A Viking For The Viscountess (18 page)

A servant appeared, and from the moment he glimpsed Arik, his mouth dropped open. He spoke words in the Anglo-Saxon tongue that took a moment to understand. Something about the duke’s lost son being alive when they believed he was dead. He forced himself to concentrate, and slowly the meaning of the words broke forth.

“My lord, His Grace will be so glad to see you. Here, let me take your horse.” The man reached for the horse’s reins. “Go on inside, and Mr. Nolan will see to you.”

Arik remained wary, but he dismounted and approached the stairs while the man saw to his horse. Before he reached the doorway, it opened, and another servant greeted him. Once again, it seemed that they believed he was the duke’s son, and he did not deny it. He wanted to speak with Somerford, and if omitting the truth would help him, so be it.

They were about to lead him toward another room, but he saw the older man standing at the far end of the hall. The moment the duke laid eyes upon Arik, his eyes turned troubled. Although Arik’s appearance had deceived the servants, both of them were aware that he wasn’t the man’s son.

“So, you’ve returned,” the duke said. “I was hoping you would.”

“We should talk,” Arik said. “Without the others around us.”

The duke nodded for Arik to follow him, and once they were inside a smaller room, he closed the doors. The walls were made of wood panels, and there were leather-wrapped manuscripts lining the space.

For a moment, Arik was reminded of the dream he’d had. Across the room, he spied a wingback chair with a table beside it—the same furnishings he’d seen in his dream. A chill rose over him with the realization that the visions he’d had were another man’s memories. More and more, he was growing convinced that he had somehow switched places in time with the duke’s son.

For a time, the duke stared at him. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Arik struggled to remember the man’s name. Gregory Fielding, that was it.

Gregory went to a small table and opened a door, revealing the sack that contained the hoard of gold and silver. He spread it out on a low table, piece by piece. Arik sat across from the man, and traced the edge of a woman’s silver armband. It might have been worn by his brother’s wife.

“These pieces of silver were forged hundreds of years ago,” the duke guessed.

“A thousand,” Arik corrected. “They belonged to my—” He was about to say brother, but realized how it would sound to the man. “—to someone I knew once,” he amended.

“I do not know how you knew they were buried on my land or why you gave me half. You could have taken all of the treasure for yourself and not told me of it. I want to know why.” The duke’s voice was cool, and yet, there was unrest within his tone.

“Because you were meant to have it,” Arik answered. There was no other reason he could give. How could he tell this man that he’d felt an instinctive need to give away half his brother’s hoard? But he added, “You remind me of my own father.”

“My servants believe you are my son, returned to me. You do look like him.” There was a trace of worry in his voice, as if he didn’t trust his eyes. Surely the man understood that Arik was not his son, didn’t he? Beyond the questions, he saw the desperate need for hope in the older man’s expression as Gregory picked up a golden brooch. “I know that you are not a bastard son, for I remained true to my wife. There is no explanation for your resemblance to Eric, except the one I wish to believe.”

Arik lowered his head and said, “I am not your son.” Yet, deep within him, he felt the need to offer this man something. Whatever the reason, there
was
a connection with someone else. He had dreamed visions of a different life that included this man. Somehow he possessed memories that likely belonged to the duke’s son.

“Ever since I returned to these shores,” Arik continued, “I have had visions that were not mine. I dreamed of this room, last night. I saw you sitting in that chair, with one of those leather manuscripts beside you.
Gulliver’s Travels,
it said. And there was a cup of tea gone cold.” He struggled to recall the rest of the dream. “You do not read it, do you? Your wife wrote notes to you inside the pages.”

The duke said nothing, but his face blanched. “How could you know that?” For a moment, a flare of hope welled up in his brown eyes. By the gods, the man
wanted
to believe that somehow his son had returned. “No one knew that, save my son.”

“As I told you, it was a dream given to me by the gods. Nothing more.”

The old man stared at him for a long moment, as if searching for the truth. “I don’t believe you.” He opened a desk drawer, searching for something. “You must be Eric. Perhaps you were wounded and have forgotten a great deal. I have heard of circumstances like these before.”

“I am not him. Some of his memories were given to me, but we are not the same.”

“At first I believed that, for you dress and act like a different man. But perhaps I was wrong.” The desperate need in his eyes, to find his son, was so strong, it seemed to push away the duke’s grasp upon reality.

“No,” Arik said again. He didn’t want Gregory to make false assumptions, when there was no chance that he was the man’s son.

But the old man persisted. “Even your name, don’t you see? You call yourself Arik Thorgrim, when your name is Eric Fielding, Lord
Thorgraham.
They are one and the same. Somehow you must have forgotten who you are,” he insisted.

“I have not forgotten. And though you may long for his safe return, it will not happen.” This man’s son was lost in time, a thousand years earlier. And there was no reason to think he could come back.

The duke remained unconvinced. “But don’t you see, he—”

Arik seized the man’s hands and held them upon the desk. The old duke needed to face the truth, despite how harsh it was. “We were switched.” He would not relinquish his grip, allowing no argument. “The gods took our spirits and switched them in time. I don’t belong here, any more than he belongs in my world, with
my
family. I have his memories, and he has mine. I know this makes me sound like a man of lies, but I swear on Odin’s name, that I tell you the truth. Your Eric is gone, and I am in his place.”

With that, he released the duke’s hands, and the old man staggered back to stand behind the desk. His eyes had widened, and he gripped the back of a chair like a shield.

“It can’t be. Such things don’t happen.”

“No. They do not.” It had taken time for Arik to accept it, but he saw no other explanation for the strange visions he had or why Gregory so strongly resembled his father. This world seemed parallel to his own, for an unknown reason.

