Sandra Hill (22 page)

Zach heard a loud buzzing in his ears, and he literally saw red. The feeling was not unlike the berserk rage that sometimes overcame SEALs and other special forces operators before a battle.

Luckily, or not so luckily, Cage and Slick had moved Linda’s chair aside, and they stood on both sides of him, forcing him to stay put.

“Doan even think it,
cher
,” Cage warned.

“Buddy, you’re already in deep shit. Do you wanna land in the brig, end your career, lose your pretty looks?” That last was said by Slick with a grin.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the frickin’ brig, the frickin’ SEALs, or my frickin’ face. That dickhead has his hands on my girl.”

“Your girl?” Linda squealed. “You have a girl?”

“He means that in a collective sense, as in Britta is in WEALS, as in Britta is
our girl
, to all of us SEALs,” Geek explained…with a straight face, yet.

Zach snorted his opinion of that bullshit, but Linda seemed satisfied with the explanation.

“Calm down, boy.” Cage patted his shoulder. “Looks lak she’s the one got her tongue in his ear and his nuts in hand…so ta speak.”

“Yeah, but Overdorf has his hands on her ass,” Sly pointed out. “And it looks to me like, yep, he’s making Mr. Happy…well, happy, rubbing against her belly like that.”

The roaring in Zach’s head got louder.

He studied Britta for a long moment. She’d cut her hair. Dammit! But it was nice. Kind of wavy blonde down to her shoulders, framing her face. Feminine. She wore regular straight-legged blue jeans, silvery high-heeled sandals—Lordy, Lordy! Britta in high heels!—and a floaty type of blue and silver long-sleeved blouse that appeared transparent in spots. Pink lipstick glistened on her mouth, and mascara lengthened her eyelashes. What bothered him most was that Britta no longer stuck out with her waist-long braids and scrubbed maiden skin. She was changing.

“She should be careful with Dylan Overdorf,” Linda broke into his thoughts. “He’s got hands like an octopus, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. I heard he keeps a record of all the women he’s slept with, and a rating beside each name. He even makes notations of kinky stuff he convinces his partners to do.”

That did it. Zach stood, knocking back Cage and Slick’s hands. “Back off,” he warned the two of them. Then he headed for the dance floor.

Britta saw him coming. He noticed her body go stiff and her eyes widen with surprise.
I’ll give you a surprise, all right. With your butt pointing north, right over my knee.

“Britta,” he said, forcibly lifting her hand off Overdorf’s shoulder and hauling her out of his arms.

“Unhand me, knave.”

Surprised at first, Overdorf let her go, then tried to pull her back. “Whoa, who the hell are you?”

“Your worst enemy. Let go of Britta.”

Overdorf glanced at Britta and cocked an eyebrow. “Darlin’?”

“
Darlin’?
Listen, cowboy, fun’s over. Time for Cinderella to go home.”

“And you would be Prince Charming, right? I don’t think so. I know who you are. One of those Navy SEALs who thinks his shit don’t stink.”

People were stopping their dancing and staring at them. All his buddies were behind him, urging him to come back. Somewhere in his testosterone-broiled brain he knew he was making a fool of himself.

The band launched into a new song. Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now?” For a blip of an insane second, he thought about asking Britta how she liked him now.

“Come on, cupcake, let’s get out of here. Start on one of those orgasms.” Overdorf was addressing Britta, whose face had the good sense to turn pink.

Zach saw red again. His eyes cut to Britta, telling her silently that she’d betrayed him. She was only supposed to have orgasms with him. At least, that’s what his male pride told him, and a little part of his heart that felt wounded.

“What is the cause of your ill humor, lout?” Britta inquired sweetly.

“You,” he snarled.

“Me? You jest. I just got here.”

He inhaled and exhaled to tamp his temper down. “Come with me, Britta. Please.”

“Why should she, froggie?” Overdorf sneered. SEALs were sometimes referred to as frogmen, an appellation from World War II days.

“Because she’s my fiancée.” He hoped God didn’t strike him dead for the lie.

