Undercurrent (36 page)

Her words must have struck some chord deep within him, for his eye shone glassier in the lanterns’ glow. Even after the elder removed the cord, they both stood transfixed, almost as if he believed as well as she that if either of them moved, the other would disappear.

“
Kiss her and be done with it!” Oláf’s voice assaulted the moment with his usual lack of tact.

Ragnar bent. This time when their lips met and she pressed against him, her stomach flipped at the hunger she felt shake through him—a hunger that would be satisfied this very eve. She leaned closer.

A deafening cheer erupted, and she hid her face in his neck. How could she have forgotten they had an audience?

Ragnar laughed and set her from him. The gathering split down the middle, and with a war cry, he wielded Alarik’s sword. It sailed end over end the length of Great Hall and thwunked deep into the massive support beam near the door.

Two men stepped forward to heave it out. A gouged fissure cut deep into the big beam, deeper than any of the other scars chunked out of the wood. Men shouted and women laughed. Ragnar spun toward Cassie, a huge grin on his face.

Her cheeks burned molten hot when she remembered Grunnhild’s words. “At the end of the ceremony, the groom will plunge his sword into a pillar, reflecting his virility to produce offspring.”

“
Køm, Cassie. Let the feasting begin.” Ragnar offered his hand, pulling her from her embarrassment.

Glad for some support, she grasped it and let him lead her to the table of honor. They remained standing while others sat. The noisy banter slackened somewhat, and a nudge in Cassie’s side from Grunnhild signaled she should begin.

Lifting the two-handled vessel filled with mead, Cassie held it before Ragnar. All eyes focused on her. Though she’d practiced this afternoon, she’d had little time to memorize everything. Now what were the words to that silly verse? “Drink I bring thee, thou oak of battle, with strength blended and brightest honor I give.”

Ragnar’s brow rose. Grunnhild choked behind her hand before hearty laughter broke across the room.

Shoot! Cassie’s stomach sank, sickening and swirling like the whirlpool that’d brought her here in the first place. She’d blown her first duty as a wife. The ceremonial drinking cup suddenly weighed heavy in her shaking fingers, and mead sloshed over the side. Ragnar smiled and supported her hands with his. He lifted the cup and drank, then offered her the customary sip before he spoke. “I am sure my bride meant I am an oak of battle, not a goat. And that she gives to me…”

His lips twitched. He pressed them together, but merriment shone as a glimmer in his eye. “That she gives to me—”

A grin split his face. More laughter echoed from walls to rafters. Even she couldn’t stop the smile that stretched her lips. “What did I say? Didn’t I give you the brightest honor?”

“
Nay, you offered me the finest halibut.” He laughed so hard his eyes watered.

She would’ve been offended if she weren’t so busy laughing at herself. So much for her linguistic skills. Good thing she’d left teaching in the past.

Ragnar pulled her into his arms, nuzzling her hair with his chin. “Cassie,” he said between breaths, “truly, I have never before heard such a wedding vow.”

She grinned up at him. “You want me to try again?”

He shook his head and tugged her down beside him on the bench. “Nay! I can bear no more.”

As soon as they sat, thralls wound through the crowded aisles between tables, setting down platters of meats, puddings, and breads. Cassie took a roll and something that looked like a drumstick, only smaller, and picked at a few bites. Beneath the table, a strong hand caressed her thigh. Her heart rate ratcheted. Eating now would be out of the question.

“
Ragnar!” she warned under her breath.

A rogue grin lit his face. Who could get angry at that?

Next to her, Grunnhild ripped off a chunk of bread from a passing crusty loaf and added it to Cassie’s untouched food. “You must eat, Cass-ee. ’Tis plain Ragnar has inn makti murr.”

Cassie nodded and smiled as if she knew what in the world Grunnhild spoke of. She’d already broken the needle on her embarrassment scale—no way would she ask Grunnhild what that meant, especially with the way she’d giggled when she’d said it. Instead, she turned to Ragnar and whispered in his ear. “What is inn makti murr?”

