Sandra Hill (32 page)

She nodded. “I’m afraid. Don’t look at me like that. I know I’ve said I have no fear, but I do where
you’re concerned. What if you find someone else while I’m gone? What if your former betrothed wants you back?”

Something must have shown on his face.

“She already has expressed such a wish?” Maddie bristled. “When did you see her last?”

“The day you were taken, actually.”

Maddie tried to pull out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her go. “While I was here waiting with Geek … while those brutes kidnapped me, you were off cavorting with your betrothed? And she told you she wants you back?”

He nodded. “I told her I’m not interested. I told her I am married.”

“Oh,” she said and ceased her struggles. “I miss you already.”

He kissed her softly.
Stay. Please stay. Feel how much I want you to stay. I’m selfish. I know I am. But stay.

She didn’t read his mind.

Ian hated the fact that he was keeping a secret from Maddie … that they were not really married.

The truth shall set you free
, he told himself.

Then immediately answered,
Bullshit!

Surely Maddie would understand when he finally told her … say, a year or five from now. “Maddie, what would you think about us going to Las Vegas when you get back and getting married again?”

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “Why?”

He wet his lips nervously. “It seems like maybe we should start this marriage over in the right way, instead of our being forced into it.”

“What a romantic idea!”

I am such an ass.

“Perhaps my family could come, too. And your family. And the seals.”

“No, no, no! It would be private, just you and me.”

“Hmmm. I like that.” She put a hand to his cheek. “I love you.”

“I know,” he said, grinning at her.

She swatted him playfully.

“I love you, too, babe. Come back soon.”

With a last kiss for him and a quick ruffle of Sam’s fur, she was gone.

And thus began the first day of the rest of Ian’s empty life.

Be careful what you wish for …

Madrene was overwhelmed and scared. All these years she had yearned for her family, picturing life the way it used to be. But her family had changed. She had changed.

These strangers were polished, the rough edges of their Viking culture filed off. They still had Norse features, and bits of their language retained the old manner of speaking. Still, she hardly knew them.

Of course, she was happy to discover that her family members were alive and well, but she wished she were back in Sandy-egg-go. She missed Ian. She missed his cat. She missed the seals, which were not really seals.

He should have come with me.

Or I should have waited till he could come with me.

Her discomfort started as they were driving in a large white wheeled box to the vineyard owned by
her father’s new wife. Well, not exactly new, since they’d been wed for eleven years, but new to her.

“Why are you so quiet, sweetling?” her father asked from the front passenger seat. She was sitting in the second seat, alone, and her uncles were in the third seat, where they could stretch out their long legs. Torolf had work to do with his seals, but would come to the vineyard next week.

“It has been quite an eventful week for me,” she explained. “Everything that has happened is just starting to sink in.
I wish Ian were here. He is my anchor in this land. Without him I feel lost.

“Post-traumatic-stress disorder might hit you soon,” Ragnor said from the driver’s seat. “You should probably see a psychiatrist.”

Ragnor ever was the one to use big words and show off his intellect. Madrene did not understand what he said, not one bit. “A sigh-kite-tryst?”
More words I do not understand.

“A shrink.” Ragnor laughed. “A head doctor.”

Surely he is not suggesting I have some healer shrink my head. Is he jesting with me? Probably.
“My head feels fine.”

Ragnor laughed again. “Never mind.”

Madrene had noticed that people in this country said “never mind” whenever they didn’t want to explain something to her.

Uncle Rolf leaned forward over the seat and squeezed her shoulder. “Give it time, Madrene. We all went through this period of adjustment.”

That was another thing. Madrene could not accept the notion that she had traveled through time a thousand years to land here. But then, she supposed
it was no more far-fetched than her earlier belief that she was in a fantasy land of magical things.

“My wife is a head doctor,” Uncle Jorund said. “Mayhap you would like to talk to her.”

“About my head?” Madrene turned in the seat to look at her uncle.

