My Lord Viking Page 3

  “Are you Swedish?” she asked.

  He started to shake his head, then winced. “Norrfoolk.”

  “You’re from Norfolk?” This was the first worthwhile bit of information she had gotten from him. The city was no more than a week’s journey north from Sutherland Park.

  “No. I am—”

  Jack caught the man’s shoulders as he sagged back toward the ground, senseless. “Lord-a-mercy on us!” he breathed. “This cunning shaver has been smashed by someone who took a mighty disliking to him. The arm looks broken, it does, as well as his foot. By all that’s blue, he must have a reason to fear this Kortsson chap if he crawled all the way to this cliff with two broken limbs.”

  “Can you set it?” she asked.

  “’Course.” He looked up at her, concern on his face. “Best if you walk a little ways along the shore. Setting bones is no spectacle for ladies.”

  “I can help if—”

  “Set Old Calvin’s leg for him last winter. This chap cannot be half as cantankerous.”

  Linnea was not so sure of that, but she recognized the stubborn tone in Jack’s voice. He had not changed one smidgen in the years she had known him. He was as pliable as satin until he dug in his toes. Then nothing could or would budge him.

  But she could be stubborn, too. She bit her lip as she looked at Mr. Bjornsson’s face. The only color there was the blood still dried on his cheek, but she had seen how swiftly he could use what strength he had left to get what he wanted. “I should stay. I found him.”

  Jack nodded. “Mayhap ‘tis a good idea for you to help. Keep the sun out of his eyes.”

  Linnea saw Jack looking both ways along the beach, and she understood why he truly had acquiesced. He did not want to send her into the path of this Kortsson...If the man even existed. With a shiver, she wished she could dismiss Mr. Bjornsson’s warning as just an injury to his head, but someone had left him for dead here. Would that someone follow him to Sutherland Park? That could endanger her whole family.

  She sat cross-legged on the sand and cupped Mr. Bjornsson’s head on her lap. His golden hair sifted through her fingers, warm and coarse, yet silken. The scent of salt and wood smoke teased her as she bent to shield his closed eyes with her other hand. This man must have spent much time near the sea, for only that way could he have gained such a deep bronzing on his skin. Looking out at the water, she wondered if he had been washed up upon this shore. If his injuries were from surviving the sinking of a ship, the man he spoke of might be just his imagination.

  She recoiled when she heard words that were spoken with the intensity of curses. Mr. Bjornsson jerked his head out of her hand. He growled something up at her when his cheek struck her elbow. Tingles exploded down her elbow.

  “Take care!” she cried.

  He snapped something at her. She could not fault him for his language. She closed her eyes and shuddered when Jack said his prayers backward as loudly as Mr. Bjornsson had. Those maledictions she understood quite well, even though Mama would be shocked to discover any of her daughters knew such words.

  “Lady Linnea, it is set,” Jack said.

  “His other injuries?”

  He flushed, surprising her. “Won’t take no for an answer this time, my lady. The man needs privacy for me to bandage him.”

  “Jack will take care of you,” Linnea said, slipping Mr. Bjornsson’s head off her lap.

  She yelped when he grasped her arm. It still stung from his head striking her. “What is wrong now?” she asked.

  Mr. Bjornsson’s eyes widened at her testy question, then he chuckled. When she stared at him, wondering if she would ever guess what he might do or say next, he murmured, “Do not go far, milady. Kortsson is as wily as a snake.”

  Linnea’s gaze was caught anew by his. There was no mistaking the course of his thoughts, for there was a heat in his eyes that had nothing to do with his enemy. That warmth surged over her, more potent than the sun upon the sea. She was shocked. How could he be thinking of anything save his injuries? Slowly she drew her arm out of his grasp and turned away so he did not see the fire that was climbing her cheeks. Rising, she fought not to flee from his bold summons to delve deeper into the passions that his smile promised would be as sweet as the first berries of spring.

