Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (34 page)

He glanced over and caught her watching him. He winked.

Whoo-boy
, she felt that wink all the way to her toes and some places in between. “You seem extremely relaxed now that graduation is over and we’re away from the base,” she remarked.

“I suppose I am. I may not know why I was sent here or what my destiny truly is, but it feels as if I am heading in the right direction.”

“I thought I was your destiny,” she teased.

He tugged on one of the curls at her neck as punishment and said, “From the time I saw that white light when I was drowning … oh, do not frown at me so … near-drowning, then … you seemed to be in danger, and I thought that meant you were my destiny. That the gods had sent me here to save you.”

“But you did save my life, Max.”

“If that is so, then what is my destiny now?”

She wanted to say
Why not me still?
But the words would not come out. Placing a hand protectively over her stomach, she wondered why he didn’t view their baby as his destiny, as well.

He noticed her gesture and said, “There is no question in my mind that you and I will wed, and that I will be a father to this child. Do not doubt that, Alison.”

“Not that I’m agreeing with you, but if that’s the case, what’s the problem?”

He put a hand to his forehead as if to press out the creases of worry. “I am uncertain. ’Tis a sense I have, not unlike what happens afore a big battle. Something is in store for me … something big … bigger than what has occurred so far.”

“A premonition?”

“Possibly. It is as if there is an answer just beyond my grasp.”

“An answer to what?”

“I know not. Just that ’twill be the kind of thing that, once discovered, makes one feel like hitting oneself aside the head for not realizing it sooner. Does that make sense?”

“Very much so. Tell me, what are you hoping to get out of our visit to Blue Dragon today?”

“You are the one who made these arrangements, not me,” he pointed out. “But there are several possibilities. One, it could be just a coincidence that there is a person with the same name as my dead sister, who is connected to a vineyard that I have ne’er visited but feel oddly connected to. Two, and this is alarming, perhaps this Kirsten is one of my descendants, which would mean that I will travel back to my own time. Three, it could be one of Madrene’s descendants. Four, perhaps there was a survivor of that long-ago ship lost in the fog, and that person lived in a far-off land, like Greenland, and now this is a descendant of one of my brothers or sisters who I thought had died.”

“Wow! You’ve got a whole lot of theories going there.” The one that bothered her most was the idea that Max might be going back to his own time, which was ridiculous, since she didn’t believe he’d ever come from that time.

“I see your disbelief. What do you think, then?”

She shrugged her opinion. “I think you got hit on the head during BUD/S, have a loss of memory, and hopefully will regain some or all of it when you are reunited with your family at the vineyard where you grew up.”

He laughed and tugged again on the curl at her neck. “You think I’m demented, do you?”

She smiled at him. “Only temporarily.”

“And you love me still?” She could tell that he immediately regretted those words, even though he’d only been teasing.

Not wanting him to go all serious on her, she teased back, “What’s not to love about a bald Viking SEAL wannabee with an ego the size of the Pentagon?”

“Was that a yes?”

Oh, yeah!
“I am not going to answer that question, especially when you are playing these sex-deprivation games with me.”

“Sex what?”

“You know exactly what I mean. And listen up, buddy, I am on to you. You can deprive all you want, but I can hold out as long as you can.”

“Oh, really? Is that a challenge?”

“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck.”

“You will not win in any war with me, dearling. Best you surrender now, agree to a wedding date, and we can pull over to the side of the road for a quick swive.”

Sounds good to me.
“You are unbelievable,” she said, laughing.

“ ’Tis one of the best things about me.”

You male chauvinist Viking, you!
“Do you ever have trouble finding hats that fit?”

“Nay. Why?”

“Because you have such a big head.”
And other biggies, too.

“Oh. You mean I have much conceit. Well, there are other things big about me, too.”

“Puh-leeze!”
He must be reading my mind.

“I like it when you beg.”

“Puh-leeze!” She took the next exit and said, “We’ll be there in less than an hour. While you’re basking in the glow of your own wonderfulness, and congratulating yourself on how you can seduce me into doing whatever you want, keep one thing in mind, darling.”

