Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (33 page)

“You are in the middle of drinking tea. You just got done leaking tears all over yourself. You’re pregnant. And that makes you want to jump in the bed furs?”

“Did you think pregnant women never got horny?”
He doesn’t want me anymore. Some men get turned off by pregnant women. Oh, jeez, can I be any more humiliated?

He smiled for the first time that day. “I never had an opinion on that subject … until now.”

“Well, for the record, I’m not horny at the moment.”
If you believe that one, I have a bridge to sell you, honey.
“Just lonely.”
And guess whose fault that is?
“And you’re acting so remote and everything.”
Like a horse’s ass.
She shrugged.

“Are you going to start weeping again?”

“No. Maybe.”
Better yet, how about if I hit you?

“Sex isn’t the answer to everything, and I cannot believe I actually said that. See what you have done to me?”

It was her turn to smile … sort of.
He does want me. Yep, he does. I can tell.

“I’m not remote. Just bloody hell confused. By the by, when were you going to tell me about the Liberty Teams and how I have ruined your life and destroyed all your dreams?”

So, Abe must have blabbed to him.
“You’ve got a whole lot of mistruths tossed in there with a few facts.”

He just arched a brow in question.

“Yes, there are going to be Liberty Teams.” She explained briefly what the Liberty Teams would be and why there was a need for secrecy. “I learned about them when my father was here. And, yes, I probably would have had a good chance of making one of the teams. And, yes, at one time, I would have been delighted.”

“So where’s the mistruth?”

“It’s a mistruth to say that you ruined my life or destroyed my dreams. Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. It’s my body, and it was I who made the decision to carry this baby. There was never a question of that. Should I have discussed that decision with you? Maybe. Okay, yes. But in the end I would have had the ultimate say-so.”

“I just don’t understand you.”

“That makes two of us.”

“How could you change directions so quickly? You said over and over that your life path was set on becoming a SEAL. Now you have a similar opportunity, and you don’t care?”

“Of course I care. But there is a famous saying that when one door closes, another door opens. There’s also a saying that if you’re handed a lemon, make lemonade.”
Holy moly, now I’m turning into my brother with all these motivational quotes.

“Are you calling my babe a lemon?”

She laughed. “So to speak. Listen, I’ll find some other dream … something I can get equally excited about. All I know is that this child”—she put a hand over her still-flat tummy—“is surprisingly important to me. I never realized how much I want to have a child. I can’t give you details on what I’ll do yet. Maybe I’ll go off to some desert island with this little
mini-me or mini-you or mini-us and play doctor to the natives.”

“Where do I fit into that picture?”

“Where do you want to fit?”
With us?

“I already suggested that we wed, and you rejected me.”

“No, you did not suggest. You ordered.”

“So if I asked nicely, you would agree?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. I would have to know lots more before I would agree to marry you. I definitely wouldn’t do it for the sake of a child.”

He rolled his eyes in frustration.

“I’m starving. Would you eat if I made some lunch?”

He nodded. “Or we could call Dome-nose for some pete’s-ha. I’ve become partial to that pepper-only meat as a topping.”

She made the call, then leaned against the wall, chomping on an apple. “Actually I’m always starving. Betcha I turn into a blimp, with all the food I’ve been shoveling in. The SEALs could use me as an IBL.”

“One of my father’s wives looked like a walking longboat by the time she was about to give birth.”

“That’s a nice image.”

He grinned. “I’m sure you will look lovely.”

“You charmer, you.”

“Has the baby moved yet?”

“Max! I’m only about one month pregnant. The baby won’t move for months yet.” She loved the fact that he was interested, as he should be.

“You know that I will convince you to wed with me, don’t you?”

“You could try.”
Please try.

“A challenge? Milady, you dare much if you think you could withstand a Viking assault of the magnitude I will wage.”

“Talk, talk, talk! I’ve already experienced all your secret Viking spots.”

“You think so? Didst not imagine I would show you all my tricks at once, did you? Tsk, tsk, tsk! Seduction is my second greatest talent.”

