Dark Viking (7 page)

Without hesitation, she peeled off her wet suit and was about to raise the tunic over her head when the door swung open. The man who stood there . . . Steven, of course . . . froze in place, stunned, and gawked at her like she was the third wonder of the world. Or an alien from outer space. Hard to tell if he was good stunned or bad stunned.

“Oh, my gods!” He stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him.

For a blip of a second, Rita had forgotten she was naked, although luckily he only got a side view, no frontal full monty.

Yikes! Quickly, she put the tunic and pants on. Her fingertips came to the inside elbows on the sleeves, and the bottom hung down to her calves. The neckline exposed one shoulder.

“Hope you don‟t mind. I had to borrow your clothing.”

He shrugged. “‟Tis Thorfinn‟s.”

“Ooookaaaay!”

“You are a woman,” he declared, stepping forward as he recovered from his shock.

She backed up. “No kidding. What did you think I was?”

“A sea creature.”

Now it was her turn to gawk. “Like an icky giant squid? Be careful, I might squirt some ink at you.”

He ignored her attempt at humor. “Do you often knock men to their arses?”

“Often enough.”

He arched his brows in question.

“When they need to be put in their place.”

“And that place would be?”

She grinned. “Under a woman‟s foot.”

“Surely you jest.”

She shrugged. “Women need to be able to defend themselves.”

“From what?”

“Terrorists, tangos, bad guys.”

“You consider me a bad guy?”

“Putting a woman in a cage . . . that definitely qualifies as bad in my book.”

“What book would that be?”

“Picky, picky, picky! It‟s just a saying. I meant that putting a woman in a cage is barbaric.”

“Even when the woman is not really a woman? How do I know your sea comrades do not plan an attack on Norstead and that you were sent ahead as a trick to lull our senses?”

“That‟s ridiculous.” “How did you shed your black skin?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly as he stared at her crumpled wet suit on the rush-covered floor. “I thought snakes were the only ones who shed skin.”

“Uh, I took it off.” For every step forward he took with seeming casualness, she took one back. Meanwhile, she searched for a weapon. Could she reach that poker by the small fireplace?

“Magic, that must be it. Are you a sorceress?”

“Not last time I checked.”

“Have you forgotten that I do not like your sarcasm? And do not even think of picking up that poker lest you want to taste the flavor of my wrath. A cage will be the least of your complaints then, believe you me.”

She nudged the wet suit with a toe. “Look, this is just a wet suit. A garment worn in deep sea diving and other underwater work. Anyone could put it on.”

“Anyone? Me?”

“Well, you‟re a bit too big for this one.”

And, boy, was that the truth! This Viking was one tall drink of water. At least six foot three.

And, okay, she‟d seen her share of hunks, both in the movies and SEALs, but this guy was a match for any of them. Etched silver armbands emphasized muscled biceps. Wide shoulders, narrow waist and hips, long legs, all pointed to one fine, physically fit specimen of masculinity, all encased in attire that befitted a Norse nobleman.

A Norse nobleman about to go to war.

Okay, this was something new.

He‟d changed from his earlier garments to battle gear . . . long-sleeved leather tunic over slim pants made of brushed hide tucked into tall boots. A thigh-length, short-sleeved suit of armor made of metal links was half fastened up the front. From a wide leather belt, there hung two scabbards, one holding a short sword on one side and a broadsword on the other. A metal helmet with nose guard rested in the crook of his elbow.

Most impressive, though, were his almost too-pretty facial features with their compelling silver eyes framed by lush black eyelashes. It would be hard for most women to resist. Except that he was also morose and annoying. And menacing, as well, suited for battle, as he was.

But back to the wet suit. “You‟d need a bigger size. Way bigger.”

“Likely story!”

“And it would never fit over that . . . tin shirt.” She waved a hand at his armor.

Looking down, he said, “Brynja.”

“Huh?”

“‟Tis called a brynja, not a tin shirt.”

“Whatever. Listen, I know that Navy SEALs are big on simulated terrorist exercises, and, whoo-boy, this one is certainly authentic. So, game over. I surrender.”

“You surrender?” he inquired with sudden sexual interest, deliberately misreading her words. “How . . . intriguing! I have ne‟er had sex with a fish afore.”

