Rediscovering Thor

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LTDBooks www.LTDBooks.com Copyright ©2005 by Kate Hill

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CONTENTS Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two

Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Excerpt from Nobody's Angel Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Excerpt from CRAIG LEGACY CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO About the Author ****

Prologue Britain, 900 AD Eadred raised his sword to deflect an overhead blow before his own blade found its mark in a wash of blood. The dying soldier sank to the muddy ground, his eyes wide and his mouth streaming blood. Panting, Eadred pulled his sword free of the body, an action he'd performed more times than he cared to

remember but had never before demanded such effort. He blamed his fatigue on the fever that had plagued him for days, rising and dropping, interspersed with bouts of vomiting. It was the stomach pain that bothered him the most. Sometimes the agony was so severe he could scarcely walk, let alone raise a blade in defense. Yet fighting was not a choice. As second in command of his chieftain's fleet, he needed to set an example for the men beneath him. If he showed any weakness, his leader would most likely run him through without waiting for an enemy to do so. Sweat mingled with rain on Eadred's face. He blinked his vision clear. Everywhere he looked, mercenary soldiers from his ship pillaged homes and burned anything that wasn't worth taking. He glanced at a slash across the sleeve of his armor. Blood turned the leather dark. His wound would either have to be burned or stitched when he returned to the ship. Such a waste,Eadred thought as he walked across the dirt road, stepping over several bodies, one belonging to a young warrior he'd known for years, the only son of a widow. News of his death would not be delivered easily. Eadred paused outside another strange Christian temple. Someone had kicked in the door and it lay on the dusty ground. He leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to his side as he braced himself for the pain that had grown all too familiar, and glanced inside. Two of his companions had stolen several statues and goblets. One of them kicked over a chair, revealing a tiny man cowering beneath. Not much larger than a child but with fine lines about his eyes that revealed his age, the man appeared too terrified to scream. Laughing, a tall blond warrior Eadred knew as Olaf grasped the man by the back of the robe he wore—an odd garment of glistening white—and dangled him in the air. The small one struggled, his face tinged blue as the hanging position cut off his breath. Eadred understood battle—he'd been trained to fight almost as soon as he could hold a child's wooden sword—but he'd never understood some men's fascination with cruelty. There was no profit in torturing children, raping women, or toying with a weak creature like the strangely dressed little man. "Drop him.” Eadred stepped inside as the pain passed. Olaf glanced over his beefy shoulder and scowled, revealing chipped gray teeth. “What for?" "Because I said so.” Eadred lifted his blade. “We have to work fast. The storm is getting worse, and we're supposed to be back on the ship already." Grumbling, Olaf lowered the man and pulled a dagger. Disgusted and already in a bad temper over his illness, Eadred flung one of his short blades across the room, striking Olaf in the arm. Olaf bellowed and dropped the man, who scrambled off. With a battle cry, Olaf took his sword in his good hand and charged at Eadred. Eadred was tall and sleekly muscled, but Olaf was at least twice his weight. Each of the blond's strikes felt like a pounding from Thor's hammer. Still, Eadred fought with speed and intelligence. Within moments he knocked the sword from Olaf's hand.

The blond stood, panting, as Eadred raised his weapon for the deathblow, but it never fell. Pain flared across Eadred's stomach. He dropped to his knees. Through a haze as hot as a forge, he heard Olaf laughing. Instinct alone allowed him to block Olaf's blade before it ran him through. Pulling a dagger from his boot, he plunged the weapon into Olaf's chest. The blond flopped over backward; his limbs sprawled awkwardly in death. "Gods!” Eadred gasped. He clutched his sword tightly in a useless attempt to distract himself from the hot pincer that seemed to claw through his stomach. After several moments, he stood and left the church. Outside, most of the warriors had already retreated. Random villagers scurried through the ruins. He sheathed his sword and made his way to the shore, scarcely noticing his surroundings. Uncomfortably cold rain pelted his feverish skin. He stumbled over a fallen tree and landed on his knees in the mud. Drawing a steadying breath, he leaned against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. He needed a minute to rest before continuing to the ship. Feeling a slight pressure on his shoulder, he opened his eyes. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but by the look of the sky it was dusk. How could he have fallen asleep? The ship had left without him, of that he was certain. The tiny man in the white robe squatted beside him, examining his wounded arm. "What do you want?” Eadred demanded. The man's large blue eyes held his. He touched Eadred's forehead as his wife sometimes did to him and his children when they were ill. He wondered what his wife was doing now, how his sons and daughter had fared the winter. The mercenaries had been gone several months with no news of home. Eadred tried standing, but fell back, wincing. He pressed a hand to his abdomen and cursed under his breath. His new and unwanted friend nudged him against the tree and touched his stomach. Eadred jumped from the pain. "Stop it!” He gently pushed the man away. The little one sat back on his heels and pulled a shiny silver square from a pocket in his robe. Eadred leaned against the tree trunk and laughed. He was losing his mind. Whatever disease hindered his body now claimed his sanity! Through half-closed eyes, he saw darkness falling rapidly. Too rapidly. Glancing skyward, he drew a sharp breath as a solid black mass descended from the sky. "Freya...” he murmured, terror such as he'd never experienced—even in the worst of battles—flooded his feverish body. None of this was real. He'd been guessing his illness was serious, but now he knew he was dying. Unbearable pain, strange visions. This,Eadred told himself,is death. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter One Boston, 2002 "Tell me when we get there.” Portland gazed down at her hands twisting on her lap. "You're not looking again?” Ann smirked. “Come on. You hardly ever get to Boston, and you're missing all the great scenery. There's Bunker Hill Monument." "I don't give a damn about Bunker Hill Monument when my life's in danger. You drive like a nut!" "And you've been stuck in Vermont for too long." Portland decided not to argue with her sister and switched to a more interesting subject. “I still can't believe what you're telling me." "It's all true." "If you hadn't called me, I would have thought it was some fraud story reporters blew out of proportion. This guy was really frozen in ice?" "We thought it was ice. The government scientists studying samples of it have said it's definitely not water." "Then what is it?" Ann glanced at her. “We don't know." "You mean you and your highbrow associates can't explain this?" "Highbrow?” Ann laughed. “You're the one who speaks ten languages." "Twelve, and you're the one with the MD." "All I know is there's no explanation—at least that we've yet discovered—for how he's survived. Richard's expedition uncovered artifacts up north dating back to around the year nine hundred. This guy was literally frozen inside a glacier. Discovering a body in such perfect condition would have been enough to make Richard—as well as the rest of us involved—famous, not to mention the intellectual satisfaction. But for him to actually be alive—" "I still don't understand how it's possible." "Obviously whatever substance he was frozen in kept him alive." "Sounds like something out of classic sci-fi.” Portland shook her head. “Thank you for talking those in charge into letting me communicate with your ice man. I know there are others they could have chosen—someone more directly related to the project."

"What are sisters for?” Ann glanced at Portland and winked. "Keep your eyes on the road!" "You have to calm down. I drive in here every day." "Causing accidents and drumming up business for your hospital?" "That's not funny." "Sorry. So tell me more about him. What does he look like? A man over a thousand years old must be really short and scrawny. I've always read about how small people were in the dark ages." "Not in this case." "Really?" "He's six feet three and a half inches, two-hundred-thirty pounds." "You said by his clothes and weapons he was a Viking, so he must be blond, right? I imagine you don't know what color his eyes are yet, since he's not awake. Probably blue." "You're half right. Dark brown hair, and we have examined his eyes, though he's not yet awake. They're grayish blue." Portland's brow furrowed. “He doesn't sound half bad." Ann shrugged. “I'm supposed to remain professional. After all, I am his doctor." "I won't ask you to compromise your ethics—" "The man is a stud and a half, and that's totally off the record, understand?" Portland laughed. Her sister had always appreciated male beauty. Even the many disgusting physical ailments and filth her career exposed her to daily hadn't changed her carnal appetite. "I'll tell you something else that's off the record.” Ann lowered her voice, as if she feared someone overhearing even in the privacy of the car. “And it's really important that you keep this quiet, or else the feds involved will go crazy. Our Viking John Doe had numerous scars. Not unusual for a man who'd obviously been a mercenary or raider. Most of his injuries had been cared for by the crude methods of the time and had healed awkwardly, except for a few which looked better than the results of any laser I've seen, let alone the finest of suturing." "So someone back then had really steady hands?" Ann raised her eyes to heaven. “I've never seen work like that. Neither have any of my colleagues, but that's not the strangest part." Portland couldn't explain the chill that crept up her spine at the tone and implication of her sister's words. “What else?"

"He has no appendix." "No appendix?" "Portland, appendectomies weren't performed by Scandinavian mercenaries in the year nine hundred, especially with no scar at all in the area of incision." "I realize that, Ann,” Portland snapped. “Do you think he was just born without one?" "I don't think so." "What do you think?" "I'm not sure." "You must have an idea—you, Richard, and the government. Do you think he wasn't actually frozen back then? Maybe it was only a matter of weeks. It could be a hoax—or maybe another country has already discovered a method of freezing a human being for later revival, that's where that inexplicable liquid came from." Ann shook her head. “It's not a hoax, and we don't believe he was frozen recently. Tests were performed on his belongings. They're genuine. The items surrounding him have eroded, but everything on his person was perfect." "This really worries you?” Portland gazed at the grim line of her sister's mouth. "Yes, it does. It also seems like the only real answers we'll get are from this man himself. I really hope you can communicate with him." "I speak Danish, but it's modern speech. Languages change over the years. If I speak to him in Danish, it will probably sound like a foreign language to him. We can only hope he speaks Latin. That's the closest I'll get to communicating with him." "I know Latin well enough,” Ann smiled, “but it's not like I carry on conversations." "I told you to come to the role-playing parties I have with my old friends from college. Our toga parties are the real thing." "That clique you associate with is very strange, hardly what I'd call typical college buddies. How many people spend a couple of weekends a year dressing, talking, and eating as if they're in ancient Rome?" "A few of us did feudal Japan one year. I like speaking Latin better, though, and you're avoiding the subject. What—or who—do you think this man is?" "I hope we'll find out when—and if—he regains consciousness, and his brain functions normally. It's been close to twenty hours since he thawed. Thawed?” Ann sighed deeply. “People just don't thaw like a frozen dinner. I keep thinking I'm going to snap out of this and find I'm hallucinating from lack of sleep after so many nights on call." "Ann, I know you like to have your facts straight before you form an opinion, but can you at least tell me what you think about him?"

Ann pulled her car over to the curb. The sisters stared silently at one another for a full minute before Ann said, “All I can tell you is, from my examination and the way he revived, he's like nothing I've ever seen in this world." "You think he's an alien? That's why you called the government so fast!” Portland slumped in her chair, her heart pounding. If this story had come from anyone but Ann, she'd have thought it was madness. "No, he's definitely human.” Ann touched Portland's shoulder. “I just don't know how he's alive. I can't explain those scars or how he lost his appendix." "Oh my God. Ann, I don't speak Martian." Smiles flickered across both women's lips before they erupted into laughter. "This really isn't funny,” Ann said as she pulled back into the street. Tell me about it,Portland thought as she stared at the hospital looming in the distance. Within moments, she'd encounter a man whom her sister—a woman who lived by the laws of science and medicine—called a miracle. A Viking man. A possible alien. From that moment on, Portland knew her life would never be the same again. **** No sooner had Portland and Ann reached the nurses’ station just outside the Viking's private room, than Richard White, a tall, lanky redhead, burst into the corridor. His hawklike features shone with excitement as he approached the women. "You're just in time. He's about to awaken." "Let's go.” Ann strode into the room where one of her associates stood by the bed, glancing at the monitors attached to the object of everyone's interest. Portland had always been uncomfortable in hospitals and never understood her sister's desire to work in one. Ann had always been the social butterfly and Portland the shy one. She much preferred the seclusion of her Vermont home, studying dead languages, tutoring occasionally, and running her jewelry business. Ann joined the other doctor while Portland stood at the foot of the bed, her gaze fixed on what had to be the most attractive man she'd ever seen. As Ann had described, he was tall, his limbs impossibly long. Even with the wires attached to his bare torso and the IV dangling from his arm, the power of his lean body shone in the curve of each muscle. His chest was lightly dusted with dark hair, shaved in places to accommodate the tape from the monitors. Broad shoulders and thick biceps revealed an active life of seamanship and sword wielding. At least a once active life,Portland reminded herself. It had been over a thousand years since he'd lifted a weapon or sailed a ship. By the look of him, he hadn't deteriorated in the least. Ann was right. His very existence was a miracle. She tore her gaze from his body long enough to study his face. Wavy dark brown hair fanned out on the

bed, disheveled, to his elbows. A short, wiry beard—almost black in color—covered half of his face. His slightly parted lips revealed the tips of even, white teeth. Sharp, beautifully shaped cheekbones lent an almost noble quality to his face, an offset to his broad, rather primitive forehead. Wild and refined, a stunning combination. Portland watched the rise and fall of his chest and the fluttering of his eyelids as he struggled to wake from a thousand year sleep. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. How would he react? Would she be able to talk to him? His eyelids parted, revealing dark blue-gray eyes. It took only seconds for those eyes to completely snap open. The monitor's beeping quickened with his heartbeat. The glowing light leapt to frantic zigzags. "Just relax.” Richard tried to place a comforting hand on the Viking's shoulder, but he leapt from the bed, ripping away wires and tearing the IV from his arm as he grasped Richard by the neck and shoved him against the wall. Ann shouted for the nurse to call security while she, the second doctor, and Portland tried to break their guest's grip on the archaeologist. The Viking growled in a language Portland recognized as Danish, but as she'd guessed, the method of speech had changed over a thousand years. He flung Ann into a chair and knocked the male doctor backward over the bed. Rushing to aid her associate, Ann shouted, “Portland, stay away from him!" Richard's eyes bugged as he clawed at the Viking's hand and kicked him hard in the leg. His captor grunted from the blow and used one of his own long, muscular legs to pin Richard's body immobile against the wall. "Stop hurting him!” Portland ordered in Latin, hoping he understood because she doubted he'd comprehend her Danish. The Viking's head snapped in her direction, and she repeated, “Stop hurting him. We want to help you." His gaze darted around the room, his fear apparent in the frantic rise and fall of his chest. Standing, he seemed even bigger. His limbs were so long, the muscles of his legs pressing against the thin white hospital pants, the thick shape of his manhood and shadow of wiry pubic hair visible through the cotton. "Please sit,” Portland continued, taking a step closer. He held her gaze and swallowed before releasing his hold on Richard, who dropped to the floor, rubbing his neck and choking. "What is this place?” the Viking asked. "It's not easy to explain.” She extended a hand toward the bed. Instead, he took a step closer to her. Hospital security in the form of two tall young men sprang into the room and lunged at the Viking. The fragile shred of communication Portland had created was broken. One of the guards sailed through the window and landed, bleeding, on the flat roof. The other dodged the Viking's fist and reached for his arm in an attempt to restrain him. The guard's actions would have worked on an untrained person, but the Viking was obviously a veteran of war. The back of his fist smashed the guard's face. Blood sprayed across the white bedsheets.

"Stop!” Portland shouted. "No one move!" The Viking's blue-gray eyes glared into hers. The guard recovered himself enough to attempt a second attack. Five more men raced into the room and finally managed to pin the savagely struggling Viking to the bed while Ann administered an injection that put him to sleep in moments. "Wow,” Ann sighed, sagging against the wall. “Richard, are you okay?" "I think so.” Richard's voice sounded strangled. "Help him down to the ER,” Ann told one of the guards. The second doctor was already helping the guard who'd been knocked through the window. In minutes, the room was empty but for the sisters and the Viking. "Did you see that?” Ann glanced at Portland. “After a thousand years he hasn't lost any strength or coordination." "His mind also seems to be working properly." Ann raised an eyebrow. “It is? Look at the mess he made." "He was scared." "He was scared?” Ann ran a hand through her hair. “I guess I'd feel the same way if I woke up a thousand years from now. We must have looked like something out of a TV space series to him. You were talking to him, though. That's a start." "Did you see how I got him to calm down before the Kung Fu twins dove on him?" Ann grinned and shook her head. “I'm just glad no one was seriously hurt. I'm going to have him secured to the bed so we'll be prepared next time." "You're going to tie him up?" "We have to. He's dangerous right now. At least until he trusts us." "If you let me talk to him for a few minutes, I have the feeling he'll be manageable." "The shot I gave him should wear off in a couple of hours. You're sure you still want to stick around for this?" "Ann, no one could drag me out of here. I've never been this curious in my life." "Go get a cup of tea while I get him settled. Come back in a few minutes." Portland glanced at the Viking. With his eyes closed and his breathing even, he appeared almost refined again with those chiseled cheekbones and sensual mouth. It seemed difficult to believe that moments

before he'd been flinging people around like a maniac. She left her sister to her job and walked to the cafeteria. Her mind wasn't on drinking her tea, however. It churned with thoughts of the handsome, dark-haired man who had just stepped into the twenty-first century. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two Portland turned pages in the magazine on her lap, though her eyes remained fixed on the unconscious man strapped to the hospital bed beside her. She studied his face and form, learning the pattern of his hair and each mark on his flesh. Her gaze kept returning to the top half of a tattoo on his hip, just visible above his pants. It appeared to be the tip of a triangle surrounded by several circles of different sizes. I know this is so wrong,she thought to herself as she leaned closer and slipped a finger into the waistband of his pants,but I only want to look at the rest of the tattoo. She pulled down the pants a bit and found the bottom half of the tattoo was identical to the top. Unable to resist a glance at the rest of him, she noted the impressive size of his male appendage emerging from a nest of dark spirals.Goodness, if he's this big sedated, I wonder how much better he gets when stimulated? He uttered a soft moan and she released his pants. A blush crept into her cheeks. She really had no business peeping at his privates. His eyes opened, unfocused at first, then his gaze fell upon her. "Don't be afraid,” Portland said in Latin. His eyebrows knitted in an angry expression as he pushed against the bonds fastened across his chest, arms, and legs. "Don't struggle,” she continued. “You're tied because you tried to hurt people. Be calm, and we'll release you." "What do you want with me? Where am I ?" "You were asleep for a long time.” Portland couldn't think of another way to make him understand what had happened to him, particularly when she didn't understand it herself. "Where are my clothes and my weapons?" "They're safe. You won't need weapons here. We're peaceful." "You talk strangely. This place is...” His gaze swept the room. He seemed unable to find adequate words to describe a setting that must have been completely alien to him. “This is not Britain." "This is America." He narrowed his eyes. “I know nothing of America." "I'm Portland. What's your name?"

He didn't reply and his stare remained hostile. "How will I know what to call you?" After a moment, he said, “Eadred." "Eadred, if I ask for you to be released, will you give me your word you won't try to harm anyone else?" "As long as they don't try to harm me." "Ah, he's awake.” Ann stepped into the room and approached Eadred for examination. Portland touched her arm and said, “He's agreed not to act up any more if we untie him, as long as no one hurts him." "I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to examine him." Portland turned back to Eadred. “This is my sister, Ann. She's a doctor—a healer." "Healer?" "Yes. She's been taking care of you and she'd like to look at you now that you're awake. This won't be painful." He shifted beneath the bonds, testing them. “What does she want to do?" "He wants to know what you're going to do, Ann." "Tell him I'm going to take his temperature by sticking this,” she held up the white instrument for him to view, “in his ear." Portland explained, and Eadred shook his head. “Keep her weapons away from my ears." "Eadred, it won't hurt,” Portland assured him. Ann sighed and stepped closer, positioning the thermometer in spite of how he struggled. She pulled it away. “See. Finished. He's normal—at least his temperature is." Eadred glared at both women. "Tell him I'm going to take his blood pressure. He'll feel some tightness on his arm, but no pain." Portland translated, and Eadred snapped, “I'm not a woman or a child that you have to keep saying there's no pain!" "Then sit still,” Portland told him. He watched as Ann continued with the tests. "That's all.” Portland said to Eadred.

"Untie me then." Ann called in security. Richard followed, his gaze, both fascinated and apprehensive, fixed on Eadred. Portland knew how curious the archeologist must be, considering Eadred was his “discovery." One of the guards unfastened the bonds while the others stood watch. Eadred stared at them calmly. Once free, he sat up in the bed, watching his visitors. "Who are you and what do you want with me?" The archeologist spoke through Portland's translation. “My name is Richard. I found you several days ago. You've been sleeping for a very long time." "How long can a man sleep?” Eadred's voice dripped with sarcasm. "How long do you think?” Portland asked. His shrewd eyes again swept the room, focusing on his hosts’ strange attire and medical equipment. “This is an odd room." "Eadred.” Portland placed a hand on his forearm. He didn't shrink from her touch or shove her away as she'd expected him to. His flesh felt pleasantly warm and slightly roughened by hair, the muscles beneath hard. “This is the year 2002.” He looked blank, so she tried a different approach. “According to what we believe, you've been asleep for over a thousand years." His face paled and his expression changed to one of mild shock before he laughed. “Do I look like a fool? A thousand years!" "I'm telling you the truth, unless you have another explanation about why you're here. What's the last thing you remember?" Before Eadred could reply, two men wearing suits, one tall, slim and silver-haired, the other shorter, darker, and heavier-set, stepped into the room. Both Eadred and Portland glanced at them in question. Ann pointed to the taller and shorter in sequence. “Murray Smith and Robert Jones. They're government agents. Gentlemen, this is my sister, language expert Portland Ellis, and this is Eadred." "We've been going over the reports on him as well as the photographs,” Agent Smith stated. “We have questions for him and we want him to look at a few pictures." Eadred narrowed his eyes, as if trying to comprehend Smith's foreign words. Portland translated, “These men work for our country." "For your king?" "We don't have a king here. Our leader is called the president."

