Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 01] (5 page)

“Think you Ivar sends me this message? Tell me what you think it means,” Sigtrygg imperiously demanded of Thork, no longer amused by Ruby’s appearance.

Ruby pinched her arm, hoping one last time that she could end this nightmare and return to the present. Not so! All she got was a sore forearm and a dark look from Thork.

“’Tis unknown how she got here,” Thork said slowly, weighing each word carefully. “Mayhap on my ship. ’Tis hard to believe, but not impossible, I wager, that Ivar would send a woman to spy.”

Sigtrygg started to vent his outrage at Thork’s words, but Thork held up his hand and went on, “And the message, well, methinks it implies that the men of Ivar’s land have superior male parts made of metal. You know Ivar resents your wordfame and ever looks for ways to goad you into battle. What else could it mean?”

Ruby snorted and spoke for the first time, addressing Thork. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was
your
son who bought this stupid T-shirt in Ocean City.”

Both men pivoted to look at Ruby incredulously.

“My son! I have no sons,” Thork scoffed furiously. “Missay your lies elsewhere, wench.”

“
Your
son Eddie bought it last year at the shore. And forget about this Ivar stuff. I never heard of the guy.”

Thork and the king exchanged puzzled looks, as if they didn’t understand her words. Then Thork said heatedly, “I have no son, and most definitely none named Eddie who spies for Ivar.”

“Yes, you do. We have two sons—fifteen-year-old Eddie and twelve-year-old David.”

“Says she that you have children with her?” Sigtrygg questioned Thork. “Dares she say such and—”

“He’s my husband, and we have two children,” Ruby interrupted the king and heard some people gasp behind her.

Sigtrygg looked at Thork questioningly. “You would jeopardize your Jomsviking to marry this…this man-woman?”

“
Nay!
” Thork denied vehemently. “She lies. No wife have I.”

The king locked furious eyes with Ruby and challenged her: “Who are you?”

“My name is Ruby Jordan. I live in America. I come from the future, not Ivar, and—”

Sigtrygg backhanded Ruby so hard across the face her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor. Tears welled
in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks at the pain. Her cheekbone felt as if it were broken. She looked to Thork for help but he just stared back at her unsympathetically.

“Stand,” Sigtrygg ordered.

After she awkwardly groped her way to her feet by holding on to one of the steps, Sigtrygg warned her, “Do not ever,
ever
lie to me with tales of the future or mythical sons or marriages. Now, take it off.”

“What? Take what off?”

“The shirt. Take it off.”

“Do you chop off her head and send it to Ivar in the shirt?” one man shouted out from the back of the hall, and others muttered in agreement.

At first, Sigtrygg frowned at the unasked-for advice but then pouted his lips thoughtfully. “Mayhap. Mayhap.” Turning back to Ruby, he repeated icily, “Take it off.”

Ruby realized, with horror, that the Viking king expected her to remove her T-shirt in front of everyone. She glanced at Olaf who nodded his head up and down vigorously. It appeared she had no choice.

With a burning face, Ruby lifted the shirt over her head and slapped it into Sigtrygg’s extended hand, ignoring his growl of annoyance over her lack of respect. Despite her mortification, she held her head proudly high, not bothering to hide her bra-covered breasts with her hands. She somehow knew she wouldn’t be allowed to do that.

Muted murmuring and shuffling rippled through the crowd behind her while Thork and the king gaped at her black lace bra. Sigtrygg’s one good eye almost bugged out, and Thork seemed to have trouble swallowing.
Humph!
Ruby thought. He’d seen her custom lingerie often enough in the past!

Reluctantly, Thork’s puzzled blue eyes locked with hers. Despite her dangerous predicament, the smoldering flame in their depths ignited a tenuous fuse connecting them in some odd way and caught fire in her most secret places.
Without touching, Thork caressed her body with his eyes. Without speaking, he told her all her heart wanted to know. Ruby yearned to touch this man who was her husband and yet was not. She needed to connect with him in the most basic, intimate way known to men and women throughout the ages. Perhaps then she could satisfy this raging hunger he stirred in her. Perhaps then she could save her marriage. Perhaps then she would understand this crazy free-fall through the time warp.

