Page 38 of The Last Viking

Her eyes were misty with regret, and he remembered her telling him of her barrenness. He took her hand in his and laced their fingers, even when she tried to pull away.

“Don’t pity me,” she said.

“I don’t.”

“I can always adopt a child. Single women do that today. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. Stay here and adopt a child. I have a trust fund that would support me. And I could write a book—the kind my parents would consider far too frivolous.” She cast him a tentative sidelong look before revealing, “I’ve always wanted to write a book on outrageous women of medieval times.”

“I could tell you tales about a few of those.”

She laughed and swiped at her eyes with a free hand. He still held her other hand firmly, and found inordinate joy in the mere pressure of their two palms.

“What about this man who would love you?”

“There are none on the horizon, and I’ve been burned once. No, I’m more and more convinced that adopting a child is the answer, not hunting for a man to fulfill my life.”

He wasn’t convinced and he wasn’t sure she was either.

Perhaps it was the odd connection he felt with this woman where their hands were joined. Perhaps it was the lustful fever that still hung heavy in his loins. Perhaps it was that mischievous god, Loki, who inspired his loose tongue. Regardless of the cause, Geirolf was as stunned as Merry-Death when he hauled her close and rasped out, “You could come home with me.”

Chapter Seven

Meredith awakened the next morning to a loud pounding noise. She cracked an eye open sleepily to see it was barely daylight. Her alarm clock on the bedside table read 6:00 A.M.

As the pounding continued, she realized that it came from outside. Climbing groggily out of bed, she pulled the quilt up over Thea, who was sleeping soundly through the racket.

Her first thought as her mind cleared was, Oh, my God, it’s practically the middle of the night and that damn Viking is out there building a ship. The neighbors will call the police.

Her second thought, following almost immediately on the first, was a recollection of the night before. Oh, my God. That Viking actually invited me to go home with him…to the tenth century. And I’m tempted. I almost wish he were who he claims to be…sort of my very own Viking in Shining Armor. She giggled at the fantasy.

It was absolutely ridiculous that she should feel so flattered by his suggestion. Especially since he’d immediately looked as if he was going to have a stroke when the words slipped out. And it certainly hadn’t been flattering when she’d questioned him about what she’d do in his land and he’d stuttered and stammered and finally said that he supposed she could be his mistress.

As if!

Still, his proposal made Meredith feel oddly warm and fuzzy.

She lost all her warm fuzzies the minute she stomped outside in her pajamas and saw Rolf in the side yard, surrounded by the completely dismantled longship.

“Wh-what are you doing? I’m going to kill you. You’ve destroyed months of Gramps’s work.”

“Do not fret, my lady,” he assured her, sidestepping her outstretched arms and holding an axe over his head, out of her reach.

“I’d like to give you ‘fret,’ you jerk.” Meredith gritted her teeth, fisted her hands and counted to ten.

“Now, calm down, Merry-Death. I am merely starting over. In the end, it will save time. You’ll see.” He dropped the axe and walked over, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Wipe the tears from your eyes, sweetling. This is man’s work. I know what I’m doing.”

Oh, God, I hope so. “And stop calling me ‘sweetling’.” It makes me feel so…so…warm and fuzzy. Geesh! “There’s no such thing as ‘man’s work’ in society today. So cut the macho tripe.”

He arched a brow condescendingly. “Really? Well, then, helpmate, wouldst thou carry that keel arm down yon cliffside to soak in the water?”

The keel arm he pointed to was about twelve feet long and probably weighed two tons.

“I wish I could pick the darn thing up. I know just what I’d do with it, too. I’d use it like a battering ram to wipe the smirk off your face.”

Grinning wider, he stood, hands on hips in his modern attire—jeans, T-shirt, and athletic shoes, with his hair clubbed back at the neck and covered with a baseball cap. “Were you always violent? I admire that in a woman. Like a Valkyrie, you are. Mayhap I will take you a-viking with me some day.”

“Yeah, what I really need is a little raping and pillaging in my life.”

“Me, too. I can’t recall the last time I engaged in some good raping and pillaging. And plundering…don’t forget plundering.”