Undercurrent (22 page)

“
You are confused about your home?” His tone carried no hint of mockery, nor did the slight raising of his brow.

Instinct told her she could trust him. Honestly, it would be a relief to confide her impossible dilemma. She searched his face, wondering if she should. On impulse, she reached to brush back the swath of long hair that always covered the left side of his face.

He caught her wrist, gentle though firm. “Nay, Cassie. There is not much I would refuse you, but this…”

His expression didn’t change, though she sensed a great sadness in his words. Somehow, she knew she’d been the cause. “Sorry.” Would she forever be apologizing to this man?

“
Do not trouble yourself.” He released his grip and smiled. “If you wish not to speak of your home—”

“
But I do!” A sudden and forceful urge to tell him all struck, and she rubbed where his touch still burned on her wrist. “I live in Oxford, England. I’m a professor, relatively proficient in ancient Germanic languages, though I am becoming more expert since living here now, or then, I mean…”

Her words slowed as his brow shot up. What could she say to make him understand? No simple answer came to mind, other than the simple. “I am from the, uh…” Hmm, what word to use? “Later.”

“
Later?”

“
You’ll be dead one thousand years before I’m born.”

His mouth parted slightly and he sat back.

Oh, real slick. She sighed as her simple explanation took a nosedive into ludicrous. What did Vikings do to crazy people?

“
I am trying to understand you, Cassie, but your words…they cannot be right.”

Frustrated, she tugged her hair into a mock ponytail with one hand, then released it.

Ragnar rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, then shrugged. “Try again. I will listen.”

Along with his request, the warmth and encouragement in his voice coaxed her. “Okay. I was born in the twentieth century. I fell into the North Sea, a whirlpool actually, and here I am, a thousand years earlier. If Alarik hadn’t pulled me from the water, I’m not sure where I’d be.” She glanced over, half expecting him to laugh at her.

He didn’t, though neither did he speak. For a long time he sat silent, almost brooding, his lips pressed tight. At length, he looked at her and finally spoke. “And your family?”

“
Well…” Was he taking her seriously? “My mother is dead. Father, too. No sisters or brothers or anyone else, really.” Not even Drew anymore. Truthfully, the only one who might notice she’d disappeared was Tammy. Voicing aloud her situation didn’t bring as much relief as she’d hoped. On the contrary, the lost and lonely void she’d been trying to ignore engulfed her in its emptiness. Her vision blurred, and she looked away, feeling the fresh wind lift strands of her hair.

Ragnar’s work-worn finger crooked her chin, coaxing her face back toward his. “Fret not, Cassie.”

Though his action heartened her, she couldn’t help but wonder if he believed her story. She could hardly believe it herself, yet his serene blue gaze exported a certain peace. “Look, I know this sounds impossible—”

“
With God, all things are possible.”

The boat rocked and she grasped his hand to steady herself as much from his statement as from the sudden shift in the boat’s direction. “Are you saying you believe me?”

He squeezed her fingers then looked past her, reverting to silence. His lips moved ever so slightly as he fixed a stare heavenward, though no sound came out. He never did make eye contact again, but at last he said, “I am saying I believe God. Who can know His designs and purposes? You are here and now. That is enough for me.” He released her hand and turned away, leaving her in stunned silence as his boots scrambled over the strakes.

What I know is that Ragnar’s faith runs deeper than a fjord.
Alarik’s earlier proclamation suddenly made sense as she stared into the dark water. Her own faith was smaller than the proverbial mustard seed in comparison.

What might it be like to have such a trust in an all-powerful God that anything could be possible?

Still thinking of how soft, how small Cassie’s hand had felt in his, Ragnar caught a foot on a rope and had to grab hold of the mast to keep from falling into Alarik’s lap. Alarik’s laughter revealed that his clumsiness had not gone unnoticed. After catching his balance, he skirted the mast, determined to make the stern without further incident.

“
What are you doing?” Ragnar nodded at his cousin’s grasp on the steering rudder, forcing their course from the fjord to an offshooting tributary.