"President." "That's right. These men would like to ask you some questions, and they want you to look at some pictures." Eadred nodded and turned his attention to the agents. "Where's he from?” Agent Jones asked, tugging a pen from his ear and a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. Eadred stood, towering over the dark-haired agent, and stared at the writing on the pages. Jones flicked the notebook shut and stared up at Eadred. “Do you mind?" "He can't read it.” Portland stifled a giggle. “He's never seen any of this stuff before." "So we think,” Smith told her. “I'm going to need more hard evidence before I believe he's actually a thousand-year-old man. Ask him where he's from." "Eadred,” Portland touched his arm and beckoned him to sit beside her on the bed. “Where are you from? Who's your king?" "Harald Finehair." "That places him around the year 900, all right.” A smile tugged at Richard's lips. “The artifacts we found close-by him dated back to then. Harald Finehair was king of what we now call Norway." "Ask him why he was alone when we found him." Eadred replied to Portland's Latin, “I was in battle and I was sick." "Wounded?” Portland asked. He shrugged. “Not badly. I had very bad stomach pain. I'd been sick for several days. I helped a small man in a temple. Soon after, I collapsed on the way to my ship. When I awoke, the small man was with me. He looked at my injuries. Then there was a great darkness overhead." Upon hearing Portland's translation, Jones and Smith exchanged glances, and Jones said, “Ask him what he means by a great darkness." Eadred listened to Portland's questions and squinted in thought. He raised his hands and formed a circle. “It was like ... an enormous black shield, bigger than a fleet of ships. I thought it was a dream from my fever. Maybe the little man was too." Portland watched him intently as he spoke, fascinated not only by the story he spun, but by the play of muscles in his body as he moved and the sound of his deep, beautiful voice. The lights in the room played off the angles and planes of his face, shadowed cheekbones as chiseled as master sculptor's finest work. No matter who or what he was, Eadred compelled her, drew her deeply into the corners of his mind and the memories he now shared. "What did the little man look like?” she asked.

"Pale skin. Large blue eyes. No hair. His clothes were strange, a white tunic that glistened like sunlight on water.” Eadred tilted his head and sighed. “I've answered your questions. Answer mine." "What would you like to know?" "Wait, wait!” Smith stepped closer to Eadred. “What are you two talking about?" "My Latin's not as good as hers,” Jones stated, “but I think he's asking about us." "He has questions too,” Portland said, not so much as glancing at the agents, but keeping her attention focused on Eadred. “What would you like to know?" "Are there others from my ship here?" "No,” Portland said, her stomach suddenly heavy. Eadred was completely alone. She could only imagine how empty he must feel. “You're the only one." "No one? You're lying." "I'm not lying, Eadred. You were the only one found." His gaze moved from her to the others in the room, finally focusing on Richard. “You say you found me. There must have been others. Where are they?" Richard, upon hearing the question, seemed to share Portland's sympathy for the Viking. “I discovered only you." Eadred stood and walked to the window. From the position of the room, nothing could be seen of the city below, only the flat rooftop. “I don't believe you. I don't believe a thousand years have passed. It's not possible. This is a trick of the gods. A test, maybe. I know I was dying. Is this what I must endure before entering Valhalla?" "We have more questions for him,” Smith stated without a shred of compassion. The agents looked as skeptical of Eadred's words as he did of the stories he'd been told about the modern world. "You're not dead, and we're telling you the truth,” Portland said. She glanced at her sister. “Ann, is there someplace with a view of the city?" The entire group followed Ann out of the room and down the corridor. Eadred's eyes widened as he stared at the patients on stretchers, white-clad health professionals, and high-tech monitors at the nurses’ station. In a waiting room at the end of the hall, a small window overlooked the city. Portland stood by it and said, “Eadred, look out there." He approached and stared at the enormous buildings and streets lined with cars, trucks, and buses. Dozens of people hurried down the sidewalks. Billboards flashed colorful signs to passing traffic. Portland and the others watched Eadred carefully. His expression seemed frozen, waxlike, as he stared, unblinking, at the scene below. He drew a deep breath. Portland couldn't tell if he remembered to release

it. "Eadred,” she touched his arm. Jerking away, he looked at her with unfathomable confusion in his eyes. “What is this?" "Do you want to go back to your room?" He looked out the window again, then placed his palm against the glass. “A barrier." "Glass. A pane." "A thousand years." "Look, we still have some photographs we want him to look at,” Jones pressed. "I think it should wait,” Ann said to the agents. “This is all a shock to him." "If he is what he claims he is." "What the hell else is he?” Richard demanded. "There could be all sorts of explanations for why he was frozen." "Oh, dozens, I'm sure.” Ann folded her arms beneath her breasts. "It's our job to investigate, Doctor, not to believe every story we hear, any more than you'd make a diagnosis without examination." "Understood,” Ann stated. “However, in my professional opinion, he's unable to answer any further questions at this time." "You really have no say in the matter.” Smith's dark eyes bore into Ann's, but the doctor refused to back down. “We'll give him a rest for now, but I don't want Ms. Ellis talking to him without us present." "That's ridiculous!” Portland glared. “He doesn't understand a word anyone else is saying, and you want to seclude him? That's cruel." "It's all right.” Jones nudged his partner's arm. “We'll come back later tonight and talk with Eadred again. In the meantime, if he's more comfortable in Ms. Ellis's presence, there's no harm in allowing her to stay. After all, we've agreed to let her translate for him, and she understands the importance of secrecy in this matter—don't you, Ms. Ellis?" "Yes. Of course." "Speaking of this outside of the hospital, or even to those in the hospital not directly involved with Eadred, is strictly forbidden. The consequences for breaking the rules will be severe. Do we all understand each other?" "Yes,” Ann snapped.

Portland stared at the agents, scarcely able to repress her fury and disgust at their implication. “Perfectly." The agents glanced at Richard, who nodded curtly. “You know both me and my university have agreed to keep silent until you give the word." "Good. We'll be back later,” Jones said as he and Smith left. While Portland and the others had been speaking to the agents, Eadred continued staring out the window. "This can't be real.” He turned to Portland, his brow furrowed. “There's no one from my ship? No one from my home? I'm alone." "You're not alone,” Portland told him. “We can be friends." The loud, beating sound of a helicopter floated, muffled, through the window. Moments later the aircraft, the initials of a local television station painted on its side, appeared from behind the building and wove through the city. Eadred backed away from the window, his eyes wide as he spoke in the old Danish Portland didn't understand. "It's okay,” she said. “It's just a chopper." "What in the land of Hel is that?” he demanded. Richard chucked. “Actually, Eadred, it's called a helicopter." "Only the goddess Hel could forge such a thing." "It's like a flying wagon.” Portland touched his arm. "Wagons don't fly! This world is ... I have no words." "You will.” Portland smiled. “Let's go back to your room. We'll start with simple stuff, like the TV." "TV?" "I'll show you,” Portland said. Ann's beeper went off and Eadred look around the room. “What is that sound?" The doctor turned off the device. “I have to go. Good luck giving him the grand tour, guys. Oh, and if you're going to wander around, I'll tell one of the nurses to give him a johnnie." Portland glanced at Eadred's sleek torso and thought what a genuine pity it was to cover a body so beautiful. If all Viking men looked like Eadred, their women must have had few complaints. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three Back in the white room, Eadred sat on the bed and glanced around. This world was so strange. There was no wood, rock, dirt, or trees. Everything was hard and glared brighter than the sun, yet there was no sun, either. Even when he'd looked out the window, the sky had been distorted by buildings taller than he'd ever imagined. They looked like ugly castles, their gray walls riddled with windows. Poor defense. And those flying wagons! What sort of evil spells were at work in this America? America! He still wasn't sure he believed there was such a place. He might be caught in a fever-induced nightmare. "Eadred.” The woman, Portland, sat in the chair near his bed. She was very tall and dressed in trousers, like a man, yet there was nothing masculine about her. Her dark blonde hair hung past her shoulders, glossy as a horse's freshly groomed mane. Her large blue eyes held his with such gentleness and honesty that he found himself believing the tales she'd woven about him being asleep for a thousand years. Perhaps they weren't tales after all. Outside the window, he'd seen the horrors and heard the noise of this world. If what she had said was true and he was the only one left of his kind, what would he do here? And more important, what had happened to his wife, his children, and his village? "Eadred, are you hungry?” she asked. He shook his head. After a thousand years, he probably should be, especially now that there was no pain in his stomach—at least not pain like before. He felt sick with grief. Such emotion left no room for something as trivial as food. "You must be,” she continued. "No." "I'll send for something, anyway. You might want food when it's brought to you.” She reached on the table beside him for a piece of odd white parchment decorated with black symbols. Picking up a black-tipped wooden stick, she glanced at him. “Salad?" What in the name of Hel was salad? "Vegetables?" He shrugged. He couldn't care less about food at the moment. What was the black box suspended from the ceiling? "What do you want to drink?" "Milk." She smiled. “Now we're getting somewhere. Chicken or fish?" "Goat." Portland looked as if she was biting back laughter. “We don't have goat." "Pig, then?"

"Pork and red meat, like cows or cattle, for example, are not good for you." It was Eadred's turn to laugh. “That's ridiculous." "It's true. In our time, we've learned that such meats harm the body as we get older. It gives you...” She paused, as if groping for the right words to translate. “It makes your blood thick and hurts your heart. It can kill you." He narrowed his eyes. “Pig can kill you, but chicken cannot?" "As long as it's cooked properly, chicken is fine. Do you want chicken?" "Fine." "Do you want bread?" "I want to know what that is.” He pointed to the black box. "It's called television or TV.” She picked up a smaller box from the table and touched her thumb to the top of it. Eadred started, eyes widening as sound erupted from the big black box. Tiny people moved across the surface. There was a dog too, eating brown rocks out of a big red bowl. Eadred stood and touched the box. It felt smooth. "Is it a window?” he asked. “A trick?" "It's a machine with moving pictures. The pictures tell stories. We look at the television for fun." Eadred stared at the pictures. Buildings and iron vehicles flashed into view only to be replaced by women in loincloths running across a beach. Suddenly there was a picture of a clear, blue sky. "A flying wagon,” Eadred said, then searched his memory. “A helicopter." "That's an airplane." "America is a strange place." "Most places have airplanes, Eadred. Britain has them too." "If Britain had airplanes, we wouldn't have been able to loot from them so easily. Imagine firing a crossbow from one of those." Richard, who had been silently observing, asked a question, and laughed upon hearing Portland's reply. "He said wait until you learn about modern warfare." "I know about warfare." "I'm sure you can tell us a lot about warfare in your time and about life in your homeland.” Portland lifted

the small black box in her hand and the television stopped its pictures. A nurse entered the room and offered Eadred a soft, blue and white shirt with two ties. Richard showed him how to put it on. "My clothes are not like yours.” Eadred looked at the heavier, snug-fitting attire of his companions. “Am I wearing prisoner's clothes?" "You're not a prisoner. Those are clothes for the sick." "I don't feel sick." Portland's gaze swept over him. She murmured something in her language, then blushed. The woman was attracted to him, of that he was certain. She might have been amused by his ignorance of her world, but the way her gaze lingered over his chest and legs was most flattering. She exchanged words with Richard, who tossed Eadred a friendly wink before leaving the room. "He's going to buy you some clothes,” she said. “Like ours." Eadred nodded and sat on the bed, thinking about his wife. Sigyn had loved making clothes. She would have enjoyed seeing the incredible fashions in America. If a thousand years really had passed, he wondered what had happened to his wife and children. Had Sigyn married again? Had his sons become farmers, warriors, or craftsmen? Had his daughter married a good man? Portland touched his arm, rousing him from his thoughts. "What's wrong, Eadred?" "Everything. I don't belong here. How did I get here? No one can sleep for a thousand years." She drew a long breath. “This is so hard to explain. You were frozen in ice, or what appeared to be ice. You should be dead, but for some reason, the ice preserved you." "That makes no sense." "It makes no sense to us, either. Eadred, my sister thinks—and after hearing your story, I think it too—that the little man had something to do with saving your life. After the sky went dark, do you remember anything at all?" Eadred tried to remember. He'd been groggy with pain when it happened. The little man had nudged him back against the tree and touched his stomach, causing him to jump from the pain. After that, darkness descended. Eadred closed his eyes, forcing himself to search his memories, but they ended in darkness. "I can't." "It's all right." Warm, soft fingers touched his hand. His eyes snapped open. "Did you have a family, Eadred? You must miss them."

How did she know what he was thinking? Of course, anyone would have felt the same, but she truly seemed to care, even though they'd only met a short time ago. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it." "Nothing matters now,” he stated. Whether he missed his family or not, they were gone and he was stuck in this world that made no sense whatsoever. **** Portland studied Eadred's face. Though his expressions changed little, she could only guess how lonely and confused he must feel. She scarcely knew him, but already she liked him. Someone else in his situation might have been panic-stricken or uncooperative, but he was sensible. His hand slipped from beneath hers as he stood and walked around the room, pausing beside the telephone. “What is this?" "It's called a phone. You can talk to people through it." "Why do you need to talk through it? I can hear you." "I mean you can talk to someone a great distance away.” She stood beside him, picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. He moved away, his expression apprehensive, before leaning closer and placing his ear to the phone. Portland dialed. "It is making noise." "Every person has a number. You press the numbers here.” She pointed to the buttons. "These symbols mean numbers?" "Didn't you write?" He looked at her in question. "Damn,” Portland sighed. “Why did I send Richard away to get clothes? I know nothing about Viking culture." "I hear a voice,” he said. “It works. Can he hear me?" "If it was a real person." "He is not real?" Portland had dialed her bank's customer service line so he could listen to the recorded message, but she had no way of explaining it to him. He wouldn't even know what a bank was, let alone a recorder. "It's a machine that captures the voice, so you can leave a message even when you're not home."

"I don't understand." Portland thought for a moment then picked up the phone and dialed Richard's cell number. She asked the archaeologist to call them back at Eadred's room, then she hung up. “Richard will call us and we can talk to him." The phone jingled. Portland smiled. “Pick it up." Eadred held the receiver to his ear and looked at Portland. “It sounds like Richard." "Tell him hello. His Latin should be good enough for that." "Hello." Portland leaned closer to Eadred and strained to hear Richard's response. He spoke simply in Latin. “Hello, Eadred. How are you?" "Amazed." Portland giggled and took the phone. “Thanks, Richard. How's the shopping going?" "Not bad. I got him some T-shirts, socks, and pants. I think I'll get him some jeans and sneakers too." "Get some black hair elastics." "I'm shopping for him, not you." "I mean for him. We've got to do something with all that hair. Oh, and get him some razors, shaving cream, deodorant—" "Reek, does he?" She laughed. “No, but we might as well teach him good, modern hygiene." "Anything else?" Portland stared into Eadred's lovely blue-gray eyes and realized something was a bit off. His dark brows needed plucking badly. “Get tweezers." "Tweezers?" "Just do it." "What are you trying to do, Portland? We have an untouched, rugged Viking man and you want to turn him into some sissy pretty-boy?" "Believe me, Richard, it will take far more than a little deodorant and eyebrow-shaping to turn him into a

sissy." "By the way, what does he think of the phone?” Richard's amusement was audible. She smiled at Eadred, who bent and examined the numbered buttons more closely. “I think he likes it." She hung up, and Eadred asked, “Can I talk to you with this?" "Sure. I'll teach you how to call my number. I'm staying at a hotel across the street.” She wrote the number on a piece of paper and showed him how to match the symbols and dial the phone. "You write everything?" "Yes. We write just about everything, and we don't speak Latin. We speak English here. I study languages. That's why they asked me to talk with you." "English.” He sat on the bed and picked up the pencil, holding it rather awkwardly. “I want to learn. Teach me?" "Of course." Before they could discuss language further, Eadred's meal arrived. He stared at the salad, mashed potatoes, chopped carrots, slice of broiled chicken, and the dinner roll on the side. A small yellow and white carton of milk rested beside a small container of raspberry gelatin. "Where's the chicken?" Portland pointed to the round, processed patty. His lip curled. “That's chicken?" "Not the way you're accustomed to seeing it, but yes, it's chicken." Picking up the knife, he plunged it into the center of the patty and raised the whole thing to his mouth. "Eadred,” Portland picked up the fork, “we eat with this. Let me show you." She took the impaled patty and showed him how to use his utensils appropriately. "How does it taste?" "Not bad. This is good.” He took another forkful of potatoes. “Is there something to drink?" She opened the carton of milk and handed it to him. His brow furrowed at the odd container, but he swallowed the entire contents in a gulp, wiping the back of his hand across his beard. "Napkin, Eadred.” She playfully brushed the white square across his mouth. He tossed her a look that might have been teasing and continued with his meal. Portland noted that in spite of his ignorance regarding modern eating habits, he chewed with his lips closed and didn't speak

with his mouth full. Apparently even mothers a thousand years ago had raised their children with table manners. As he dipped his fork into the gelatin, the slippery food split and rolled back into the dish. After several tries with the fork, he picked up the spoon and raised it to his lips, making an odd face at the dessert's texture on his tongue. Next time she'd have to order him the brownie and see what he thought of that. He'd just finished eating when Richard, carrying several shopping bags, stepped into the room. Portland reached into the bag and tugged out a blue T-shirt. She held it across her chest and smiled at Eadred. “Ready to become a modern man?" Eadred peered into the bag closest to him and tugged out a stick of powder-scented deodorant. “I think so." "Richard, take him to the shower, then we'll get started with the makeover." "Makeover? Portland, you've been watching too many of those trashy talk shows." "What's this?” Eadred pulled out a package of plastic razors. "They're to shave with." "I don't want to shave. I like my beard." Portland studied him. “You know, I like it too. We can trim it." "Look at the rest of this stuff.” Richard picked through the other bag, pulling out socks, underwear, and a bottle of cologne. “And thepièce de résistance .” The archaeologist grinned as he held up soap on a rope. "I don't think it will fit over my head.” Eadred took the soap. “Perhaps this necklace is made for a boy?" "You don't wear it. You wash with it.” Portland folded her arms beneath her breasts and shook her head in Richard's direction. “And it's also one of the most incredibly tacky gifts ever invented." "It is not! It's sensible and convenient,” Richard said. “Make sure you translate that." "No way. Now, take him to the shower. I can't wait to see how he looks.” She glanced at Eadred, who was absorbed with his new gifts. Unfolding a pair of white briefs, he stuck his fingers through the front flap. “This garment is well made for a man. Easy for relieving oneself and making love. It will go well under a leather skirt in battle." "What do you mean ‘making love?'” Portland looked aghast. “Shouldn't it be customary to take off all your clothes?" A smile played around Eadred's solemn mouth. “That depends on the woman." "And there are no leather skirts, Eadred. No battles, either. You don't have to fight anymore." His eyes widened. “There are no wars in this time?"

"There's still too much war in the world,” Portland told him. “But not everyone has to fight. There's so much for you to learn and so many other things for you to do. You'll see." "I am a mercenary by trade." "You might find you want to try a different trade." "Perhaps. From all I've seen, my skills would probably be inferior." "Maybe your weapons, but I have the feeling you could give lessons in hand-to-hand combat." "I was my jarl's second in command." Portland translated this piece of information to Richard, who looked impressed. “Either I have to brush up on my Latin, or he has to learn English, because I have about a billion questions to ask him." "He asked me to teach him English." "Great. I can help." "Let's get him dressed, first." "Women.” Richard snorted, beckoning Eadred to follow him down the hall. With the men gone, Portland arranged the items Richard had bought for Eadred in the night table drawers. Afterward, she took a walk to the hospital's gift shop and bought several newspapers and magazines, including an issue of a travel magazine featuring Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. Eadred would probably be interested in seeing what his homeland now looked like. The magazines would also be a good way to start teaching him about the world. By the time she returned to the room, Eadred was seated on the bed wearing loose-fitting charcoal colored pants, a black V-neck short-sleeved shirt, and sneakers. The soft cotton clothing draped his hard, lanky frame to advantage. He smelled of the herbal cologne Richard had chosen. Freshly washed hair hung in damp spirals down his back. His beard had been trimmed and cut with the razor, further accentuating the beauty of his sharp cheekbones. Richard grinned. “Took some convincing to let me show him how to use the razor." "Very nice.” Portland approached, her stomach fluttering with desire. Eadred was easily the most attractive man she'd ever met. She looked forward to becoming his friend and perhaps more. Stop it, Portland! You must be crazy. The man has been through enough and you're already thinking below the waist. "Do you still have the scissors?” she asked Richard. He handed her a plastic bag of grooming instruments. She chose the scissors and comb and approached Eadred. Before she touched his hair, he grasped her wrists gently. “What are you doing?"

"Cutting your hair." "No you're not. Do you know how long it has taken me to grow this?" "A thousand years?” she teased. “I only want to cut a little. Trust me." Casting her a warning look, he released her hands. She ran the comb through his wet, shampoo-scented hair. The thick, soft curls felt wonderful through her fingers, amazing, considering he probably spent little time caring for them. She trimmed off a few split ends, then reached in her handbag for a bottle of travel size conditioner. She squeezed some into her palm and smoothed it through his hair. "Everything in those bottles smells sweet and men use it?" She placed a hand on her hip and stepped in front of him. “Are men supposed to stink?" "After a few months in the field anyone will stink." Grasping his chin in one hand, she took the tweezers in her other. “This will pinch a bit." "Why?" "I'm removing some of your eyebrows." "That is all!” He stood, turning to Richard. “This world is mad. What is wrong with my eyebrows?" Richard folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “I can't understand him completely, Portland, but I think he's upset about the eyebrow thing." "But it looks like a cat's tail is sitting straight across his forehead." Richard curled his lip. “What guy cares about that?" "The rest of him is too attractive for a unibrow.” She switched back to Latin and asked, “Eadred, please?" He tapped his fingers on the table, his jaw set, before he sat back on the bed and sighed. Smiling, she set to work shaping his thick, dark brows. He blinked several times as she plucked, but didn't try to stop her. When she finished, he muttered, “Thank the gods." She brushed his hair back from his forehead, tucked it behind his ears, and fastened it with a black elastic. "You know,” Richard cocked an eyebrow, “he's not a bad-looking guy." "Not bad?” Portland exclaimed. “He's gorgeous." "I wouldn't know about that. It's not my area of expertise." "Well, look at this.” Ann stepped into the room and stared at Eadred. “Very nice. I wonder how the agents are going to take it?"