A sense of relief washed over her at the lightness of the moment. No more anger and recriminations. “Changing the subject for just one second … Max, will you go with me to the Harvest Festival at the Blue Dragon Vineyards after graduation? It’s at least an eight-hour drive. We could leave on Friday, stay overnight somewhere midway, maybe San Luis Obispo, and arrive Saturday afternoon.”

“Huh?” She could tell that her quick change of subject had disconcerted him.

“I promised Kirsten Magnusson I would bring you.”

“This Kirsten person has a connection with that wine we drank … the one that felt so odd in my hands?”

She nodded.

At first he balked, but then he nodded.

She smiled and walked over to sit on his lap. “About that seduction business …” she said, nuzzling his neck.

One is the loneliest number …

Forty-eight members of the original 150 in Class 500 of BUD/S graduated into teams the following Friday. Ragnor Magnusson, in full dress uniform, was one of them.

And he’d never felt so lonely in his life.

He hadn’t been prepared for all the ritual and pomp given to their ceremony … or to its importance. Parents, sisters, brothers, and friends had traveled from all over the world to be with these forty-eight men on this special day. Except for Ragnor himself, who had no one, unless he counted Alison, who’d waved to him when he’d entered the arena and taken his seat.

Her father, Rear Admiral Thomas MacLean—a dignified man with short gray hair, who displayed more brooches on his chest than Ragnor had ever seen—was one of the speakers, along with an older
man who had been in one of the original SEAL classes. There was also a senator from California … a senator being sort of like an ealdorman on the king’s Witan in the Saxon lands, he surmised. JAM, as honor man for his class, also gave a talk. Mostly the subjects were honor, stamina, and courage … subjects dear to the hearts of all Norsemen.

Ragnor’s mind wandered as it hit home just how alone he was in this land and time. And how the moment had come to make some decisions about what he would do here, since returning to the eleventh century didn’t appear to be an option.

Cage elbowed him from the right side and said, “Stand up, you idiot. They just called your name.”

After the ceremony, a small feast was held under tents near the beach. Alison came up to him immediately and hugged him warmly. “Congratulations, sweetie. You look so hot.”

He laughed and hugged her back. “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the seducing. Hot
is
a compliment, is it not?”

“The ultimate, babe. The ultimate.”

“Max,” the chieftain said then, reaching out to shake his hand. “Congratulations.” Interesting that Ian would call him Max; usually he called him something derogatory, like “jerkoff” or “goofball.” And his congratulations seemed sincere enough. Perhaps he wouldn’t say anything to irritate the chieftain today, like, “My sister Madrene could teach you about the famous Viking S-Spot.”

“Did you say Max?” Admiral MacLean said then, stepping around the chieftain. He raised his eyebrows at Alison in some meaningful way.

She blushed and took her father’s hand, at the same time lacing the fingers of her other hand with his own. “Daddy, I’d like you to meet Ensign Magnusson. He’s a good friend of mine. Max, this is my father.”

Good friend, eh? More like good lover.
They shook hands, but her father eyed him in the way fathers have since time began, asking the silent question,
What have you been doing with my daughter?

Tupping. More tupping. And then … tupping.

After some awkward conversation about the ceremony and the team Max had been assigned to at Coronado, the admiral asked Alison, “Are you sure you can’t come back to Washington with me for a few days of R & R?”

She shook her head. Her fingers, still intertwined with his, clenched even tighter. “No. Max and I are driving up to Sonoma Valley, leaving later today. We want to visit Blue Dragon Vineyards tomorrow.”

“Really?” the admiral and the chieftain said at the same time.

Ragnor could tell that Alison was unsure what to say. So he blundered ahead on his own. “Alison and I are looking for a nice site to hold a wedding.”

Alison’s face turned blood red and she made a sort of gurgling sound in her throat. Slowly she looked at him, alternating between daggers and disbelief. Her only response was, “Oh, my God!”

Her father and brother settled for mere daggers.

But Ragnor … he was bloody well pleased with himself. Sometimes a Viking just had to take a stand.

Home sweet home …

Torolf was tooling his way home on his Harley by early Saturday morning. And, yes, he now recognized that Blue Dragon Vineyards was his home, and had been since he was sixteen years old. His memory was coming back in leaps and bounds.