The one leading to Rogaland.

“
Alarik, we agreed—”

“
Ja, I know, but the wind has picked up and…” His cousin’s smile faded. “I cannot, Ragnar…I cannot sail beyond when my Signy is within reach.”

“
As is Torolf!” Ragnar glanced skyward, willing his anger to disperse into the vast blue, then lowered his eyes and his tone. “Forgive me, friend, but we have discussed this time and again. The safest plan is—”

“
To seek out the lawgiver before the assembly. Indeed, I understand. I simply cannot.” He set the rudder then shoved past Ragnar, busying his hands with the rigging.

“
Cannot or will not?” Ragnar voiced the words under his breath, but the question must have carried on the rising breeze, for Alarik glowered over his shoulder.

“
Would you not do the same for Cass-ee?”

Ragnar shot a glance toward where she sat in the bow, her hair whipping about from the breeze. Had she heard? If so, she revealed no surprise, for she merely stared into the river, ignoring them both.

He edged closer to Alarik and lowered his voice. “Very well. But know, cousin, it will be on my terms that we retrieve her.”

Alarik returned a defiant lift of his chin but did not argue.

Leaving behind the wider waterway, they sailed past familiar landmarks. Ragnar’s unease grew in proportion as they drew closer to the village, until at last a warning sounded in his spirit. He scooted across the hull and yanked the rudder, shooting the bow toward shore.

Cassie tumbled sideways from her crate. “Hey!” she sputtered as she righted herself. “You could warn me next time.”

Alarik laughed, and though Ragnar regretted jostling Cassie, a measure of relief filled him at his friend’s apparent acceptance of his leadership.

They beached the faering, securing its anchor aground, then set off on foot into the tall pines. Spruce and fir perfumed the air, and he inhaled deeply, taken aback by a sudden, wistful pang. Though Rogaland had never offered him safety or peace, nonetheless it was home and lent a certain comfort—something Cassie admittedly had lost.

Preoccupied with Alarik’s change in plans, he’d not given more thought to Cassie’s strange tale, but now he considered it in full. Truly, could she be from the future? Did it matter? Conviction gripped him that it was enough for her to be here and now. If Jesu could master salvation for those before His time on Earth, and span it across the centuries until the end of the ages, then surely He must have Cassie where and when she needed to be. Who was he to question time’s Creator?

Day’s light faded, more so beneath the evergreen canopy. Ragnar unshouldered his pack and let it fall, stretching his neck from side to side. This patch of pine-needled ground would serve as well as any other for their camp.

Cassie could still be heard tromping through the woodlands some distance back, but Alarik soon gained his side. “The village is a swift hike from here. Mayhap we ought to—”

“
I am aware of the distance.” He met Alarik’s frown with a smile. “’Twill give you time to clean yourself up for your woman, ja?”

His cousin’s chest expanded as he threw back his shoulders. “Should I offer the opportunity, any woman would take me as I am and croon of their blessed fortune evermore.”

A smirk twitched Ragnar’s lips. “Signy is not any woman.”

Alarik deflated, and a sheepish grin lit his dark features. “Get you gone. I have had enough of your tongue.”

Ragnar loosed the waterskin from his belt, unplugged the cap, and took a long pull. Ja, he did have a fair amount of trail to cover before reaching the village. The night would be well advanced indeed by the time he’d return with Signy in tow. The drink settled in his gut, but a sour taste lingered in the back of his throat. Even swigging back another mouthful and swishing it from cheek to cheek did little to remove the aftertaste.

He spit it out, then cast the skin atop his pack. Either his water had gone bad, or an ill premonition lurked.

TWENTY-ONE

Alarik tugged at the damp collar plastered against his neck. He shook his hair, mostly dried now from having had the journey’s grime scrubbed away in the river. Cool night air whooshed through the pines, raising the flesh on his arms. No matter. Once Signy arrived, his skin would burn.

Setting another bough on the fire released a spate of crackling flames. Spindly pine branches glowed orange, turned white, and finally disappeared into black. One loud pop shot a glowing ember close to where Cassie lay sleeping.