"If I didn't think they might have bugged this room, I'd say what I really thought of them,” Portland muttered. "How is he feeling?” Ann asked. "Very well,” Eadred replied to Portland's translation. “But I still can't believe this is real." "That's understandable." "I have patients to see. Just wanted to check up on him, but it looks like you have everything under control.” Ann's brow furrowed as she sniffed the air. “It smells good in here." "It's the soap on a rope,” Richard said. "Soap on a rope,” Eadred repeated in his accented voice as he lifted the article out of the plastic bag. "Oh, God.” Ann raised her eyes to heaven. “Who gave him that tacky thing?" "Give you one guess.” Portland fired a disgusted look at Richard, who shrugged. The sisters exchanged feminine glances before Ann left the room. "All right.” Richard rubbed his hands together. “Let's ask him some questions before those two agents come back. Hey, where's he going?" "Eadred?” Portland followed him to the bathroom where he stared at his reflection. She smiled. “What do you think?" "I look good." "Very good." He took her hand and guided her in front of him. The warmth of his body penetrated her back and the gentle weight of his hands on her shoulders sent ripples of desire through her. Something about this man aroused her in a way she'd never experienced. His deep voice echoed in her head as he said, “So do you." "I'm a mess. Ann rushed me out of my house to get here. I had to leave behind my work—" "What kind of work?" "I make jewelry." "A craftswoman?" "Yes, I guess so." "I'd like to see your wares."

Portland's pulse raced. God, how she'd love to show him her wares! "Excuse me,” Richard stuck his head in the door, “do you think I could join in this conversation? If it's some sort of Viking mating ritual I don't know about, I'm interested in learning." "Don't be a wise guy,” Portland snapped at the archaeologist. “He was asking me about my work." "Who cares about that? Ask him about his work." "For a man of your intelligence and reputation, you have absolutely no tact, Richard." "Just ask him some questions for me before I explode!" "Eadred, will you tell us about your life?" "What do you want to know?" "Anything you want to share. Where you lived, what your home was like, where you traveled." He walked back to the bed and sat. Richard tugged a book out of his pocket and stood, pen in hand, ready to scribble notes. "Is it a custom here to write down whatever people say?" "Richard studies history and he's probably going to write a book about you." "There were books in the Christian temples." "Your people wrote with runes, correct?" "Yes. And we passed stories from parents to children through the ages. My grandmother told wonderful stories. My daughter learned many legends from her and told them nearly as well.” His brow furrowed at the mention of his family. Portland touched his hand. “If this conversation upsets you, we can talk at another time." "No. It won't matter when we talk. What else do you want to know?" For the next hour, Eadred told about his life. He'd lived in a small farming village several miles from the northwest coast of Norway. Like his father, Eadred had become a skilled warrior and often went to sea, trading and looting to support his family. He'd married at fourteen to a young woman from his village—a marriage arranged by their fathers. Three of their children died in infancy before they had two sons and a daughter, all under the age of thirteen when Eadred left home for the last time. "I knew death could come at any moment,” Eadred said, “but I never imagined waking up here. I never imagined surviving when all of them have been long dead." "This must be very difficult for you.” Portland couldn't help feeling sympathy for him. She admired his apparent strength regarding all he'd lost, yet wondered if he wasn't still a bit numb from shock. "I can't comprehend that everything I know has been gone for a thousand years."

"Yes,” she murmured, “I don't think I could comprehend that either." "I wonder why this has happened?” His gaze held hers with such sorrow and genuine confusion that a lump formed in her throat. "I wish I had answers for you, Eadred." "Me too,” Richard murmured. “You know, I almost feel guilty for being so damned curious about him. His life has been ripped away and all I can think about is picking his brain." "It's natural curiosity, Richard,” Portland said. “And he seems very willing to talk to us. Maybe he feels better discussing things familiar to him." "Or maybe this is all a clever hoax,” Agent Jones said as he and his partner entered the room. “Is he ready to talk?" Eadred glanced at the agents and he said to Portland, “I don't like them at all." "Me either,” she stated. Smith stepped closer to the bed. “I see you have him looking like a modern man." "We have some pictures to show him.” Jones tugged some photos out of an oversized envelope and offered them to Eadred. As Portland glanced at the image on top of the stack, her belly churned. Triangles and circles in the exact pattern of Eadred's tattoo had been imprinted in a field, captured by an aerial shot. "My God,” Richard murmured. “Are those what I think they are?" "I want him to tell us what they are.” Smith pointed at Eadred. Eadred flipped through the photos then looked up at Portland. “What are these? They're not moving pictures like the television. Who made them?" "They're called photographs, images captured by a camera." "What's a camera?" Jones and Smith stared skeptically at Eadred. Jones said, “They must look familiar to him." "Eadred,” Portland held his gaze, “do you know what these shapes mean?" "They look like the mark on my hip." "Where did you get that mark?" "I thought you marked me."

Her brow furrowed. “Us? Why would we mark you?" "I don't know, but it wasn't there before." Upon hearing Portland's translation, the agents exchanged glances. "These are crop marking or crop circles, aren't they?” Portland asked. “I saw them on a UFO documentary." "Where did you find them?” Richard demanded. "This is classified information and we're not free to discuss it at this time,” Jones stated. "Classified? We're right in the middle of this case—or whatever you want to call it!” Richard shouted. "If you don't lower your voice, we'll have to ask you to leave,” Smith said. Richard's jaw clenched, but he sat quietly in a chair across the room. "We need to know the exact location of the last battle he described earlier,” Jones said. “We want to know where he was when he supposedly sighted the UFO." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four "I cannot believe them!” Portland's fist clenched on top of the table in the hospital cafeteria where she sat with Ann. "I've seen cadavers with more emotion,” Ann muttered. "They know a hell of a lot more than they're telling us." "No kidding.” Ann munched her salad. “Makes you wonder how much crap governments everywhere are covering up." "I can't believe the tattoo on Eadred's hip matched those crop markings in Northumberland. It's almost like they're using him to send us a sign." "Maybe they are. I have no doubt they were the ones who took out his appendix and cared for those wounds on his arm and legs. And who else could have frozen him? I'd love to get just a glimpse of their technology. Can you imagine what we could learn from them? If they possessed such advanced medical techniques over a thousand years ago, imagine what the same race must have discovered by now." "I wonder why they marked him, Ann?” Portland leaned closer. “Do you think they wanted to come back for him?" "Seems to me if they wanted him, they could have just kept him."

"Why didn't they send him back to his family?" "I don't know." "I feel sorry for him." "I know. It must be difficult." "I'm glad you got me involved." "Oh no.” The doctor placed her fork aside and stared hard at Portland. “I remember that look. You've got it bad for him already." "I just want to be his friend." Ann raised an eyebrow. "Look, at this point anything else would be taking advantage of him,” Portland said. "He might be on unfamiliar ground, but he's still a man. He was a Viking warrior, for goodness sake! I hardly think you'll be taking advantage of him." "You're making it sound like he'd want me." "What's not to want? Any man would be lucky to have you, especially one who's backward a thousand years." "I know you think he's gorgeous too." "And no sister of mine is chopped liver.” Ann's lip curled. “Brains and beauty run in the family, my dear." Portland grinned. “Does modesty?" "I know you've always been a little shy with men. Not that I blame you after that freak you ended up with, but not all men are like Cort." The mention of Cort sobered Portland from her passion-drunk state. “I'm not anxious to get involved right now." "I'm not telling you one way or the other what to do. Just be careful, but don't miss out on a good thing because of one bad situation." "That situation was enough to ruin me for life." "Not by the way you're looking at Eadred." "He was married and had three children. I'm sure he's still in love with his wife, even though she's dead. He needs time to mourn everything he's lost before he can start thinking about the future." "He does need time, but his situation is different than most men's. He has a thousand years of catching up

to do as well as facing the possibility that he was abducted by aliens. And he's living under the third degree from those agents. If you want to back out of this, Portland, now is the time to do it, or else you better mean what you say about wanting to be his friend, because he's going to need one badly." **** When Portland returned to Eadred's room, he was seated on the bed, still looking through the magazines she'd given him earlier. "Portland, look at this.” He beckoned her to the bed and flipped back several pages, stopping at a photo of a cruise ship. "That's what ships are like now." "War ships?" "It's called a cruise ship. People travel on it for fun." "For no other purpose?" "Well, they visit different places and while they're at sea, they eat, dance, and play games." "With all that dancing and playing, when do they have time to row? Or do they use slaves?" "We don't have slaves, Eadred, and no one rows cruise ships. They have engines." "And what is that?" "It's a machine that powers the ship. Engines run many things, like cars, trucks, and lawn mowers." He stared at her blankly. "Airplanes have engines,” she said. He nodded. “How do they work?" She sighed. “I don't know the details." "So ships are only used to have fun now. What about war and fishing?" "There are ships for those. And if you want to row, some boats are still man-powered. Rowing is a sport now, rather than a necessity." "What's this?” He pointed to an ad for a sports car. “I saw these outside the window." "It's called a car. People travel in them." "Like a wagon." "On that idea. They travel faster, though. Once it's okay for you to leave here, I'll take you for a ride in one. You'll probably want to learn how to drive."

"It's safe to guess there are no horses anymore?" "Sure there are horses. People ride them for pleasure now." "You do much for pleasure here. What do you do for work? Your men, I mean? I've seen healers, and Richard studies the past. I don't exactly know why he's able to earn a living just by doing that, but I suppose it will all make sense in time." "Plenty of people earn a living through study. Richard digs for ruins so we can understand how the world used to be. History is important. You said the past was important to your people. That's why you told stories." He looked thoughtful. “True. You still have an army?" "Yes, we have military." "Builders? Farmers?" "Of course." "So many things have stayed the same, just more advanced.” He glanced back at the magazine. “You said a camera made these? What does a camera look like and how does it work?" Richard stepped inside carrying three coffees and a bag of bagels. “Are the agents gone? Good." "You better watch what you say.” Portland held up a finger. “They probably have this place wired or something." "So screw them. You think they'd lighten up since I think they're convinced Eadred's the real thing." "Do you think that cheap university of yours would spring for a camera for him? It's the least they can do." "You're in an even better mood than usual.” Richard glanced at her as he took a sip of coffee. “Sure. I don't see why he can't have a camera. What's he want one for?" "He's curious about how pictures are taken. When do you think the government will let us take him out of here?" "They'll probably have him rubbed out for fear someone might discover aliens really have visited Earth.” Richard's voice dripped sarcasm. Portland elbowed him so hard coffee splattered the front of his shirt. “Don't say that!" "He can't understand me." "I don't want to hear it!" "What are you, his mother?"

"Shut up, Richard. All he is to you is the ticket to a best-selling book and maybe even the movie rights." Richard sighed. “I'm curious and maybe, I admit, a little bit greedy, but I'm not heartless!" "Richard.” Eadred stood and brought one of the magazines to the archaeologist. He pointed to the page and shrugged in question. Richard grinned. “Oh brother. A man after my own heart. He wants to learn the important stuff first." "What is it?” Portland glanced over the top of the magazine—Eadred had opened it to an ad for condoms. "Explain that one, teacher,” Richard teased. She shot him a deadly look. "Eadred,” she said, “it's used to prevent babies." "I see. Some kind of herb." "No.” Richard looked a little sheepish as he pulled out his wallet and removed a condom. He opened the package and held up the contraceptive. "You see, it covers the...” Portland felt herself blushing. “It covers the male organ." Eadred laughed. “Not mine, it won't." "No, it stretches.” She took the condom from Richard and yanked it wide. It snapped back, and Eadred winced. "Perhaps in this world, it's best to abstain until after marriage." "I think that's probably best in any world,” Portland stated. Richard looked skeptical. “Let's see if he says that when he finds out people don't get married at fourteen anymore." Richard and Portland spent the remainder of the day teaching Eadred basic English. He had an excellent memory and learned quickly. Portland guessed with his intelligence and determination, he'd be carrying on conversations in no time. It was dark outside when Richard left. Soon after Portland gathered her jacket and bag to go to her room in the hotel across the street. "Good night, Eadred. I'll see you in the morning." He nodded. “Thank you for your help." "It's my pleasure.” She smiled. “And if you want to talk to me, use the phone. I'll be up late." She felt his gaze on her as she walked to the door. Pausing in the hall, she glanced back at him. He

smiled slightly, a hint of loneliness in his eyes. Odd emotions washed over her when she realized she felt like she'd known him much longer than one day. She almost didn't want to leave him alone for the first night in an unfamiliar place. He nodded in her direction before sitting on his bed and picking up the magazine again. As Portland walked to the elevator, she exchanged greetings with one of the nurses. Ann had left word at the nurses’ station that Portland was to be allowed to see Eadred at any time, since she was his translator. She could still scarcely believe the events of the past day. Situations and occurrences that seemed impossible had happened. The world was on the verge of a breakthrough between past and future, and Portland was lucky enough to be a part of the discovery. She only hoped Eadred would eventually regain some kind of normal life. It would be so easy for him to become a victim of people like Agents Smith and Jones, or even of well meaning, but career-driven individuals such as Richard. God, Portland, like Ann said, he's not a child. He's a grown man able to take care of himself. But not in her world. At least not yet. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five "Father, look." Eadred glanced at his youngest son, Erik, who held up the fish he'd just pulled from the river. When he was home from the sea, Eadred often went fishing with his children, though his daughter Freja usually wandered off to pick wildflowers and his oldest son, Horik, left to practice with his bow. Erik loved fishing and would spend all day at the creek, if allowed. "It's bigger than yours,” Erik continued. "Good. Your mother will cook it tonight." The boy grinned, revealing the spaces where his front baby teeth had been. Eadred was about to help him with the fish when a dark shadow blocked the sun. Eadred looked up at the gray sphere descending from the sky. He reached for Erik and shouted for his eldest children to run. Freja and Horik rushed out of the woods. Instead of heading for home, they raced toward Eadred. The earth lurched and split, swallowing Freja and Horik. Two small, white hands reached out of the creek and grasped Erik. Eadred tried pulling his son to safety, but strength flooded from his body. As Erik disappeared beneath the sea, the dark sphere swallowed Eadred in a cold, silent cocoon. **** Eadred jerked awake, panting as if he'd run for miles, his heart pounding.

"Odin,” he whispered, placing his palms to his eyes, surprised to find his face damp with tears. He stood and paced the room until his pulse returned to normal. It had been a horrible nightmare and he hadn't even the comfort of knowing his children were alive and safe somewhere. They were long dead, and he had no idea what sort of life they'd had. His own life—at least life as he knew it—had been stolen from him. Why? From what Portland had explained to him, she and the others believed the little man he'd helped in the temple had been a person from the stars—or from another world. Eadred wondered how such a thing was possible, but he could think of no other explanation for the object he'd seen descending from the sky. Portland and the others believed this creature had cured him of the illness that had caused him so much pain and had enabled him to survive, asleep, for over a thousand years. They made it seem like this being had done him a service. To Eadred it felt more like a punishment. He wanted nothing more than to go home where everything was familiar, where he had family and friends and could speak in a language natural to him. If he were home now, he'd be in a longhouse full of people and animals. He wouldn't be alone with no one around who understood a word he was saying. Only Portland could communicate with him using Latin, a language he'd learned during his travels. Though her accent was strange, at least they understood one another. The phone! He could call her. A glance out the window revealed the darkness of night. She was probably asleep. No. She said she'd be up late. If her voice sounded sleepy, he could always put down the crazy contraption and she'd never know he'd been the one to disturb her. Don't be a fool, Eadred. You're acting like a woman! He'd taken care of himself for as long as he could remember. He was second in command of a fleet of ... ghost ships. He laughed humorlessly as he sat on the bed and picked up the phone, matching the numbers Portland had written on a piece of paper to the numbered buttons on the phone. "Hello?” Portland said. Eadred's heartbeat quickened. “Portland?" "Eadred? Trying out the phone?" "You weren't asleep?" "No. What's wrong? Can't you sleep?" "No. I have much to think about." "So do I. It has been an exciting day." "That's one way to describe it."

"Do you...” She paused. “Do you want company? I'm only across the street. I can come over there." "I wouldn't want to dishonor you—or perhaps rouse suspicions in your husband?" "I'm not married.” She sounded amused. “And I think a woman's sense of honor is a little different now than it was a thousand years ago. I'll be there in a few minutes. Good-bye, Eadred." He put down the phone and sat on the bed. After a moment, he picked up the control and turned on the television, as Portland had shown him. Men and women moved across the screen. As he listened to them talking, he became more determined than ever to speak English. He found the button that changed the scenes and flipped until he saw two men in colorful loincloths wrestling with each other in a ring surrounded by screaming onlookers. At first he thought the fight was real, but the men acted so ridiculously, growling like animals, making faces, and flaunting their prowess, that he decided it must be some sort of farce. Two women, nearly as tall and muscular as the men, leapt into the ring and attacked one of the big, blond fighters while the dark-haired wrestler crawled to the ropes. One of the women grasped him by the hair and dragged him back inside. Eadred laughed at the expression on the man's face. "What are you watching?” Portland stepped into the room, glancing at the television. “Wrestling. Oh, no!" "This is not wrestling,” he chuckled. “This is an entertainment. Do many women perform like this?" "Some do.” Portland sat on the chair beside the bed, placing a large cloth bag at her feet. “They probably make a lot of money too." "They are paid for such antics?" "Yes, if you can believe it." "Perhaps they will pay me? I could teach all the ones I've seen how to fight." "Eadred, I don't doubt it. Look.” She reached into the bag. “I brought more paper and pencils. You can start learning the alphabet and simple conversation in English." "Good. Then when I watch television, I can understand what is being said. I noticed they show frequent lovemaking." "Too frequent for my taste." "I would think one would rather participate in it than watch it, but everyone has his own opinion. I also saw many noise sticks. They appear to be some kind of powerful weapon." "Noise sticks?" "Like this.” He held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger extended. "Oh, guns. Yes, they're very powerful weapons. They fire bullets."

His brow furrowed in question. "A little piece of metal is pushed through the gun—a metal tube—very fast. When it strikes the victim, it causes severe injury and most times, death." "Similar to a bow and arrow?" "Only more accurate." "So, your warriors are armed with guns?" "Unfortunately not just warriors. Many average people have them, but not all of them possess them legally or pay enough attention to gun safety and education." "Why would a person want a weapon he could not use properly?" "A very good question." "Portland, I'm a soldier. What do you think I can do here? Should I find an army to join? Should I learn a new trade? What do you think?" "I think you should learn English and go to school to see what you'd like to do. You're very smart, Eadred. Intelligence goes a long way in our world, most of the time farther than physical strength." "I don't want to lose my skills. Even here, men must want to defend their property and their families." "You can still study fighting, if you want to, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't learn something new." "I want to learn all I can, starting with why you're not married." Portland stared at him, stunned by his question. "What do you mean?" "I thought a woman as old as you are—" "As old?" "And with so many good qualities would be married." "I can't tell if I've just been complimented or insulted." "I meant no insult." "Eadred, in this time, thirty-one isn't all that old." He smiled. “You're not as old as that." "It's not old! Like Richard said, most people don't get married at fourteen anymore!"

"You must be keeping many suitors waiting." She glanced away, a slight blush staining her smooth face. “No. Not really. We call suitors boyfriends now, or significant others." "So you're free?" "Eadred, why do you want to know about me?" He held her gaze for a moment before sitting on the bed. She was obviously upset with him and his questions, yet he couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong. He wanted to know a little about someone in this time, and for some inexplicable reason, she interested him more than anyone else. Inexplicable! That was a lie. He found her beautiful, not only her face and form, but her manner. She was kind and seemed genuinely concerned for him—at least she had. He knew nothing of this time, of what was proper and improper. Maybe he'd insulted her and damaged the fine thread of understanding that had been woven between them. "I'm sorry.” She touched a hand to her temple. “We've been questioning you since you woke up, and I can't give you one simple answer. I'm not married because I haven't found a man I love." He glanced at her. Marry for love? Interesting idea. “Your father doesn't select a husband for you? You won't marry for money or land?" "Some people still marry for money, but many people also marry for love." "Can't you love a man with money as much as a man without? It would be more beneficial." She laughed. “I know plenty of women who would like how you think." "But not you?" "I really want love, but it's an illusion. I'll never find it." "I'd think it would be simple for you." Her gaze was filled with skepticism combined with pleasure. The sudden urge to kiss her nearly overcame him. He'd been attracted to women before, but she was different, and not only because a thousand years of progress stood between them. "Eadred, what was it like to have someone else arrange your marriage?” She sat in the chair beside the bed. “I'm sorry. That was a selfish question. Probably the last thing you want to discuss is your family." "I don't mind.” He wasn't sure if he told the truth or not. The dream of his children was still too fresh. It left his soul too raw. "I'm sorry.” She rested her hand on his forearm. He glanced at her slender fingers. The nails were dyed pink. He took her hand in his and examined the smooth flesh. Placing his palm against hers, he noted how his hand dwarfed hers. Her hands were slimmer than Sigyn's had been, but strangely, this woman's palms were nearly as callused as his wife's. "What's this from?” He ran his fingertip over the calluses.

"It's from not using enough hand cream and being too cheap to buy new weight lifting gloves." She tugged her hand from his grasp and hid them in the pockets of her baggy blue trousers—jeans, Richard had called them. "Not too pretty, I guess." "Just shows you're not lazy. What kind of weight do you have to lift?” he asked. "It's a form of exercise. Important for your health." "Exercise is good. Keeps one in shape for battle and other kinds of work. Farming, taming horses, building—" "What did you do for exercise, other than sword fighting?" "I rode my horse often. Swordplay was important, as was training with other weapons. We trained in hand-to-hand combat, wrestling and such. I also liked to chop wood. Good thing too. We had no light like this.” Eadred pointed to the ceiling lights. “We had to use fire for light, heat, cooking. Oh, and I loved to swim. So did my children. We used to swim in the lake near our home, and in the ocean. Sigyn hated the ocean. She always wondered how I went to sea so much.” He paused, remembering the last time he'd taken the children to the ocean. He swore Erik had had such talent for swimming that he was part fish. "You must miss them so much." He glanced at her. “Yes. I do." "Are you sure you don't want to get some sleep? After all that happened today, you must be tired." "No.” The last thing he wanted was to return to the nightmare. He didn't want to keep her from sleeping, though. “Are you tired?" "Oh, no. I hate to waste a good night." "Would you teach me more English?" For the next hour and a half, she taught him the alphabet, more numbers, and some simple greetings and sentences. "Richard will be surprised tomorrow,” she said. “You learn very quickly." "Sigyn used to say I always wanted to know too much about everything and Horik took right after me. Horik was my oldest son." "And Sigyn was your wife?" He nodded. "They must have missed you too."