“Just sheep?”

“Insults like that gain naught, m‟lady.”

“Sorry. Anyhow, it‟s been swell chatting with you and all that, but take me back to the commander.”

“I 
am
 the commander.” And it was about time he exerted some authority, too. This woman .

. . and, yea, she was a woman, all right. Not to his taste, of course, with that ridiculous boyling haircut, being taller than the average female, with more muscles than any woman should have, and a tongue that was way too sharp.

She was rolling up the sleeves of the tunic when he made that statement. “Is this place on the Special Forces site in Coronado, or out on San Clemente Island? We‟ve done survival training on the island, but I never saw anything like this. The detail is remarkable.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. And by the way, you speak the oddest form of English.”

“Hah! You think I talk funny. You‟re the one. What nationality are you, anyway? Oh, that‟s right. You‟re a blee-pin‟ Viking. Ha-ha-ha!”

“Blee-pin had best be a compliment.”

“It is, it is.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, not convinced. “In any case, I speak Norse, which is very similar to Saxon English. Really, I have no trouble understanding the merchants in the Saxon market towns, but they use none of those odd words you do on occasion. Which leads to the most important issue betwixt us. Where in hell is my brother?”

“Thorfinn?”

“Of course Thorfinn.”

“Last I saw him was this morning, on the beach at Coronado.”

Steven gasped. “Last I saw him was in Baghdad two years ago. Is Coronado in the Arab lands?”

She frowned her confusion. “Coronado is in the United States.”

“Is the United States an undersea kingdom?”

“Enough with the undersea, mermaid, merman, siren, sorceress, snake nonsense. I‟m a human being, just like you.”

“I doubt that. If you are indeed human and you have seen my brother, take me to him.”

“I would if I knew where I was.”

“I have told you, this is Norstead, my estate in the Norselands.”

“Where exactly is the Norselands?”

“Across the sea from Britain.”

“Do you mean Norway? That‟s impossible. I was in the United States earlier today, and that‟s oceans away from here.”

“Then it must be magic. Can you transform yourself into a mermaid at will?”

“Oh, God, we‟re back to the sea creature business.”

“Take off my brother‟s tunic.”

“Huh? No way. Not unless you have some other clothes for me. I am not going to prance around bare naked in a room with some Viking warlord.”

“Prance around? Warlord?” He almost grinned at her. Almost.

“You‟re as grumpy and dour as your brother.”

“Not so! I am the lighthearted brother.”

“And I have a bridge to sell you in the Sahara desert.”

“Do not try to distract me. Take off that tunic, or I will.”

“Why?”

“I did not look closely enough when I first came in. I need to check if you have a tail.” 
And
 
there are some other bits I want a better look at, too.

“If you think I‟m gonna let you check out my behind, you‟ve got another think coming.” 
Argue, argue, argue! Must she gainsay me at every turn? Truly, this woman is as bad as
 
Oslac’s dead wife.
 “What? Are you going to flip me over your head again? Have a caution, sea wench. I am wise to your ways now.”

“Is that so? Well, this time I might aim a knee to your precious jewels.”

It took him a moment to understand what she meant, then he winced. She would not dare!

Well, mayhap she would if he let her, which he would not.

“Or I could do a karate chop to your Adam‟s apple.” She demonstrated with a hand motion to her own.

“You would be the one flipped over my head if you ever attempted such. Better yet, you would be flipped onto your back, thighs spread, awaiting a good swiving.” Too late, he realized what mind image he‟d inadvertently planted in his head. Where had such a ludicrous idea come from? Hah! He knew exactly where it came from. That momentary glimpse of her naked body when he‟d entered the room.

“You would rape me?” she asked, incredulously.

“Never! I know more ways to bring a woman to peak than there are hairs on your body.

When . . . if . . . I choose to tup you, it will be with you begging for my favors.”

“Better men have tried.”

He arched his brows at her, but then the door swung open. Oslac‟s gaze swung to him, then to the woman, and back to him again, as surprised as he was to see that the sea wench was actually a person . . . for the moment, anyway . . . even if covered by Thorfinn‟s tunic.

