Viking Claim (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors Book 2) (25 page)

Grant shook his head, grim. “I cannae.”

Her heart sunk.

Then Grant flicked out his hand. Something hung from the tip of his finger as his eyes shot to Veronica. “But mayhap ye can, lass.”

Eyes wide, she cupped the small satchel hanging from the end of a leather string.

Grant placed it in her palm. “This is yours. Ye will know what to do with it.”

“Actually, I have no idea,” she argued as she poured out its contents. It felt like something deep within her heart breathed a sigh of relief as the two stones with rune staves and the small cylinder fell into her hand.

A smile met Megan’s lips before her eyes found Veronica’s. “There’s our way home, sister.”

Home.

Not New York or even Winter Harbor…but ninth century Scandinavia.

A place she missed so very much.

And a man she missed even more.

Veronica looked at Grant. “How does it work? What do I do?”

He eyed her shoulder. “Your tattoo. The Hugin and Munin symbol. Odin’s birds. Of thought and memory…” Then his eyes fell to her stomach. “He is of such and will lead you back to your love.” Grant’s eyes met hers then fell to the cylinder. “If you choose to open that.”

Confused but not enough to be swayed, she nodded. Still. “Adlin MacLomain was able to move us into the mountains of Scandinavia in a second. Can’t you do the same for us now? Move us back in time that is?”

Grant shook his head and held out his palm. “Nay, lass. I can do but one thing now and that is to make sure what ye need Amber to have gets back to her.”

Veronica’s eyes shot to her palm and the only stone left that didn’t match her or Megan’s tattoos. She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “God help them both. Kol and Amber really are meant for one another.”

“Mayhap.” Grant’s lips curled up. “But I cannae take the stone. Ye must give it to me.”

When Megan went to hand it over, Grant shook his head. “Nay, my Queen. It must be Veronica.”

“Why?” Veronica whispered.

His pale blue-gray eyes hinted at nothing, but his words did. “Because without your story, Amber's couldnae exist.”

Though she stared into those otherworldly eyes of his for a long moment, Veronica realized she’d trusted him from the moment she met him so placed the stone in his hand. “Take good care of it.”

“Aye, lass. Always,” he promised.

“I’m still a little confused,” Megan said. “How do I travel back in time without my stone or the contents of my cylinder for that matter?”

“You dinnae need those now,” Grant assured. “Where Amber’s story couldnae exist without Veronica’s, in turn Veronica’s couldnae exist without yours. If she takes the leap of faith to follow her heart, then all will be as it should.”

“You’re sort of cryptic, eh?”

Grant grinned. “On occasion.”

Veronica eyed him, curious. “So I’m dying to know. How’d you manage to make contact with Sean to begin with and end up being his
lawyer
?”

“Och, lass, have ye not heard of Google?”

“We have,” Megan conceded. “But then we’re twenty-first century women and you’re a medieval Scottish Highlander.”

“Aye.” He winked. “With time-travel at my disposal.”

“Mm hmm.” Veronica narrowed her eyes. “Adlin sent you, didn’t he?”

“Mayhap.” He shrugged. “Or mayhap not. Some things must remain a mystery.”

That didn’t surprise her in the least, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. Before he could speak again, she said, “If I open this cylinder, will it hurt my baby?”

“Nay,” he assured without pause. “Never. The cylinder is of the gods and the gods will always protect your wee bairn.”

She held his gaze for a long moment and saw only truth. No harm would come to her child.

Understanding that she had found peace, his eyes finally flickered between them both before he murmured, “‘Twas good to meet ye, lasses. Stay safe and fare well.”

Before either could respond, he twirled away and snow kicked up in such a thorough maelstrom that they had to cover their faces. Only once it settled did they lower their hands.

Grant was gone.

“Damn,” Megan said but it didn’t take long for her sister’s desperate eyes to meet hers. “It’s time to open that cylinder.”

Veronica pocketed the stone and eyed the small tube, both nervous and excited.

Megan took her hand, words gentle. “God, Sis, I was so focused on getting back that I wasn’t thinking about what you were about to give up.” Her lips pulled down. “Your life here in the twenty-first century, everything you've worked so hard for...a possible future as a lawyer.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured and shook her head. “When I was in Scandinavia I had a lot of time to think about what I really want from life. You and Amber have always told me to pursue what I love.” Her chest tightened with emotion. “I love what I found in the ninth century. Not only the people and culture but Raknar and Heidrek, Kol, Naðr, Kjar, all of them."