"My duty took me away often, but I think my children missed me. Sigyn, at times I'm not so sure.” He smiled slightly. Though he and Sigyn were compatible, there were some things she never quite understood about him, such as his desire for knowledge and his love of travel. "You didn't get along well with her?" "We liked each other, but we often had different views. She was a good woman and a caring mother. I had no complaints. I hope she and our children were happy after I left. Not knowing is driving me to madness." "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault. I feel like I failed them." "You can't blame yourself. What happened was completely beyond your control." "Maybe if I hadn't gone on that last raid—" "Eadred, even if you stayed home, you would have left them anyway. From the symptoms you described before your abduction and because your appendix was removed, Ann said you'd have died." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “I know. I had a feeling my illness was fatal." "What can I do to help you? How can I make this easier?" He turned to her and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You are helping. You are being a friend. Other than Sigyn, I had few, if any." "I find that hard to believe." "It's true." Eadred had always walked his own path, thought his own thoughts, and reached for knowledge beyond tradition. Others thought him haughty and arrogant even for a warrior. Some fools had even ventured to think him soft for sparing the lives of women, children, slaves, and Christian monks. Eadred never considered mercy a fault or cruelty a power. Backing his convictions had caused him more than a few scuffles. Sigyn had commented on his stubbornness many times. "What's on the television?” Portland reached for the control, but Eadred already had it in his hand. She smiled and shook her head. “Typical. But before you pick up one of the worst habits of modern man, I'll have to train you to put the seat down." "Down where?" "We'll talk about it." ****

Portland watched as Eadred switched from channel to channel, wondering what he thought of the variety of people and programs he saw without yet understanding them. "I hear a word often on television." With the garbage they show on TV, I'm almost afraid to ask what,Portland thought. “What is it?" "Okay." "What is it?" "Okay." She smiled, realizing her mistake. She thought he might have picked up the slang from listening to conversation between the hospital employees. "It can mean yes or good." "You don't dress like most of the women on television." "How do you mean?" "Most of them wear little. They look like whores." "I agree with you on that." He stopped flipping channels and pointed to the screen. The camera focused on several old swords and daggers while the voice of a male narrator described weapons used during the Viking golden age. "Those are familiar to you, Eadred?" "The sword is cheaply designed. I would not have paid for it.” He watched the screen intently. “What is being said?" "Something about those broken daggers being used as offerings to the gods." "To Odin." "Wasn't he the most important god?" "He's the most powerful. You don't worship the gods?" "There are pagans left, Eadred, and many are part of what is called New Age religion. Many other people believe in just one God, now." "Christians.” He studied her. “What do you believe?" "I'm Wiccan." "What is that?"

She glanced at his face with its male-model cheekbones and blue-gray eyes. His expression was strong yet kind. She'd heard so many stories of Viking brutality from Richard. Of course, to Eadred it wasn't brutality, but a rich culture he'd spent his life immersed in. She found it hard to believe that he had once engaged in the horrors she'd learned were commonplace to his people. "Pagan. Sort of like you, except you made human sacrifices, didn't you?" "Not personally, but many did." "How about animals? Did you sacrifice animals?" "Of course. What better way to ensure good fortune in battle?" She assumed her distaste appeared on her face when he raised an eyebrow and said, “I assume you no longer make sacrifices?" "No. No sacrifices." Together they continued watching the documentary. Portland listened with interest, wanting to learn as much as she could about Eadred's culture. Still, after talking with him, the program seemed lifeless. She was seated beside a real Viking while the makers of the show merely pieced together remnants from the past to discover details of a world she could turn to the man beside her and ask about. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned her head back. Her vision dimmed as she drifted to sleep in the middle of the show. **** "Portland?” Eadred turned to her and paused. She'd fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable position, bunched up in the small chair. He felt a little guilty about calling her from her bed, so the least he could do was give her his. He stood and picked her up. Even when he placed her on the bed and covered her with the blanket, she scarcely stirred. She'd be terrible on watch duty, but she's very pretty. He brushed a lock of dark blonde hair from her cheek, then brushed his knuckles across the soft skin. He didn't care what she said about how the world had changed since his time. A woman like her should be married, or at least swarmed by suitors. Guilt forced him to move his hand from her face and let it drop to its place beside him. He'd only just learned that his wife and children were forever lost to him. Already he was entertaining thoughts of intimacy with this woman whom he scarcely knew. Though he and Sigyn had gotten along well, neither had refrained from sexual relations with someone they found more appealing. He and Sigyn were close friends, partners in the work of raising a family and securing a household, but the truth was, neither had ever craved the other's physical attentions. They enjoyed making love, but Eadred had not felt the all-consuming passion some men spoke of when referring to their lovers. He knew Sigyn felt the same, just as he sensed Portland's attraction to him. Shaking his head, he sat in the chair and gazed at the wall across the room. He missed his children

terribly, and he missed Sigyn too, yet he couldn't help his body's response to this American woman. He glanced at Portland, listening to the sound of her even breathing, watching the rise and fall of her breasts and the tendrils of hair spread against the pillow. She carried a pleasant scent, sweet and fresh, that he could smell across the room. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the aroma. A nurse walked by the door, and Eadred tore his gaze away from Portland long enough to watch the hallway. He was growing tired of the room's confinement. He wanted fresh air and exercise. Though his pulse quickened with curiosity and apprehension when he thought about it, he wanted to step into the outside world he'd seen only through the window. Whether he liked it or not, this was his world now, and he wanted to know everything about it. **** Portland squinted against the sunlight, momentarily disoriented. Her heart pounding, she jumped out of the bed. She remembered falling asleep in the chair, but how had she ended up in Eadred's bed? And where was Eadred? She reached for her bag, glad she hadn't yet unpacked most of her toiletries. After washing up and brushing her teeth, she applied light make up. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she noticed Eadred and Richard standing by the window. "Good morning,” Eadred said in English. She smiled. “Good morning." "He's a fast learner,” Richard said. “Took him to the cafeteria for breakfast. Smith and Jones showed up and went a little crazy because I brought him out of his room. Those guys have got to ease up. We can't keep Eadred here forever." "Unfortunately, it seems like they can do whatever they want." "Portland, some money is made from parchment,” Eadred said. “Coins would last longer." "I couldn't answer most of his questions,” Richard told her. “My Latin's not that good, but he's picking up English fast. He'll have little trouble living in our time." "Do you really think it will be easy for him to live in this time?” Smith stepped through the door, Jones at his side. "I think he's adjusting much better than we would if the roles were reversed,” Richard told them. "When can I go outside?” Eadred asked. Portland turned to the agents. “He'd like to visit the city." "This isn't about what he'd like,” Smith scoffed. “We can't just let him walk around." "Why not?” she asked. Jones was about to answer when Ann rushed in, looking slightly frazzled.

"Listen, security is holding a bunch of reporters downstairs,” Ann said. “They all want to see the Viking." "Reporters?” Smith's eyebrow jerked upward. He glared at Richard. “We told you and your university to keep this under wraps! Someone's going to be in more trouble than he can handle!" "I didn't say a thing!” Richard's eyes flashed. “You think I want reporters hounding him now? He hasn't even been awake for two whole days, damn it!" "Well, somebody spoke!” Jones turned to Portland. "Don't look at me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I think it's disgusting how everyone wants something from him. I certainly wouldn't tell a group of reporters!" "What do you mean disgusting?” Richard glanced at her. "I mean your university wants him to make them famous. These agents want to pick his brain for a UFO story. Give the guy a break!" "Look, at this point I don't give a damn about what any of you want!” Ann told them. “This is a hospital, and I want those reporters out of here! Look,” she turned to the agents, “Eadred is not sick. He's in perfect health and doesn't belong in a hospital. Either the government or the university will have to find another place to keep him." "I agree he doesn't belong here,” Jones stated. “We had plans to take him away." "Away where?” Portland demanded. "I'm not at liberty to say." "Look, this is a human being!” She pointed to Eadred. “Ann told us you had all kinds of scientists and doctors from Washington examining him. You've questioned him, even had him on a lie detector yesterday afternoon. What more do you want from him?" "We can't have his story made public,” Smith said. “It would cause worldwide panic." "So what are you going to do with him? Lock him away forever?” Richard asked. The agents exchanged looks, and Smith said, “That's one alternative. There are others." "We're listening.” Portland took a step closer to Eadred, who was watching the agents and listening to the conversation intently. "We pretend none of this ever happened,” Smith stated. "Oh right.” Richard mocked, folding his arms across his chest. "It would be very simple,” Smith continued. “We'd educate him enough to survive on his own, offer him citizenship, and let him begin a new life, as long as he and the rest of you keep his secret." "Or—and this is the alternative we think your university will find most agreeable—we'll simply say his survival was a miracle. He'll be a Viking man in the modern world, but no one will ever mention his

abduction by aliens." "You're sure that's what it was?” Ann asked. The agents ignored her, and Smith went on, “If you won't agree to any of these terms, we have one alternative left. None of you—I mean none of you,” he stared at each one hard, “will like it." "Are you threatening us?” Ann demanded. "We don't make threats, Doctor,” Jones stated. Smith raised an eyebrow. “We all do understand each other, correct?" He was met with silence. Jones repeated, “CORRECT?" "I'll need to discuss this with my university.” Richard's voice sounded tight. "Only a handful of people from your university know the details about Eadred, right?” Smith asked. “Obviously one of them leaked the story to the press. Do you have any idea who it might be?" Richard shook his head. "If you do, you'd better seriously consider telling us." "I don't know. Only the dean and my associate, Jake Phillips, know Eadred is actually alive and not just a corpse." "Until we decide exactly what we're going to do, we need to get him out of Boston and into protective custody." "I'd suggest my place, but everyone knows it was my study that discovered him,” Richard said. "Finding a place will be no problem,” Jones told them. He turned to Portland. “And thank you for your help, but we'll be bringing in our own translator." "But he knows me,” Portland said. “He's comfortable with me." "Unless you want to inflict psychological damage for some official reason,” Ann stared hard at the agents, “I think it would be best if you allowed Portland to remain with him." "You can use my home, if you want.” Portland spoke the words before she could stop herself. Was she crazy, inviting a Viking she'd known for less than two days as well as a couple of government agents to live in her house for heaven knew how long? "Your home?” Smith glanced at her. "Yes. It's secluded. I live in Vermont and have plenty of room for guests." The agents exchanged looks.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea,” Jones said. "All right. For the time being, he'll move into your home, Ms. Ellis,” Smith told her. “We leave immediately." Portland turned to Eadred. “We're going to my house. You're going to stay with me for a while." "Good. I'm bored with this place.” He gathered his belongings into the plastic bag Richard had brought him. The agents decided that with Eadred dressed like everyone else, they could exit the hospital undetected. Richard would remain behind, since he might be recognized as the man who discovered the frozen Viking. Portland walked beside Eadred down the brightly lit corridors, Smith and Jones behind them. "Our car is on level two,” Jones told her as they stepped into the parking lot. "Horseless wagons.” Eadred stared in wonder at the rows of cars. “How do they move?" "Engines.” Portland grasped his wrist and tugged him toward the stairway. “We have to hurry." They finally reached the agents’ gray four-door car. While Smith and Jones slipped in the front seats, Portland and Eadred sat in the back. Eadred gazed out the window as the car rolled forward and headed toward the exit. In spite of his calm appearance, Portland could almost sense his excitement and apprehension. Smith paid the parking attendant and the car slipped out of confinement and into the heart of the city. She glanced at Eadred. Only a slight widening of his eyes revealed his wonder at the world around him. He leaned down a bit in the seat in an attempt to see the tops of the buildings. "Gods,” he murmured. “Such a big city." Portland smiled. “Not really. As cities go, Boston is small." He raised an eyebrow in her direction. "You should see London." "I've seen London, and it's nothing like this." "It's changed a little in a thousand years." Smith slowed the car. "Why are we stopping?" She pointed to the traffic lights. “When it's red, you have to stop. See? There are people crossing."

Eadred studied the group of men and women passing in front of the car. "That boy.” Eadred motioned with his head toward a skinny teen walking a dog. “His hair is blue." "It's dye." "And his face is pierced. Is it some sort of clan ritual?" "No.” She smiled. “Just youth." As the car continued down the street, Portland pointed out shops, restaurants, gas stations, banks, and other places common to her but new to Eadred. "So what's he think of it all?” Smith glanced at the Viking. Portland stared at Eadred. “Hard to say. He doesn't express much. Just seems to study everything." "I'm not sure that's a trait I like,” Smith muttered. Again the car slowed due to construction, and Jones muttered, “Damn! I wonder if this road work is ever going to end?" "Hey!” Smith shouted as Eadred opened the car door and stepped out. "Eadred!” Portland called, her heart pounding as he stepped across two lanes of traffic. Thank God everyone was stopped at the light. She and Smith bounded out of the car after Eadred, who walked to a group of men near a backhoe working on the roads. Eadred began talking to the men in Latin. All three of them stared at him, unmoving. One man's mouth opened slightly and his cigarette tumbled onto the tar. "What the hell is this?” A scruffy-looking, potbellied redhead murmured, “Buddy, don't ya speak English?" "What's he talking about?" "Beats me." Eadred pointed toward the backhoe then at the men's tools. "Excuse us.” Portland stepped close to Eadred. “He's from out of town." "No shit.” The man who'd dropped the cigarette laughed. He lit another. “What's he want?" "I think he's interested in the construction process. He's from an underdeveloped country and they don't have anything like this." Underdeveloped,she thought,if that's not the year's biggest understatement! "Well, what does he want to know?" "Hey, we don't have time for this!” Smith folded his arms across his chest.

"You can take five lousy minutes, can't you?” Portland said. “He's never seen anything like this before. Do you gentlemen mind?" The workers shrugged, and the redhead said, “Why not?" "Hey, Charlie!” the shortest worker, who just about reached Portland's shoulder in height, bellowed to the man operating the backhoe. “This guy is from—where'd you say he was from?" "Scandinavian backwoods?” Portland asked hopefully. "He's a European hillbilly! Wants to get a look at some modern road construction. Want to show him the truck?" Smith rolled his eyes and sighed. “What a waste of time." Portland ignored him as the men motioned for Eadred to join Charlie in the backhoe. "Funny, but that didn't sound like Swedish he was speaking,” the redhead said to Portland. "He has a strange dialect. His village is very secluded." "I wonder what it is lately about Scandinavia. I just heard on the news some crazy story about a thousand-year-old Viking they found frozen in ice, and get this—they claim he's still alive! What a hoot!" "Yes.” Portland forced a laugh. “A real hoot." "We are going to discuss who's in charge and who's not as soon as we get back to the car,” Smith snarled close to Portland's ear. For the next half hour, Eadred watched the men and communicated with them through hand signals. "You know, I think I'm starting to understand him.” The short man grinned. The burly redhead punched Eadred in the arm. “You know, you're okay." "Okay.” Eadred punched him back, and the man staggered a bit, his eyes widening. “You don't know your own strength there, buddy." Smith grasped Portland's sleeve and tugged her aside. “We have to leave. Now!" Turning back to Eadred and the workers, she watched him pop something into his mouth and chew. "What is that?” she asked. "Tastes lousy,” Eadred muttered. The redhead laughed. “Just a little tobacco." Portland gasped and clutched Eadred's face in one of her hands, squeezing his cheeks. “Don't swallow that! Spit it out!"

The men laughed as Eadred spit the wad into his hand. "That is so nasty!” Portland's lip curled at the site of the saliva-coated brown lump. “Throw it away! It's bad for you." Eadred tossed the tobacco aside before turning to his hosts and saying in his accented voice, “Thank you." "Hey, not bad English,” the short man grinned. “You'll do okay." "Have a good time in the US!” Charlie shouted form the backhoe. "See ya around!” the redhead called as the others waved their good-byes. Halfway to the car, Portland started to laugh. "I don't think this is funny at all,” Jones snarled. “Do you know how hard it is to park on a main road in the middle of Boston?" "You remembered some English,” Portland said to Eadred. “Very good." "How about teaching him what no means?” Smith cast them a furious look. "What was that he gave me to eat?” Eadred said to Portland. “Tasted worse than bark." "It's tobacco and it's bad for you. Just like those things some of them were smoking. It makes you very sick." "Then why do they use it?" "It's a bad habit." "Too bad in a world with so much knowledge, people don't realize what's bad for them." "Is that ever true." The remainder of the ride continued without event. Several hours later, they rolled along the quiet Vermont road toward Portland's home. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six The car stopped in the long, narrow driveway of Portland's colonial style house. All four passengers stepped out, stretching. "I have to use the can,” Smith said. Jones nudged his partner's arm and the two glanced at the farmhouse across the road. A For Sale sign

was planted in the overly long grass in front of the house. "Perfect.” Smith nodded. "What?” Portland asked. "I'll make the arrangements,” Jones said. “Smith, you can accompany them in the house." "You're staying?” Portland curled her lip at the agents. "We can't just leave him here with you,” Smith told her. “But don't worry. It would look too suspicious for the people who know you to have three strange men living in your house. Jones and I will make other arrangements." Portland wondered if her relief showed on her face. As she walked to the front door, Eadred at her side, it suddenly struck her that she'd invited a strange man to live with her indefinitely. Her heart pounded and she knew she'd made a mistake. The last time she'd had contact with a man had ended in absolute disaster. Was she insane asking Eadred to stay with her? He touched her elbow. “What's wrong?" "Nothing,” she replied more sharply than she'd intended. She opened the door, both relieved to be home and apprehensive about what she'd done. She prayed Eadred continued to be as decent as he seemed. For a moment, she almost wished the agents were staying with her. The kitchen was directly through the hall, the living room to the right, and the staircase to the left. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a bath. Portland had turned her basement into a workshop. She was anxious to go down and finish the orders she'd been filling when Ann had called her to Boston. Instead, she began a short tour of the house. "Where's the bathroom?” Smith demanded. "Upstairs. First door to your right." While the agents jogged up the steps, Portland motioned for Eadred to follow her. She showed him the kitchen cupboards, refrigerator, and dishwasher, the last of which amazed him. "My wife would have loved that machine,” he said. Portland smiled. “I bet. Life must have been difficult in your time." "Not really. Everything seems more complicated now. Still, you have many conveniences. I especially liked that backhoe. It would have made building a village so much easier.” He stepped into the living room, examining her bookshelves filled with dozens of volumes. “This is a nice home. How many live here altogether?" "Just me."

He raised an eyebrow. “Only you? And there's even an upstairs?" "Come on. I'll show you your room." He followed her up the steps to the guest room across the hall from hers. Sometimes her sister or parents slept there when they visited. Other than that, Portland used it for storage, stacking boxes of beads and completed jewelry on the bed and in the closet. "I have to clean up a little for you,” she explained. “Sorry it's such a girl's room." He glanced at the pink flowered curtains and matching quilt. A cherry wood vanity table stood across the room. Two teddy bears in fairy-tale clothing leaned against the mirror. She took his bag and placed it on the bed. Smith joined them. “I checked the place out. Looks okay." The phone rang. Portland hurried to her room and answered. On the other end, Richard inquired about their trip and said he'd drop by in the morning. When he'd finished, Ann got on the line. "Portland, are you sure you want that man living in your house? Now I'm getting worried." "It'll be fine,” Portland told her. “And I think Smith and Jones will be close. Actually, I'm probably safer with a couple of agents around." "I guess so.” Ann still sounded concerned. “Cort hasn't been giving you trouble since the restraining order, right?" "I had to call the cops about a month ago, but nothing got out of hand.” Portland lowered her voice when she saw Eadred standing in the doorway. Though he couldn't understand English, she was accustomed to keeping her problems secret. “Ann, I have to go. Talk to you soon." Portland hung up and stood, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Want something to eat? I'll teach you how to use the microwave." "You have a fireplace downstairs." "That's what I love about this house,” she said. “I don't like chopping wood, though." "I'll do it for you." Her gaze raked over him and she murmured, “I think I might like to see that." In the kitchen, Smith sat at the table talking to Jones on his cell phone. Portland took some frozen dinners from the refrigerator and showed Eadred how to heat them in the microwave. "Tomorrow I'll cook some real food,” she said, “but these dinners are okay in the meantime." Jones clicked off his phone and said, “All right, here's the deal. Jones and I are moving into that farmhouse across the street. If you need anything at all, I'll leave you our cell numbers. Basically, all you

have to do is keep this guy under wraps. Say he's a boyfriend or something, but whatever you do, don't arouse suspicion. Oh, and your friend from the university, Jones is having him tell his superiors that any discussions with the Viking are to be conducted in this house and kept quiet until we figure out what to do with him." "How about going out?” she asked. “I have to go to the store and the post office to send orders for my business. He should come with me so he won't be stuck here all the time." "Sure. He can go. As long as you use common sense and don't get people too curious." Of course not,she thought,how could I possibly arouse suspicion by having a six feet three and a half inch Viking living in my house? By dusk, the agents left for their farmhouse, clarifying for what seemed like the thousandth time how carefully they'd be keeping watch over Eadred and Portland. "Finally.” She sighed, leaning against the door she had just closed behind Smith and Jones. Eadred stood in the kitchen, his gaze fixed on her. Her stomach fluttered. She really was completely alone with him. "Would you like to unpack your things?” she asked. "Okay." She smiled. The word was actually starting to sound natural coming from him. Together, they walked up to the guest bedroom. **** Eadred sat on the bed beside Portland and dumped the contents of his plastic bag on top of the flowered quilt. "This week we'll do more shopping,” she said. He watched her small hands fold his shirts and jeans. She had such pretty hands. He resisted the urge to touch one. For some reason, since Smith and Jones had left, an odd intimacy had settled over the house. He sensed Portland's apprehension, as if she was suddenly wary of him. Not that he blamed her. She was a woman alone with a man. If he was so inclined, overpowering her would be easy. Many men he'd known would have taken advantage of the situation, Olaf for one. Portland carried the clothes to the closet and placed them on one of the shelves. His gaze followed the gentle curve of her buttocks in her jeans. Thick, glossy tendrils of hair brushed the center of her slender back. Women had appealed to him before, but why did he have to travel a thousand years in the future to find one who aroused him so completely? And why did she have to be out of his reach? He had nothing to offer a woman in this time—at least not yet. He walked to the window and gazed out at the open field bathed in the reddish light of the setting sun. In the distance, lush trees formed the border to a forest. Crickets chirped, and a warm breeze blew in

through the half open window. "It's very quiet here,” he said. “I like it. Reminds me of my village." "I like quiet too. I never was much for the city." "But are you ever lonely living in this house by yourself?" "Sometimes. I have my work to keep me busy, and I occasionally tutor language students. Sometimes I also teach evening classes at the local high school." "You promised to show me your jewelry." "My workshop is downstairs. Would you like to see it?" A pleasant warmth washed over him as their eyes met. “Yes. Very much." He followed her out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen where she opened a door leading to the cellar. In her workshop, a plush rose-colored carpet covered the floor. A tiny window at the far corner of the room revealed blades of grass and the base of a slender tree. Below the window were two machines that reminded Eadred of the upstairs dishwasher. A basket filled with folded laundry rested between them. A long, rectangular table, laden with bins filled with colorful beads, wires, and bits of metal, stood in the center of the room. Boxes stood piled along the walls. She motioned for Eadred to have a seat at the table as she chose several boxes and placed them in front of him. She removed the lid from one, revealing several necklaces of silver and crystal. Other boxes contained earrings, bracelets, and anklets, all carefully designed and crafted by Portland. "You do lovely work,” he said. "I've been lucky to make enough business to live on. I sell at dozens of shops all over New England as well as run a mail order business from my computer." "Computer?" "Something else I'll have to teach you about." Eadred picked up a necklace of hemp adorned with a carved wooden hummingbird. "Did you carve this?" She grinned. “I'm not that talented. I just liked the bird. If I could carve like that, it would open up a whole new business for me." "I can make you more, if you want." She touched the bird. “You can carve like this?" He turned the bird over in his hand. “I can carve better than this, but not as well as my uncle could." "Do you need a knife or something? Tell me what you need, and I'll buy it for you."