“Oh. Well. Why didn’t you say so?” Overdorf gave Britta an accusing look, as if she’d led him on, which she probably had.
How could she discuss orgasms with anyone but me?
Before anyone had a chance for second thoughts, he put a hand around her waist and practically frog-walked her to their table. An apt thing for a frogman to do, he joked with himself, a sure sign of his mental state.

He stopped just before they got to the table, where seven people, including Linda, were watching him expectantly, wondering what he would do next. Hell,
he
wondered what he would do next.

Turning her to face him, he pulled her close, leaned forward, and gave her what he intended to be a kiss of conciliation, to make up for his rude behavior. Instead, he aligned their bodies from knees to chests, easy to do when Britta matched his height in her high heels which, incidentally, gave him all kinds of ideas, most dealing with bare skin. It quickly morphed into an intimate kiss of wild, hungry, public-be-damned exaltation. He was like an oversexed hound dog marking his territory.

He heard clapping before and behind him and hoots of encouragement. Britta stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

He had.

When they finally sat down at the table, there were six sets of laughing eyes gawking at them and a not-so-laughing pair from Linda.

Britta nodded to each of them in turn, knowing most of them already, except Linda, whom she shot a glower. Then she asked him, “What is a fee-aunt-say?”

Mead turns men’s minds to sex…the same throughout the ages…

Right off, she told the oaf what she thought of him. “You are an oaf!” she said.

“Yeah, but a loveable oaf.”

“Why did you tell that man we are betrothed?”

“Quickest way to get rid of the jerk.”

“Jerk?”

“Loser.”

“Loser?”

“He was unworthy of you.”

“Oh. And you are not?”

“Nope. I’m very, very worthy of you. I deserve you. We are a match made in heaven.”

“So, now we are betrothed?”

“Well, no. Not unless you wanna be.”

She laughed. “I release you from that false promise.”

“What if I don’t wanna be released?”

She laughed again. “Zachary, to become betrothed, you would have to be smitten with me, which you clearly are not.”

“Hah! I’m smitten all right.”

“So you say!”

“Ask anyone.”

“The boy, he is smitten, all right,” Cage said, and the others, all of whom were listening with great enjoyment to their conversation, nodded their agreement. The woman whom Zachary had introduced as Linda did not look happy.

“Besides, I was rescuing you from a guy with a very bad reputation,” he told Britta.

She arched a brow with disbelief.

“Ask Linda. He makes his sex partners do perverted things.” She could tell that Zachary regretted making that statement. But Linda nodded.

“More perverted than incline sex?”

Zachary red-faced, gawked at her as if he could not believe she had said that. She realized why when she saw all the men go silent with interest, waiting.

“So, Zach,
mon coeur
, exactly what is incline sex?”

“Is it on an inclined plane, like a skateboard ramp?” Merrill the Geek asked.

Before Zachary could speak, she said, “It is rather like upside-down sex. Well, not really that. More like a wheels-barrow. Hmmm. How would you explain it, Zachary?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Do you blush, lout? Odin’s breath! You do,” she hooted.

Everyone at the table was laughing, so hard some were holding their sides, even Linda, who seemed to have moved her affections from Zachary to Luke the Slick, who paid her no nevermind.

“Zach, Zach, Zach!” JAM said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“And here we were all thinking you’d lost your touch!” This from Sly.

“It would appear that our pretty boy has a bit of the nasty in him. Hoo-yah!” Cage teased.

“And you guys make fun of my penile glove!” Geek added with affront.

Linda turned slowly to gape at Geek. “You wear a glove on your penis? Do you mean a condom?”

“No, I don’t mean a condom, and that’s all I’ll say on the subject in mixed company.” He glowered at his friends.

Zachary was looking pleased that the attention had moved away from him.

But then Sly said, “Back to sexual perversions. What other kinky stuff does Pretty Boy do, Britta?”

“Well—”

Zachary slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Spoilsport!” JAM complained.

She had no idea what they were making such a fuss over.

