Page 26 of The Last Viking

“You need not worry about the possibility of a babe,” he assured her silkily as he pulled the neckline of her sweater aside and nibbled at the sensitive curve of her shoulder.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Had he actually bitten her shoulder blade? Then licked it?

“Now, sweetling, don’t go stiff on me. I just meant that I will make sure you do not breed.”

“And how will you do that?” she said testily, turning in his arms. “Since you claim to be a tenth-century Viking, with no modern methods of birth control, just how will you accomplish that remarkable feat?”

“Why are you angry, Merry-Death? I think only of your reputation. Most women would appreciate the consideration.”

She lifted a brow in question.

“I will not spill my seed inside your body,” he explained.

Letting out a whoosh of exasperation, Meredith ducked under his reaching arms. Thank God for the ice-water effect of his words on her impetuous, irresponsible near-capitulation to his seductive efforts.

“That wouldn’t be necessary, if we were going to make love. Which we’re not. Because, you see—” she took a breath as she gathered the nerve to disclose her painful secret—“because I can’t have children.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and then said only, “Oh, Merry-Death, I am so sorry.”

She closed her eyes briefly to hide her reaction to his sympathy. Why hadn’t he said something callous like everyone else? Such as, “It doesn’t matter. Having children is no big deal. You can always adopt. It doesn’t mean you’re less a woman.” Or, worse, the remark Jeffrey had made before their divorce, “Maybe you weren’t meant to have children.”

Instead, Rolf had understood her pain and shared it.

When she finally got her emotions under control, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her intently, waiting out her inner struggle. He put one hand on the belt buckle and the other over his heart, holding her eyes the whole time, and all he said was, “I feel your pain.”

She nodded and forced herself to change the subject. She’d decided in that split second that they both needed a lighter mood. “Good thing you’ve got your walking shoes on, Rolf.”

“Why?” he asked with trepidation.

“We’re going to the mall.”

Chapter Five

Geirolf sat with his legs braced stiff, belted into the seat of Merry-Death’s horseless, red wagon. They raced along a local road at an ungodly speed, stirring up dust in their wake.

“Slow down,” he gritted out. He was going to wring her foolhardy neck…if he ever escaped from this box. Box! Thor’s toenails, this was a land of boxes!

“Huh?” Merry-Death had been humming along with music that came from a shelf in the box, something she called the class-call station. “I’m only going thirty-five.”

“Well, that explains it,” he snapped. All the perplexing words and objects in this new land tired him mightily. He wanted nothing more than to return to his homeland, where life was simple and unmagical. He looked idly through the side window, and then looked again. “Oh, Good Lord! Stop the box, Merry-Death. Make haste. There is much danger.”

Reacting instinctively, she slammed one foot against a lever on the floor and they came to a screeching halt at the side of the road. Despite the seat restraint, his forehead hit the front window and his knees banged against the dashing-board.

“What? What is it?” Merry-Death asked him in alarm.

Rubbing the already rising knob on his brow, he pointed up to the sky. “There is a huge shiny bird hovering overhead. Surely one of Loki’s vultures is about to attack. ’Tis so big it could swallow an entire troop of soldiers in one gulp. I have heard of such in the sagas.”

Merry-Death scanned the area where he pointed, then giggled. “Oh, you!” She jabbed his arm in reprimand. “That’s just an airplane.”

Since she didn’t share his concern, he released the breath he’d been holding. After she explained airplanes to him, he stared at her speechless. He could hardly credit her claims—that a machine had been invented that allowed people to fly in the air over long distances—even oceans.

Scowling at his assertion that he’d never heard of an airplane before, she started the car up again. The woman’s belief that he was a liar, or worse, was beginning to annoy him. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the amazing metal bird he’d just seen. As he worried his bottom lip with his upper teeth, he tried to understand. “Mayhap we should go back to your keep. I’m not certain I want to see any more witchly arts today.”

She laughed gaily. “Too late now. We’re there.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what constituted “there,” something Merry-Death called a shipping mall, but she’d promised it would be amusing. He scanned the area as she drove her box off the roadway into a huge clearing where hundreds of similar boxes, of different colors and shapes, sat side by side. No ships, at all, in this shipping mall.

As she steered her box into a stall and turned off the key, he let out a whoosh of relief and then peered around with bewilderment. “When does the amusement begin?”