“The boats are ready. The troops from Amberstead are on their way and will be here within the hour.”

Steven nodded.

“What will you do with her?”

“I cannot leave her here in this room when we might be gone a sennight or more. With her skills, she could easily overpower one of the maids bringing fresh water and food.”

Before he had a chance to discuss other alternatives, the woman . . . Ree-tah . . . remarked, “I notice you two yahoos are dressed for battle. What‟s up?”

He thought about ignoring her question. What was it to her, after all? Unless . . . nay, surely sending this sea woman was not a ploy of Brodir the Bold. Was she?

Steven and Oslac‟s eyes met as they shared the same inner question.

Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Pirates have taken my sister Disa. We go to rescue her.”

“Pirates? Oh, this is too much. Johnny Depp is going to join this dream adventure. What next? Mel Gibson in a kilt?”

“Your chatter is beginning to annoy me,” Steven said.

“Big whoop! Listen up, Mr. Macho Man, I‟m in an elite military unit, with fighting skills. I could help.”

Steven laughed. “You? A soldier? Females do not go to battle.”

“This one does. I told you, I‟m a female SEAL. Oh, I get it. You think I mean SEAL like an animal seal. Nope. SEALs are a Special Forces fighting group in my country.”

“Like Jomsvikings or Varangians?” Oslac asked.

“Um, I guess so.”

“I could lop off her head for you,” Oslac offered.

Steven knew that Oslac was only half serious, but the woman did not even flinch. Why was she not fearful of them? “So, can I come, too?”

“Nay,” Steven said.

“Just like that, no? No explanation?”

“I owe you no explanation.” He turned to Oslac. “I cannot chance her escaping until I learn more of Thorfinn‟s whereabouts.”

Oslac nodded.

“The cage, then.”

“She will create mischief, even in the cage,” Oslac warned.

He shrugged. “There is no other choice.”

“No way! You are not putting me in that cage again. Go away. Don‟t touch me.” She swatted at him with her hands. She attempted to kick him in the genitals with the heel of her bare foot. She danced around in ridiculous defensive moves, hoping to evade him.

She screamed when he tossed her over his shoulder and let her pound at his back, while Oslac led the way through the upper corridor down to the great hall, drawing the attention of one and all. When she continued to screech, nigh making his ears bleed, he smacked her on the rump. When that did not work, he slid a hand under the tunic and up her bare legs. Only then did she still when he cupped one of her buttocks in his big hand. 
No tail,
 he noted, by the by.

“I am going to kill you, the first chance I get,” she hissed out.

“I look forward to your trying.” With one last squeeze of her bottom, he put her in the cage and locked it. He almost felt sorry for her as she sat, back against the bars, knees drawn up to her chest, glaring at him . . . in silence now.

Ah, well, he could handle only one problem at a time.

As they walked off, Oslac said, “It is so much fun being around you, Steven. What will you do next?”

Steven had no idea. 

Turns out it was all the witches’ fault . . .

For the first hour, Rita sat in her cell, fuming. And she said a few bad words. Okay, a lot of bad words.

During the second hour, she was still fuming . . . and swearing, so she took a nap. Not an easy task, considering the pounding headache she had from her giant goose egg. Two goose eggs, actually.

Third hour, fuming and swearing and napping doing her no good, she tried yelling for help.

Then she tried yelling for an aspirin. No response. Though she could hear voices in the distance, the heavy door of the weaponry room had been closed. Alarming thought: who would come into a weaponry room when all the soldiers were off to war, or wherever they had gone?

Heck, she might be in here, forgotten, for days.

During hours four and five, all of which were guesstimates, of course, not having a watch, her headache became one continuous throb of pain. She plotted ways that she would repay the despicable commander, who surely exceeded his orders in the treatment of prisoners . . . even fake prisoners.

The problem was . . . one of the many problems, actually . . . that she kept vacillating between that scenario and this being a dream or some far-out SEAL simulated mission. None of those was proving very viable. But what else could it be? Maybe it was tied to Steven‟s connection with Thorfinn. She would have to address that when he came back.

If she wasn‟t dead by then.

“Okay,” she finally told herself, “the only person you can really depend on in life is yourself. I know that better than most. So, what am I going to do now?”