Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (22 page)

“You’re muttering to yourself again. And smiling,” Cage pointed out. Cage sat next to him on a long bench. On his other side were Cody and Sly. Across the aisle from them were JAM, Flash, Pretty Boy, and F.U.

“I wish I was back in Loo-zee-anna, swimming in the bayou, catching a few crawfish, scarfing down a
bit of my grandma’s gumbo. A little
joie de vivre
, Cajun style. Nothing fancy, just the slow, easy, uncomplicated life. Of course, if you wanna throw in a Southern belle with hot pants as well, I wouldn’t object.” That was Cage speaking, of course.

“I wish I was walking down Forty-second Street in Manhattan, breathin’ in all the smells and sounds of the Big Apple.” Sly lived in a place that was alternately referred to as a man’s hat or an apple. What a country!

“Me, I wish I was in Nashville, at a Toby Keith concert,” Flash called over to them. “Man, I love that guy’s singin’. He’s a man with an attitude. Doesn’t hurt that he likes us guys in the military. ‘How do ya like me now?’ ” That last was sung as Toby Keith presumably did.

“Nah!” Cody said. He and Flash were always squabbling over their preferences in music. Bloody hell, till he’d landed in this mad country, Ragnor hadn’t known there
were
different kinds of music to pick from. Even now, he could not care. It was all just loud, in his opinion. “Better I be back in Asbury Park, cruisin’ the beaches for chicks,” Cody continued, “maybe lucking out with an impromptu Springsteen concert at the Stone Pony. Yeah, a little brew and The Boss, that’s the ticket.”

F.U., who was known as an extreme sports enthusiast, said, “I’d love to be in Wyoming, skiing down Mount Moran’s Skillet Glacier.”

Vikings skied, too, but only when the snow was so high there was no other way to get from here to there, like from the great hall to the privy on a cold winter day. Not Ragnor’s idea of a grand fantasy.

“Or mountain climbing—I wouldn’t mind that
either,” F.U. added. “The north face of the Grand Tetons … man oh man, that is heaven on earth.”

Hah! Ragnor had climbed more than a few mountains, usually when attempting to chase some bothersome, land-grabbing band of Danes who’d dared invade his land. ’Twas not an activity he would willingly seek out.

Pretty Boy’s wish was pretty straightforward. Being a former race-car driver, he said, “Just one more time I’d like to compete in the Daytona Five Hundred.”

JAM had a totally different view of what he’d like to be doing. “I’m thinking about getting engaged.”

“Oh, jeez! JAm’s got a bad case of the hornies, but he’s too guilt-ridden by all that Catholic teaching to do anything about it outside of marriage,” Sly said. “You’re not a Jesuit anymore, son.”

JAM smiled, not at all offended. “I never was an actual Jesuit. I attended seminary, but never took holy orders. Besides, it’s not my religious background that makes me think about getting engaged. I’ve known Laura forever. She’s an elementary school librarian in Los Angeles. I love her.” He shrugged as if that said it all.

“Well, don’t tell the brass about getting engaged,” Pretty Boy advised.

JAM frowned with confusion. “There’s no rule against being engaged or married in SEALs.”

“No rules, per se, but if the Navy wanted you to have a wife, they would have assigned you one. What they don’t know at this point, before you graduate and are deployed to a team, is your business,” Pretty Boy said. “My opinion only.”

Several of the others nodded, apparently sharing his opinion.

“How ’bout you,
cher
?” Cage asked him. “What’s yer wish?”

Without thinking, Ragnor said, “I wish I was back in the Norselands, in my own time.”

For some reason, they all turned on him with shock.

“Not that I believe all that time-travel crap, but why would you want to live in such primitive conditions?” Cody asked.

“Some modern inventions I would miss. Like cone-domes. And some of your foods, like cheeseburgers and pizza. But what need has a man for motoring vehicles when a good horse or a fast longship will do in most circumstances? Yea, your bathing rooms are cleaner, with all that flushing and running water, but a privy is a privy, when you get down to it. Besides, I have house carls aplenty to scrub out the garderobes; thus mine are less stinksome than many. You have nice keeps here in Ah-mare-ee-ca, as far as I have seen, but the timber castle I have at Norstead is magnificent, even by your standards. As for battle tactics and weapons, yours are far superior, but when the fields are level, as in sword against sword, I have no need of a repeating rifle.” He could see that everyone was gaping at him as if he’d lost his mind. He must have, to be blathering so. And he hadn’t even mentioned the one thing he would miss if he returned to the past. Alison.