"Just a small knife will do." "What about wood?" "You have a forest behind your house." "That's true enough. This society isn't as accustomed as you are to using the natural resources around us.” She replaced the lids on the boxes and stacked them against the wall. "Practice English with me. I have to learn more." "Aren't you tired, Eadred? You scarcely slept last night." He recalled the nightmare and chastised himself. A grown man shouldn't fear his dreams, yet the thought of retiring filled him with dread. As long as he concentrated on the new life he needed to build, he wouldn't have time to think of the past. "No, but if you're tired, I don't want to keep you awake." "No, I'm not tired. We can study if you want to.” She brushed her hair behind her ears. A stubborn strand fell back across her cheek, and he reached out and swept it aside. She gazed at him, her expression a combination of desire and apprehension. Her attraction to him was obvious, but he wondered what caused the touch of fear reflected in her eyes. She walked past him and jogged up the stairs. Eadred followed, remembering to switch off the light behind him. The thing called electricity and all the machines it powered were miraculous. Especially the microwave. Food cooked in moments. Every man's dream. Eadred retrieved his notebook and pencils from his bedroom. When he returned, Portland had placed glasses and napkins on the table. "Lemonade and corn muffins,” she said, placing the cakes on a plate in the center of the table and pouring the pungent smelling pinkish drink. He took a sip. It was a pleasant combination of sweet and tart. "Some of the food here is good,” he said. "And some of it stinks.” She smiled. “I feel the same way about it. What did you eat at home?" "Geese, goats, horses. We fished. Also we'd eat berries, beans, and fruit. My wife made the best porridge in the village. I missed it when I traveled." At the mention of his wife, she cast him a sympathetic look that he found both irritating and comforting. The irritation was more focused on himself because he wanted her comfort. He wanted someone to understand how completely lost he felt in this world of noise, wonders, helicopters, and backhoes. What was wrong with him? He'd spent most of his life in the thick of battle, had been wounded and near death on more occasions that he cared to remember, now he was clinging to the company of a woman he scarcely knew because he feared his dreams? "I wish I could say something to make everything easier for you,” she said. “I can't imagine what it would

be like losing my entire world. I think you're very courageous." He didn't feel courageous. He felt ridiculous. He bit back the urge to lash out at her. None of this was her fault. "Tell me if these words are right.” He took a pencil and began writing words she'd taught him the previous night. Several hours later, Portland stood and stretched. “Eadred, I've had it. Let's do something else." "What?” he asked in English. “Do you want to walk outside?" "I can't believe how fast you're picking up this language,” she murmured. "I'm doing well?" "Very well. Better than I've ever done with any language I've studied." He nodded, feeling a touch of pride. He needed to learn quickly in order to make a new life for himself. Ignorance was dangerous, and he had no intention of relying on her—or anyone else—forever. "It's such a hot night, let's go to the lake,” she suggested. "To swim?" "The lake is very peaceful to look at during the night, but I don't think I'd go swimming so late." "Why not? It's fun to swim in the moonlight." "It's also dangerous to swim alone." "You're not alone." Fear crossed her face but vanished in moments. She took a deep breath and said, “Why not? I'll change my clothes." They disappeared into their respective rooms. Eadred undressed and stepped into the half-size blue and white trousers Richard had bought him. Shorts, the archaeologist had called them. Then he walked downstairs and waited for Portland at the landing. **** "You're nuts,” Portland muttered to herself as she slipped into shorts and a tank top, unwilling to put on the sleek new one-piece bathing suit she'd bought a few weeks ago during a shopping spree with Ann. Her sister had convinced her to buy the swimsuit, telling her she couldn't live the rest of her life in fear. She was an attractive woman with her whole life ahead of her and had to stop allowing a loser to determine her actions. Still, Portland wasn't ready to stick on a swimsuit in front of a man she scarcely knew. Her hands trembled as she tied her long hair into a bun on top of her head and shoved her feet into black thongs decorated with pink flowers. Eadred was a complete stranger to her, but already she'd invited him into

her house and was going swimming with him alone at night. Suicide. Stupidity. The same kind that had gotten her into trouble a year ago. Yet she'd immediately sensed trouble when she'd met Cort. With Eadred she sensed nothing but complete honesty and decency, even if he had once been a Viking warrior. He was as different from Cort as Jekyll was from Hyde—at least she hoped so. In the hallway, she paused at the top of the steps, her heartbeat quickening with an emotion strong enough to replace her previous fear. Eadred stood, barefoot and bare-chested, at the landing. A pair of blue and white checkered shorts hung to his mid-thigh, exposing most of his long, muscular legs covered with sparse dark hair. His arms were folded across his broad chest that looked as hard as a knight's armor. Thick biceps curved sensuously, leading to the longest forearms she'd ever seen. His wrists looked strong, made for physical labor. Dark, curling hair grabbed at his well-defined shoulders. Portland reached for the railing to steady herself before descending the stairs. Halfway down, she realized he was staring at her in a manner both flattering and unsettling. When she reached the landing, she stared up at him. Funny how he seemed even bigger when half naked. "You're very beautiful,” he said. She blushed. “No. You just haven't seen a woman for a thousand years. Anything probably looks good." "Though I am a novice in your world, I am guessing the ways of men and women haven't changed much." "You'd be surprised.” She brushed past him and out the door, her heart still throbbing. Why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? The thought of watching him swim, seeing that sleek, powerful, disgracefully male body slick with the lake's water, drove her temperature to the boiling point. Maybe inviting him to stay with her hadn't been such a bad idea after all. Outside, Portland fell into step beside Eadred. The full moon bathed the field in light. Had it not been for the humidity, it would have been a perfect summer night. They walked for about half a mile in comfortable silence before reaching the lake. In the middle was a small island with an old weeping willow tree. Eadred strode into the water without hesitation while Portland slipped off her shoes and lingered on the edge, water splashing her calves. The smooth rocks massaged the soles of her feet as the water cooled them. She watched Eadred swim. Floating on his back, he gazed up at the star-speckled sky. She wondered what he thought, how he felt. Though his powers of adaptation amazed her, she knew part of him must long for his old, familiar world. He swam closer to shore and stood, his skin glistening and moonlight casting shadows on his lean, muscled frame. "You don't want to swim?” he asked in his accented English.

"I'll stay here." "It's not cold." "I just don't feel like it.” That was a partial truth. The night was so hot, and he looked perfectly content lounging in the water like a merman from her most carnal dreams. As he approached, she folded her arms across her chest, as if she could defend herself against the raw masculinity that was luring her out of a year-long shell. "You don't like to swim?” he asked. "I'm not very good at it, and it's dark." "I won't let you drown.” His hands rested on her shoulders, sending a flash of warmth through her entire body. His hands slid down her arms and grasped her wrists, tugging her gently. She knew she should resist, but found herself stepping deeper into the black water, her gaze never moving from his. When the water reached her neck, she swam a little, enjoying the lake's coolness. Eadred swam close beside her, smiling when she glanced at him. She began to relax, until she tried standing and water closed over her head. Panic momentarily gripped her. She hadn't lied when she said she wasn't a very good swimmer. Eadred reached for her and tugged her against his chest. Unconsciously, she slid her arms around his neck. His body felt as hard as it looked, the skin of his neck and shoulders cool and smooth. Amusement shone in his eyes. It was then she realized he was standing. Apparently they weren't in as deep as she thought. Chastising herself for looking like an ass, she tried swimming away from him, but one of his arms slid gently around her waist. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her heart raced. What they hell were they doing? With his free hand, he brushed a wet strand of hair from her eyes and leaned his face closer to hers. His breath warmed her lips. Droplets of water clung to his dark eyelashes. He was going to kiss her, damn it, and she wanted him to! "Do you want to swim to the island?” he asked. She blinked dumbly before muttering, “Why not? Just stay close to me." "I intend to." His words made her belly flutter, but she tugged away from him as they swam toward the island. On the shore, they sat side by side, the branches of the weeping willow fanning them as they gazed at the moonlight dappling the lake. "I've lived here for years and never swam to this island,” she said. “I guess I didn't know what I was missing." "You like it?"

"Don't you?" "Yes." She stretched out on her back, her eyelids heavy. She must have been more tired than she realized. Glancing at Eadred from the corner of her eye, she noticed he looked as alert as he had in the morning yet retained an expression of calmness that was beginning to irritate her. Other than when he'd first awakened, he'd managed to keep an enviable hold on his emotions. He was completely alone in a foreign world, yet he obviously had no intention of allowing anyone to witness his vulnerability. Perhaps he really had none. He had been a soldier in the dark ages. Surely he'd seen enough horrors on the battlefield to have dulled any strong feelings that dwelled in a normal human being. She raised a hand to her mouth and yawned, her eyes slipping shut. She could rest for a moment or two. After all, they hadn't swum out there just to race back. She wondered if Smith and Jones were somewhere in the trees, spying on them.Probably was her last thought before she drifted off. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven Eadred glanced at the woman sleeping beside him and for the first time since awakening in the new world experienced a moment of peace. On the island in the middle of nowhere, it could have been a thousand years ago. The sky was clear, the water, fields, and trees seemed familiar. He lay on his side, close enough to touch her if he reached out a hand, but he didn't. Though she'd been kind enough to invite him into her home, he sensed apprehension in her that bordered on fear. He wasn't sure if her concerns were completely directed at him and sensed many secrets behind her lovely blue eyes. Perhaps one day she would confide in him. She turned in her sleep, her legs touching his, her face so close to his chest he felt the warmth of her breath and the tickle of strands of hair that had escaped from her bun. Placing an arm around her, he closed his eyes. The touch of another body was pleasant, comforting. For several moments he slept. When he awoke, he found himself gazing into Portland's eyes. Neither spoke nor moved. Finally, she slipped from his languid embrace and stood, brushing grass and dirt from her arms and legs. “We should go back to the house. We can come here again, if you want to." "I do." "My neighbor, a retired gentleman, has a rowboat he'd let us use. Maybe we could bring lunch." "And notebooks." "Notebooks?" "It's a nice place to study." "Yes.” She smiled. “That's a good idea. Tomorrow after Richard leaves, we'll come back here."

Without further conversation, they swam to shore. During the walk home, Eadred practiced English by pointing out objects they passed and asking for their names. Association was easier to comprehend than the books Portland had given him, though he knew in time books would be his most valuable source of learning. This society wrote down everything. Information about every subject was readily available. Adjusting wasn't easy, but there were things he liked about Portland's world. He only wished he could show her some things from his. He missed his children terribly and even felt guilty about the bit of fascination stirred within him about the new life he might build. If he'd known what had happened to them, how their lives had turned out, it might have been easier for him to accept a loss that seemed so sudden to him. He hoped they'd lived full, happy lives. He hoped his wife had found another husband who treated her well. Portland glanced at him. “What are you thinking about?" "It doesn't matter." "We haven't known each other very long, but I get the feeling you're withholding something." "Can a man not have privacy?" She glanced away, blushing in the moonlight. “I'm sorry. Whatever you're thinking is really none of my business." He shook his head, irritated with himself for such unintentional rudeness. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound—" "No. It wasn't you. I just thought you might feel better if you talk about whatever's bothering you." "It won't do any good. We can't change the past." She nodded, raising her chin to gaze into the distance. “We're almost home." Home. What would it take for him to build a new home for himself? Inside, they changed clothes again and met in the hallway. "Eadred, I'm a little tired. I'm going to bed." "Sleep well." She offered him a smile and turned back to her room. "My children,” he said before she closed the door. She paused and glanced back at him. “I think of my children often. I dream of them." She didn't speak, just embraced him. Her arms slid around his waist, her face resting against his chest. Finally she said, “No wonder you couldn't sleep." "It's stupid, really.” His voice was gruff with self-disgust.

"Why?” She tilted her face up to his. “You've lost everything and are stuck in a foreign place. Tell me the truth, Eadred, what do you think of it here? Do you think in time you can be happy?" He drew a deep breath and searched her face. “There are some things in this world that already make me happy." "I'm glad you feel that way." He nodded, offering her a slight smile, his fingertip tracing the shape of her mouth. “Good night, Portland." "Good night, Eadred." He waited until she closed the door to her room before retiring to his own. He opened the window and gazed at the moon. A warm breeze fanned his face, and the scent of flowers from the bushes below wafted inside, filling the room. Sometimes, on similar nights after guard duty and before falling asleep, he'd watch the moon and wonder what Sigyn and the children were doing. It was difficult to comprehend that they weren't alive somewhere. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. Instead of lying down, he wandered to the living room and turned on the television. Some of the words he recognized, but he still had so much to learn. He'd always been a very quick learner and possessed an excellent memory, so the language barrier didn't concern him—other parts of this world would be far more troublesome. He sensed most of the problems would surround Smith and Jones. He was glad they weren't staying in the house. When he spoke to them, he felt like he was imprisoned in an enemy camp. They asked questions constantly and treated his replies with skepticism. If he had been captured by a rival kingdom, he most likely would have lied or refused to speak at all. Now he had no reason to lie or withhold information. There was nothing left of the world he knew, no one worth protecting or no one to whom he could pledge loyalty. He picked up the remote control and switched channels. More half-dressed women. More cars. More packages of breakfast cereal. Actually, he didn't mind the cereal very much. It tasted pretty good. He'd learned that eggs, like red meat, could kill you too. At least according to Portland. Once he'd mastered more English, he'd have to ask Richard about it. "Eadred?” Portland, dressed in rose-colored shorts and a matching sleeveless top, her hair disheveled and her feet bare, descended the steps. "Did I wake you up?" "No. I couldn't sleep very well, either.” She sat beside him on the couch and watched as he flipped the channels. Grasping the control, she turned back to a black and white movie. “Wait there! It's an old horror movie." "Horror movie?" "Yeah. You watch it to get scared." "Why?" "Because it's fun to be scared."

"Then go into battle with a few thousand men charging each other with maces, swords, and axes." She cast him an incredulous look. “I didn't say I was crazy." "It's a man-wolf.” Eadred grinned as the actor on the screen transformed. “How do they do that? It looks real." "And this is an old movie. Wait until you see a modern one. I'm dying to see what you think of spaceship—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I'm sorry. That was so dumb of me." "It's all right. I saw those on television in the hospital. They're not so different from the black disk." "You don't remember what it was like inside the ship, Eadred?" She looked so interested he was tempted to make up a story to amuse her, but opted for the truth. “I remember nothing of it. I lost consciousness soon after seeing the disk." "You must have been afraid." "Not really. I wasn't feeling well at all. I thought I was dying. Sometimes I think it might have been better if I had." She touched his forearm as they continued watching the movie in silence. Covering her mouth, she yawned and leaned back in the seat. She drifted to sleep with her head on his shoulder. By the time the movie ended, he felt sleepy too, and clicked off the television. He stretched out on the couch, still holding her. She shifted position slightly so that their legs entwined, her body half draped over his. The couch felt pleasantly crowded as he joined her in sleep. **** "What the hell is that?” Portland rubbed sleep from her eyes and pushed herself off the couch. Eadred was already on his feet and looking out the window while the pounding on the front door continued. By the look of him, he'd been up for a while. His hair was freshly washed, and he held a cup of coffee in one hand. He wore jeans, and to her visual pleasure, no shirt. God, I could get used to this.Her gaze swept his torso. Suddenly she felt conspicuous, having just awakened and needing a shower, her toothbrush, and about a case full of makeup. She bolted up the stairs. "Where are you going?” Eadred shouted after her. “Richard's here." "Then let him in! I need to dress." He muttered to himself about not understanding the female sex. Moments later, Richard's voice—as well as a voice she didn't recognize—joined his in conversation. She washed quickly, applied some light makeup, and pulled an emerald green sleeveless sun dress over her head. Slipping on sandals, she hurried to the kitchen where Eadred, Richard, and a slight man of late middle age with balding red hair sat at the table drinking coffee. The way the stranger stared at Eadred with blatant curiosity annoyed Portland. She could only imagine how Eadred felt. Still, he wore his usual calm expression.

"Hey, Portland.” Richard lifted his mug to her. “I'd like you to meet Paul Stevens, dean of our university. He's the only other person besides my assistant who knows about Eadred and he flew out to meet him." Portland greeted Stevens, who nodded in her direction. He began speaking to Eadred in Latin. While his command of the language was good, it wasn't as conversational as Portland's. Eadred made no reply, except to stare at Stevens as belligerently as the dean watched him. "I thought you said he spoke, Richard?” Stevens turned to the archaeologist. "He does. I don't know what's wrong with him. Portland, what's going on?" "Well, you just asked him about thirty questions at once, and most of them were what I'd consider personal.” She approached the counter, about to pour herself coffee. Eadred stood and did it for her, catching her gaze and motioning toward Stevens with a disgusted look. "But you're sure he understands me?” Stevens pressed. "Maybe he doesn't feel like talking." "Doesn't feel like talking!” Stevens bellowed. “If it wasn't for a project funded by my university, he'd still be frozen in ice drifting north somewhere." Richard raised a finger as if to say,I had something to do with finding him, you know, but Stevens ignored him and continued, “I just want a few basic answers." "Maybe we should ease up,” Richard suggested. "I don't understand you or that little fool Jake Phillips. He blurts the whole story to the papers without having the authority to do so, then disappears." "Who?” Portland asked. "My assistant,” Richard explained. “He didn't show up for a scheduled appointment. I tried calling him several times, but he's disappeared." "But he is the one who leaked Eadred's story to the press?" "Yes. And when he does show his face again, he's out of a job,” Stevens said. The doorbell rang. Together Portland and Eadred went to answer it. Portland squinted through the peephole and sighed, glancing at Eadred. “It's Smith and Jones." "Just what we need,” he muttered. “At least now I can talk to them all at once." "What's it like being so popular?” She smiled in an attempt to make light of the situation before she opened the door. The agents brushed past her toward the kitchen. "And good morning to you too.” Portland saluted after them.

"What are you doing here?” Jones demanded of Richard and Dean Stevens. “We're trying to be as discreet as possible. We don't want to draw a lot of attention to this house." "Look, he's our discovery.” Stevens stood, his short, slender frame dwarfed by the agents. “Our university spent a lot of money transporting him here, thawing him, and paying for the hospital stay. We're paying for his upkeep—" "Upkeep?” Eadred said in English, causing the entire room to fall silent and stare at him. “Am I a dog?" "I thought he didn't speak any English?” Stevens said. "So did we.” Jones narrowed his eyes. "He learns fast,” Portland said. “Don't speak too quickly, and he might understand some of what you're saying." "But it's only been two days!” Richard exclaimed. Portland shrugged. “So he has an excellent memory." "Amazing.” Stevens approached Eadred, craning his neck to meet the Viking's gaze. “Unbelievable. He's going to be worth a fortune." Eadred glanced at Portland for translation. Though he was able to decipher basic ideas, he still needed a stronger grasp of the language. "They want to make money off you,” she said simply. "Like a slave?” His eyes sparked with fury. "No, not a slave.” Stevens placed a hand on his shoulder, but Eadred shrugged it off. “Look, Eadred, you're going to need help adjusting to this world. The university is willing to pay for you, and we just want some information from you in return." "No one's getting anything from him until we hear from our superiors about what's to be done with him,” Smith stated. “Right now, we need discretion. Having you two from the University around doesn't help. What if someone tracks you here? We'll have a herd of reporters on our hands as well as every freak who wants to believe spacemen have landed." "Well, they obviously landed at some point,” Richard said. "But no one has to know that!” Smith said. "Yet,” Jones added, casting his partner an annoyed look. “All I'm saying is, wait until some of this blows over. Then you can resume your studies." Stevens's lip curled. “Fine. But we won't wait long. This project is costing our university top dollar, and we're going to have to show some results to justify that kind of spending." "We'll go.” Richard stood, tugging car keys from his pocket. Grudgingly, Stevens agreed. On his way out the door, Richard whispered to Portland, “I'll call you two later."