He tweaked her cheek like he used to do when she was a child. Odd how she recalled that now. And what a handsome man he was still! In truth, all three of the brothers were of superior good looks, including her father. Only a little gray threaded through their long, brown-and-blond hair. But they wore modern clothing—denim
braies
and tea-shirts—which made them seem strangers to her. In truth, she’d never seen her Uncle Jorund without a sword, or Uncle Rolf without his shipbuilding tools, or her father without a hay rake nearby.

“You seem different,” Ragnor said, looking at her in a small mirror attached to the glass front. “You were always nagging me before.”

“Hah! She nagged everyone who got within her hearing range. A shrew, that is what she was,” her father added, as if it were something to be proud of.

She shrugged. “I still am.”

“I don’t know about that. Looooove has made her soft.” Ragnor made a face at her in the mirror. Really, the rogue was thirty years old, only one year younger than she was, and he still acted the fool.

“You are driving too fast, Ragnor. Slow down. There is no hurry. Dost think the sky will fall down if we get there a few minutes later? And, by the by, you need your hair clipped. It is too long and unruly. I am glad you have regained your ‘enthusiasm,’ but,
whew, that Svein Forkbeard had his face hairs in a twist over you not marrying his daughter Inga. Men will be men, you always said. But methinks you are just a dunderhead who cannot keep his dangly part in his
braies
.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

And Ragnor said, “Good ol’ Madrene. A shrew to the end.”

“And how does your husband feel about your shrewishness?” her father asked in a teasing fashion.

Before she could answer, Ragnor said, “Hah! They are a perfect match. Mac is as ill-tempered as she is. And nag? You would think he invented the word.”

Madrene leaned forward and smacked her brother on the side of the head, even though she agreed. She and Ian were a good match, but not because of the nagging.

There was no time for teasing or anything else then, because the white box was traveling up a narrow lane, lined on either side by a low stone wall and magnificent old oak trees. At intervals were large clay pots overflowing with red flowers. Wildflowers filled the lawns that stretched out to a stream which fed into a small lake. Behind the house as far as the eye could see, there were dozens of neat rows of grapevines.

Madrene decided to gather some of the wildflower seeds before she left. They would look nice in her kitchen garden at Norstead.

That thought caught her up short.
Will I be going back to Norstead? Can I travel back? Do I want to go back? What about Ian? Honor says I must be avenged … my entire family must be avenged, in fact … but how will I manage all that?
She sighed loudly and answered her own question.
Like I always do. With bullheaded determination.

“Look, Madrene, look up ahead,” her father said excitedly.

There was a large keep with a porch that wrapped around all sides. In its courtyard stood many people, young and old. They were laughing and waving at her, as if they knew her well, and she did not recognize a one of them. She blinked her eyes rapidly several times.
I will not weep.

Once they exited from the vehicle, her father guided her by the elbow toward the crowd, which now hushed. “This is my beloved daughter, Madrene, whom most of you know so well,” he announced.

Since when did I become beloved to my father? He always called me a pestsome wench because I nagged him so. Ah, well, I always called him a hopeless libertine, and I still loved him.

The crowd formed itself into a line and Magnus introduced her to the family, one at a time.

“This is my daughter Marie, who was born after I left the Norselands.” He put a hand on the shoulder of a black-haired girl of about thirteen who looked at her father with adoration and at Madrene with question.

Madrene felt a stab of jealousy that this stranger was held in such high regard by their father, which was mean-spirited, she knew. But there it was. She had no idea what to do, so she extended a hand to shake.

Marie stared at her hand, and Madrene realized it must have been an inappropriate thing to do.

Next, her father moved to a blond mophead of a girl with dancing blue eyes. She was probably a few years older than Marie. “You remember Lida, don’t you?”

Madrene’s eyes widened and she smiled. “The little smelly baby? She was not even one year old last time I saw her.” She ruffled the girl’s curls and moved on.

“I remember you,” a young man of about seventeen said.

She cocked her head.

“Kolbein.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You were such a needy mite, always following Father around like a shadow.”

“Kolbein is thinking about becoming a priest. Can you imagine that? A Viking priest?” her father asked.