After a speaking pause, he asked, “And what would that be?”

“I’m not wearing any undergarments under this dress.”

He glanced sharply at her and looked as if he’d swallowed his tongue. Once he recovered, he grinned. “Congratulations. You have won the battle.”

“I know,” she gloated.

“But the war is far from over.”

If children are a gift from the gods, the Ericssons were overblessed …

Magnus sat with his son Torolf on a wooden swing behind the house, watching the preparations for the day’s festivities. In all the chaos of his return, they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk yet.

A farmer at heart, Magnus still relished the smells
of earth and growing things. Sweet breezes. The warm sun. He led a good life with few regrets.

His wife Angela, along with her elderly grandmother Rose and equally aged housekeeper Juanita, were laying a veritable feast of foods out on the tables that had been arranged nearby for the annual harvest celebration. He would go to help her soon. Despite being wed for more than ten years, he still liked to stay close to her.

There would be plenty of Italian dishes, some Mexican, and even a few Norse ones, though Magnus had forbidden his wife to provide the hated lutefisk. His two sisters-by-marriage, Meredith and Maggie, had taken charge of the beverage arena, which would soon offer a tun of mead—a Viking requirement; wine—a Blue Dragon requirement; and Kool-Aid—a children’s requirement.

His brothers Rolf and Jorund were playing croquet on the side lawn with the youthlings, whilst the teenagers and older children listened to loud music down by the pond. It was hard for him to credit that he had bred babes who now passed twenty winters, but then, he was nigh a graybeard himself, approaching the age of fifty way too fast. A band had already set up its instruments and would begin to play once their guests arrived later today.

But this was a quiet time for him and his oldest son Torolf. Well, nay, Ragnor was one sennight older, but he was back in the Norselands.

“Dost ever think of Ragnor?” Torolf asked him of a sudden.

Magnus’s head shot up. “Do you read my mind now, son?”

“It’s funny,” Torolf began tentatively, “but ever since my accident, Ragnor has been on my mind constantly. I even dream of him.”

Magnus nodded. “I do, too. What do you think it means? Is he in some trouble? And what could we do from here?”

“I do not know.”

“Was I wrong to leave Ragnor and Madrene behind?” He blinked back the tears that misted his eyes.

Torolf squeezed his arm. “Nay. You did what you thought best, and we intended to go back. Besides, it has turned out well for all of us, hasn’t it?”

Yea, it had. Torolf had gone to college and entered the military. Kirsten was a teacher at a college, where she studied the old Norse ways. Storvald, at twenty-four, worked with his uncle Rolf at Rosestead, a replica of an old Viking village, where he made fine wood carvings to decorate homes and ships. Dagny, only twenty-three, was an artist whose oil paintings sold in local galleries. Njal, ever the mischievous son, was still a mischievous man at twenty; though he was still a student in college, young women called here all the time for him. And seventeen-year-old Jogeir, bless his heart, intended to try out for the Olympic running team this year … and this the boy who had been born lame. Hamr had finally gotten his bow and arrow, but at sixteen was more interested in football and wenches. Kolbein, the shy one, was still quiet and studious at fourteen; Angela thought he might have a religious vocation one day, but Magnus could hardly imagine any child of his being a priest. Lida was still the joy of his life at twelve and spoiled beyond belief, but no more so than ten-year-old
Marie, the child he and Angela had created together.

And things had worked out well for his brothers, too. Rolf and Meredith had two children who brought them great joy, thirteen-year-old Foster and eleven-year-old Rose, even though Meredith had thought she was barren. Ah, well, the Ericsson men ever were known to be virile. Meredith had quit her college teaching job last year and worked alongside her husband at Rosestead now.

Jorund was the one who’d surprised them all. He’d wed a head doctor, who’d already had two children, twins Suzy and Beth, now twenty and studying to become doctors themselves. Jorund and Maggie had three children of their own, ten-year-old Eric and the eight-year-old twins, Mack and Mike. Jorund, a famous warrior, now taught exercising to demented people.

Life is strange.

“Yes, it is,” Torolf said.