Their seductive trance was broken by Olaf loudly clearing his throat. At their dazed expressions, Olaf threw back his head and hooted with laughter. “Odin’s staff! You two have raised the heat in this room to a fiery pitch. Best you find a private corner soon afore you drop your braies afore one and all.”

Clearly embarrassed by his intense reaction to her, Thork shook his head to clear his mind, then glared angrily at her as if she had cast a spell on him. One dark look at Olaf ended his ridicule immediately.

Then Ruby’s jeans drew Sigtrygg’s attention. “Take them off, too.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute. Enough is enough. I don’t do public stripteases.” At the questioning tilt of the king’s head, Ruby explained, “Public disrobing. No way!”

“Do you dare say me nay?” the king asked through gritted teeth in a voice that forbade further argument from her. He raised his hand in warning, about to strike her again.

Olaf coughed slightly, signaling her to do as the king asked.

Ruby closed her eyes wearily, wishing desperately that this sleepwalk through time would end but sensing it wouldn’t—at least, not yet. She wondered if this were one of those nightmares people have where they stand naked in a roomful of clothed, laughing people. Anyway, her safest route seemed to be compliance.

“Oh, all right. But that’s all.”

She bent over to remove her shoes, then thought better of presenting her backside to the Viking men behind her. Instead, she sat on the bottom step and took them off.

Oh, Lord
, she prayed,
please let me wake up before they kill me
. Did it hurt to be decapitated in a dream? Ruby wondered with macabre humor.

After removing the shoes, Ruby stood and defiantly faced Thork and Sigtrygg again, refusing to cower. Really, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. After all, her models paraded around in underwear at fashion shows before even larger crowds. Why should she be ashamed?

With reluctant resignation, Ruby unbuttoned her jeans and pulled the zipper down. But Sigtrygg reached out a hand and stopped her.

Was she being given a reprieve?

No such luck!

“Do that again,” he demanded, awestruck.

“Do what again?”

“Open your braies again. With that
thing
.”

Ruby looked down, not understanding.

Thork pointed to her zipper, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “He means
that
.”

The zipper must intrigue him, Ruby surmised, realizing that, of course, zippers hadn’t been invented yet. She pulled the zipper back up, then down, then up, over and over as the fascinated Sigtrygg ordered, even though she tried to tell him it was just a simple fastener.

Thork grinned in amusement at Ruby’s discomfort and the king’s childlike glee.

The jerk!

Finally, Ruby removed her jeans and handed them to Sigtrygg so he could play with the damn zipper ad infinitum at his leisure.

Thork’s eyes traveled over Ruby’s body with a familiar gleam only she would recognize, spending several long
seconds on her black lace panties. Not quite a bikini style, the fairly conservative, far from transparent briefs rode below the waist to the hip line, while the sides were cut provocatively high.

Thork liked her lingerie. No question about it. He always had. And black was his favorite. Despite the danger she knew she faced, Ruby relished the moment, loving the fact that Thork shifted uncomfortably. He refused to make eye contact, however, probably fearing a recurrence of their earlier spectacle.

Ruby liked the hard body she saw when she looked down. She was still tall, about five-feet-nine, but small-boned and lean, with firm breasts, small waist, slightly rounded hips and very long legs. Definitely twentyish!

The crowd murmuring behind her and the lewd remarks from the men told her the other Vikings noticed her unusual underwear, too, even if Sigtrygg still fooled with the damn zipper. He’d probably break it with his clumsy hands, then blame her for its not working.

When Sigtrygg finally turned back to her, his one good eye narrowed suspiciously. He looked from the zipper to her and said, “What manner person are you? Mayhap you are a sorceress.”

“No!” Ruby exclaimed immediately, remembering Thork’s warning about Sigtrygg’s aversion to witches.

“Methinks a witch-burning could be called for here,” Sigtrygg said with relish.

The crowd murmured louder behind her and not in disagreement, Ruby noted ruefully. They liked the idea.

Good grief!
These Vikings were as bloodthirsty as her research had shown her a few years ago when she’d done a family genealogy tracing her roots back to pre-Medieval times. She’d thought then that they were biased accounts of the heathen invaders by the cleric recorders of history. Now she wasn’t so sure.

When Thork said nothing on her behalf at Sigtrygg’s
question of sorcery and her possible execution, Ruby knew she was on her own. Her mind worked desperately on a plan to save herself.

Hey! That just might work
.