His lips grazed her earlobe as he whispered back. “You would like to know?”

She nodded, slowly, as a zealous gleam lit his eye. This time his mouth traveled up her neck before reaching her ear. “’Tis the grand passion, little one.”

Cassie’s breath fled and her heart pounded. She’d only had one sip of ale but felt dazed as if she’d downed half a keg.

Ragnar glanced at her untouched plate. “You are not hungry?”

“
Not for food.” She snuck her hand under the table and ran a finger along his own leg.

He shot to his feet so fast Cassie grasped the edge of the table to keep from falling off the wobbling bench. His sudden movement drew all eyes to him. A renegade smile of satisfaction tugged her lips. For once it wasn’t she who’d attracted undue attention.

How would he manage to get out of this one? He couldn’t very well say his wife startled him with an unexpected touch in public. Her grin widened as he winked down at her.

“
Let the music begin!” He pulled her up, wrapping his arms about her. “Dance with me.”

A memory slide-show paraded through her mind of the fancy steps she’d seen at Magnus and Gwenn’s wedding. There’d be no salvation for her pride on the dance floor being cleared by the shoving back of tables. “Oh, I don’t think, I really can’t…”

He pressed closer, molding her against each hard muscle. “’Twill be our chance to escape, woman, unless you prefer to stay here—”

“
No!”

He laughed at her outburst. “Then køm.”

They elbowed through the merry villagers. Men slapped Ragnar on the back while women smiled at her. The one face other than Alarik’s that she wished to see amongst the gathering yet lay in a longhouse away from the festivities. Magnus would recover, but it would be a long time before he’d be able to travel back to Gwenn.

A cheerful folktune increased its tempo as they reached the open space, and Ragnar swung her around. With her feet hardly touching the floor, she shouldn’t have worried about taking a wrong step. Other dancers crowded in, starting some kind of organized fling, making it all the easier for Ragnar to slip them toward the door. Once outside, they both grinned at their great escape.

Ragnar swept her up in his arms. “You are happy, little one?”

“
Happier than ever.” She untied the silk cords binding his tunic, loosened the ties of his linen shirt, and reached her hand in to meet warm skin of his chest. Beneath, his heart beat hard against her palm.

His arms loosened as if he’d drop her, and she clutched both hands up to his shoulders before she could fall. “Ragnar!”

He laughed and set her gently on her feet. His smile faded as he brushed back a stray wisp of hair that tickled her forehead.

His gaze of love shivered through her. Never would she regret this choice, this man. She caressed his face, and he pressed his cheek against her touch. “Someone once told me I belong where my heart is given. I give my heart to you, Ragnar. I am willing to be yours now and ever. Freely I give up all the physical comforts of my past for a future with you. I love you more than lattes or air conditioning or—”

He lowered his head, setting his lips against hers. “There will be time for talk later, wife.”

“
Time?” She kissed him, and he scooped her up once again. The length of his strides toward his quarters made for a bouncy ride. She laughed. “I’ve got all the time in the world, husband. All the time in the world.”

Epilogue

North Sea, Off the Northeastern Coast of England, Next Summer Solstice

Tammy Jenkins shifted on the folding chair in the enclosed observation deck. The cheap metal legs creaked their complaint as the hard plastic back bit into her lower spine. Nevertheless, she succeeded in wedging free her inhaler from her jeans pocket.

Though she’d heard the speaker’s story before, he’d soon be to the part she dreaded. It wouldn’t hurt to be prepared, especially in this mildewy room. Dr. Larson would’ve been proud of her.

She sniffled with sudden emotion and forced her attention back to Mr. Ahab.

“
Aye,” he barked from the front of the room, “the body of the reporter was ne’er to be found, nor that of the lovely professor lady, missing a year now to this very day.”