The archaeologist and Stevens left. Only Smith and Jones remained. "We'll be next door,” Smith told them. "Oh, and remember, we have you under twenty-four-hour watch. Everywhere you go, we're there." "That includes your jaunts to the lake,” Smith said as the agents headed for the door. “Have a nice day." Portland bit her cheek to keep from clobbering Smith. The door closed, and she leaned against it, her jaw set in anger. Eadred stood in the kitchen entrance, both hands curved around the coffee mug, a spiral of brown hair dangling over one eye. He shook his head. “It seems people are as annoying now as they were in my time." "I don't think that part of human nature will ever change. I have some orders to complete this morning, Eadred, but this afternoon we can visit my neighbor and see about the boat. Maybe we can have dinner on the island?" "In the meantime, I'll replenish your wood supply. You have little stacked behind your house." "Just a few logs from last year. I didn't use the fire as much as I'd have liked. But, Eadred, we can always buy wood. You don't have to bother cutting it." "It would be cheaper for you and give me something to do. If all I do is sit around and eat your food, I'll be fat as an ox." "Then be my guest. There's an ax in the shed outside." He nodded and reached for one of his T-shirts tossed over the back of the couch from the night before. Tugging it over his head, he left through the back door in the kitchen. Portland sighed and watched through the window above the sink as he headed across the field toward the wood. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was make jewelry, but upon checking her computer when she'd gotten home last night, she'd found several new orders in her email. She jogged downstairs, gathered her tools, and sat at the table. For the next several hours, she snipped, bent wires, strung beads, and adjusted clasps. When she finally sat back in her chair and stretched her fingers, two beautiful silver and tigereye necklace, bracelet, and earring sets lay before her. Deciding a break was in order, if just to drop in on her handsome woodcutter, she went to the kitchen, prepared a thermos of lemonade, and headed for the woods. As she neared, she followed the sound of chopping and paused in the clearing where Eadred split logs. Her heartbeat quickened and her body heated from more than just the humid weather. Wearing only his jeans and boots, dirty from his work, Eadred swung the ax with strength and precision. Each movement incited a sensual play of muscles beneath his sweat-slicked skin. His hair clung to his neck and arms in damp spirals. Portland swallowed, her throat dry. She really needed a drink of that lemonade! "Eadred,” she called.

He paused in mid-swing, glanced at her, and smiled. “Hello. Are you finished work?" "Not yet. Just taking a break. I thought you might want a drink?" He placed the ax aside and approached, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. “Good guess." She poured lemonade into two plastic cups and offered him one. His hot, moist fingertips brushed hers as he took it, and her pulse leapt. It struck her how much she wanted to sleep with him. To her, a woman who'd always dreamed of warriors of old, he was like a fantasy come true. She sipped her drink and watched him gulp his. His Adam's apple moved sensually in his throat as he swallowed. Rivulets of sweat trickled down his lean chest lightly dusted with hair. He emptied the cup and poured a refill, drinking the next one more slowly. Taking a sip, he rested one foot on the log he'd used as a chopping block. "Portland, I've been thinking about what you said about education. Once I master English, I'd like to go to school." "Excellent idea. You learn so fast, there's nothing you can't do." "I'm going to need a job." "You're going to need citizenship,” she pondered aloud, chewing her lower lip between her teeth. “Smith and Jones mentioned it, but I'll remind them about it. See exactly what the government is planning for you." "I don't trust them,” he said. "I don't either, but unfortunately they're in charge." A hint of anger flashed across his eyes, but dissipated along with the remainder of the lemonade which he finished in a long sip and handed the cup to her. He picked up the ax and placed another piece of wood on the block. She watched him for several moments. When she felt she couldn't look at his powerful, perfect body for another moment without attacking him in a carnal frenzy, she trudged back to the house. The house! He was living with her! How in the world was she going to keep her hands off him indefinitely? Portland walked to the back door and pushed open the screen. Stepping inside, she placed the thermos and cups on the countertop. "So who the hell is he?" Portland spun, her heart pounding with fright at the sound of a voice she'd hoped to never hear again. Cort Dunner's tall, thickly-muscled form filled the doorway. His arms folded across his broad chest, he glowered down at her, fury glistening in his pale blue eyes. A black tank top scarcely covered his athletic torso. His long legs were encased in jeans. Clean, black leather boots covered his feet. Blond hair was styled around his classical features. Cort was handsome, well-groomed, and smelled of expensive cologne. His appearance had attracted Portland the night they'd met at the club she'd agreed to

accompany Ann and some friends to. She'd gone across the street and shared dinner with him. By the end of the evening, she'd realized he was a shallow egomaniac and simply not for her. When he'd asked her for a second date, she'd politely refused. Cort wasn't accustomed to refusal. For some reason, he wanted Portland and wouldn't take no for an answer. She could only guess he'd learned where she lived by following her home that night. The next day, he rang her bell and asked her to lunch. Again she refused. Then the phone calls began. He called so much she had her number changed to a private listing. He lingered around her home every evening until she called the police. One evening, he forced his way inside. When he tried to push himself on her, she fought him, but Cort was a martial artist and had won tournaments worldwide. Though Portland was a strong woman who worked out often, her fighting experience was limited to punching matches with Ann when they had been teenagers arguing over who hogged the most space in the room they shared. She'd managed to convince Cort to leave, promising to consider dating him again. The following day, she'd hired a lawyer and filed for a restraining order against him. She'd also taken self-defense classes. Still, Cort Dunner terrified her. Though she'd gotten the restraining order over a year ago, it was only recently that she'd been able to sleep at night without worrying that he'd show up at her door. "I said,” Cort strode across the room and grasped her shoulders hard, “who is he?" "Get your hands off me!” she snarled, jabbing her knee at his groin. He shifted his stance so she caught him in the thigh instead. He grinned wickedly and shoved her into the counter. “You wouldn't give me the time of day when I asked you out, but you have somebody else living here. Don't bother denying it! I saw him." "I don't owe you any explanations! If you don't get out of this house, you're going to jail!" "You women are all so full of shit. You fucking little slut. Why the hell am I even wasting my time with you?" "So there's the door!” She pointed. "I didn't come here to listen to your mouth!” His hand cracked across her face. Portland tasted blood from her split lip. She reached for the thermos and flung it at him. “Get the hell out of my house!" "Not until you give me some of what you're giving him.” Cort unbuckled his belt and Portland glanced at the knife soaking in her sink. The screen door nearly flew off the hinges as Eadred burst inside. He grasped Cort's shoulders, but the martial artist rammed his elbow backward into Eadred's stomach and spun, back-fisting him across the face. Blood splattered onto the while cabinets. Portland screamed. "Cort, stop it!" "Think you're going to have my woman?” Cort growled, his leg snapping out in a powerful kick that landed square in Eadred's stomach, knocking the Viking into the wall. Blood leaked from Eadred's lips onto his chest. Red drops splashed on the floor. “I'll kick the shit out of you!"

Portland reached for a heavy steel pot and raised it above her head, but before she could strike Cort, Eadred attacked him. Cort blocked his punches and jabbed. To Portland's relief, Eadred dodged the blows from Cort's fists as well as his feet. She knew Cort's reputation in the ring, but had almost forgotten Eadred was a professional soldier trained in a time when the main means of fighting had been hand-to-hand combat. He might not be a martial artist, but he was accustomed to fists and steel flying in his face at close range. Smith lunged through the door, Jones behind him, their weapons drawn. The agents bellowed for the fighting to stop. As Smith opened the screen, Cort punched him in the face, knocking him backward down the stairs. Jones jumped out of the way, clinging to the railing. Cort's leg shot out, his foot level with Eadred's face. Eadred caught the leg and kicked Cort's knee. The sound of cracking bone echoed in the room. Cort screamed with pain. "You son of a bitch!” Cort snarled, clutching his leg from where he lay on the floor. “You busted my leg!" Eadred kicked him in the face. Cort sprawled unconscious on the tile. "That's it!” Jones aimed his gun at Eadred. “Back off." "It wasn't his fault!” Portland stepped in front of Eadred. She pointed at Cort. “I have a restraining order against this guy! He broke into my house!" Jones glanced at Cort, then at Smith, who stumbled inside, limping. "Cops are on their way,” Smith said. “What the hell was going on in here?" Portland wet a dish towel in the sink and held it to Eadred's mouth. He gently ran his finger across her bleeding lip. “Are you all right?" "I'm fine,” she replied. "Well this jackass won't be!” Jones squatted beside Cort. “He's not only in trouble because of going against the restraining order, but because he got in our way. As soon as the cops come, I'm taking Smith to the ER. Do you both want to get checked out too?" Portland shook her head and translated for Eadred, who also refused. His split lip had nearly stopped bleeding, and he didn't seem in the least upset about a fight that left Portland trembling. She glanced at Smith who sat in a chair, examining an ankle that swelled by the second. She brought him an ice pack. “Looks like you might have broken it." "Damn!” he hissed. “You better tell us exactly what happened." Portland explained. By the time she'd finished, the police had arrived to take Cort away. The agents explained to them that Portland could be questioned, but Eadred was part of a case that couldn't be discussed. Though the police didn't seem pleased by the agents’ interference, they left the house quietly and without approaching Eadred.

"You two try to stay out of trouble until we get back,” Jones said as he and Smith left. Once they were alone, Portland turned to Eadred. “Thank you so much for helping me." "Was that the man you'd told me about?" "Yes." "He's not much of a man." "You're right about that, but not too many people could have gotten the better of him like you did. He fights for a living." "He's a soldier?" "No, he fights in a ring for money. He's an expert in what we call karate." "I thought his method of fighting seemed strange, but it does have advantages. Where can I learn more about this karate?" She smiled. “How did I know that would interest you? We can look at some schools this week." If Cort was a champion, imagine what Eadred would be like if he began studying martial arts? She grinned to think about it. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight No sooner had the agents pulled out of the driveway than Portland suggested visiting her neighbor to ask if they could borrow the boat. "That is, if you feel up to it after that fight." He raised an eyebrow. “What fight? A little scuffle like that's nothing. Just good practice." She shook her head. “Some things about you are going to take some getting used to. Fighting isn't commonplace anymore, Eadred, at least not in our town." "If Cort is any indication of what your town is like, I suggest you take another look around." "He is an exception, but I get the feeling what happened here today will do more to keep him away from me than the restraining order ever did. Thank you again.” She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. He hugged her, enjoying the warmth of her body pressed against his. Last night, with her in his arms, he'd slept better than he could've imagined, not once plagued by nightmares of his past. "Let's go,” she said. “And this time I'm locking the door behind me."

"A wise idea." Together they stepped outside and walked across the fields toward her nearest neighbor's farmhouse half a mile away. She slipped her hand into his. The closeness between them seemed natural, even though they'd only known each other a brief time. A short rock wall confined her neighbor's cows, so she and Eadred climbed it and headed for the house behind the tall brown barn. The cows paused in their grazing to glance at them. They looked much different from the cows Eadred remembered. At the house, an elderly man sat on the porch listening to a radio perched on the windowsill. A shaggy gray dog snoozed at his feet. The animal lifted its head as Eadred and Portland approached. "Hello! How are you, honey?” The man smiled, extending his hand to Portland who grasped it with a smile. "Hi, Pete. I'd like you to meet my friend Eadred. He doesn't speak much English." "Nice to meet you.” Pete pumped Eadred's hand. “Ain't from America, eh?" "I'm from Denmark,” Eadred told him. Portland nodded her approval at his English. He was doing well, yet he wished he could pick up more words faster. “Pleased to meet you." "We were wondering if we could borrow your rowboat to have dinner on the island?” Portland asked. "Of course. Glad to let you use it. If this young man of yours will load it on the truck, I'll be glad to give you all a lift to your house." "That would be great, Pete. Thanks." "You know, I've been meaning to clean up that boat—” Pete stopped as a crash sounded from the barn. He jumped to his feet and ambled down the steps, the old dog plodding at his heels. “Gosh darn stallion! I never should have taken him!" "What stallion?” Portland called as she and Eadred hurried after Pete. As the three rushed to the barn, Pete explained, “You know how my oldest boy raises horses for a living out there in the Midwest? Well, a few months ago, he told me about this horse he bought but had to get rid of because the animal couldn't get along with anything else in the stable. He said it was a darn shame because if he had more time to spend training the animal, he could probably break him of the bad habits. Just so happens, several of his hands quit and moved out of state and he didn't have extra time to spend with the stallion. Like a fool, I said to ship the horse out here. I didn't want to believe I'm just too old to handle a horse like that." They'd reached the stable and found one of the stalls kicked in. A sleek blood bay stallion loped around, unconfined. "He's beautiful,” Portland said. "Just stay out of his way. One minute he's calm, the next he's kicking like a riled up zebra. I just—Hey!

Be careful there, Eadred." The Viking approached the stallion slowly but with confidence. The horse watched him with wary eyes, moving away as Eadred approached. He spoke softly to the animal in his own language, the version of Danish even Portland couldn't quite comprehend. His hand slipped inside the stallion's halter. After a brief struggle, the horse followed Eadred into one of the empty stalls. "Not bad.” Pete folded his arms across his chest. “You must have worked with horses." Portland grinned. “Oh, where he comes from horses are more common than cars." Eadred closed the stall door and stroked the horse's neck before turning to his companions. “This is a magnificent horse." "If I thought you'd take it, I'd offer you a job helping me out with him,” Pete said. “But I'm sure you have much more important things to do." Portland translated the offer to Eadred who said, “I'd like that." Pete's eyes widened. “You sure? I can't pay much." "He's in a precarious situation right now,” Portland explained. “A part-time job would be perfect for him." "Well then, consider yourself hired.” Pete grasped Eadred's hand and shook it. Eadred agreed to come by the farm each morning and every evening to look after the blood bay and train him as a riding horse. Pete would pay him a weekly cash fee. After leaving the stable, they retrieved the rowboat from Pete's shed and loaded it into the old man's pickup. Then the three piled into the front seat. Eadred's big-boned frame and long limbs took up so much space, Portland felt squished in the middle of the two men. Pete whistled from where he drove, wedged close to the door. “How tall are you, fella?" "He's six-three-and-a-half,” Portland replied, lifting Eadred's arm and placing it around her shoulder to make more room, “and lanky." Pete dropped them off at the house and politely refused Portland's offer to stay for lunch, as his brother and sister-in-law from Boston were due to arrive any time for a visit. "Keep the boat for as long as you want to.” Pete waved to them out the window of the truck. “I don't use it much anymore." "See you in the morning,” Eadred said. "Let's pack some food, grab our bathing suits, and go to the island,” Portland said. The idea of the outing excited her. Just being with Eadred thrilled her. She wondered if he felt the same. Most likely any attachment he felt for her was because she was the most familiar person to him in a new world, but she

hoped once he grew accustomed to his surroundings, he'd still care for her. No. I want more than for him to care for me. I want him to be attracted to me. In the house, Eadred made sandwiches while Portland stirred up a fresh thermos of lemonade. She popped a bag of microwave popcorn and poured it into a plastic container, then filled her cooler with the sandwiches, two slices of chocolate cake, and several pieces of fruit. "I haven't been on a picnic since I was a kid,” she said. "Picnic. I like that word." She gazed at him through her lashes. “Why am I not surprised?" Together they placed the food in the boat along with two towels, a blanket for their picnic, and Eadred's English books. "Don't you ever get tired of studying?” she asked. "I want to master English." "Overnight?" "If possible." "Well it's not, but I admire your energy." Eadred grasped the rope attached to the front of the boat and dragged it as they walked to the lake. Once in the water, Portland sat opposite Eadred and watched the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he rowed. He had such powerful arms, the muscles so well-defined. They felt so good around her. Once on the island, she planned to find a way to get herself wrapped in those arms again. It didn't take much. No sooner had they dragged the boat onto the island than he took a book in one hand, her hand in the other, and tugged her beneath the willow tree. With his back braced against the trunk, he placed an arm around her, holding her close as he balanced the open book on his knees. "Aren't you hungry?” she asked. "Let me read another page first." She cuddled closer to his chest. “Go ahead." As he read, she corrected wrong pronunciations and explained unknown words and phrases. At the end, she quizzed him and was again impressed with his memory. "Have you always learned so quickly, Eadred?" "Yes." "You're lucky."

"I want to kiss you." She paused, staring into his eyes. “What?" "Did I say it wrong? I want to kiss you." "No, it's just ... I'm not sure what to say." He reverted to Latin. “I meant no offense, and it's not because we slept together last night." "About that. I know I must have seemed forward, but—" "You need not explain. I can tell you are a woman of virtue." She smiled. “That doesn't matter much anymore—in this time, I mean." "It matters to me. When I look into your eyes, I see intelligence and kindness, but you are also beautiful. I believe a man would be a fool not to want you and an even bigger fool to mistreat you, as that man Cort did. If Jones had not turned his weapon on me, I would have killed Cort for his conduct. In my world, I would have anyway." "We can't just kill like that, Eadred." "He had no right to touch you." "No, he didn't." "As long as I'm with you, Portland, you will be protected." Her heart fluttered. It was like meeting an actual knight in shining armor—or a Viking in shining chain mail. "Well, most women in my time will never get a promise like that." "And I won't ever insult you by forcing my desires on you. Right now, I have nothing to offer a woman, but that will change. I will make my way in this world, and then I will ask you to kiss me." "But I thought you just asked?" "I said I wanted to. That is different." Her pulse leapt as she edged even closer to him. “I'd rather have you kiss me now." His lips curved upward slightly as he cupped her face in his hand, his thumb stroking her lips before his mouth covered hers. Portland closed her eyes and buried her fingers in the sun-warmed curls at his nape. His soft, firm lips were a gentle pressure against hers. His mouth opened slightly. His tongue traced the shape of her lips, explored her mouth. Unable to control the pleasured sound that escaped her throat, Portland melted against him. His arms slid around her, his palms open against her back, pressing her close. With her

breasts crushed against his chest, she felt his heart pounding, or was it hers? Once he'd thoroughly tasted every corner of her mouth, his lips trailed across her cheek and along her neck. Brushing the strap of her tank top down her arm, he buried his lips in the hollow of her shoulder. "Eadred,” she whispered, her arms tightening around him. Lost in sensation, she wondered if she'd ever open her eyes again. He slid the strap back up her shoulder and pulled away. Opening her eyes a crack, she watched him, noting the fullness of his kiss-swollen lips and the rise and fall of his chest as he regained control of his breathing. Portland tingled from head to toe. Her pulse raced. The fresh, marvelous, masculine scent of him filled her senses and she longed for another kiss. Somehow, her voice remained steady as she asked, “Are you hungry now?" He nodded. As she stood on weak legs to retrieve the food from the cooler, he grasped her upper arm and pulled her to him for another quick kiss. "I don't know what it is about you, Portland, but I feel like I've always known you." "Do you believe in love at first sight?” Though dying to hear his answer, she scolded herself for asking such a silly question. "Not until I woke up three days ago." A flush of pleasure crept into her face. Moistening lips that had suddenly gone dry, she pulled away and began unpacking the cooler. They ate under the shade of the tree then opted for a swim. "Wait.” She grasped his wrist before he waded in. She tugged him back to the blanket and pulled out a tube of sunscreen from her beach bag. “You have to use this when you go in the sun." "What is it?" She squeezed the white lotion into her hand and rubbed her palms together. When she reached for his face, he caught her wrists. "Eadred, the sun is bad for your skin." "I suppose you're going to tell me the sun can kill you too?" "If you don't protect your skin, it's possible." "Everyone I ever knew spent their lives in the sun,” he muttered, but let her smooth the lotion over his face. She ran her fingertip down the length of his nose, causing his eyes to cross as he followed the motion. She giggled and said, “You have such a nice nose. Looks like a nose job." "Huh?"

"I'll explain it later. Here, put this on.” After squeezing lotion for herself, she passed him the bottle. She rubbed it over her shoulders, arms, and legs. He did the same, though he paid more attention to her body than to where he applied sunscreen to his. She had to admit she wished it was her hands running all over those gorgeous arms and that perfect chest. "Turn around,” she said, “I'll get your back." A half smile on his face, he obeyed. The hot day seemed to jump up ten more degrees as she rubbed the sunscreen across his shoulders, squeezing the solid muscles beneath smooth skin. Her palms slid down his back and over his ribs. He glanced over his shoulder. “Your turn." Her heart pounded as she turned her back to him. The sensation of his hand sweeping her hair from her nape made her giddy inside. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the sensation of his large, rough palms, slick with lotion, running over her back. After several moments, his arms slid around her waist, pressing her body to his. "Back in my time, there's a name for what we're doing.” He spoke close to her ear, his breath warm against her face. A shiver of desire ran down her spine. "Really?” she murmured, caressing his forearms that were folded just beneath her breasts. “And what is that?" "From what I've learned, the word can be translated as foreplay.” His lips brushed her shoulder. His tongue tickled the sensitive flesh behind her ear. Sighing with pleasure, she leaned into his chest. “I thought you wanted to go swimming?" He dropped a final kiss on her shoulder. “Cold water's a good idea right about now." She couldn't suppress her smile as he released her and walked into the water. If anyone had told her a week ago that she'd be falling in love with a gorgeous man from the tenth century, she'd have thought they were playing her for a fool. Perhaps she was being a fool, but she didn't care. Spending time with Eadred was just too wonderful. It was dusk when they returned to the house, dragging the boat behind them. "I hate all the bugs out at this time of night!” Portland ran for the back door as soon as the house came into view. "Why do women hate bugs?” he shouted after her. "Men must hate them too, but you think ignoring them makes you look more manly." He flashed her one of his rare smiles. “I don't have to try to look manly. I am." "I won't argue with that.” She glanced through the screen door at his sleek body, still wet from the lake,

dressed only in shorts. The phone rang. While Eadred gathered their belongings from the boat, Portland picked up the receiver. “Hello?" "Thought you two were going to spend the night on that island,” Smith's voice sounded on the line. "Not that it's any of your business." "You're wrong there, honey." "Oh, I keep forgetting we're under scrutiny, sugar.” The endearment dripped sarcasm. “By the way, Eadred's going to help one of my neighbors with his horse, so he'll be gone for a few hours every morning and every night before dinner." "Did we not tell you to keep him hidden?” Smith roared. “What is your problem, lady?" "How long do you want to keep him cooped up in this house? He's a person, not a—" "I suppose you told this neighbor of yours the whole story about where he came from?" "No. He thinks Eadred's visiting from Europe. What's wrong with that?" "It should be all right,” Jones said. Portland shouldn't have been surprised to discover he was listening on another line. “Is it that old man up the street? Pete Dawson?" "Have you guys already checked out the whole state of Vermont?” Portland didn't try to control her disgust. "No. Only the people who might have contact with you,” Jones continued. “Oh, and I thought you might like to know you don't have to worry about that guy Cort. He's going away for a very long time. Not only that, Eadred did a nice job on his leg. He won't ever be able to compete professionally again, so his martial arts career is over. At least in the ring." Portland couldn't suppress her smile. After all the sleepless nights she'd spent worrying about Cort's threats, she had a right to feel relieved. It wasn't often a man like that actually got what he deserved. She hung up the phone just as Eadred stepped inside, dumping the cooler and her beach bag on the table. Smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you." "For what?" "Being you." He hugged her close before they walked to the living room, his arm draped over her shoulder. They sat on the couch and listened to her phone messages. Ann had called, and Richard too. He planned to visit tomorrow. "He means he wants to ask more questions,” Eadred said.