Her eyes opened, and she stifled a yawn, then pushed upright to sit cross-legged. She stretched her neck before looking around their camp. “Guess I dozed off while you were gone. Ragnar’s not back yet, huh?”

Far off a twig snapped, then…nothing. Alarik rushed to his feet, raising a warning hand toward her. Mayhap his hearing failed for having strained it, for now he heard naught but a breeze rattling through tree limbs. Nonetheless, he lifted his chin, welled the right amount of air and sound in his throat, and issued a series of cooing hoots.

Cassie frowned, crossing her arms. “What are you—”

With an evil eye to rival the village hag’s, he silenced her. A rebuke came to mind as well, but before he voiced it, a well-recognized owl’s cry answered deep within the wood. Jerking his head toward the sound, he stood tense. Every muscle bow-stringed as he awaited the sweet release when Signy would fill his arms. Oh, how he’d missed her touch.

Ragnar emerged first into the ring of light cast from the fire. And then—

In five long strides, Alarik reached her, crushing Signy against him. His mouth sought hers, and a hungry groan sounded—hers or his? Hard to tell over the throbbing rush that filled his ears. His lips strayed, traveling the length of her jawline, then trailing the downy skin of her neck. As he breathed in her lavender scent, a tremor shook through him, and desire banished coherent thought. Thor’s thunder! He’d have her here. Now. He yanked the cape from her shoulders, and would’ve ripped the embroidered fabric of her dress, but two firm palms pressed against his chest, urging him to retreat.

“
Alarik!”

Willing his wild breaths to slow, he took her with his eyes instead. Her hair, the color of spun-honey, drew away from her face into a single braid, framing her flushed cheeks and cornflower-blue eyes. One brow arched, and her lips, swollen from his eager greeting, pulled into a pretty pout. She cast a pointed look over his shoulder, and he followed it, glancing back.

No doubt purposely facing away from them, Ragnar squatted at the fire, troubling it with a long stick. Beyond him, however, a wide-eyed Cassie cleared her throat. Loudly.

Let her look. He returned his gaze to Signy and reached out.

With a quick sidestep, she eluded his grasp. “There is much to be said. Køm. For now, let only the fire heat you.” But her eyes held promise as she collected her skirts and settled near the flames, closer to Ragnar than to Cassie.

Women. Who could know their mind? Yet if talking must precede his need of her, then so be it and with haste. He sat next to her, allowing the minimal amount of space needed for clarity of thought.

She studied Cassie before turning to him. “What are you doing here?”

Her question might have rankled had he not known her concern for him must surely weigh heavy. Shrugging, he said, “I will plead before the lawspeaker, then take my brother’s place at my father’s side. We will wed and—”

“
Jarl Hermod is dead, Alarik.”

Her placid tone likely strove to lessen the blow of her words, but the impact of his father’s death struck sharp and fast as a broadsword through his heart. He staggered to his feet and spun away.

“
Speak true, Signy. Tell all that has befallen Rogaland in our absence.” Ragnar’s voice carried to where Alarik stood outside the fire’s reach.

Darkness mocked him, and Alarik shuddered. He should have returned sooner. Even more, he never should have run. Had his father gone to the netherworld believing him to be his brother’s killer? He clenched his fists until his knuckles threatened to pop through the taut skin. Ja. Of course he had. Why think otherwise? By Odin! For his father’s sake, he would clear his name or be condemned in the trying.

Signy’s words broke through his thoughts. “Torolf rules in Hermod’s stead. On the morrow, he leads the men to the assembly.”

“
As will we,” Ragnar said.

“
Nay! You must not!”

A strange chord offset Signy’s voice, one which Alarik could not place. She almost sounded panicked.

He splayed his cramped fingers, then shook them out. The grief harvested from his father’s death must be storehoused for now, his mourning saved to dwell on during the span of a winter’s eve. Inhaling a deep breath of chill air, he turned and stomped to the fire, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “It is as Ragnar says. We will go.”