"Are you sure?" Megan watched her closely. "This is a big step."

"I'm positive." She couldn’t help but grin. “Besides, I might just take your husband up on his suggestion to help reform some of his men’s less than impressive raiding habits.”

Megan looked at her for a long moment, eyes damp, before she nodded and whispered, “I’m so glad you found what you were looking for.”

Veronica squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

“I suppose it’s time to open that cylinder then.” Megan placed a supportive hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “You remember what it was like for me when I opened mine? Scary but…so wonderful.”

“I know.” Veronica tried to keep her voice steady. It felt like she stood on the edge of a deep, unpredictable precipice. And unpredictable had never been her strong point. But strength had.

Especially since she met Raknar.

And Heidrek.

With a slow nod, she decided it was best not to overthink and have faith in Grant’s assurance and in the gods. So she slowly unscrewed the cap and poured the contents into her palm.

It was a simple black feather.

Yet soon enough it wasn’t simple in the least.

Veronica took Megan’s hand and they stepped back as the feather rose into the air then split into two feathers. Snow started to twist around them as the feathers danced and twirled. Faster and faster they spun until they weren’t just feathers but two ravens.

Enraptured, she watched snow whip faster and faster as the birds flew rapidly around them….almost as they had when she was on Megan’s boat with Raknar. Yet, those birds had been the same size.

Not now.

One raven was large.

One was small.

Everything fell away but the ravens and snow, life and light, then pure magic.

Veronica pulled her sister close as energy roared around them.

Better yet…

A mother raven and her baby.

Off the Shores of Rochester, England

Just South of the Danelaw

878 A.D.

“Nothing about this makes sense. Not the way I felt then and not the way I feel now.”

“And disgruntled feelings are certainly something you’ve become good at, brother,” Kol drawled, propping his feet up on the bench. “It’s getting tiresome.”

Kjar grunted his agreement and chewed on some nuts as he eyed Raknar. “Too much raiding in these parts lately.” He nodded at Naðr’s longship sailing alongside the Drekkar. “Still, you managed to convince the king we needed to go on yet another raid.”

Raknar leaned against the mast, eyed the horizon and shrugged. “It’s not my fault I was so convincing.”

The truth was he was continually drawn to these shores. He felt a strange connection to the area he could not explain.

Kol snorted. “I still can't believe you managed to convince Naðr to come…but then he’s been the same sort of beast you have these past months.”

Raknar clenched his jaw. Since they managed to partially defeat Yrsa on the seers' mountain, everything had seemed a ghost of what it had been before. He had no idea why, just that something was not right. It was one thing that no brother could remember precisely how they’d come to fight his former wife alongside the seers but that didn’t much matter. What did matter was that neither he nor his older brother could stomach being with a woman since.

Loki’s balls, it was torture.

Six long fortnights without a woman to sink into meant both were ready to be aboard ships sinking into the sea. The unnaturalness of not releasing their seed had kept both in foul moods. Not to mention, staying true to their pact, they
still
had not embraced their dragons.

Kol stretched out on the bench and grumbled. His only discontent was that he had gone without a woman since they’d set sail. For that, Raknar had no sympathy. Damn man could stand to take a moment away from being between a woman’s thighs.

“The birds we released do not return,” Kjar mentioned, spitting out shells. “Land is close.”

Raknar was still surprised his cousin had decided to sail with him and not Naðr. Typically, the shipwright preferred to be on the prize that was the largest in the fleet.

Kol stood and yawned. His eyes narrowed. “What is that behind you, brother?”

He turned and froze. What
was
that? Raknar walked over to the carving in the helm that had certainly not been there before. It looked to be a woman standing behind a man, holding a rope that raised the sails on this very ship. Just beyond them was a depiction of another man. It appeared he oversaw everything.

Kjar and Kol came alongside.

“That looks to be my work,” Kjar remarked.

“It does,” Raknar said slowly and slid eyes his way. “But
when
did you carve it?”

