Page 83 of The Last Viking

Rolf stood warily. “Don’t harm her,” he pleaded. “I’ll give you whate’er you want. Be careful. No one has to be hurt.”

“The belt,” the man demanded in a muffled voice. “Drop it to the ground, and step back.”

A sense of something familiar or not quite right about the gunman nagged at Meredith, but she couldn’t puzzle it out now. “Don’t do it, Rolf. He’s bluffing.” At least, I think he is.

“One more word and you’re dead, bitch,” the obviously disguised voice said against her ear.

Rolf didn’t pay any attention to her. He’d already unbuckled his talisman belt. It fell with a clunk. Then he took two steps backwards.

“The arm ring, too,” the thief ordered.

Arm ring? Since when does your everyday burglar know that is an arm ring? Most people would call it a bracelet, or silver arm band. But “arm ring” is a medieval term. Recognition hit her like a ton of bricks. Jeffrey! The bastard!

Uncaring of the risks, she wrenched herself out of his arms by elbowing him hard, then swiveling and delivering a sharp knee to the groin. His gun went off again, right against her head, but Meredith realized at once that, although her ears were ringing, she hadn’t been injured. The weapon must contain blanks.

With a groan, Jeffrey bent at the waist, clutching his precious jewels. By then, Rolf was standing. He picked up the spear and whacked Jeffrey over the head, knocking him unconscious.

Rolf grabbed her by the forearms and demanded, “Are you all right?” She nodded, and he hauled her into a bone-crunching bear hug. “Woman, I’m going to wring your neck in a few moments for taking such a foolhardy chance. But right now, I’m so happy you’re alive.” His voice cracked at the end as he lavished tiny kisses of euphoria all over her face and neck.

“Oh, Rolf, I was so worried. I thought…Oh, sweetheart, I love you so. And I thought I’d lost you…already. I mean, too soon. Oh, I don’t know what I mean.” She was sobbing and kissing him at the same time.

“Shhhh,” he crooned, and then straightened with concern. “We’ve got to get these two inside and restrain them. Open the patio door for me, Merry-Death.” Bending, he heaved up the body with ease, even though it must be very heavy for him, and threw it over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “I know not who these knaves are, but you can be sure I will soon find out,” he growled.

“Well, actually—” she stammered, shifting from foot to foot.

Rolf had started to walk toward the house with his living baggage, but he paused and turned back to stare at her.

“You know this man?” he asked icily.

What? Did he imagine she was in cahoots with the burglars? Geez! “It’s…Oh, I know this is hard to believe, but it’s—”

“Spit it out, Merry-Death.”

“…my ex-husband.”

Rolf said a very foul word, then pointed toward the side yard. “And who might that be? His pregnant wife?”

“No. I’m not sure. Oh, God, this is so awful.” She began to weep.

“Hell, the tears again!” he stormed. “Merry-Death, this man weighs more than a butchered boar. Speak up. Who’s the other miscreant?”

“My sister. Jillie,” she said in a small voice.

“Blód hel!” he swore, then put his free hand to her face and whispered, “Oh, Merry-Death. I’m so sorry.” He was the one who looked as if he might cry then—for her.

Much later, they still sat about Merry-Death’s great room, trying to determine what to do with the culprits squirming on the sofa under his scowling scrutiny.

“I vote for throwing them off the cliff,” he grumbled, but Merry-Death—kind-hearted soul that she was—urged, “Stop kidding, Rolf. What we have to decide is whether to involve the police.”

“Give me a break, Mer,” Jillian said, examining her fingernails with unconcern. Apparently, a major tragedy had occurred in the course of her falling—she’d broken a fingernail. “You wouldn’t want the publicity. Besides, I could sue that barbarian over there for attacking me.” She rolled her shoulders and winced for effect.

What a game she played! Pretending to be hurt when his “spear” hadn’t even broken the skin between her shoulder blades. Then he pondered her words. “Are you calling me a barbarian, wench? You, who planned a siege of your own sister’s home?”

“Shhh, Rolf,” Merry-Death cautioned. “She’s right. I don’t want to call the police, but not to protect my reputation or hers. Thea has to be protected.”

“That’s another thing,” Jillian complained. “You had no right to have Mike come here and take her away. She’s my daughter and—”

“Jillie, that’s the most self-centered thing I’ve ever heard you say, and that’s saying a lot. How could you have wanted Thea to witness this? Don’t you care if she knows you’re a thief, or worse?”