  Her fingers trembled when she clasped them in front of her while she stared out at the dance of the waves. Getting him well and on his way would be the smartest thing she could do.

  At Jack’s call a few minutes later, she turned to look at the men. She was astonished to see Mr. Bjornsson on his feet—or, to own the truth, on his foot. His left ankle was wrapped in rags to match the ones crowning his head. A sling supported his left arm which was tightly tied in more rags.

  She rushed to them, but Jack waved her aside. “Can’t help when he don’t have another arm for you to hold onto.”

  “How can you get him over the rocks by yourself?”

  Mr. Bjornsson said, in a voice taut with pain, “At the other end of the cove, there are no rocks.”

  Jack frowned. “Got your head struck right hard, Mr. Bjornsson, didn’t you?”

  “You can call me Nils.”

  “No matter what I call you, truth is rocks aplenty at both ends of this cove.”

  Linnea took an involuntary step back as Nils Bjornsson’s eyes narrowed in a flash of fury. Even with his wounds, his stance warned he was a man not to be trifled with.

  “’Tis true. Rocks came down in a storm during my grandsire’s time,” Jack said almost defensively, and she knew he had noted her reaction.

  If Nils had not seen the rocks, then he may not have seen this man he warned them about. Foolishly she looked at the man whose shoulder was even with Jack’s brow. That hint of a smile peered through his thick beard. Again she had the uneasy feeling he could sense what she was thinking even when she was silent.

  Do not be silly! Just because he acted as mysterious as a highwayman stopping a carriage on a moonless night was no reason to become fanciful.

  “Let us get going,” she said, raising her chin in defiance of Nils’s smile. “The longer Olive waits for us, the more vexed she will be. You know how she likes to read quietly during the afternoon.”

  Linnea was sure there could be no more absurd parade than the three of them walking toward Sutherland Park. Nils Bjornsson was more able to help himself than she had expected. He must have extraordinary wells of strength he could draw upon. Although he spoke with frequency what she was certain were curses, she pretended not to hear. If she were as hurt, she suspected she would find it impossible to stay mum. What disturbed her even more was how he continuously scanned the shore and the road ahead of them. His knife remained in his hand that was draped over Jack’s shoulder. Again and again, his fingers tightened on it as if he feared an ambush.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the fishing pavilion at the side of the water garden closest to the sea. The stone building which rose from the largest pond had storage for rowboats at the water level and a clean room above with a shuttered window. The shutters could be opened if any ladies wished to enjoy some fishing without worrying about sunshine or mud or water ruining their day.

  “What is this place?” asked Nils. “Do you live here?”

  “No, I live in the house there.” She pointed to where the chimneys were visible above the trees.

  “How many others live within its walls?”

  Hearing Jack grumble at the interrogation, Linnea answered quietly, “My family and our servants.”

  “How many armed warriors?”

  “None.”

  Nils stared at Linnea and her companion in disbelief. Did she honestly expect him to believe that there were no warriors in an English house this close to the sea? When he saw the amazement on their faces, he knew they considered that he was the one whose mind could not be trusted.

  “Then I will stay here,” he said.

  “But it is damp here, and the house is—”

  He pull
ed his arm from around the lad and put the knife in his belt. Gripping Linnea’s chin, he tilted her face toward him. “The house is indefensible if you have no warriors within its walls. Here there is a view of the shore. I shall stay here where I can keep watch for my blood-enemy.”

  Her face was as easy to read as the moods of the sea. Fear and skepticism and pity flew through her eyes. “My family prides itself on our hospitality. Having you stay here in the garden pavilion—”

  “Your family will be dead if Kortsson learns that you have given me a haven beneath your roof.”

  “Nonsense!”

  Before he could reply, the lad Jack said, “Mayhap not, my lady. I have heard of such tales among the low taverns in London.”

  “This is not London,” Linnea retorted, furious that Jack would take Nils’s side against her. “Do not give him further reasons not to heed good sense.”

