“Later,” Nils murmured.
Olive held out a container of salve and a clean cloth.
Before Linnea could take them, Jack reached in front of her.
He said nothing, but she understood.
Slowly she rose and left him to tend to the rest of Nils’s wounds.
Going to the window, she folded her hands on the thick sill.
The light breeze off the sea tugged at the hair that would not stay pulled back.
When fingers pushed it over her shoulder, she tried to smile at Olive.
Her maid did not smile back.
“This is not like you, my lady.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Your father would be distressed to see you wandering around the estate in such a state of undress.”
“I needed my stockings to stop Mr. Bjornsson’s bleeding.”
Olive opened her mouth, then scowled when Nils hissed something at Jack.
“That is a very bold man.
I don’t recognize him.”
“Nor do I.”
“Strangers can present a danger to young ladies.”
Linnea patted her maid on the arm, trying to keep her voice light as she recalled how Nils had gazed at her when she was pressed against him by the cliff.
“When it was clear Mr. Bjornsson was not enjoying excellent health, I did not fret about my virtue.”
“Lady Linnea!”
She was startled when she realized Jack had called to her at the same moment as Olive’s scold.
Deciding she would rather see what the stableman had accomplished than listen to another of Olive’s admonishments, she went back to the pallet.
Nils appeared worse for the attention they had given him.
Every golden hair in his beard was bright against his face which was as bleached as the cloths tied around his head.
The side of his smock was ripped enough to reveal more bandaging.
“How do you fare?” she asked as she squatted beside him.
Nils closed his eyes and motioned her away in a clear dismissal.
“
Sofn
.”
“What?”
“
Sofn
.”
He opened one eye and glared at her.
“I want to sleep.”
Suddenly he seized her wrist.
“Hey!” shouted Jack.
“She is your ally, not your enemy.”
Linnea waved him back, swallowing her irritation.
She should have pity for Nils, but it was hard to foster sympathy for him when he was so dashed arrogant.
Staring at him, she said, quietly, “You might find it easier to get to sleep if you don’t grab me every time I speak with you.”
“I wish to wake again.”
She tried to stifle the shudder racing along her shoulders.
From anyone else, she would have dismissed the words as fear about the state of his injuries.
“We have not spent all this time tending to your injuries so we can let you die the first time you close your eyes.”
“Where is my other
sax
?”
“You have one knife.”
“I wish to have my
sax
that yearns to taste Kortsson’s blood.”
“Jack has put the other dagger where it shan’t be found.”
She looked over her shoulder when Nils re-aimed his glower at the man behind her.
Jack squared his thick shoulders and nodded.
“Won’t be found until you need it... sir.”
Linnea stared, wide-eyed, at the stableman.
What had Nils told him to persuade him to speak with such grudging respect?
Slowly Nils’s fingers loosened on her wrist.
They slid along her arm to curl around her elbow.
Her breath caught in her throat while a warmth as potent and perilous as the sunshine oozed outward from his fingertips to flood through her.
“
Engill
,” he whispered in the moment before his eyes closed again.
“What did he say?”
Olive’s lips were pursed with disapproval.
Linnea stood and chafed her wrist where his fingers had dug into her skin.
She did not dare to touch her elbow where he had caressed her with such surprising tenderness.
“I have no idea.”
Jack gave her a wry smile.
“Won’t be a good patient.
Worse than Old Calvin, I would wager.
Did you slip something into his water, Olive?”
“Just a bit of tincture of opium.”
Olive shook her head.
“His lordship isn’t going to like this.”
Linnea returned to the window as Jack went down the stairs to collect the other supplies Olive had brought.
“I want no one save for the three of us to know he is here.”
“Why?”
She faced her maid.
“Someone attacked him, and Mr. Bjornsson believes that man might be about waiting for another chance.
Mr. Bjornsson needs time to recover.”
“If someone set upon him,” argued Olive, “then we should take him to the house.”
“He will not go.”
“There are three of us and but one of him.”
Linnea kneaded her hands together.
“I suspect he would try to flee if we take him there, for he believes he will endanger us all if he goes to the house.
I fear he will hurt himself worse trying to escape the sanctuary we offer.”
“We should at least warn the authorities.”
“You are right, and I shall speak to Papa about it as soon as I can, even though I do not believe we are in any danger from his enemies.”
She wrapped her arms around herself as if a sudden chill had brushed her.
“I believe he will come to see that, too, as his head heals.”
“I pray you are right.”
Squaring her shoulders, Olive added, “If you intend for him to stay here, I need to find him some decent clothes.
What he is wearing is threadbare and filthy as well as torn in dozens of places.”
“Ask Mrs. Gerber to get some clothing from the attics. There may be something stored up there, although he is taller than Papa or any of my brothers.
If anyone would know, Mrs. Gerber shall.
If she asks why you need it, tell her a vagabond came begging, and I asked you to get these clothes.”
Olive nodded.
“I will check with her.
Lady Sutherland has many items in storage in case guests require them, so she is sure to have something that fits Mr. Bjornsson.
That is a very odd name, my lady.”
“Scandinavian, I would guess, although he said he is of
Norfolk
.”
Linnea turned as the door at the top of the stairs reopened.
With a relieved smile, she motioned for Jack to enter.
He edged into the room, carefully balancing his armload of horse blankets.
Olive scooped several off the top.
As the rest tumbled to the floor, Linnea caught one and rolled it tightly.