"Do you mind?" "No, not really. His profession interests me. I like the idea of discovering the past, especially since it's really not the past to me." "Do you—” She paused, unsure of how to ask for what she wanted without ruining his illusions of her virtue. Was she crazy? She was a modern woman. Things like virtue didn't matter much nowadays, but strangely, it did to her. She'd always considered herself decent. Prudish, Ann often called her. Still, Portland had very definite ideas about what she wanted in a man. She liked the idea of marriage to one man she adored, taking care of a home, and having his babies. “Do you want to sleep alone tonight?" His gaze fixed on hers. She saw none of the male ego and amusement she'd have expected from most men, but Eadred wasn't like most men. If he was, she never would have asked such a question in the first place. Cupping the back of her neck in one hand, he kissed her forehead and lips. "Is that a no?” she murmured as his mouth roamed over her throat and shoulder. "Let's go upstairs." He stood, her hand in his, and gently tugged her to her feet. She rose, her heart pounding. Suddenly her feet refused to move. She didn't know him well enough. They'd just met. He was a stranger in her world, vulnerable and ignorant of— In a fluid motion, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. His soft, moist lips opened and hers mimicked the action. His tongue sought hers, tasting and stroking her with more tenderness than she'd ever imagined. He broke the kiss only long enough to carry her up the steps to her room where he placed her on the bed. As he gazed into her eyes, he stroked her bare arms with his fingertips. Portland's heart throbbed, overcome by feelings more wonderful than she'd ever thought possible. Neither spoke but communicated by look and touch, knowing at that moment, words would destroy the delicate cloak of perfection that sheltered them from past and future. Only the present matters,Portland thought.Now. Right now. Eadred gazed at Portland as he caressed her face and traced her hairline with a fingertip. Her blue eyes fixed on his and she swallowed. He sensed her desire, but also her apprehension. If Cort was any indication of the sort of men she was accustomed to, he was surprised she trusted him at all, let alone invited him into her house. Violent, greedy men were apparently as prevalent in her time as they had been in his. Cort reminded him of Olaf and many of the other mercenaries he'd sailed with. They'd taken as much pleasure in terrorizing as in collecting riches and goods. Eadred had fought, but rarely enjoyed seeing blood spilled. Then why didn't you become a farmer? You wouldn't have blood on your hands, and you'd have spent the rest of your life with your family. You never would have met the little man or been abducted in the black disk—UFO, or whatever Smith and Jones called it. He lowered his face to Portland's, wanting to taste her again and bury himself in her soft, warm body. For a few moments he could lose himself in sensation and forget the pain that slashed his soul every time he thought about his children. How could he even consider sleeping with a woman when he'd just lost his

family? To the world, they had been dead for a thousand years, but to him it was just a few days ago. How could he think about bodily pleasure? "Eadred.” She took his face in her hands. “I like you more than any man I've ever known, but this seems so fast." He nodded. “I understand. I was just wondering how I could desire you so much while I'm mourning my family." "Your wife.” She closed her eyes. “I'm sorry. I don't want to rush either of us." "Portland.” He settled onto the bed beside her and gathered her against his chest. “I cared very much for Sigyn. We were good friends, but I never felt for her the way so many men describe the excitement of their lovers. I know she felt the same. I won't lie and say I don't miss her. She was a good woman and will always have a place in my heart, but—" "What?" "It's my children. If I think of them, I sometimes wonder if I can ever grieve enough. It must seem like madness to you, after a thousand years." "Of course it doesn't seem like madness. They were your family. You loved them.” She lifted her head to face him. “Eadred, I don't think either of us are ready to consummate this relationship." "My body is ready.” He smiled tenderly, his fingers brushing the tops of her breasts above the neckline of her black tank top. “But maybe my mind has yet to be freed." "Will you still sleep with me tonight?" "I hoped you'd ask.” He closed his eyes and embraced her as she cuddled against his chest. A sexual relationship between them was inevitable, but not tonight. Tonight, like last night, he wanted the comfort of her presence. He sensed she wanted the same. He hadn't lied when he said he'd cared for his wife, but there had never been passion between them, even in their most private moments, nor had he ever bared his soul to her as he so often found himself doing with Portland. "What are you thinking, Eadred?” Her legs entwined with his as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. "That I've never felt for a woman how I feel for you. Meeting you has made my existence in this world not just endurable, but pleasurable. I just wish you could have known my sons and daughter. I guess I'm greedy, but I want all of you." "You're not greedy.” She squeezed his hand. “Just human. I admire how well you've adapted. Many people wouldn't have been so strong." He uttered a wry laugh. “Not that I've had much choice." "We choose how to handle our lives every moment." "That's one idea."

"Eadred, not that I'm suggesting your family could ever be replaced, but would you consider starting another one in this world?" He drew a deep breath. In truth, he hadn't thought about having more children, not when his mind still mourned the ones who'd slipped through the fingers of time. Eventually, his grief would be more manageable. He'd endured enough hardships in the past. He and Sigyn had even lost children before. One day, life would truly begin again for him. The past would always be a part of him and old love would never fade. He let himself consider it and felt a fresh spark of love for the woman in his arms. “Yes, with the right woman, I would consider it." She nodded against his shoulder before they both fell into a light sleep, each pondering their own thoughts. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine When Eadred returned from Pete's farm, Portland stopped her jewelry making for a late morning coffee break. "How did it go?” she asked. "Fine. The horse only threw me twice." She raised an eyebrow. “It's safe to guess you're all right?" "Fine. It will take patience, but he'll be a good horse. I wish my cousin Svein was here. He was the best horse trainer in the village." As he washed his hands in the sink, she slid her arms around his waist. “Good morning, by the way." "You mean good afternoon." Not bothering to dry his hands, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Her eyes slipped shut and she stood on tiptoe to better reach him, her fingers sifting through his hair. "Okay, break it up!” Richard said as he strode into the kitchen, clapping his hands. Portland tried to pull away, but Eadred held her for another moment, staring into her eyes. “When did he get here?" "Half an hour ago." "Ready to talk more?” Richard asked. "Do I have a choice?” Eadred asked. The archaeologist's eyes widened. “Hey, your English is getting pretty good. How have you managed to pick it up so fast? I wonder if something was done to you on the UFO?"

"No. I always learned fast.” Eadred sat at the table. "I understand you have a job?" "Not really much of a job, but it is better than sitting here answering questions all day." "You should appreciate the opportunity to practice English." Eadred nodded. “True." "In a couple of months a Viking exhibition is coming to the art museum. Most of it is a result of my research. I thought you and Portland might like to see it." "I would,” Eadred said. “Very much." "As long as it's all right with Smith and Jones,” Portland said. Richard looked uncomfortable at the mention of the agents. Portland sensed he was about to speak. Instead, he shook his head and said to Eadred, “Are you picking up writing as fast as speaking?" "Why?" "I thought you might keep a journal for us." "Why? I tell you everything." "Yes, but if you miss something—" "If he's going to write a book for you, maybe we should get a lawyer to discuss his legal rights." Richard shot Portland an annoyed look. “If anyone's writing a book around here, it's going to be me. And besides, he's completely in the care of the university." "I've asked Smith and Jones about getting him citizenship, like they had mentioned. That way he can go to school, get a real job—" "What the hell is he? The world's oldest teenager?" "You'd prefer I remain your creature?” Eadred's gaze fixed on Richard. Again the archaeologist looked uncomfortable. “That's not what I meant. I realize you want to make a life for yourself.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sounded pretty selfish a second ago, didn't I?" Portland nodded. "I'm not saying I don't want to write about everything I've learned from you, Eadred, but I'd like to be your friend. I'll do everything I can to help you adjust." "Thank you."

"So what did Smith and Jones say about making him a citizen?" "They're working on it.” Portland folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I'd like to know what the government plans on doing with him if they don't let him become a citizen." "Not only that, when are they going to let the university come forward with Eadred's story? And another thing I'm worried about is my missing assistant." "Any word on him at all?” Portland asked. "None, but I know he wouldn't just disappear on his own—not after we just discovered Eadred." Eadred exchanged glances with Portland. She knew the constant questioning was beginning to annoy him, and she understood why. It wasn't that he minded discussing the past, but he disliked being treated as an object, an emotionless fountain of information. She was also beginning to understand his attachment to her—the one person who considered his well-being and didn't want anything from him. She was glad they'd decided not to have sex the night before. Both needed time to decide what they truly wanted. He clung to her as something familiar in a strange world, and she looked to him as a physically beautiful male who had slain her dragon, Cort, and made her feel like a heroine in the legends that had captivated her since childhood. Of course, she didn't mean to imply that their infatuation with one another couldn't last. She just thought they should be sure. Eadred and Richard conducted their interview in the basement, so Portland could translate complex questions and replies while she worked on her jewelry. Each day, she wondered what more Richard could ask, but his curiosity seemed boundless. He asked details about the past she never would have imagined. I suppose that's why he's an archaeologist,she thought as she listened to Eadred review in detail the training methods used by his warriors. The day before, conversation had focused on gathering and preparing food. "Don't you know most of this stuff already?” Portland sighed, leaning back in her chair and rubbing fingers, stiff from stringing tiny, crystal beads. Eadred slid his chair closer, took one of her hands, and massaged her fingers. They exchanged smiles. For the first time, Portland didn't even care if Richard watched. He'd been there all morning. One day of privacy might be nice. "Just checking my facts.” Richard was too busy scribbling notes to concern himself with whether or not Eadred massaged her hands or any other part of her body. Finally he looked up and grinned. “How about I buy you two lunch? I've been freeloading off you long enough, Portland." "You know,” Portland stood, “lunch sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Richard." "Where's a good place to eat in this burg?" Portland raised an eyebrow. “You spend months digging up deserts and you call Vermont a burg? How about eating at The Tavern. My friend Susan runs it with her daughter. The food is much better than the fast food joints in the center." "Good thing I'm not the one who has to stay here,” Richard said. “Your healthy living would kill me. No

bad food whatsoever. Eadred, did she give you any chocolate yet?" "Yes,” he said. “It tasted very good, but too much of it will kill you." "Maybe I should have given my ex-wife more of it on holidays,” Richard muttered as they walked to the car. "Hey!” Smith limped across the street and joined them. “Where are you going?" Portland sighed. Maybe she should have slept with Eadred last night when they had the chance. It seemed they rarely had a moment's peace. “To The Tavern for lunch. Want me to give you our agenda now and get it over with?" "Sure." She folded her arms across her chest. “I was being sarcastic." "Well, I'm not,” Smith said. “Where else to you plan on going today? The island?" "Your job seems very boring,” Eadred told Smith. “Spending all your time following us." "Are you kidding?” Smith mocked. “It's a barrel of laughs." "Tonight I planned on taking him to a movie,” Portland said. “Why don't you and Jones just come with us?" "Not a bad idea,” Smith admitted. “I'm sick of watching reruns on the tube." "First movie, huh?” Richard glanced at Portland. “Give him a break and don't take him to a chick flick." "As if you needed any more romantic ideas like that,” Smith muttered, and Richard looked curious. Portland didn't bother keeping the disgust from her face as she slipped into the back seat of Richard's car. "I don't know what a chick flick is,” Eadred said to Smith, “but I don't like the way your comment sounded." "Do I look like I care?" "You look like you might want your other ankle broken." "Don't threaten me.” Smith stared up into Eadred's eyes. “Buddy, you have no idea who and what you're dealing with. You're a relic from a thousand years ago whose life can be cut short like that.” The agent snapped his fingers. “So don't push me." "Yesterday I saw how skilled you are at cutting short lives, like that,” Eadred mocked, snapping his fingers. “You landed on your—what's the word?—ass?" Smith's face reddened with anger, but to Portland's surprise, he kept his cool and spoke calmly to Eadred. “Don't make enemies out of me and Jones. Trust me."

Smith turned and hobbled back to the house. Once in the car, Richard snapped at Eadred. “Don't mess with them!" "He's right, Eadred.” Portland reached for his hand. “They can make our lives miserable—or worse." "Look, I wasn't going to say anything about this, but I have to.” Richard paused, drew a deep breath, and released it slowly. “I think the agents had my assistant killed." "What?” Portland shouted. “You mean Smith and Jones? Oh, God." "I don't know if it was actually Smith and Jones, but Jake wouldn't have just disappeared like that. He was overzealous about the whole story, which is why he ran to the papers. The government wanted us to keep quiet about Eadred's abduction, and Jake didn't listen." "You really think they killed him for that?" "Yes.” Richard's pale blue eyes stared at her from the rearview mirror. “I have a gut feeling they did." "Someone was killed because of me?” Eadred said. "No.” Portland shook her head. “It wasn't because of you." "It was because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut,” Richard stated. “Damn fool. He had his whole life ahead of him." "If your friend was killed, then both of you could also be in danger because of me." Portland's heartbeat quickened. He was right, of course, but she'd known and accepted the risks from the beginning. The longer she knew Eadred, the more she believed she'd made the right decision. "Don't worry about that,” Richard said. “You had no choice in any of this. The best thing the three of us can do is stick together." Suddenly Portland didn't mind Richard's company so much. It wasn't that she didn't like him, she was simply tired of people constantly around, not giving her or Eadred a moment's peace. Richard was a good man, however. A little eccentric at times, but trustworthy. "I don't want—" "Eadred,” Richard said, “as long as we don't mention your contact with the UFO, we'll be fine. If they wanted to kill us, they'd have done it already. They're just trying to figure out what to do about your story." Portland gazed out the window at the fields rolling by, but she didn't really see them. Her thoughts focused on all Richard had just told them. She prayed he was right about their lives not being in danger, but she also knew the controversy surrounding UFOs and extraterrestrials. Arguments had ensued on both sides for years with no firm proof either way. Now Eadred was here. He was proof. One way or the other, she knew Smith and Jones's duty would be to keep that truth silent.

By the time they arrived at The Tavern, some of the bad feelings were buried beneath pleasant conversation. Portland's friend, Susan, owned the restaurant which served a variety of dishes, including several vegetarian meals and homemade bread. Susan greeted them as they stepped inside. "Portland! When is that new necklace going to be ready?" "I'll deliver it in the morning,” Portland said. “I had to search around for the right color crystals, but it's nearly finished now. I'd like you to meet my friends, Richard and Eadred. Eadred is from Europe and is just learning English, so bear with us." "How do you like the US?” Susan asked, her appreciative gaze raking Eadred from head to toe. The few times Portland had taken him out in public, he'd garnered more than a few lusty stares from women. Not that she blamed them, but she couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy. "It's very different,” Eadred replied. "Tell you what, Portland, as a welcome to your friend, lunch is on the house.” Susan winked. “I owe you for all those free earrings." Portland smiled and took the menus from Susan as the three sat at a table near a picture window facing a meadow. "What would you like, Eadred?” Susan asked. “Anything you want is free." He searched the menu. “Soy dogs, please." "You want soy dogs? The prime rib or steak is wonderful." "Red meat can kill you." Susan raised an eyebrow and wrote on her notepad. “Soy dogs it is. Portland?" "Soy dogs sound good. I'll have the same.” She turned to Eadred. “How about garden salad and honey oatmeal bread too?" He nodded, and Susan filled in the rest of the order. “Exciting crowd. What about you, Richard?" "I'll take the prime rib,” Richard said. “I'm no fool." "Tell me that when you end up in Ann's ER with a heart attack,” Portland muttered. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather live at my house, Eadred?” Richard teased. “She's a nice kid, but she'll drive you crazy." "I'm very happy where I am.” Eadred's gaze met Portland's. They exchanged a smile that spoke a private message that heated her from the inside out. After lunch, Richard dropped them at the house then returned to the city.

"We have a few hours before Jones and Smith join us for the movie,” Portland said, picking up a newspaper and sitting on the couch. “Come here and we'll decide what we want to see." Eadred dropped beside her and slid his arm around her as he glanced at the paper. "No love stories,” Portland said. “Smith and Jones aren't interested, and you'd probably be bored out of your mind too. How about action? A bunch of guys beating the hell out of each other.” She shook her fist in mock enthusiasm. Eadred laughed. “I've already seen enough of that." "There's comedy. Humor is almost always a good thing. And—” He tugged the paper from her hand and placed it on the coffee table as he drew her closer and kissed her. Slipping her arms around his neck, she responded with enthusiasm to his stroking tongue until she lost awareness of everything but his touch. He took her face in his hands, his callused palms warm against her skin as his thumbs stroked her cheekbones. Portland's body turned to hot liquid. His hands slid down her arms and around her waist as he tugged her onto his lap. Instinctively, she straddled him, her knees clasping his lean waist, her legs against his hard thighs. The steely bulge of his manhood pressed through their jeans, teasing her soft, aching flesh. Her pulse quickened as she rocked against him in an attempt to satisfy passion that was fast slipping out of control. A deep, sensual sound escaped his throat. Portland whimpered in reply, clutching handfuls of hair at his nape. His hands slipped beneath her soft cotton T-shirt and encircled her waist. Warm, callused palms slid up her back then stroked her ribs. She moaned softly and gasped against his open lips when he cupped her breasts, kneading gently, his thumbs teasing her nipples to rigid peaks. His lips moved to her cheek and temple. She buried her face in his neck, her lips and tongue devouring his flesh with licks and kisses that dragged a groan from his throat. Portland smiled. It seemed he was as lost as she. Suddenly she wanted more of him. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. A slight, sultry smile on his lips, he raised his arms, allowing her to tug off his shirt. Portland's breathing deepened as she gazed at his hard, hair-dusted chest. Running her palms over the steely plates of muscle, she resisted the urge to squirm with desire. Suddenly her gaze met his. Need built inside her. She tingled from the look of passion in his beautiful blue-gray eyes. Tenderly, he cupped her breasts, his fingertips tracing her nipples that strained beneath the soft cotton material. Closing her eyes, Portland sighed, a shiver racing down her spine as his touch and the knowledge that they sat, half naked, in each other's arms excited her more than she dreamed possible. "Portland,” Eadred said in a husky whisper and tugged her close. Her breasts crushed against his chest. Murmuring his name, she held him so tightly her arms ached. He seemed to relish her rough embrace as he whispered endearments in his own language. Briefly, she wondered what he was saying, but her desire banished all thoughts except how to satisfy their ever increasing need.

Knocking sounded on the door. They paused, their noses touching, their breathing heavy, and their expressions soft with passion. "I have to get it.” She tried standing, but he held her for one last kiss before releasing her. "If it's those agents, I might kill them,” he muttered. Portland's stomach tightened with fear. “Don't say that! God, Eadred, what if they have this place bugged?" "Bugged? What's that mean?" "I'll explain later,” she whispered, dropping a kiss on his cheek. “Just be nice to Smith and Jones. Promise me." "Why?" "Just promise!" "All right. I promise, if it makes you happy." "It does,” Portland said quickly. For the first time, she was beginning to understand the real difficulties of easing a Viking into modern society. As the saying went, he didn't take shit from anybody. His very place in society had been secured by his ability to defend what was his. Now she told him he had to put up with guff from two men he could tear apart with his bare hands. He didn't yet understand the hidden dangers of the modern world. She knew he was certainly intelligent enough to comprehend them, but would his old-fashioned male pride—something she found incredibly attractive in spite of its potential for disaster—stop him from using common sense? Eadred tugged on his shirt as Portland glanced at herself in the mirror by the door and combed her hair with her fingers. Someone pounded on the door again before Portland opened it. Pete stood outside, his expression frantic. “I'm sorry to bother you two, but the stallion's gotten loose." "What happened?” Portland asked. "Couple of kids broke into the barn. Lucky they didn't get killed, the way that horse busted out of there. We've got to get him back before he does any real damage." Portland explained the details to Eadred who had already gotten the idea of the problem by Pete's words and expression. "Do you need this?” he asked Portland, reaching for a long, navy blue scarf on the coffee table. "What do you want it for?” she asked. "To blindfold the horse." "Take it."

They jumped into the old man's truck and drove along the edge of the field until they spotted the blood bay trotting along the fence of another farmhouse. Pete stopped the truck and Eadred stepped out. "Stay here,” he said to his companions and walked slowly and steadily toward the stallion. Portland tensed as she stared at Eadred. The stallion had also stopped moving and watched him with a deceptively calm expression. She didn't trust the animal at all. Eadred paused as the horse reared then dropped to all fours, his front hooves pounding the grass. Though she couldn't hear, she knew he spoke softly to the stallion. The animal pranced, his large brown eyes fixed on Eadred. After several anxious moments, he moved close enough to stroke the horse's neck and tie the scarf across his eyes. Portland relaxed as Eadred waved to them. “I'll walk him back. Meet you there." At Pete's barn, Eadred returned the stallion to the stable where he spent several moments talking to the horse before inspecting the damage done by the trespassers. "I'll have to get new locks.” Pete shook his head. “Damn kids." "They'll be back, I'm sure,” Eadred said. "I didn't get a really good look at them, or else I'd complain to the police—or at least their parents." "That might not do much good. I have a better idea." "Eadred,” Portland warned, “I'm almost afraid to ask. Where you came from they would probably cut off their hands or something. We have police that take care of this stuff now." "I'm not going to cut off their hands!” He raised his eyes to heaven. “What kind of a barbarian do you think I am, woman? I'm just going to give them some of the excitement they're looking for when they break into places they don't belong. Do you have any dye, Pete?" "Dye?” Pete squinted. “Got some cans of red paint, if that's what you mean." "Good. How about some rope?" Portland watched as the men gathered the items which Eadred used to rig a trap over the barn door. "Don't tell me you think that will work?” Portland folded her arms across her chest. "I know it will." "How?" "I just know." When Eadred finished, he stood outside with Pete and Portland.