“You wear a glove on your penis?” Linda persisted with Geek.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes it gets cold. And lonely. You want me to show you?”

“You men are crude and rude. I’ve heard that SEALs are nuts, and now I believe it.” Linda rose from her chair and walked away.

No one seemed to care much. Leastways they did not try to talk her into staying.

But then JAM said, “We
were
crude. Maybe you should go after her, Pretty Boy.”

“Hah! She was feelin’ up my family jewels under the table. She can’t be too offended by crudity.”

Britta turned to Zachary. “You have family jewels?”

Once again, everyone at the table laughed, presumably at a joke she did not understand.

“Oh, yeah,” Zach replied.

“Can I see them?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The laughter increased.

Zachary leaned close to her ear. “Family jewels refers to my…uh, package.”

She frowned. “Package. What package?”

Zachary rolled his eyes, took her hand, and placed it over his manpart, which began to grow under her fingers. She jerked her hand away.

“Linda was correct. You are all crude.”

The men, including Zachary, grinned as if she’d given them a compliment.

“The best sex I ever had,” Sly related, as if that had aught to do with the subject at hand, “was with a showgirl who could stand against the wall on one leg and lift the other leg straight up in the air, perpendicular to the floor.” He paused. “Naked, of course.”

Zachary looked at her.

“Not in a million years!”

“We’ll see.”

“We will not see.”

“That’s nothin’,” Cage added to the conversation. “I got it on one time with a gymnast who could stay in a backbend position, like forever, and—”

“What did you say about gymnasts?” Terri asked. She and Britta’s other friends had just walked up to the table, waving to Britta and the others. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“No kidding!” Cage smiled, but before he could say more, JAM said, “Have a seat, honey.” He gave her his chair, saying something teasingly to Cage in the process, something about ‘You snooze, you lose, bow-zo.’” Soon the men were pulling another table closer so that their now large group could sit together.

Even Dill-land, whose name was actually Dylan, came over to join them, much to Zachary’s displeasure, even though Dylan gave most of his attention to Donita, which seemed to annoy Sly, who had done naught but goad and taunt Donita in the past. In any case, Dylan greeted one and all by saying, “How-dee,” and winked at Britta. That, too, brought a growl out of Zachary’s tight mouth.

They all dined then on a feast. Two large rounds of manchet bread covered with a red sauce and cheese. Wings—and only the wings—of a chicken, but so hot one needed tons of ale to wash them down. A large tray of salted sticks called French fries made from the potato, a vegetable she’d never heard of afore, although it apparently came to this country from Frankland. A big platter of notch-hose, which were crispy thin chips covered with melted cheese. And two racks of pig ribs swimming in a sweet and sour red sauce, which was very messy to eat but delicious.

After that, the musicians began to play again. First off was a raucous song called “That Old Time Rock ’n’ Roll,” which prompted Cage to yell across the table, “Yo, Marie.”

She glanced up with surprise from a conversation she’d been having with Dylan.

“Wanna show these Yankees how ta dance?”

She looked skeptical.

“Yer Cajun, aintcha?”

“Yeaaaah.”

“Enough said! We Cajuns have an extra dance gene, ain’t that so,
chère
?”

She smiled. “Oh, yeah. My mama, she was dancin’ in the cradle, and Papa, that man been playin’ the washboard since he was knee-high to a crawfish.”

The two of them did not walk out onto the dance area; they danced out.

“Wait till you see this,” Zachary said in her ear.

And what a show Cage and Marie put on! One song ran into another and yet another. No longer about rocking and rolling, but one about a love shack.
Do they have special shacks for loving here?
Then, another with the oddest lyric, “honky tonk badonkadonk.”

“What is a honky tonk badonkadonk?” she asked Zachary.

“Female ass.”

“That remark is sorely lacking humor.”

“It’s true.”

She glanced around the table, and those who had overheard nodded their heads.

Not for the first time, she thought,
What an odd country!
As ribald as Viking men were wont to be, even they did not sing about arses. Leastways, not in mixed company.

