A Viking For The Viscountess (11 page)

A cold breeze swept over her nape, and Juliana sensed his disquiet. She didn’t believe that he had crossed through time. He couldn’t possibly be a Viking. And yet, her maid Grelod’s words came back to her:

“I know what you are. And I know from whence you came, Viking. I prayed to Freya on my lady’s behalf, and the goddess summoned you here for her.”

Superstitious rot, her brain reminded her. It could not be true.

And yet, this man knew nothing of things as simple as clocks or featherbeds. He gave her son a knife as a gift and ignored all propriety, stealing kisses from her. By every indication, he was a barbarian. An honorable one, perhaps, but rough-mannered all the same.

She shut down the thought. The most sensible explanation was that he was the duke’s son, returned from the sea. Likely he had experienced such hardships, it had caused a temporary madness.

But
he
believed it with an unshakable conviction. There was no means of forcing him to face reality.

Arik continued to search, but he could find no markings whatsoever upon the stone. “It should
be
here.” He drove the side of his fist into the stone as if that would bring forth the answers.

Juliana said nothing, for she didn’t exactly believe in any sort of Viking hoard. She leaned back against the stone, resting upon the soft grass. It was peaceful from up here, with a view of the sea in the distance. Beside her, Arik’s expression held wariness. “I know my brother. He would have hidden his hoard nearby, if there was anything left.”

She gave a slight shrug, as if it didn’t matter. “Do you want to go back?” Right now, she felt uncomfortable trespassing upon the duke’s land.

“You do not believe me, do you? You do not believe that I am who I say I am.” He stood over her, his shadow blocking out the sun.

She was about to say no, but the words wouldn’t come. Juliana rubbed her arms against the chill that crept over her. She considered herself a pragmatic woman, one who didn’t believe in ghosts or strange mysteries. But that night
had
held an eerie, otherworldly quality. “I don’t know what to believe.”

And that was the truth. There were no explanations for the way she’d been carried off to sea or rescued by a man who claimed he was from a thousand years earlier. It had seemed real enough on that night—far too real.

When she glanced over at him, his expression held frustration. Despite what he’d claimed, there were no markings upon the standing stone.

She felt sympathetic toward him, for an unknown reason. He appeared angry and frustrated, a man who had lost everything. Whether or not Arik Thorgrim could do anything to help her prove Harry’s legitimacy, he
was
trying. And madman or not, he was the only one who had stood by her.

Juliana tried not to look at him, but she was well aware of the caged strength in his arms. There was a wildness about him, the sense that this man could never be tamed. And she found herself wanting to help him, as foolish as it might be.

There is no such thing as a Viking hoard buried here,
her sensible side insisted.
You’re being ridiculous.

And yes, she was, but was there any harm in searching? If nothing else, it might convince Arik that he was mistaken.

Juliana ran her hands along the base and saw that the grass completely covered it on all sides. The dirt was hardened around the stone, but it seemed that the monolith was buried several feet down. She reached for the shovel and tried to push back some of the dirt. When she stepped upon the tool, the grass was too thick for the shovel blade to sink through.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, reaching for the handle.

She let him have the shovel and offered, “If there is any sort of marking upon this stone, it might have been deliberately covered up. Or perhaps it sank into the ground over time. We should dig around the stone and see if there are any markings lower in the earth.”

A flare of interest sparked in his eyes. “I had not thought of such. You may be right.”

Abruptly, he set the shovel against the stone and seized her face between his hands, kissing her roughly. The unexpected affection caught her unawares, but she rather wanted to kiss him back. Before she could decide what to do, he released her.

Her pulse pounded, and it took a moment to steady herself. This man’s effect upon her was far too strong—and that was dangerous.

“Go on, then,” she bade him. “See if you find anything.”

For the next hour, he dug all around the stone, and it soon became clear that the granite went much deeper than she’d thought. “Do you want me to help dig for a while?” she asked.

But Arik shook his head, continuing to dig until he’d gone three feet deeper. At last he set the shovel aside and rubbed at the granite. Juliana moved in closer and saw that there were indeed engraved markings, runes that made no sense to her.

The sudden look of satisfaction on his face revealed that he’d found what he was searching for.

“Can you read those?”

He traced his fingers over the carved lines and let out a slow breath, nodding.

He might be a Viking, if he could read the runes,
her mind reasoned.

She didn’t know what to believe. The fact that he spoke Norwegian instead of English was unusual, but then again, she had learned the language from Grelod when she was a young girl. It meant nothing.

But no one could read runes.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think of what that meant. Arik stood, his gaze fixed upon the distance. There was no triumph in his expression, but instead she saw his melancholy.

“What is it?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“I was thinking of my brother,” he answered quietly. “I realized that I will not see Magnus again in this lifetime.”

