Page 96 of The Last Viking

“But your ship isn’t on the open seas.”

“Ah, you’ve not been listening to me, Merry-Death. Tsk-tsk. Did I not say we Vikings are creative?”

Thea returned to the house the next day, and the wedding feast was held the following Saturday. Meredith insisted that it be a small affair—Thea, Mike, Sonja, the students, and a few SCA members they’d gotten to know. It was probably mean of her, but she’d balked at having Jillian or her parents present. And Jared was too far away to come.

Meredith had harbored many doubts about their having a public celebration of their wedding. It was going to be very difficult to explain Rolf’s disappearance in a few weeks. But she was glad now that she’d given in to his urging for a public wedding. The vows they’d exchanged just a few hours ago before his longship had been beautiful…a memory to treasure forever.

A short time ago, she’d gone into the house to get more manchet bread. Now she stood leaning against the post of one of the colorful, open-sided tents, watching the scene unfolding around her. Everyone was dressed in Viking or medieval costume. Musicians played authentic melodies on dulcimers, lyres, and panpipes.

Rolf, splendidly attired in his lush black tunic and braies, the talisman belt sparkling in the sunshine, was demonstrating for Thea one of the dances done in his country. The young girl, who should have been more comfortable doing the macarena, or whatever the dance du jour, giggled and followed his steps with enthusiasm.

Rolf had talked Meredith into signing papers to take over temporary guardianship of Thea, and the girl was already enrolled in the local junior high school. Meredith suspected he’d been so persistent because he feared for her state of mind when he left her behind. But she wouldn’t dwell on those depressing ideas today.

Rolf glanced up suddenly and caught her staring at him. He’d told her as dawn broke today that the best thing about making love in the morning is that you feel like you have a secret all day long. He was right.

The rogue winked, as if reading her thoughts.

She took the bread over to the cooks and asked about the progress of the Maine lobsters and side of venison being baked in a pit filled with layers of moist grass and red-hot rocks. She tasted the skyr, a form of Norse cheese curd being made on the spot by Frank and Henrietta Burgess. The elderly couple, obviously still in love after all these years, also showed her how they’d prepared the flat oak cakes baking on the open fire.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Henrietta gushed, tears brimming in her eyes.

“And I congratulate you on a job well done with this project,” Frank added. “When your grandfather first formed this foundation, I had reservations. I never envisioned that the project would encompass so much more than just the shipbuilding and voyage. Though that in itself is an admirable achievement.”

Meredith’s jaw dropped open in astonishment at the praise coming from this unexpected quarter.

“What you’ve pulled off here, my dear, is a true learning experience for college students,” he went on. “History, culture, sociology, language, anthropology—”

“Don’t forget women’s studies,” his wife piped in.

“That, too.” Frank laughed. “But, really, Meredith, I’m hoping you’ll consider staying here in Maine and making this a continuing project.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

He put up a hand. “Now, now, just think about it.”

She nodded and proceeded around the clearing, pondering that interesting suggestion. As she stopped and chatted with the various people, all dressed in period costumes as required in their invitations, her gaze kept returning to Rolf, again and again. And each time, he was watching her, love shining openly in his eyes.

This time he walked up to her and linked her hands with his, drawing her over to the side. Dog came trotting after him.

“What is that in Dog’s mouth?”

“Oh,” Rolf said, unconcerned, glancing down at the huge mutt, “it’s Oreos.”

“You fool! You shouldn’t be feeding a dog cookies.”

“I shouldn’t?”

“No. Especially not chocolate. It’s better if he eats the dry dog food I bought for him.”

He pondered a moment, but then seemed to disregard her opinion. “Have you e’er sampled that dog meal, Merry-Death?”

“Have you?” she choked out.

“Well, of course. Dost judge me so cruel that I would give your pet something I wouldn’t eat myself? And I tell you true, it tastes worse than dried cod on a North Sea voyage.”

She retched.

He chucked her under the chin. “I was jesting with you, Merry-Death. I fed only one Oreo to Dog because he loves them, just as I do. Almost as much as I love you.”