There had been lots of weeping and promises to keep in touch as he left Hog Heaven, and truly he was thankful for all the help Serenity and George had given him. But now, he was ready to resume his old life, whatever that might be.

It was a balmy early September day, with the smell of grapes in the air. He turned onto the long private drive lined with a low stone wall and stately oak trees. Every ten feet or so big, dragon-shaped pottery urns spilled forth lush red flowers.

He revved the motor on his Harley and came to a screeching stop in the wide circle in front of the rambling Victorian house with its wraparound porch. He was not surprised to see most of his family already rushing down the wide steps to meet him: his father, whose long blond hair had more than a few gray strands, some of them put there by him; his stepmother Angela, his step-grandmother Rose, the housekeeper Juanita, and about eight of his half-brothers and sisters.

Once the chaos of reunion subsided, his father—the same six foot four as himself though much more burly in build—released him from an embrace and held him away from himself. “Where have you been, boy?”

“Hog Heaven.” He grinned.

“I sense a story coming,” Angela said, winking at him.

He told them about his accident, his medical leave from SEALs training, his loss of memory, and his sojourn at the biker commune.

“But Kirsten said …” His father’s forehead furrowed with confusion.

“Kirsten? Where is she?”

“She’ll be here later this afternoon. She’s driving up from Los Angeles after her early-morning class,” his father informed him, still frowning. “Your uncles Rolf and Jorund are here with their families for the Harvest Festival. They’re out back.”

“Great!” Rolf, once known as Rolf the Shipbuilder, and his wife Meredith operated a replica of a Norse village up in Maine, where his uncle built authentic longships. Jorund, a famous warrior at one time, not surprisingly called Jorund the Warrior, ran some kind of exercise facility for mentally and emotionally challenged people in Texas.

“Back to Kirsten and what she said.” His father was frowning again with confusion. “I still don’t understand why—”

“Shhh,” Angela said, looping her arms in each of theirs to propel them up the steps. “We can discuss everything later. We had an especially good harvest this year, Torolf, and an early one, too. You’re just in time for the Harvest Festival.”

“Oh, boy!” he said, but he had a strange feeling that something else was about to happen, too.

In the war of the sexes, females have an advantage …

On Saturday morning, Alison and Max did a little sightseeing after a late Southwestern-style breakfast in San Luis Obispo before resuming their car trip to
Blue Dragon Vineyards. Good thing she’d gotten that extra walking in, since she’d gone back to the buffet table twice, much to Max’s teasing delight.

They drove Ian’s red Mustang convertible, which he’d surprisingly loaned to them for the trip once he’d gotten over the shock of Max’s announcement that they were planning a wedding. She, on the other hand, still wasn’t over the shock, even though she’d immediately told her father and brother that he’d been kidding. When her father and Ian had looked to Max for confirmation of her denials, he’d just grinned. She could have wrung his neck.

Despite all that, she was enjoying herself immensely, even though Max had not made love to her since before her pregnancy. Last night, he’d slept in the other double bed in their small mission-style hotel. He’d claimed exhaustion, but Alison suspected it was all part of some macho-dumb plot to seduce her into marriage. Surrender by way of lust overload, or some such thing.

He might just succeed.

She wouldn’t let that ruin her trip.

And Max was enjoying himself, too. She could tell. Right now he was leaning back against the headrest, basking in the sunlight and breeze as they cruised up I-5. His right arm rested on the open window, his left arm was draped over the back of the driver’s seat.

At Max’s urging, she wore her halter sundress, the same one she’d worn the day they went to the library—white background with red flowers—and skimpy white sandals. She’d painted her finger- and toenails flame red and wore bright lipstick, also at Max’s urging. It was a strange little game of sexual teasing they were playing.

She liked it.

He wore khaki shorts and a white U.S. Navy T-shirt with flip-flops. The odd note was the ancient arm rings he wore today. He’d gotten the confiscated items back from her brother once training ended. His hair was still very short, but he was so handsome it did not matter. He looked suntanned and healthy.