Without knowing why, Juliana took his hand and held it. “But you will see him again in the afterlife.” Once more, a chill crept over her. She sensed that these moments with Arik Thorgrim were fleeting, regardless of where he’d come from. And beneath it all was the premonition that he would die.

Which was foolish. She tried to shake away the errant thought, but the coldness remained, twining around her good sense.

“I hope I will see him again in Valhalla.” He squeezed her hand and took the shovel, walking downhill. “Come. We will leave our horses here.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the stream.” He led the way, but Juliana held back. The stream was closer to the duke’s house, and if they ventured that far, they could be found.

“Mr. Thorgrim, we might be seen by the duke or his servants. We should not be trespassing, for these lands belong to him.”

“They belong to my brother,” he corrected in a cool voice. “And to
my
family. If this man wants to claim anything, let him try to take it from me.”

And with that, he left her with no choice except to follow.

Arik dug beside the streambed until the sun rimmed the horizon. His arms were covered in mud, and his fingers were wrinkled from being submerged. Yet, he felt confident that the hoard would be here.

When they were boys, he and his brother had pretended to be raiders burying their treasure. Magnus had invented a name for himself, Odinum, after the Allfather god. In their imagination, Odinum was a powerful invader, one with immense treasure. They had buried stones within the river, pretending they were ingots of gold and silver.

Upon the runestone, Arik had seen his own name, followed by the name Odinum. Though he could not know why Magnus had inscribed the name, he suspected that his brother had left an offering for him, but the river had evolved over time into a stream. He’d dug on both sides, but so far had come up with nothing. If there had been anything, it might be gone after all these years. Or buried so deeply that no man could find it.

“It’s getting dark, Mr. Thorgrim. We should go back,” Juliana urged.

Arik rinsed his arms off in the cold stream and regarded her. He didn’t want to leave at this moment, for there was still an hour of light remaining. If there was any chance of finding a treasure for Juliana, he wanted to try. Then, too, he couldn’t allow her to ride off alone.

“At sundown, I will take you back,” he promised.

“Are you certain you’re digging in the right place?” she asked.

“I am.” His hands touched a large flat stone beneath the water, and he struggled to pry it up. A moment later, his fingers touched something cold and metallic. He dug deeper and pulled hard to bring up a lead box.

“Bring the sacks,” he ordered Juliana. “We’ve found my brother’s hoard.”

They worked until the light was nearly gone, washing the lead box until he could open the lid. Inside were silver pieces, silver coins, gold, and several armbands. Juliana was as excited as he was, and she exclaimed over the intricate metal clasps. In all, he guessed there were fifty silver coins, seven armbands, and various ingots of gold.

When it was all placed inside the sack, she sobered. “I don’t know what to believe about this. I know you said you were a Viking sent through time. It’s madness to consider such a thing.” She rested her hands in her lap, studying him. “But…I’m almost afraid it’s real. You could not have found this unless you truly did read those runes.”

Though it shouldn’t matter whether or not she believed him, he wanted her to know that he had not lied. “I cannot guess why I was sent here, Juliana of Arthur. But I believe that we were meant to find Magnus’s hoard. And my brother’s gold will help to save your son.” With it, he could hire the mercenaries he needed to help him on this quest.

He stood, reaching to help her up, and in the soft light of the moon, she appeared somber. “I don’t know what we should do now.”

Arik gripped her hand and then slid his arm around her waist. “We return to your house and make our plans.”

It brought him comfort to know that his brother had indeed walked these lands. The runes had revealed not only the location of the hoard, but also the names of his brother’s sons. Magnus had enjoyed a long life, and for that, Arik was grateful.

The flare of a torch caught his attention, and instantly, Arik seized his sword hilt. When he spied a man approaching on horseback, flanked by three other men, he set down the sacks containing the hoard of treasure.

But the moment he saw the man’s features, his blood ran cold. Although his gray hair was shorter and he wore no beard, this man was the image of his father, Valdr.

Images and memories slammed through him, and he sensed the presence of another soul within him.
Father,
the voice within was crying out, in a language that was not his.

Arik couldn’t move or speak. He was beginning to sense that his life had been traded for another’s. Dreams flooded his mind, of learning to ride a horse while this man held the reins. Of listening to stories at night, before a father pulled the covers over him.

He remembered arguing about freedom and his desire to fight. He’d left this place and this man and had nearly died at sea.

And now the man was standing before him.

His own memories and the stranger’s memories intersected, each clouding the other. He had never met this man…and yet, he knew who the stranger was.

Arik took a step forward, and Juliana held her ground. “It’s the duke,” she whispered. “We have to leave. W—we shouldn’t be here.”