“
Mon Dieu
, you are scarin’ me,” Cage said, patting him on the arm. “I thought you were gettin’ better with all those tapes you’ve been listenin’ to at night.”

“I am getting better at adjusting to your country, but it does not change the fact that I was born in 983, a very different time from yours.”

“Shit, that would make you about a thousand years old,” Pretty Boy hooted. “You do age well, buddy.”

“I want to know how he manages to get his pecker up after all these years,” F.U. chimed in. “And without Viagra even.”

“So horniness doesn’t go away with time, eh?” JAM asked, an appropriate question since they’d just teased him about being horny in love.

“You ever meet Attila the Hun?” Cody teased, bent over with laughter.

“I believe Attila the Hun was a bit before my time.”

“How ’bout Genghis Khan?”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

“I didn’t think anyone was before your time, except perhaps Jesus,” Flash offered.

“I have met Leif Ericsson, though. The Viking who supposedly discovered your country. A more arrogant Norseman there never was. He probably claimed to have invented sex, as well.”

“You are a piece of work, Max,” Flash said with a grin. “And you say it all with a straight face.”

“You can all make jest at my expense. Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves. But know this: I ne’er believed in time-travel afore either … until it happened to me. Remember that move-he
Starman
that you told me about, Cage, where a man from another plan-hat arrived here?”

“He’s talking about that old Jeff Bridges movie where an alien lands in Colorado and impregnates a modern woman,” Cage explained. “Oh,
Dieu
, you didn’t knock up Lieutenant MacLean already, did you?” Cage asked in horror.

Whaaat? Where did that idea come from?
Ragnor shivered with horror at even the hint of his impregnating a woman in the midst of all his other turmoil. Shades of his father! “Would you all stop interrupting?” Ragnor said with exaggerated disgust. “What I was trying to say is, if an alien is possible, why not time-travel?”

“Max, Max, Max!” Sly shook his head sadly at him. “That movie was fiction … make-believe … not real life.”

“And you, JAM,” Ragnor persisted. “With all your religious studies, surely you believe in miracles, don’t you?”

JAM’s face flushed, which was remarkable for a dark-skinned person such as he. “Yeah, I believe in miracles.”

“So … what? You’re a friggin’ miracle?” Cage wanted to know.

It was Ragnor’s face that heated up with embarrassment now. “That’s exactly what I think I am. A friggin’ miracle of a time-traveler.” He burst out laughing.

Until the chieftain walked into the building and came up to loom over all of them.

“Dum-dee-dum-dum,” F.U. sang in an undertone.

“Magnusson!” the chieftain bellowed. Did the man ever talk in a normal tone of voice? He made an abrupt signal with his thumb, indicating he wanted Ragnor to follow him to the back of the room.

“Uh-oh! What did I do now? Are you going to make me run up and down the length of this room? Or have you changed your mind about meeting my sister Madrene?”

The chieftain looked as if he’d like to hit him.

“Have I mentioned that Madrene resembles a cross between two famous women whose pictures I have seen on various SEAL lockers. A bit of Faith Hill and Pamela Anderson,” he lied.

The chieftain’s jaw dropped open before he had a chance to catch himself. He was interested, despite himself, Ragnor could tell.

“Shut your trap,” the chieftain said bluntly.

“She is tall and blond and beautiful like Faith Hill, but she has two of Pamela’s attributes, if you get my meaning.” Madrene would kill him if she ever heard him describe her thus. He was not about to mention Madrene’s shrewish disposition or the fact that she would as easily wallop a man as kiss him.

His SEAL trainee friends laughed uproariously as they blatantly eavesdropped on his and the chieftain’s conversation.

“Shut … the … fuck … up!” Ian said. He was not laughing.

When they got to the back of the room, the chieftain told the two instructors there to go to the front, giving them some privacy. Then he sliced Ragnor with a glare intended to intimidate, which intimidated him not in the least. “Sit,” Ian ordered.

They both sat down, and Ragnor started to ask him about Alison, whether he had heard from her, whether there were any more stalking calls, but the chieftain put up a hand. “I have a few things to say to you. I don’t want to be interrupted.”

“I have a few—”

“Did I give you permission to speak?”

“Nay, but—”

“Are you in love with my sister?”

“Huh? I hardly know your sister.”