Madrene studied Kolbein and saw the same quiet demeanor he’d had as a boy. Yea, she could see him in the religious life.

“This is Hamr.”

Madrene clapped her hands together and laughed. “Did you ever get the bow and arrow you always wanted?”

Hamr, as tall and burly as their father at … what? … nineteen? … gave her a fierce hug. “Oh, yeah. A long time ago.”

“But he is more interested in football and wenches now than archery,” her father joshed.

Madrene looked down the long line of people waiting to meet her and felt overwhelmed.

“Jogeir, dance for your sister,” her father said then to a handsome man of about twenty years.

“Father!” Jogeir protested, but came forward, lifted her in his arms and twirled her about.

When he set her back on the ground, Madrene recalled that Jogeir had been lame. She glanced down
at his straight leg in question and understood her father’s odd request that Jogeir dance for her.

“He had an operation to fix his leg,” her father explained. “So fit is he now that he is a runner in the Olympics when he is not studying farming in college.”

Madrene smiled, not understanding half of what he said. The gist, though, was that Jogeir was no longer lame, he could run well, and he still wanted to be a farmer.

Njal, ever the mischievous one, came next. Wearing what she recognized as a Navy uniform, he winked before giving her a loud kiss on the mouth.

Storvald, at twenty-seven, worked as a craftsman at Uncle Rolf’s Viking village, Rosestead.

And next was Dagny, who stood staring at her with tear-filled eyes. Her father had said she was a talented painter. They hugged warmly, but Madrene did not know this young woman of twenty-five. Last time she’d seen her, Dagny had been twelve and Madrene seventeen.

The woman next to her, only one year older, had to be Kirsten. It was Madrene who hugged fiercely now. Kirsten and Madrene, even at a young age, had often been left to manage the large household when one nursemaid after another left in a huff. Kirsten told her that she was a teacher at a large university, which was a school for adults.

That comprised her immediate family, and Madrene’s head was swimming with all the new faces. None of her brothers and sisters had married yet, except for Ragnor.

Finally, her father introduced her to his wife, Angela, who took both her hands in hers and said with
great sincerity, “Welcome home, honey. This is your home, as long as you want.”

Madrene glanced about. It was a pretty place, but it did not feel like home to her.

She also met Angela’s eighty-nine-year-old grandmother; Ragnor’s wife Alison, who was Ian’s sister—Madrene wanted to speak with her later; Uncle Rolf’s wife Meredith and their children Foster and Rose; Uncle Jorund’s wife Maggie amd their children Eric and the twins, Magnus and Mikkel, along with his stepchildren, another set of twins, Suzy and Beth, who were studying medicine.

After that, mayhem ruled … just like it had back at Norstead. Everyone talking at once. Laughter. Rough play among the boys. Shrieks from the girls. An occasional shout from one of the men. Loud music in the background. Pots and pans clattering. The only thing different was there were no babies crying, but that would come in time. Madrene realized in that instant that she had become accustomed to a peaceful, ordered life.

Can I live in such noisy chaos again?

I hope I don’t have to.

As if sensing her discomfort, Angela took Madrene by the elbow and said, “Let me show you to your room.” They went into the house, but before they went up the stairs to her sleeping chamber, Angela led her into a solar where a large portrait hung over the fireplace mantel. It depicted a stunning woman with long blond hair, dressed in regal Norse attire.

“That’s you,” Angela told her. “Dagny painted it from memory.”

“Me?” Madrene, who had never had a mirror till
she came to this country, was shocked. A polished piece of brass sufficed back in the Norselands.
Praise the gods! Does my bosom really look like that? No wonder men stare at me!
She recognized the gown, but she did not know that woman in the portrait. Worse, she was beginning to suspect she did not know the woman she had become.

I am truly lost.

When great minds gather, make sure there’s enough beer …

It was late at night, and everyone was asleep at Blue Dragon except for the Ericsson and Magnusson men, who sat about the kitchen table making important plans. Beer … not wine … flowed in abundance.