Gregory stilled, but his eyes held weariness. “Tell me more of what you saw in your dreams.”

Was it right to tell him of the strange visions? It might only heighten the man’s hopes, when Arik believed the duke’s son was trapped within his time.

“I do not know where the gods took your son,” Arik said quietly. “But I have heard his thoughts. I sensed his spirit with me, in his words and in his voice.” He took a step closer to the older man. “He was in a shipwreck, in the same storm that brought me here.” He told the duke about the dream he’d had, of his son landing upon the shores of Rogaland.

“Eric always wanted to travel,” the duke admitted. “He was angry with me when I wanted him to stay and accept his duties.” He took an unsteady breath. “Will he return?”

Arik shook his head. “I do not believe he can.” If their lives were switched at the moment of death, if they were truly caught in a world between this life and the afterlife, then there was no hope at all.

An ache caught him at the understanding that he would never be a part of Juliana’s life. Once he had completed his task, he would reach the afterworld. And she would be left alone with her son.

His protective instincts sharpened. She had traveled with her grandmother, but there was no one, save the old woman’s servants, to guard them. He had to find out where she had gone, and he needed the duke to help him in this.

Gregory stared at the wall for a long time, as if gathering command of his emotions. “I wanted to believe you were Eric.” He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his graying hair. “I have grieved for the loss of my son, over this past year. I neglected my estates and my debts have piled up. Until you brought me this.” He held up a golden brooch, and a look of regret passed over him. “I would give up every last piece of it, if I could have my son returned to me.”

Seeing this man, who so strongly resembled his father, brought another ache inside Arik. He would never see his family again or feel that sense of unity among them. He’d never expected his death to bring out such regrets, but now, he wished he’d taken the time to know his father better.

“He regretted leaving in the way he did,” he told Gregory. “Your son did not want to be a duke, and that is why he fled this place.”

The duke did not respond at first. He was tracing his hands over the gold, his sorrow palpable. “I suppose I always knew that. What I do not know is who
you
are. You look so much like Eric. I wish—”

“As I told you before, I am Arik Thorgrim. Valdr is my father, and I was born in Rogaland.” He held the man’s gaze, wondering how much the duke would believe. “I was struck down by an enemy and left to die,” he admitted to the duke. “But I was given a second chance to live. I was brought by the gods to Juliana of Arthur, and I intend to help her and her son.” He regarded the old man and added, “You are going to help me. That is my price for giving you half of this hoard.”

Gregory frowned. “It is not my place to interfere in their lives, though William Arthur, regrettably, was not a good man. He treated her badly, and it would be better if he never came back to her. I’ve heard rumors that he may have returned from his travels on the Continent, but I do not know for certain.”

“I hope he
does
return,” Arik countered. “And if he dares to threaten her or her son, he will learn who Juliana’s new protector is.”

The duke studied him with interest. “You wish to take care of her, then.”

Gregory made it sound as if Arik’s interest lay only in Juliana. And although Arik could not deny the desire she’d kindled, it was far more than that.

“Her son deserves a better life.” He closed the distance between them, feeling the anger rise up within him. “Harry is an innocent, and others took what rightfully belonged to him. We will not stand aside and let her enemies steal his lands.”

A flash of unrest crossed the man’s face. “I am too old to fight battles like these. But I could put in a word with my solicitor. Perhaps there is something we can do.”

“She is a woman of honor and goodness,” Arik insisted. “William of Arthur betrayed her, and she does not deserve that shame.”

He thought of the way Juliana had held Harry’s hand, walking along the shore. She had been a patient, loving mother. A woman such as Juliana deserved a man who would protect her, who could provide for both of them and defend her honor.

You cannot be that man,
his conscience warned. He knew that…and yet, he held regrets. If he had his life ahead of him, he would pursue Juliana. He would give her gifts, spend hours walking with her, and try to coax a smile.

The duke sobered and nodded. “We could try.”

Arik sat down across from the older man. “How will we help her? Her grandmother took her to Lundenwic. Or London, I believe you call it.”

“I have a house in London,” the duke said, “though I only dwell there when I must.” He let out a sigh. “Parliament will be in session soon, and I do have to go back.”

“I will escort you there,” Arik said. “And you will help me face Juliana’s enemies.”

The duke paused. “You are referring to Marcus Arthur, the acting Viscount Hawthorne.” He rubbed at his chin. “Marcus is not the enemy you think he is. He allowed Juliana to stay on at Hawthorne House for many years, though he claims she was only William’s mistress.”

“She was the man’s wife,” Arik corrected.

The older man shrugged. “Wife or mistress, she cannot remain at Hawthorne House. Marcus intends to marry soon, and he cannot have Lady Hawthorne and her son in residence with his bride. But as I told you before, if the viscount
has
returned, then all can be put to rights.”

“Juliana does not deserve to lose her home and lands. Someone must fight for her,” Arik insisted. “And this I will do. She needs a place of her own.”

The duke inclined his head, but his face held that same sense of regret. “You do remind me of my son. He never stood by and allowed injustice to happen.” He stood and added, “I suppose I could let you come to London with me. Since you gave me this treasure
,
it’s a reasonable request.” He beckoned in a silent command for Arik to follow. “But we should find some better clothes for you, if you intend to confront Lord Hawthorne.”

Arik eyed the duke’s attire, wondering why any man would bother with a knotted cloth around his neck. But he did understand that he had to blend in with the other men, in order to better understand Juliana’s enemy. “As you say.”

They left the room, and Arik followed the duke up a staircase. When they reached the landing, the older man turned back. There was a wistful expression in his eyes, and he admitted, “I still want to believe that you are my son. Others will believe it, and you must be prepared for that. If you truly want to help Lady Hawthorne, you must pretend to be Eric.”