
She stepped away from him and was gone before he could reply.