Cage and Marie were doing the most suggestive dance moves, all to the rhythm of a pounding beat of music. They circled each other, never quite touching, sometimes undulating in unison, with Cage spooned up to her backside. Britta could only describe their movements as a game of seduction. And she didn’t think Marie even liked Cage all that much.

Then, one of the band of musicians yelled out, “Have we got any cowboys in the crowd?”

There was a wild roar of yeses and yee-haws.

In response, the musicians launched into a song called “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” and Marie actually appeared to be riding Cage’s extended leg as if it were a horse. Still not touching, but everything but.

Britta shook her head at the absurdity and outrageousness of it all.

Other couples moved onto the dance floor, too, including everyone at their table. Dylan and Donita. JAM and Terri. Sly and Geek, with other ladies. Omar and Slick had already left, claiming other places to be.

“Wanna dance?” Zachary asked her.

“No.”

“That was blunt.”

“If you think I am going to engage in sex in public and call it dancing, I have a longship you might want to purchase.”

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. His arm was draped casually over the back of her chair, and his fingers played with the edges of her newly shorn hair.

Why was it that she was so aware of him when he merely smiled at her, whilst Dylan, and any other men in the tavern, could be stumps for all she cared?

“I have not talked with you for sennights.”

“Not for lack of my trying. If I recall correctly, you pretty much told me to go do something physically impossible to myself. More than once.”

She had to think a moment to figure what he meant, then said, “Tsk, tsk, tsk! I ne’er said those words. Besides, every time you attempted to talk to me it was after having nigh drowned me in those bloody rub-her boats, or in the midst of dousing me with sand, or mostly after a brutal assault on my body by excessive exercising.”

“I warned you how hard it would be, Britta. It’s my job to push you and the other WEALS as hard as you can stand. I haven’t treated you any differently. Besides, you can always—”

“—ring out,” she finished for him. “I have not struggled this far to quit now.”

He nodded. “How are the tutoring classes going?”

“Very well, but as much as I learn, there is so much more I realize that I do not know.”

“Hey, that’s life.”

“Do I have you to thank for the classes?”

“Me and the commander. Next month WEALS will go into half-day sessions in the classroom. We knew you’d never make it with your…background.”

“I feel so lackwitted.”

“No, don’t say that. You’re just in a new culture. Anyone would be the same. In fact, you and Sammy are in the same boat. He’s being tutored, too, but on a rudimentary level. Reading, writing, basic numbers. Even at his age, he’s aware that he’s different from other kids. He should be okay by the time school starts next semester, though, assuming he’ll be able to go to school.”

Yea, there are similarities betwixt me and the boy. Lost souls in a new land. Struggling to fit in. Not sure what the future will hold.

“Who cares for your son tonight?”

“Danny.”

“Does your brother come to help you often?”

“Actually, no. I usually don’t see him for months on end. He’s probably worried about me.”

“Because of the danger?”

He grinned. “Nah. Because having a child is crimping my social life.”

She smacked his arm for making jest with her.

“Still having the dreams?”

“Yea, but they vary now. Betimes the blood and carnage I see is from the good nuns. But, in other dreams, it is my father and brothers and their evil cohorts who lie lifeless at the hands of a band of warrior nuns, led by one particular nun.”

“Like Boudicca?”

Britta was familiar with the Celtic warrior queen, as she’d once told Mother Edwina. “In some ways, but Boudicca was not a nun.”

Zachary stiffened. “Is that nun in the dream you?”

She understood his dismay. If she saw herself in that dream, it must mean she would be returning. “Nay, ’tis not.”

He relaxed visibly.

“Still, the dreams are horrifying and confusing. And they are pulling at me.”

“Pulling?”

She nodded. “As if I could be pulled into a dream.”

“I still say that you need to talk with Madrene and Hilda. They might have insight, having traveled the same path.”

“I will…when I get a chance.”

He stood, took a big swallow from his long-necked bottle, placed it on the table, then took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, let’s dance. The music is slow now.”