The shipwright took a long swill from his skin then cocked his head, eyeing the workmanship. Then he popped another handful of nuts in his mouth. “Hel if I know.” He paused long enough to offer a lopsided grin. “Must have been when I was sleeping.”

Kol chuckled, grabbed Kjar’s skin and took an equally long swig before saying, “Well, it's good work my friend.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “It almost looks like I’m the one pulling up the sail and Raknar is, as always, ordering me around.”

Raknar shook his head and turned away, words thrown over his shoulder. “Sounds about right.”

Humor laced his younger brother's response. “Don't I know it.”

Though odd enough, the last thing Raknar had time to worry about was Kjar’s carvings. Land was ahead.

England.

More raiding.

A means to escape his restless mind.

Naðr had just cried that the ships were to lower their sails and man their oars. Raknar strode forward and declared the same before he stopped short. Two ravens had just landed on the dragon-headed prow. One large. One small.

Both stared at him.

Raknar braced his legs against the swelling waves, ignored the activity around him, and stared back at them. He blinked once, then twice. It felt like time slowed then sped up all at once. Wind gusted. Men shouted as the sails were lowered. Then they grunted as oars hit the water.

Still he stared at the ravens and they stared right back.

A mother and her child.

Coming.

A heartbeat…many heartbeats.

A new urgency in his voice, Raknar roared, “To land. Faster. Now!”

When Raknar tore his eyes from the birds and looked to the other ship, Naðr was standing on a bench, his eager gaze locked on the shore.

Kol joined Raknar, alert. Though nobody could be seen on land, he said, “There's something there.” His eyes narrowed. “Someone.” He shook his head. “No, not one but two people…no…three.”

Wind gusted and the current helped their oarsmen toward shore. Despite the ravens, Raknar was suddenly drawn to Kjar’s new carving. The heavy thud of a heartbeat filled his ears. Not his. No. Somehow it came from that carving and filled the whole ship…his whole soul.

He fought the sway of the ship and made his way over until he crouched in front of it and ran his fingers over its telling lines.

A woman.

Vibration started beneath his fingers and he inhaled sharply. Images started to flicker.

Beauty.

Love.

Courage.

Sacrifice.

Raknar pressed his palm against the carving, closed his eyes and hung his head.

Images flickered so quickly they became memory.

A woman’s voice filled his mind.

“All along it’s been about the king and his brothers maintaining this pact to help keep Torra MacLomain safe. What if my sisters and I could shoulder some of the responsibility?”

Raknar growled and shook his head as more images flickered.

Again, a woman.

Tall.

So beautiful.

His.

More words flickered through his mind.

“What if Megan and I utilize the power of free-will the gods gave us with these and choose to remain in the twenty-first century. What if we made a promise never to return but allow you to find three more women to fulfill this pact? Would that possibly reset and re-strengthen this ancient magic you’re talking about?”

Only one name crashed into his mind then.

Veronica.

His eyes shot open.

Veronica.

Memories flooded his mind so quickly that he staggered back a few steps. How could he have ever forgotten her? But he knew damn well how. The seers and the pacts they had made. Though furious, he was far more eager as he spun, ran and jumped on a bench beside the mast. 

“Row faster!” he roared.

But it seemed Naðr had already ordered the same because the ships rushed forward. When he tore his gaze from land, it was to find the king still in the same position, eyes ferocious as they searched the shoreline. Like him, his brother somehow remembered what they had been forced to forget.

Sharp rocks jutted up before the shore so they had no choice but to cast anchor and row smaller boats in. But they did, fast and furious. Kjar kept shaking his head as Raknar spat off a slew of questions.

“How could we have forgotten them,” Kol muttered under his breath, worried eyes scanning the shoreline as they approached. “They
have
to be here."

Yes, because there were two.

Veronica
and
Megan.

Water thrashed at them as they rowed, but it didn’t keep their small boats from making land easily. All three brothers hopped out before they made landfall and ran through the water until they stood on England’s jagged shore, eyes devouring the coastline in both directions.

Raknar clasped Naðr’s shoulder. “If they are not here we will scour the whole of England until we find them.”

“My
wife
is here somewhere,” Naðr growled and strode forward.

Raknar well understood his fury. As far as they knew, Yrsa was mortally wounded yet their women had still been taken from them. Not only physically but all memory of them as well. Yet their essence had clearly lingered or they would not have been so restless, disgruntled and unable to take another to their bed.