“
Y’see…” He paused to rub a hand across his stubbly chin, then continued on to scratch the nape of his neck. “Fisherfolk tales be told for more than the passin’ o’ the time. If a story what’s been passed from century to century bears a warning o’ some kind, ’tis best to heed it. And one thing’s for sure…”

Wrapping her lips around the inhaler’s oval opening, Tammy breathed deep. The medicine rushed in, its dry air hitting the back of her throat. Almost immediately, she could exhale freely, soon enough to mouth the rest of Mr. Ahab’s lecture along with him. “The Farne’s are a fine place to visit, but beware on a midsummer’s eve—especially if ye be a young lady.”

He raised an outrageous eyebrow at her before pivoting about and disappearing through a ‘Crew Members Only’ door. Two rows in front of her, an elderly couple talked in hushed tones. Five chairs to her right, a student with an enormous nylon backpack leaned into his seat and closed his eyes. And the slap of the steel door behind her announced that the only other passenger had left the room.

She bent over. The chair legs bowed with the pressure. Snatching her cellophane bag of roses from the linoleum floor, she stood before the rickety thing could collapse. Her rubber soles squawked a discordant screech with each step. Once she determined it was at least two pitches below blackboard scratching, she paid it no mind. The student’s eyes bugged open, then narrowed at her. Poor thing. He must be embarrassed for dozing off in public.

Reaching the door, she grasped the L-shaped latch and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. Maybe the fella who’d already gone through had jammed it up or something. She tugged harder. No good. Dumb thing.

She set down her roses and used both hands. Still nothing. Hmm—

“
Push down, you ditz!”

The student’s voice hollered from behind. Wow. He sure needed a nap.

She retrieved the crinkly, see-through bag and pressed down the latch with her free hand. The lock clicked and the rubber gasket around the doorframe made a sucking noise as she pulled. A chill blast of salty air smacked her in the face, and she stepped through the portal.

Heavy clouds, so low they looked like the underside of a bunkbed mattress, made her feel as if she should duck. The misty atmosphere coated everything with miniscule droplets, quite the contrast to the sunny day of last summer’s solstice.

Her sneakers scritch-scrutched on the metal deck as she walked. She glanced at the dark-haired man standing at the railing to her left, facing the water. He merely flipped up his black leather collar and jammed his hands into his pockets. Good. She didn’t want an audience anyway.

Gaining the stern’s chipped-paint railing, she pulled out her six roses, now wilted. A green wire wrap secured the bundle near the stems’ ends. She untwisted the tie one way, then another. The silly thing seemed to knot up all the tighter the more she tried. She gave up and yanked out a rose, spearing her index finger in the process. A thorn punctured deep into her flesh, and blood dripped a crooked, red trail down her finger. She’d have to hurry this up and go wash her hands.

“
For you, Dr. Larson,” she whispered, then chucked two roses over the edge. Flinging two more, she watched them arc into the foamy wake, swirl under, and pop up to bob on the slate colored water—

Right next to a little wooden bobber. Hmm. Weren’t bobbers red and white and round, not oval and tan and…

Something about that bobber looked familiar. She tucked her remaining flowers lightly under her arm and leaned forward, squinting. The roses and the bobber were three little blobs now, indistinguishable from one another to her, and apparently also to the big black bird that swooped down to scoop one up. What a stupid bird.

Tammy freed the last two roses from beneath her arm. Holding them over the rail, she paid her last respects. “Good-bye, Doctor. You were my best teacher ever…” She sniffled. “My best friend. I hope you’re in a happier place.”

Biting her lip, she opened her fingers. The flowers dropped, disappearing into the rolling waves, just like Dr. Larson had a year ago. A keen aching settled deep in her heart. Jumping over the rail and ending it all would be less painful. She inhaled sharply, hoping to suck up all the moisture about to drip out her nose.

Then she crinkled the cellophane into a ball, shoved it in her jacket pocket, and pulled out a piece of wintergreen Trident. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, smacking her lips, and turned away from the unforgiving depths of the North Sea.

Who knew…maybe Mr. Ahab would like to chat.

Glossary