“That’s what I thought. Just a notch on your sword, Viking, right?”

Ragnor drew himself up straight. “Do not dare to speak for me. Chieftain or not, you have no right to misspeak me. You asked about love … an emotion I have ne’er experienced afore, so I cannot say for sure how it feels. I do know that your sister is my destiny.”

“Destiny? What kind of bullshit is that?”

He shrugged. “I cannot explain it. I just sense that Alison and I were meant to be together.”

“And the sex just happened to take place along the road to your destiny.”

“That is correct. I am pleased that you understand.”

“You kumquat! I don’t understand anything. How my sister could be interested in a goofus like you. How you managed to make her acquaintance, let alone an acquaintance with her bed sheets. How you even remotely think there’s a chance of a future between a SEAL trainee and an admiral’s daughter.”

“I would have you know my grandfather was a high noble in the Norselands. My great-uncle was king. I am a jarl. My lineage is as high as your family’s any day, in any country, in any time.”

“That’s another thing. This time-travel nonsense you keep spouting. I’m ordering a complete mental and physical reassessment of you when we get back to the base.”

“Whatever you choose,” Ragnor said. “I know what I know, and it has naught to do with some head injury.”

“Why don’t you just ring out, Magnusson, and save us all a heap of trouble?”

“Because you want me to.”

“What? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that you push and push me, hoping I will quit. That just makes me more determined to finish. We Magnussons are a stubborn bunch.”

“And stop trying to fix me up with your sister.”

Ragnor grinned.

“And stop grinning.”

“So grinning is against the rules now, too?”

“Shut up!”

“By the by, wouldst thou give me Alison’s new tell-a-fone number?”

“No. Have you heard a word I’ve said to you? Stay away from my sister. I don’t want you contacting her. She doesn’t want you contacting her.”

“Did she say that?” His heart constricted painfully.

“She said you were just a passing fancy. In fact, her exact word was ‘cookie.’ You were a cookie that happened to be available at a time when she had a sudden sugar craving. She’s probably on a diet now, though. Most women are, most of the time.”

“Alison referred to me as a passing fancy … a mere cookie?” Ragnor felt the oddest lump lodge in his throat.

“Yep. You’re not the only one who dodged the love bug.”

“She is my destiny,” Ragnor insisted.

“Ships that pass in the night,” the chieftain insisted back. “A little sugar to satisfy her sweet tooth. That’s all.” The chieftain just smirked then, as if finally he’d scored some points in the battle betwixt them.

Ragnor asked for permission to be excused, which was given. As he walked back to his seat, he remained silent, but what he thought was,
Beware, m’lady, you will find out just how this cookie crumbles.

If you want sweet, I’ll give you sweet …

It was past midnight when Ragnor made his way to a coin tell-a-fone in the corridor of the sleeping hall.

Using a code of numbers that Cage had given him, he got the sequence for Alison’s landlady from a woman whose name was, oddly, Information. He knew that because when she answered his call, she said, “This is Information.” He dialed the number she gave him.

“Hello,” a female voice answered groggily.

“Greetings. Is this m’lady Lillian?”

“M’lady? Max? Is that you? What time is it?”

“Sorry I am if I awakened you, but ’twas the first opportunity I had to call. How is Sam?”

“Just fine. He’s stopped barking at every moth and mosquito that goes by, but now he has this chewing
fetish going on. He’s especially partial to chair legs … thinks they’re bones, I guess.”

He laughed.

“How can I help you, dear?”

“Can you give me Alison’s new number?”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure I should be giving out a private number.”

“Alison would want you to give it to me,” he said, not at all sure of that fact.

“Well, if you say so.” She gave him a series of seven numbers. After hanging up, putting more coins in the black box, and dialing again, another sleep-ridden voice came on the line.

“Hello.”

“Alison?”

“Max?” Her sleepy voice sounded immediately alert. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

Aaah, she must care about me if my safety is of concern to her.
“Nay, I am not hurt. I am in a corridor outside the sleeping hall. We got back today from San Clemente Island, but the chieftain and his cohorts have been watching me like a hawk to prevent my going to you. They even followed me into the privy.” One time he had ducked into a stall, crawled over the top, come out stealthily, and ended up behind the chieftain. An ill-humored man, the chieftain was; he had not been amused. Not even when he’d told him he’d been practicing escape-and-evade tactics. “This is the first chance I’ve had to escape their scrutiny.”