Page 36 of Down and Dirty

Britta blinked with confusion. Pressing in front of her was a blur of people — men, women, and children — in colorful clothing that nigh blinded the eye. Leastways, colorful compared to her time where drab brown was the norm for common folks. On some women were knee-length gunnas that left the shoulders and legs shockingly bare. Lips were rouged and eyelids kohled.

Other people were adorned with flowered sherts, like Zachary’s, but also tanking tops and tea-sherts, like hers, of all the colors of the rainbow. On bottom, worn by men as well as women, were braies made of den-ham, a popular fabric in this country, as well as short braies that barely reached the knees.

And the noise… what a cacophony of shouted greetings! Lively music… a man singing of wasting away in Margaret’s villa, having only a last shaker of salt, and a woman to blame. A baby was crying, people laughing, all against the backdrop of the roaring ocean waves. There was even a barely stifled sob!

Then suddenly silence, except for the ocean.

Everyone stared at her, smiling, expecting some response.

Slowly, Britta began to take in the scene before her as faces became separate and in some cases familiar.

There was Ragnor Magnusson. A handsome rascal still, who was surprisingly wed to the sister of the WEALS’ dour Commander MacLean, who, not surprisingly, stood looking dour beside his wife Madrene. A little boyling sat on his shoulders pounding on his head; it must be the infamous Ivan the Terrible. Madrene held a sleeping babe against her shoulder.

And, oh my gods and goddesses, waving at her over there was her good friend Hilda, though she could barely recognize her in her new attire: white den-ham braies, like her own black ones, and a fluttery long-sleeved shert that was nigh transparent, showing underneath the female harness known as a bra… in her case, a black lacy one. Her hair was still long but arrayed in wild curls. Standing next to her was that grinning rogue, Torolf, who had a restraining hold on the hand of a squirming child scarce out of swaddling clothes. The boy had Torolf’s mischievous eyes and Hilda’s silver-colored hair.

Also in attendance were Geek, whom she already knew, and several others she did not recognize, some of whom must be SEALs, and was that Kirstin Magnusson over there? Sweet Frigg, she had not seen Kirstin since they had both been girlings at a Hedeby Althing. She saw Cage slip an arm around Kirstin’s waist, which Kirstin promptly slapped away. But she grinned as she did so.

In the background stood an aging Magnus Ericsson, a giant of a man. Britta was tall. Zachary was taller than she. Magnus was even taller still. His long, light brown hair, threaded with gray, was plaited into thin war braids on either side of his face, exposing big ears. He wore a belted tunic and slim braies. Still Viking to the bone!

It was all so confusing… and overwhelming. So many people that Britta had thought dead! More than ten years ago, Magnus Ericsson and nine of his eleven living children had supposedly been involved in a shipwreck in Iceland with no survivors. Ragnor had died in battle; everyone said so. Madrene had been captured by the evil Steinolf and sold as a slave in the Arab lands. And her good friend Hilda, surely she had died in that avalanche that even Britta had witnessed; no one could have survived that disaster.

What is happening? Could it really be time travel? Surely not! But what other explanation is there?

Instinctively, she stepped even closer to Zachary.

He squeezed her shoulder, kissed the top of her head, and whispered in her ear. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be all right, babe.”

“So you say!”

“Behave yourself.” He pinched her bottom.

To which she yelped, then shoved his chest.

Startled, he fell backward onto the sand.

Betimes Britta did not know her own strength.

Everyone was laughing as Zachary stood, rubbing his buttocks.

“I did not mean to hurt you,” she apologized begrudgingly.

“That’s okay. You can kiss it and make it better.”

Her eyes widened. “You want me to kiss your arse?”

Luckily, he was the only one to hear that remark. He grinned and said, “Only if you want to.”

“You are making jest of me in front of one and all. I did not mean to knock you down.” It was as close to an apology as the brute would get from her. But, really, ’twas embarrassing when she hurt people accidentally, one of the disadvantages of her great size. Hopefully, that great size would prove an advantage in the WEALS.

She held out a hand to help Zachary up to stand beside her. A big mistake.

He immediately put his mouth near her ear again. “After the party’s over, I’ll take you to my place and rock your world,” he told her, then blew a hot breath, which slingshotted all the way through her body, arousing even her pores.

She turned fully, brow creased with a mixture of irritation and confusion. His face was mere inches from hers. In truth, she could smell the mint on his breath and feel his manheat. Her traitorous body reacted with pearling nipples and a pulsing betwixt her legs, the usual response of late to this too-handsome man. Even the spot he had pinched throbbed. Next she would be drooling like Hilda’s dog Stig, who had been ever randy.

“Orgasms,” he explained, waggling his eyebrows.

Huh? Oh. So, that is what ‘rocking my world’ means. “You could try!” she said with more assurance than she felt, then pushed away from him and headed toward Hilda, who was motioning for her to approach. Why had she ever mentioned the subject of orgy-as-hims… rather, orgasms… to the man? Now he used it against her.