  She was surprised when Jack took her arm and drew her away from where Nils was leaning against the stone wall of the pavilion. When Jack bent toward her, he whispered, “You did not hear what he said while I was bandaging him, my lady. This chap truly believes that Kortsson is determined to kill him and anyone who helps him. Suggested that we should leave him on the sand, so you were not caught up in this blood feud between him and Kortsson, he did. I persuaded him to come with us because if he was found anywhere on Sutherland Park, Kortsson could turn his fury on you and your family. He agreed, saying that he believed you were safer if he was alive and watching for Kortsson.”

  “This is all silly.”

  “He don’t think so, my lady.”

  Linnea shivered. Something that Nils had said, something that Jack was not repeating, although she could see the truth in his tight expression, had convinced Jack that Nils was not lying about his blood-enemy. She would find a way to get Jack to tell her all the truth. That must wait for later. Now, they must tend to Nils.

  “If he intends to be stupid and insist on staying here, my one concern is the steep stairs to the upper floor. The ground floor is awash with water from the pool.”

  “We shall get him up there, my lady.” Jack’s face brightened in a smile. “Olive will help.”

  She turned to see Olive waiting for them at the arched door. The maid was no taller than Jack and almost as wide. Older than he by nearly two decades, she wore her gray hair in a conservative bun. Not a hint of dust clung to her simple gown. Olive always looked as if she had just finished her toilette, a skill Linnea was certain she would never master.

  Olive clucked her tongue as she gave Linnea the stern stare that suggested Linnea was still her young charge and Olive remained her governess. “No bonnet, my lady? Your mother shall be displeased.” She looked past Linnea. “And what is this to-do? Where did you find this man? What will your father think?”

  “Chide me later,” Linnea replied as she motioned toward the stairs. “For now, we need to get Mr. Bjornsson to where he can recover from his injuries.”

  “Here? Why not up at the house?”

  “I will explain later.”

  “But this is silly. There are medicines in the house. This pavilion is damp, and—”

  “Olive,” Linnea said in a tone she had never used before with her maid, “I said I would explain later.”

  Olive stared at her in disbelief, then slowly nodded. “I brought pillows and blankets and water.” She pointed to the pile of blankets and canisters at the foot of the stairs. “If you will take them upstairs, my lady, we can help this man.” She put her arm around Nils’s waist and guided him toward the stairs.

  “I do not need your help, woman,” he said, sternly, but his voice was growing fainter as she and Jack assisted him into the pavilion.

  “Is that so? I think it is quite to the contrary. Now help us help you.”

  Linnea was glad all of them had their backs to her as they struggled up the stairs. She was not sure if Nils or Olive would be more upset at her smile. It should not take Nils long to discover he had met his match in her maid. Olive never backed down—not ever.

  Taking an armful of blankets and a pillow, Linnea went up the stairs after them. The high ceiling, which was laced with thick rafters, was flushed with sunshine, and the dust had been chased to the corners. Muddy scents from the pond flushed through the room. A pallet was set on the stone floor near the oval window overlooking the pond, and she wondered who else had used this place as a sanctuary. Jack rushed back down the stairs and brought up a canister of water and fresh bandaging. He set them on a bench by one of the shuttered windows that ringed the room.

  Olive helped Nils stretch out on the pallet, which was too short for him. Linnea rolled an extra blanket and propped it under his hurt ankle. As she knelt by the pallet and looked at her friends, she was unsure what to say. The sound of frogs in the mud below filled the room as the silence smothered them.

  “Vatn,” Nils whispered.

  The raspy sound of the single word needed no translation. He wanted water. Linnea jumped to her feet.

  “Let me, my lady,” Olive said. She filled a tin cup and handed it to Linnea.

  Bringing it back to him, Linnea smiled as Jack helped Nils sit up enough to drink it. “More?” she asked softly.

  “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.”