My Lord Viking Read online

“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 allies here, for you are among your enemies.”

  “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.”

  Four

  Randolph Denner, 4th Viscount Tuthill, smiled as he entered Sutherland Park’s massive foyer. Already he could seen the signs that preceded every wedding in this grand house. On the stairs that curved upward from the foyer before dividing to reach the three wings of the house, footmen were helping maids take down the portraits of family ancestors. Dust was being banished from the frames.

  He watched with interest as the butler supervised the lowering of the oldest portrait. It was of a tall, blond woman with a regal mien. She wore loose robes that were una
dorned except for a length of embroidery at her throat and at the gown’s hem. The gold bands around her arms matched the ornate necklace that fell over her breasts. A set of simple iron keys were held to a chain that encircled her waist. In her hand, she held a primitive spindle. She was not a young woman, but her beauty had not diminished.

  Randolph had been told that this woman was supposed to be one of the earliest progenitors of the Sutherland family. No one knew who she was, and Randolph suspected the portrait was kept here for sentimental reasons. Or mayhap because it had incredible value due to its age.

  On the upper floor, where a gallery connected the wings of the house at the staircase’s first landing, more servants were carrying furniture from one room to another. He could see, even from where he stood, that the huge ballroom to the left on the floor above was being aired. The double set of double doors had been thrown open.

  His nose wrinkled. This house might be the finest in this section of England, but there was an odor that bespoke its age. Mayhap it was the remnants of countless years of ashes burned on the hearths, or it might be the memories left by all the storms that had come out of the sea and slashed this house for centuries.

  He squared his shoulders as a familiar shadow crossed from the upper gallery and came toward the stairs. Failing to make a good impression on his soon-to-be father-in-law would be silly. Lord Sutherland respected him enough to agree that Randolph might ask his daughter to marry. But Randolph could never forget the cloud of his spendthrift ancestors that had followed him when he had made inquiries about marrying Lord Murray’s daughter and when he had wished to court Sir Anston Grainger’s daughter.

  Linnea Sutherland might be too much of an air-dreamer, but she could be taught to be a good wife. All she needed to do was accept his offer to wed. She had been so intrigued with the idea when he first had started to call on her. He must be certain that her maidenly concerns did not halt this match which would solve so many problems.

  “Tuthill, I had not guessed you were calling today.” Lord Sutherland motioned for him to come up the stairs. “Linnea said nothing of expecting you.”

  Randolph hastened to obey. The earl always was busy with one thing or another. As he took the steps two at a time, he saw Sutherland smile. By all that’s blue, he always did something to make a jumble of every meeting with Linnea’s father, who resembled his daughter only in coloring, for his face could have been carved from the same rough rock as the house’s foundation.

  “I had thought to surprise her,” Randolph said, hoping the earl would take his eagerness as more of a desire to see Linnea than to impress his prospective father-in-law.

  “I fear the surprise is on you, my boy. She apparently has gone out to take the air.”

  Randolph fought to hide his frown. Linnea should be more like her sister Dinah, for the young woman looked up from her embroidery in the parlor to the right of the landing and gave him a welcoming smile. Dinah Sutherland might not have hair as lustrous as Linnea’s, and she was a bit plump, but she knew that Lord Sutherland’s daughter’s place was not rushing about the downs like a hoyden.

  Not for the first time did he curse his ill-fortune in failing to see that Dinah Sutherland would have made a good match for him. Now she was marrying Simmons in the next fortnight. The baron had courted Lady Dinah while Randolph was busy settling the matters of his late father’s estate. That had left Linnea without a match.

  A smile curved along Randolph’s mouth. Mayhap he had gotten the better of the deal after all, because Linnea was beautiful and possessed all the graces of the lady who should oversee the estate he intended to bring back to its former glory with the help of her dowry. She would be an exquisite addition to the collection of—

  The yelping of a dog and lighthearted laughter struck him fiercely. He looked over the carved railing to see a footman chasing a very dirty pup. In their wake, Linnea followed, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back where her bonnet bounced, hanging by its ribbons. She carried a shoe in one hand and a heavy book in the other. Where her matching slipper might be, he could not guess.

  He started to frown, then heard Sutherland’s boom of laughter. The earl spoiled his youngest daughter, which was why she too often forgot her place in society here at Sutherland Park.

  Linnea noticed Randolph’s taut face. She gave up the chase to catch Scamp and climbed the stairs. Randolph’s dour expression added to the length of his already long features. It was a decidedly vexing countenance, but one she had seen too often lately. Avoiding his eyes, for she did not want to distress him, she forced a smile onto her face as she stepped up beside them. She must find a way to speak alone with Papa.

