Page 76 of The Last Viking

“It still is, but there are some…uh, professional ideas I’d like to hash over with you,” he said, as if picking his words carefully. “You and I always brainstormed well on academic issues.”

“Professional work? Would you be bringing Nookie with you?”

“That’s Cookie,” he bristled.

Meredith knew only too well that the bimbo’s name had been Corinne Cookson. “Nookie, Pookie, Cookie, big difference!”

“No, Cookie can’t come.”

“Oh, why is that? Bad case of the zits? Too much homework? Diaper rash?”

He inhaled sharply. “She’s pregnant again and her doctor advises against traveling.”

Meredith swayed under the pain, as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Pregnant? Again? And Meredith couldn’t have even one child. Oh, life was so unfair! “When’s the baby due?” she was unable to stop herself from asking.

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks! And you’re going to leave her alone while you traipse up here to Maine to…what did you call it? Brainstorm? Give me a break! Oh, no! Don’t tell me you’re looking to have an affair on the side now that your wife is indisposed? That would be a sad irony, wouldn’t it? You had your affair when we were married because I couldn’t have kids. And now you have an affair with your ex-wife because your present wife can have kids.”

He said a foul word, and lashed out indignantly, “I don’t want you that way.”

Meredith’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. Well, he’d certainly put her in her place, as usual.

“What’s wrong with you, Meredith? You were never so malicious before. Jillie was right. She said you were under the influence of some unsavory character. You always were too trusting. You need a keeper, if you ask me. Why don’t I come up there, and—”

“Jillie? You’ve been talking to Jillie?” Meredith shrieked. Putting a hand to her face, she realized that she was crying. Why did Jeffrey always have this effect on her? And wasn’t it just like Jillie to enlist Jeffrey’s help in wearing her down. They were both probably planning book deals, greedy amoral animals that they were.

“Merry-Death, what ails you?” Geirolf said with concern as he walked into the living room. Tears were streaming down her face, and her hands were trembling as she talked to someone on the telephone. Another one of her family members, he would wager.

Angry with her kin, who continued to badger her, and frustrated with Merry-Death’s failure to stand up to them, he tossed the boxes he was holding onto the sofa. “Give me the bloody telephone,” he snapped, moving closer to her.

“No! Oh, no, no, no!” Her weepy eyes dilated with horror at the prospect of his speaking with whomever was on the other end of that talking box. Furious, he grabbed the phone from her hand. “Who is this?” he growled.

“Jeffrey Foster. Who the hell are you?”

“I am Geirolf Ericsson, Merry-Death’s betrothed. What did you say to cause her to weep, you bloody whoreson?”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me good and well. Know this, you black-hearted bastard. You tossed aside the best woman in the world, but a better man has picked up the pieces. Do not presume to change your lackbrain mind now.”

“I don’t want Meredith. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I know her for the treasure she is—that’s what gave me that idea.”

“Hot damn! She must have developed a few sexual talents since I’ve known her to make up for her other…deficiencies.”

A fierce rumble of outrage rolled up from his chest, emerging as the noise warriors often made before entering battle. “If you were here now, you cowardly cur, I would wring your neck and feed your scurrilous tongue to the ravens.”

“You’re a lunatic. Let me talk to Meredith.”

“Apparently you have a hearing problem. Do not ever call Merry-Death again. Do not intimidate her. Do not belittle her. Do not come within a hide of her manor.”

“You have no right to order me around. Who do you think you are, you…you illiterate lowlife?”

“I am the man who will lop off your head in a trice if you so much as look at my woman again,” he snarled and slammed down the phone.

It took several moments for Geirolf’s berserk temper to pass. ’Twas always thus when the war fever hit, giving him the blood surge necessary to fight off his enemies. When he came to his senses again, after several deep, panting breaths, he noticed Merry-Death staring at him. Her eyes were wide with unshed tears and recrimination. Recrimination? That brought his rage back with a vengeance.