She knelt and put it beneath Nils’s other foot.
He mumbled something in his sleep, but did not wake.
“Lady Linnea,” Jack said quietly.
“Yes?”
“Saw a carriage going toward the house.”
He shuffled his toe against the floor.
“Looked like Lord Tuthill’s.”
Linnea’s eyes widened.
Randolph
?
Dear heavens, why was he calling this afternoon?
She looked from her friends to the man sleeping in the middle of the floor.
How was she going to explain looking disheveled like this to
Randolph
?
Three
Nils heard Lady Linnea’s footsteps vanishing into the distance.
The old woman and the lad were talking quietly in a corner, and he suspected they believed he was asleep.
Maybe he had surrendered to sleep for a few moments, but the pain was too strong for whatever the old woman had put in his water.
He had tasted something strange in the cup.
Although he had considered the idea that they might be poisoning him, he doubted Lady Linnea would have had him brought from the strand simply to slay him here.
That made no sense, and he had seen that she was, surprisingly for an Englishwoman, very sensible.
He fought to open his eyes.
Lying here as helpless as a baby would not get him closer to slaying Kortsson before his blood-enemy could attack again, or to accomplishing the vow he had made to Freya.
“You are right to worry.
She does become impatient with those who make promises and never do as they pledged.”
Who was that?
Nils opened his eyes, glanced around,
and frowned.
Was this the place he had been brought to?
If so, the people who had helped him were nowhere to be seen.
He could not remember much about this haven.
His pain had blinded him to so much, save for the loveliness of his rescuer.
So readily he was able to recreate the image of her glistening black hair and her earth-brown eyes filled with strong passions that intrigued even a half-dead man.
His dreams would be flavored with the memory of her pliant body against him.
The lilt of her voice was like a bard’s song in his ears, and he wondered how it would whisper with delight to him if he had put his thoughts of seduction into action.
He groaned with frustration.
He could not seduce her when he was swathed in bandages and his arm and ankle were immobilized.
“I do not have much patience, either.”
He turned his head toward the voice.
His eyes widened.
Never had he seen the short man sitting on the deep-set stone windowsill, but he recognized him immediately.
The sharp features and wiry hair were images he had seen on carvings and engraved in jewelry.
His right hand closed into a fist.
The knife that he sought for his chieftain had an image of Loki raised on its haft.
But what was Loki doing here in this English building so far from the halls of
Asgard
where the gods of the
Norrfoolk
resided?
And where were those who had rescued him?
Was this even where he had been, or had Loki taken him somewhere else?
Nils frowned.
Any mortal or any god who dared to trust Loki soon found himself suffering from one of his oft-times deadly pranks.
The wizard dared to challenge even the great Odin himself with his tricks.
The old tales spoke of Loki’s lies.
As a child, Nils had asked why the gods endured his tormenting them, why they had not destroyed Loki.
No one had been able to explain it to Nils, replying only that Loki was part of the gods’ plans for all the Nine Worlds.
“Why are you here with me, Loki?” he asked, not sure if the wizard could read his thoughts.
“Freya has others to escort to
Valhalla
, so I thought to watch your attempts to complete your quest and report them back to her.”
“So you sent the Englishwoman to help me escape from death at the hands of my blood-enemy.
All of this madness is your work,” he replied to Loki’s taunting smile.
“Madness?
The madness comes from your vow, Nils Bjornsson.”
Rubbing his hand against the tip of his long nose, Loki laughed.
“Freya was amused that so brave a warrior would deny himself the glories of
Valhalla
in order to try to regain the honor of another.
She agreed to let me teach you a lesson for turning down the great reward you should have accepted as your due.”
“By abandoning me in this strange place?”
“It is Britannia.
You have been here before while far from your home a-viking.”
“But Britannia never has been as it is on this voyage.
I have never seen a building like this one in Britannia, nor an Englishwoman who dresses as Lady Linnea does.”
Nils considered trying to sit, but the thought was enough to sap him.
“What is now and what was and what will be are much the same until the day
Ragnarok
ends it all.”
Nils did not want to discuss the last day of the world, when the powers of good and evil clashed.
Not even with Loki who, legend said, looked forward to that day so he could gain vengeance on the gods for the many slights they had served him since the beginning of the Nine Worlds.
Nils’s troubles were here and now.
“I have my pledge to my chieftain to complete,” Nils argued, hoping that Loki would continue to be in a benevolent mood.
If not, the god who delighted in lying could banish him to the depths of the god Hel’s icy realm of Niflheim to live all eternity in torment.
Why was Loki taunting him like this?
A single word from the wizard, and Nils would be dead.
There must be something about all of this that Nils did not understand...yet.
“So you do.”
Loki laughed wildly.
“You have gambled your honor in making this vow.
Die now, and
Valhalla
is denied to you forever.”
“My wounds should not be fatal.”
“But your task may be deadly.”
Loki jumped to the floor and stared down at him.
“You have no
“You speak of Kortsson.
I have faced him before and sent him fleeing.
If I had not been injured already, he would not have been able to give what he thought was a fatal blow.”
Loki laughed.
“You have enemies here other than the son of Korts.”
“That I know.”
“Do you?
Do you know who here is your true enemy?
Do you know who may be your ally?”
Again Loki laughed.
“Know the difference, Nils Bjornsson, or else your quest to bring honor back to your family is doomed.”