Magnus must have spoken aloud. “But tell me, Torolf, what have you been doing? I must admit to being hurt that you did not invite us to your graduation.”

“Huh? What graduation?”

“From SEALs training. Yesterday.”

“Father! I was forced to drop out of training when I got the head wound almost two months ago. I’ll be resuming training with the next class. Probably I’ll be given another Navy assignment for the interim, now that I’m feeling better.”

“Then where in bloody hell have you been all this time?”

“Hog Heaven, I told you before. I lost my memory for a while, but now it is back.”

“Methinks it is not as back as you say. Kirsten said you were about to graduate and that you would not know us if we arrived for the ceremony; in fact, we might do you harm.”

“And Kirsten knew all this … how?”

“By talking to your woman friend, Alison.”

“Aaarrgh! I have no woman friend named Alison.”

“She is a physician, I believe, and she went to Kirsten on your behalf to study the story of our family.”

Torolf frowned some more. “Alison? A physician? Bloody hell! She couldn’t be referring to Lieutenant Alison MacLean, could she?”

“That is the one.”

Torolf laughed uproariously. “Father, Alison MacLean wouldn’t give me the time of day. She told me to drop dead one time. Does that sound like a woman friend?”

“Nay. Mayhap Kirsten will have some reasonable explanation when she arrives.”

“ ’Tis more likely that you misheard her, being in your dotage and all.”

Magnus gave his son a playful punch in the arm at his teasing, then rose to his feet. “Let us go help the womenfolk. They must needs have a man to direct them, though they would never admit such.”

Torolf wrapped an arm around his father’s shoulders and squeezed. “You are so out of touch.”

When past and present collide, hold on, baby …

They had just turned off the highway onto a road with a sign that read “Blue Dragon Vineyards.” The
narrow lane they traveled on now was a scenic corridor with tall trees, a low stone wall, and bright flowers in picturesque urns adorning both sides. Wildflowers covered the extensive lawns. To one side there was a pond with willow trees. Up ahead a considerable distance was a great white house with black shutters. Behind it were many, many hides of land covered with orderly rows of grapevines.

None of it was familiar to him, and yet Ragnor felt every fine hair on his body stand to attention. His heart raced madly, and he could swear he heard his blood roar in his head. He was more fearful than he’d ever been afore a battle, more fearful even than when confronted with Madrene in a nagging rage.

“Pull over,” he ordered Alison.

“No way!” she said with a laugh. “That’s the tenth time you’ve asked me to pull over since I told you I’m naked under this dress. We are not going to have roadside sex.”

He shook his head, wanting to tell her seduction wasn’t his goal right now, though the image of what lay under that little wisp of a garment tantalized him mightily and he would not mind some roadside rutting, regardless of his odd mental state. But his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth.

The stubborn wench did not stop until they reached the clearing afore the front of the house where other vehicles were parked, even a motoring- cycle. In the side yard, Ragnor could see several dozen people—adults and children—playing games and lounging about. Music provided a raucous backdrop.

“Are you okay, Max?”

He shook his head.

“Was this a mistake? Should we leave?”

He could tell he was scaring her. Holy Thor, he was scaring himself. But, nay, he had to find out what was here. It must be important.

He undid his seat belt and got out of the car. Walking slowly toward the side yard, he saw several people stop and stare at him. One young woman put her hands to her mouth and cried out, “Oh, my God!” A little girl started to rush forward, but a youthling boy held her back.

Stoically, Ragnor plowed forward, leaving Alison behind.

Coming around the back side of the house were two men … one older and one about his age. Both were blond, though one had long hair rippled with gray, while the other’s was cut short, military style.

Ragnor stopped in his tracks.

They did the same.

He cocked his head to the side in puzzlement.

They did the same.

The older man’s eyes went wide with sudden understanding. Then he started to weep as he stepped forward, arms outspread in welcome.

“Father?” Ragnor inquired tentatively. How could this be? It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

The older man nodded and grabbed him into a mighty hug, nigh cracking his ribs with the vigor of his embrace. “Praise the gods! My son Ragnor, my son Ragnor! I have missed you so.”