  In spite of her determination to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, she stiffened. She needed to keep from thinking about that stranger. But how could she when she had so many questions whirling through her head? How had he gotten onto the strand, and who had beaten him so mercilessly? And, the most compelling question of all, why did the steady stare of his purple eyes unsettle her so? He had the appearance of a vagabond. Yet she could not deny there seemed more to him than just a landloper.

  She kissed her father on the cheek, and her smile became genuine when he picked a piece of seaweed from her hair. She could not guess how it had come to be there, although she suspected it had fallen into her bonnet when she left it with Nils Bjornsson while she was getting Jack.

  “Papa, may I discuss something important with you?”

  He chuckled. “I suspect you should allow Tuthill to speak with you first. He seems about to burst with impatience from waiting to talk with you.”

  When her father looked past her, she turned to Randolph and kept her smile in place. It was not easy. She wished he had delayed calling. She wanted to talk to him about her uncertainty about marrying him, but not now. If someone really was trying to kill Nils, the authorities must be forewarned posthaste. Even though she had reassured Olive, she was not so certain that Nils had been mistaken about seeing his blood-enemy on the beach just before she and Jack arrived.

  “Randolph, forgive how I look,” she said. “I was taking a walk with Scamp, and I am afraid he quite earned his name.”

  “Were you walking along the shore?”

  She followed his eyes to the hem of her dress that was glazed with sand. “The walk was supposed to be in the water garden, but I am afraid Scamp led me on quite a chase.” She hated lying, but she knew how easy it would have been for so many of the household to notice her near the pavilion in the water garden. “If you will excuse me, I shall tend to Scamp and change into something more presentable.” Again she looked at her father. “Papa, are you bound for your office?”

  “After I ride into town to speak with Mr. Norman about the repairs to the church steeple.” His smile showed he was clearly puzzled that she seemed more anxious to spend time with him than with Randolph.

  “If I could talk with you about...”

  “I can stay just a few minutes,” Randolph said, his impatience as obvious as her father’s bafflement.

  Her father patted her shoulder. “Come to my office later, Linnea. On my way out of the house, I shall make sure that Scamp is taken down to the stable to be cleaned. That will give you a chance to speak with Tuthill during the few minutes of his call.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said, wishing she could sound more grateful. Surely there was a way to persuade Papa that she must speak with him now without offending Randolph. When Randolph’s lips grew rigid, she wondered what he had heard that she had not intended. Or had it been Papa’s words? Nothing in them or his tone had been amiss, but Randolph seemed irritated. She sighed. A vexed Randolph was sure to prove to be a most disagreeable caller when she was anxious for him to be gone so she could talk with her father.

  Linnea did not see what message passed between Papa and Dinah, but her sister gathered up her needlework and excused herself as Linnea and Randolph walked into the parlor. When Dinah winked at her, Linnea
wanted to urge her sister to stay in the light blue room. No one would heed Linnea’s assertion that she did not want to be alone with Randolph so they could steal a few of the precious moments all lovers craved.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” Linnea asked when she saw a tray with pitcher and glasses sitting on the cherry sideboard.

  “I said I had very little time.” Randolph’s tone had taken on that arrogance that meant his annoyance was with her. She could not fault him. His coat and breeches were as clean as if he had just donned them, and his shoes were impeccably polished. “I wished to see how you were faring in the midst of the plans for Lady Dinah’s wedding.”

  “As you must have seen for yourself, the whole house is being turned inside out in anticipation of the guests. Mama is having a glorious time.”

  “And you?” His full lips pursed. “Are you having such a glorious time that you have finally given thought to our own wedding plans?”

  “My thoughts at this time must all be focused on Dinah’s wedding.” What a lie that was! She had not thought of it since finding Nils on the shore.

  He clasped his hands behind his back in a pose better suited to the long-suffering tutor who had let her sneak into the classroom while he taught her brothers. “You are a kind sister to care so much for her, but you must think of yourself as well.”

  “I am.” She set her shoe on the floor. The other had come off while she pursued Scamp through the kitchen. She must go and retrieve it as soon as she finished this conversation with Randolph. Placing the book on a nearby table, she reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of lemonade. “Are you sure I cannot offer you some?”

  “What have you given thought to?”

  Linnea sighed into her glass. Randolph could be so single-minded in his determination to get an answer.

  Just as Nils was.

  Dash it! She did not want to think of Nils Bjornsson now. Those unanswered questions crowded her head along with the irritating memory of his superior smile...and his brawny muscles that had strained to help Jack get him off the beach and to the water garden pavilion. Nils might be hurt badly, but his pride had refused to allow him to reveal anything save for the most fierce agony. And if he was not mistaken, he had an enemy who was stalking him. Olive’s warning echoed in her head. She should have insisted that Papa heed her and contact the authorities now.