In a final gasp for self-preservation, Ruby proclaimed audaciously, “You know, I’m a Viking, too.”

“Huh?” Thork and Sigtrygg both exclaimed. And the blasted crowd started its murmuring again. But Ruby saw Olaf give her a mock salute, then smile at her with a wink of encouragement.
Geez!
She was starting to like the brute.

“Explain yourself, wench, and no more lies,” Sigtrygg said, taking hold of her chin which still ached from Thork’s manhandling.

“My grandfather about fifty times removed is the Viking Hrolf, first Duke of Normandy.” She frowned in thought before adding, “I believe the Saxons call him Rollo.”

A loud gasp at her outrageous declaration went through the hall. Thork’s face reddened, and he looked as if he’d like to strangle her.

A stunned Sigtrygg questioned, “Claim you to be the granddaughter of our ally, Hrolf?”

Obviously, he hadn’t heard the “fifty times removed” part. Ruby started to correct him, then remembered his admonition not to tell him she came from the future. Instead, she said, with fingers crossed for luck, “Yes, I’m a direct descendant of Gongu-hrolfr,” using his full Nordic name, “The Marcher.”

Ruby looked at Olaf and he nodded his approval. So far, so good.

“Know you that Hrolf and my father are allies?” a doubting Thork inquired.

Sensing that he sought to trick her, Ruby replied, “No, that’s not true. Hrolf’s father, Earl Rognvald of More, was Harald’s best friend, but King Harald declared Hrolf an outlaw and exiled him from Norway.”

Ruby’s hopes soared at the uncertainty in Sigtrygg’s eye, but plummeted when Thork declared vehemently, “’Tis ridiculous! She is no more a Viking than…than I am a Saxon. She bloody well lies.”

“Mayhap,” Sigtrygg answered hesitantly, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. Then he suddenly seemed bored with the whole subject. “What say you, Thork? You decide. Do you torture her secrets from her? Or will you decapitate her and send the head to Ivar in the garment as a warning?”

“
Me?
” Thork swore a blue streak and told Sigtrygg, “’Tis my first night back in Jorvik in two years. The bloody wench is not
my
responsibility.”

“Oh,” Sigtrygg said smoothly, “methought she arrived on one of your ships.”

“’Tis not proven.”

“’Tis not disproven.” Displeasure edged the king’s voice. Sigtrygg’s mood had swung again—to the down side.

Olaf stepped forward to address the king. “What if she really is kin to Hrolf? Should we not be sure? Have we not enough trouble with the Saxons without calling such a powerful man down on us? Can we afford to offend our friends?”

Right!
Ruby raised thankful eyes to Olaf. Then she turned to Thork, whose thin lips reflected his irritation over Olaf’s interference. She mouthed silently, “Traitor.”

His jaw tightened but he said nothing. Apparently her earlier comment about his sons still rankled, as well as his unwelcome attraction to her.

Ruby vowed that Thork would pay for deserting her like this. Deserting her! Hah! Just like Jack, Ruby thought. She had no time to pursue this line of logic, though, because Sigtrygg was roaring like an angry mountain lion again.

“
Quiet!
” he shouted over the loud hum of dissenting voices in the hall. “
Enough!
”

When absolute silence overtook the cavernous room, he proclaimed, “The thrall’s fate will be decided at the Althing next month. In the meantime, I place her in the able care of Thork Haraldsson.”

Sigtrygg stared stonily at Thork, daring him to disagree.

“Guard her carefully, Thork,” Sigtrygg continued, “but treat her with the respect due Hrolf’s granddaughter—just in case her story be true.”

Granddaughter! She’d never said “granddaughter.” Oh, well! A moot point, really. Hopefully, she’d wake up before she ever had to prove her case.

She would wake up soon, wouldn’t she?

People dispersed into milling groups throughout the hall, and the Viking men chugged down huge draughts of ale, Thork included. Thork’s eyes pierced her over the rim of his drinking horn, warning her of a future reckoning. Then he motioned to Olaf, who handed Ruby her clothes and shoes.

“We will take the wench to your home where I yearn to see my…” Thork’s words to Olaf trailed off as the two men exchanged guarded looks. “I will give you an hour or two to show your wife how much you have missed her,” Thork continued with a lascivious grin. “Then we must return to the harbor to oversee the ships’ unloading.”