About to pursue his brother, he stopped when the feeling of a heartbeat once more filled him.

“Brother,” he said.

Though his word was soft, it was serious enough to stop Naðr. His brother’s eyes met his and narrowed. Hot heat filled him and Raknar cocked his head, nostrils flaring as he spoke to both Kol and the king. “Do you feel it then? Do you smell
him…
the little one?”

Naðr and Kol paused for a long moment, their heads lowering before their nostrils flared and their eyes whipped to the dense forest. Well aware they were in enemy territory, beyond the relative safety of the Danelaw, they drew their weapons and rushed forward. Raknar never stopped praying to the gods that their women were well.

Soon enough, his prayers were answered when Veronica and Megan appeared at the edge of the tree line. His eyes locked with Veronica’s. Relief and fear warred within. He wanted her gone from England and safely in his arms.

Immediately.

“Weapons at the ready. Surround them now!” Naðr roared at his men.

The king made it to Megan as fast as Raknar made it to Veronica. As far as he could see she was well and he intended to keep her that way for the rest of her life.

“Raknar,” she cried and flew into his arms.

Too emotional for words, he swung her up into his arms and strode toward shore. It seemed Naðr had the same idea because he was already a few steps ahead with Megan in his arms.

Even once they were in the boat and rowing back out, he remained silent as he kept her trembling body on his lap and her head tucked against his chest.

Understanding the urgency to get the women to the ships and set sail, Kol and Kjar took to oar, ensuring that they moved fast. When they came alongside the Drekkar, Raknar stood and clasped her shoulders, eyes roaming over her face in concern.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

Jaw clenched, he nodded then climbed the ladder. As soon as she joined him, Raknar pulled her down and wrapped his arms around her. Legs braced to keep them steady, he held her tightly, at last able to speak, albeit hoarsely. “You came back.”

Veronica's wet eyes met his. “
We
came back.”

Raknar knew. He had known the minute he heard a new heartbeat. As the oars hit water and the ship leaped forward, he closed his lips over hers, desperate for the taste of her. Veronica’s hands wrapped in his tunic as their tongues reunited and he kissed her deeply. Though he hadn’t nearly had his fill of her plush lips, he crouched, lifted her shirt just enough and rested his forehead against her stomach, worshiping.

“Odin’s blessings. Welcome, my son,” he said softly, chest tight with emotion as he caught the scent of the little one’s blood…of his soul. “Dragon.” Then he kissed her soft skin. “I love you.” His eyes rose to hers. “Both. So very much.”

Veronica wiped away a tear that slid down his cheek and ignored the ones trailing down hers. “We love you too.”

Raknar stood, pulled her into his arms and kissed her far more thoroughly than before. Though determined to keep her in his arms, it wasn’t long before Kol came alongside and drawled, “My turn, brother.”

It was impossible not to growl in discontent when Veronica dragged her lips from his and smiled at Kol.  “Good to see you.”

Raknar had no choice but to let her go when she stepped away and embraced Kol. They laughed as he swung her around once then held her tightly, emotion evident in his voice. “So glad you came back to us, sister.”

Veronica smiled at him. “Coming back wasn’t the problem. Remembering that I had something to come back
to
was.”

Before Kol could respond, Kjar pulled her into his arms and hugged her just as fiercely, words emotional. “It’s good to have you back, woman.”

“Careful with her, cousin.” Kol grinned. “After all, she carries my nephew.”

“Speaking of nephews,” Veronica mumbled, still smothered against Kjar’s chest. “How is Heidrek?”

Having had enough of seeing her in anyone’s arms but his, Raknar pulled her back against him, warmed by her concern over his son. “He's well. Yet the sooner we return home, the better. If our memories have come back of your time here, then it’s likely his have as well.”

Veronica frowned. “I’m certain that we just returned to where I first traveled back in time. To England. That means a few days shy of a week to get back to Scandinavia, right?”

“Maybe.” Kjar stroked one of the braids stemming from his goatee. “Maybe not.”

Naðr’s words entered Raknar’s mind. The king wanted their attention. So he took her hand and led her to the side of the ship. He stood behind her and braced his hands on either side to keep her safe from stumbling.