"Don't forget it is here and get yourself stuck in the trap,” Eadred told the old man. Pete smiled and shook his head. “I almost wish I had a video camera hooked up in here." "I think you're both crazy,” Portland said. “And we'd better be getting back to the house. Smith and Jones will be waiting for us." **** Less than two hours later, Portland, Eadred, and the agents stood in line for their movie tickets. After a lengthy discussion, they decided on a fantasy adventure centering on the King Arthur legend. "He'll probably remember that.” Smith glanced at Eadred. "Wrong time and wrong place,” Portland said. “He's Danish, not Celtic." The four stepped into the lobby, tickets in hand. "I want some popcorn,” Portland said. “Anyone else?" "You two go get some snacks,” Smith told Jones and Portland. “I want to show this guy how to play video games. This will be a hoot." "Smith, we don't have time for this.” Jones raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Sure we do. I've got to see him try to play." "He just wants to find someone he can beat,” Jones said. “He can't even beat his kids." "That's crap and you know it,” Smith told his partner. “Eadred, come." Portland looked disgusted. “He's not a dog." Smith waved his hand in dismissal and glanced over his shoulder at Eadred who remained still, his arms folded across his chest, his dark blue eyes reflecting his contempt for the agent's attitude. "Tell him I want to show him how to play,” Smith said to Portland. She translated, and Eadred shrugged, following Smith to the arcade games that took up one corner of the lobby. As Portland waited in the refreshment line with Jones, she glanced at Eadred and Smith. By Smith's happy expression and Eadred's furrowed brow, it was obvious the games were completely foreign to him. "Sometimes he's worse than a kid.” Jones shook his head in Smith's direction. He and Portland found seats across from the arcade games and munched popcorn while Eadred and Smith continued playing. After about twenty minutes, Smith's smile turned to a look of irritation. He banged on the buttons and swore softly.

"Are you two finished yet?” Portland stood. “We're going to miss the movie." "Just one more game,” Smith snarled. "I won,” Eadred said. “Again." "Damn!” Smith struck his open palm against the plastic top of the game machine. “One more." "Come on,” Jones said. “I can't enjoy a movie if I miss the opening credits." They began a new game and moments later, Smith cursed louder than before. "Beginner's luck.” Eadred shrugged, joining Portland and Jones as they headed for the theater. Still muttering to himself, Smith followed. The group chose seats in the back row. As the lights dimmed and the previews began, Eadred whispered to Portland, “This is exciting." She smiled at him. “I knew you'd like it." His gaze focused on the screen, fascinated by the size and sound of the movie. She knew it was like nothing he'd ever seen before, even on the television. "Put your arm around me,” she whispered in his ear. He glanced at her, and she said, “It's a custom. You take a woman to the movies and you put your arm around her." He obliged, his long, muscled arm slipping around her and tugging her close. She rested her head against his shoulder and reached for a piece of popcorn, holding it to his lips. He took it, his tongue licking her finger in a flirtatious gesture. Her belly fluttered as she snuggled closer. This was sure to be the best movie she'd ever been to, regardless of what happened on screen. **** When they returned to the house after the movie, a message from Pete awaited them on the answering machine. "I hate talking into these damn things, but I got to tell you.” Pete chuckled. “Your trap worked great, Eadred. Those kids ran out of the barn covered in red paint and the police had no problem picking them up while they were still trying to wash off in the lake. I swear, I wish I had a camera so you could see the looks on their faces! Couldn't believe they were only eleven years old. When I was that age, my father would have given me such a lickin’ for breaking into a barn. Kids these days. See you tomorrow." Portland switched off the machine and grinned. “How did you know that was going to work?" "Experience. When I was their age, I did the same thing. Tried to borrow the fastest horse from the barn across the glen, but the owner outsmarted me with a few buckets of dye. Walked around the village stained green for weeks." "Borrowed?"

He winked. “Of course." "Eadred, you were a horse thief!" "I was just a boy." She shook her head, smiling. “Stealing a fast horse. A Viking joyride." "It was fun.” He shrugged. “But it wouldn't have been so much fun for those boys. Not with Pete's stallion." "That horse is dangerous." "Not if you handle him right." Portland slid her palms up his chest and around his neck. “I think I'm getting the hang of handling stallions." Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed her close. “I think you have the potential to become quite an able rider." "Do you?” she whispered before his lips devoured hers. Portland's eyes slipped shut, and she entwined her fingers in his hair. The soft curls grabbed at her wrists. His beard was a sensual scratch against her flesh, his tongue soft and wet as he tasted every inch of her mouth and lips. Stop it, Portland,she told herself.You haven't known him long enough. You're acting like an easy woman. You're taking advantage of his vulnerability. His vulnerability! She moaned as his hands slipped beneath her shirt and his thumbs found her nipples, teasing them to sensitive peaks. She shivered with passion.Go for it, Portland! You care about him, he's a beautiful man who has stepped out of all your fantasies of the ancient world. According to Ann's barrage of medical tests, he's completely disease free. He's the stuff of dreams! "By the gods, I want you so much,” he murmured, his breath a warm caress on her lips. "No one's ever made me feel like you do, Eadred." He gazed directly into her eyes, his expression revealing his emotions. His fingertip traced the curve of her face before he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. She didn't speak, merely clung to his neck, her heart pounding. Common sense told her to stop him—and herself—but she didn't want to. She craved his closeness. Her body screamed for his. In her room, he placed her on the bed. His long, graceful fingers unbuttoned her shirt, kissing every bit of flesh as it was bared. While she slipped her arms out of the sleeves, he unzipped her jeans and tugged them off, revealing her smooth legs. He placed his hand on the front of the satin panties scarcely covering the thatch of dark hair between her thighs. That simple touch quickened her heartbeat. Sighing, she closed her eyes as he stroked her through the satin, his palm kneading, his fingers tracing gentle circles

over her stiffening flesh. His fingers slipped under the corners of her underwear and tug them down her legs. Tossing the panties aside, he kissed the tops of her feet. She tried to control her breathing as his lips and hands traveled over her calves and thighs. As the tip of his tongue circled her naval, she shuddered and tightened her fingers in his hair. He licked her ribs and the sensitive flesh where her hip joined her thigh. Moaning, she relished the sensation of his wiry beard brushing the flesh of her inner thighs. Suddenly, his touch ceased. Her eyes flew open, staring as he stood by the edge of the bed and undressed. Portland drew a deep breath, desire flooding her body at the sight of his broad shoulders, thick arms, and lean chest. Chiseled abs tapered to strong hips and long, muscled legs. Most captivating was his manhood, so thick, hard, and straining with desire. He stretched out beside her on the bed. His hand danced over her breasts and belly, then dipped between her legs and gathered moisture that he spread in slow, steady circles where she was most sensitive. Lost in his touch, Portland closed her eyes, her breath quickening. Still caressing her feminine bud, he bent his head and captured one of her nipples between his teeth, holding it tenderly as his tongue swept over the hard, pink nub. She gasped, her body melting into the bed. "Eadred!” she called, breathless. He never ceased his steady motion of hand and mouth, even when her body caught fire and wriggled wildly beneath him. He held her steady, licking and caressing until she exploded in a climax so intense that for a moment she lost all conscious thought. She stirred when she felt him move and glanced at him through half open eyes as he stretched one long arm toward the floor and tugged a safe from the pocket of his jeans. Thank you, Richard, for showing him some of the conveniences of being a modern man! She smiled, watching him roll on the condom. He eased his body over hers, but instead of entering her swiftly as she expected, he slipped down so his mouth was level with her breasts. He captured one nipple and teased it until the touch of his tongue was sweet agony, then he moved to her other breast, taking as much time as he had with the first. Delicious sensations built in her lower body. His tongue trailed between her breasts and down her belly before tasting of her womanhood. She cried out, clutching handfuls of his hair as his lips and tongue awarded her another climax even more gratifying than the first. As her body still throbbed, he shifted upward, slipping into her with almost frustrating gentleness. Immediately, her legs tightened around him. Laughter rumbled deep in his chest, then turned to a groan of desire as her body moved sensually beneath his. His hips took control of their pleasure, setting their rhythm. Clinging to him, she dug her fingers into the heated flesh of his shoulders. As his thrusting quickened, he kissed her so deeply she nearly lost consciousness as she exploded a third time. The waves of pleasure broke over her hot flesh. Gasping into his mouth, she shuddered with passion. To her surprise, when the blissful moment ended, he was still hard inside her. "Eadred,” she whispered, her heart pounding as his rhythm increased again. This time her body responded more slowly in spite of her craving for him. She wondered how long he could sustain such fast, deep strokes before the inevitable. Closing her eyes, she turned her head restlessly on the pillow, gasping as she neared the peak again. His deep voice sounded raw against her ear as he panted endearments in his own language. Her arms and legs squeezed him in a final embrace as

she soared to heaven once again. This time he joined her, every muscle in his big body tense, his breath a harsh and carnal rasp. Rolling onto his back, he tugged her to his chest. She closed her eyes and nestled her head against his shoulder. Her palm rested against his side, feeling his heart slam against his ribs. Neither spoke. They simply enjoyed the feeling of each other's lust-dampened skin as they drifted into a light, pleasant sleep. **** After several moments, Eadred stirred then lay still again, enjoying contentment and relaxation such as he never thought to feel in this world. Portland's warm, smooth body pressed against his. He caught the scent of her shampoo from the soft locks of her hair tickling his face. Careful not to disturb her, he slipped from the bed and walked to the bathroom. Standing under the shower with his eyes closed as warm water soothed his muscles, he thought this had to be one of the best inventions in the modern world. He remembered so many unpleasant mornings and evenings bathing in the frigid stream that ran behind his home village. It was fine in summertime, but in the winter, washing had been an uncomfortable experience. Still, Eadred had disliked dirtiness. When many procrastinated washing for as long as they could during the winter months, Eadred couldn't abide a buildup of filth and continued to wash often. He squeezed some of Portland's sweet-smelling shampoo into his palm and lathered his thick hair, then soaped his body and stepped out of the shower. Toweling off his hair, he returned to the bed and lay beside Portland. She turned to him, her lovely eyes opening halfway as she smiled. She kissed the pit of his throat and said, “That was the most fun I've ever had." "That was only the beginning.” His hands warmed her shoulders before one of his fingertips traced her breasts. "Well.” She grasped his flaccid manhood and felt him harden in her fist. “There are a few things I'd like to try with you too." "I can hardly wait." "Why wait?" She shifted position, brushed aside freshly washed hair and kissed his neck. His eyes slipped shut. When he reached for her, she grasped his wrists and guided his hands above his head, a signal that she wanted him at her mercy. The idea thrilled him, and he allowed her to take the lead. While her fingers stroked and kneaded the muscles of his shoulders and arms, her lips traveled across every inch of his chest and trailed down his flat stomach. He flinched with arousal as her tongue traced the outline of each rib. Opening his eyes partway, he gazed at her as she smiled and moved lower, her palms caressing his steely thighs, her lips grazing one of his hips. His flesh brushed against her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard peaks that tantalized his body. When her warm, wet mouth found the heart of his desire, his breath grew ragged and he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening on the pillows. In spite of her enthusiasm, he guessed by her actions she was new to this particular kind of lovemaking. She caught on quickly, judging what sparked his passion by the rhythm of his breathing and the tension in his body. When she found the right place, the right motion, she uttered a soft sound of triumph and made

love to him with such enthusiasm that he nearly lost complete control of himself. Grasping her shoulders, he dragged her up his body and kissed her. His mouth plundering hers, he rolled her onto her back. "Didn't you like—" "Quiet,” he said against her lips, his voice almost a growl. He kissed her deeply as his body slipped into her liquid heat. Instantly, her legs locked around his waist and she moved against him, but he used his weight advantage to press her into the mattress. He remained still, his heart thumping against his ribs as he sought to control his breathing and postpone the inevitable long enough to ensure her pleasure as well as his. The moment passed, and he moved in long, steady strokes until her breathing came in helpless sobs and her fingers bit into his shoulders with almost painful intensity. Her body pulsed and sensual mewls escaped her throat as she climaxed, snapping his fragile thread of control. Crying out, he waded in a climax so strong that he forgot everything but the drives of his body and the warmth of the woman beneath him. Almost as soon as they recovered, the doorbell rang. "Who the hell is that?” he snapped. "I think I like this side of you.” She clung to him, her legs entwined with his. “Were you like this on the battlefield? All gruff and take charge?" "I was worse on the battlefield. I just don't like interruptions now that I really have you all to myself.” Burying his hand in her hair, he kissed her then cradled her head against his chest. Again the bell rang. "I have to get cleaned up.” She stood, the flesh of her supple breasts gleaming in the lamplight. “Would you mind—" He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his jeans, his gaze never leaving her. “Go have your shower. I'll answer the door." She grinned and blew him a kiss, her sexy bottom swaying as she hurried to the bathroom and closed the door. Eadred smiled to himself as he jogged down the stairs. "I'm coming!” he growled as the bell rang yet again. When he opened the door, Smith stood outside balanced precariously on his good foot, a box in his hand. "Where the hell were you?” the agent snapped. Eadred raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother answering. It was absolutely none of Smith's business what he was doing. Smith brushed past him and into the living room where he dropped to a chair and opened the box,

removing a black and gray contraption complete with several wires and plastic plates with assorted buttons. "What is that?" "Video game. I'm hooking this sucker up and you and I are going to play until I figure out how to beat you." "We are, are we?" Smith glanced at him. “You got a problem with that?" "What if I don't feel like playing." "I thought you liked it? You seemed to be having fun at the theater." "There's fun and there's fun,” Eadred muttered, thinking about Portland upstairs in the shower, warm water cascading over her nude body. "Huh?" "Nothing." "Look, it will help pass the time while we're up here in no man's land. Just an hour or so after dinner—or when you're finished working at that old man's stable. Look, I'm bored.” Smith looked genuinely desperate. “I'm a city boy. I can't take this quiet life. I'm going stir-crazy over there. All Jones does is read and watch TV." Eadred listened to Smith's rant. Though he didn't understand every word, he got the general idea. The agent was bored. In this age when there was so much to do and learn, he was bored. What would he have thought about life in Eadred's time? Even without electricity, movies, or cars, Eadred never remembered being bored. There was always something to practice or learn. There was always riding, swimming, carving. One thing he'd never been was bored. "What do you say?” the agent pressed. "Okay." "Okay.” Smith grinned. “Excellent." "There's a condition." The agent shook his head. “There's always something in this life. What do you want?" "I want to learn how guns work." "Are you nuts? I can't give you a gun!" "I'm not asking for one. I just want to learn how they work." "Why?"

"I was a soldier. Weapons interest me. I realize you can't give me any weapons, since I am your prisoner." "Buddy, you're no prisoner in the real sense of the word. Living with Portland ain't exactly jail." "I'm not a free man." "No, you're not, so how can I possibly...” Smith rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What the hell? I'll talk to Jones. I guess we can show you how to shoot. There are worse nuts on the street who have guns." Eadred nodded. "Now park it,” Smith nodded to the couch, “and show me how the hell you picked up these games so fast. You're like an electronic card shark." "I've always learned fast." "So I see.” Smith turned on the game and handed Eadred his control. “But you're not going to win at this. I've been playing this game with my son for over a year. I can get all the way to level ten." "How many levels are there?" "Twelve, but you'll never get to the last one." "And what is this game called?" "Alien Demons." "Not from what I remember of them." Smith raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Damn. I'm getting so used to looking at you I almost forgot you're from...” The agent raised his eyes skyward. "I'm only from Denmark." "Just play." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten The next morning Eadred stood in the field behind Pete's barn working the stallion on the lunge rein. Eadred paid careful attention to the animal's paces, noting there were times when the horse seemed to enjoy his education. Like an obstinate child, the stallion had really wanted guidance, but needed to be handled as an individual. He noticed Pete approaching, two skinny boys at his side, their eyes cast down, their tanned skinned

stained with red paint. Eadred bit back a smile. There was no doubt about who these boys were. Eadred slowed the horse and grasped his halter, stroking the sleek neck as the animal snorted with agitation. The stallion trusted Eadred but didn't appreciate the company of strangers. Pete and the boys stopped a safe distance from the horse. "We've got ourselves some extra hands for the next month, Eadred.” Pete's expression remained somber, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “This is Tommy and Chris. They'd like to make up for busting into the barn a few nights ago." "Is that so?” Eadred's gaze fixed on the children. They looked up, staring at the size of his battle-scarred biceps. "Yeah,” said Tommy, a round-faced blond. "Sir,” Chris, a freckled redhead, added quickly. “Our parents made us come." "What you did was dangerous." "We just wanted to see the horse,” Tommy explained. "Some of the kids at school say he's a killer or something,” Chris said, “but I think he's pretty cool." "I hear this word ‘cool’ often,” Eadred said, “but I do not think it means what the dictionary says." "Where are you from?” Tommy asked Eadred. “You talk different." "I'm from Denmark." Chris's green eyes sparkled with mischief as he noted Eadred's long hair, thick beard, and powerful frame. “Are you like a wrestler?" "No." "Think you'll be all set with these boys while I go into town?” Pete asked Eadred. "Of course." Pete left them alone. As soon as the pickup truck rolled down the road, Tommy and Chris headed back toward the house. "Stop.” Eadred commanded. The boys froze in their tracks. “The stalls need to be cleaned." Tommy turned, one eyebrow raised. “The old man's gone." "You were sent here to work." Tommy extended his middle finger in what Eadred had learned was an obscene gesture. Chris laughed. Nodding, Eadred tied the horse to the fence as the boys loped toward their bicycles. In five long strides,

Eadred caught up to them, grasping each by their belt loops on the backs of their jeans and toted them to the barn. "Hey!” Tommy shouted. “I'm going to tell the police!" "I didn't mean to break in!” Chris squealed, on the verge of tears. “I'll clean the horse shit. Put me down!" In the barn, Eadred released the boys and shoved them toward the stalls. “Clean." "Or else what?” Tommy's voice cracked in spite of his attempt at defiance. Eadred took a step toward them. The boys reached for shovels. "We really have to clean this?” Tommy's nose wrinkled. “It stinks." "You were the ones who were so interested in horses,” Eadred told them. “See what it's like to take care of one." He left the muttering boys to their work and returned to the stallion to finish his training. A little less than an hour later, he brought the horse back to the barn, noting the boys had just about finished their work. They leaned against a stall door and watched Eadred brush the horse. "What's his name?” Chris asked. "I think Pete is still undecided." "How about Death,” Tommy said. “That's a cool name." "That's not a good name,” Eadred said. “And what's with this ‘cool'?" "It means when something's great, you know,” Chris said. “Don't they have a word like that in Denmark?" "Maybe in places, but not where I come from." "Can we pet him?" Eadred glanced at the boys then back at the horse. He seemed to be in a quiet mood and calmer in the boys’ presence. "Okay, but move carefully." Tommy and Chris stroked the horse's neck. Chris said, “How about calling him Chief?" Eadred narrowed his eyes. “I don't know that word." "Years ago, a chief was like the leader of an Indian tribe."

Eadred nodded. “That's a good name. I'll talk to Pete." "Are we really going to have to shovel out this crap for the next month?” Tommy raised an eyebrow in Eadred's direction. "Yes.” Eadred stared hard at the boy. Tommy shrugged. “Just askin'. Can we ride Chief?" "Not any time soon. He's still very hard to handle." "But someday?" "Probably." "Can we watch you train him?" "Sure." "Did you train horses back in Denmark?" "No, I was a soldier." "I figured that,” Chris said in a matter-of-fact tone that almost made Eadred laugh again. Eadred turned his full attention to grooming the horse then paused, an idea striking him. “Have either of you ever played the video game Alien Demons?" "Sure.” Tommy shrugged. “I like that game." "Have you ever gotten to level twelve?" "Yeah. Lots of times." Eadred grinned. “Tell me how to beat it." **** The following two months passed with unprecedented swiftness for both Eadred and Portland. Accepting her affection had provided him with unexpected comfort regarding the loss of his family and his old life. Though dreams and memories of home still plagued him, his life fell into a progressive rhythm. He spent mornings and early evenings at Pete's farm, training and caring for Chief. Tommy and Chris continued working, even after their month of forced duty was fulfilled. They were more helpful than Eadred could have imagined with the horse's training, for, to everyone's surprise, the stallion preferred children to adults. After leaving Pete's in the late morning, he'd spend the afternoon talking to Richard, who was more than halfway through the first draft of a book about Viking life from the viewpoint of a man who'd actually lived it. Occasionally, Dean Stevens would accompany Richard for their talks, but he seemed no fonder of Eadred than the Viking was of him.

Richard also helped Eadred practice English. With help from Portland and the archeologist, combined with his diligent study, Eadred spoke fluent English in record breaking time. Once Richard left for the day, Eadred would work around Portland's house, chopping wood and gardening. "You don't have to do this,” she told him one night as she lay in his arms. “It's not like you're my slave." "I'm living in your house, so I should do something." "Well, it's saving me a bundle on landscapers." "What I eat alone makes up for it." "You can wipe out a fruit stand, but I think you're keeping the soy dog companies in business." "And pizza." "Yes,” Portland grinned, “I think you paid for the delivery boy's new sports car." "You can't understand how good pizza is to someone who's never had it before." "At least you have an excuse, but Smith still eats it almost every night when you're playing those damn games." "Ah.” Eadred raised his eyes to heaven. “The games. I wonder if he'll ever tire of those?" "I doubt it. But since he got over you beating him at that Alien Demons or whatever it's called, he's been almost nice." "He's not so bad. And he and Jones did show me how to shoot. They have been giving me difficulty about those martial arts classes I signed up for, though." "It's because you're already a dangerous fighter." "But I'm impressed with the philosophy behind karate. It's really not about violence. It's a method of training the body as well as the mind. Cort never paid attention to the philosophy." "Cort was lucky he could spell his own name, let alone understand the philosophy of martial arts.” Portland pressed her body closer to Eadred's. He squeezed her, regretting his mention of Cort. She seemed to have completely forgotten about that disturbing part of her life. She'd opened up to him like no one ever had, and he realized he'd fallen quite deeply in love with her. He wished he had something substantial to offer her. In his world, he'd been considered a very good provider, but here he had nothing. Not even his freedom. Portland and Richard had been pressing the agents to allow Eadred citizenship. "You can't keep him in limbo forever,” Richard had argued with Jones one afternoon. “Give him a chance to live, damn it." To Eadred, citizenship was like a glowing jewel in the horizon. According to Portland and Richard, with that piece of paper, he could get a job, an education, a life. Then, he could finally, with pride, ask

Portland to be his wife. "Richard's exhibition at the museum begins next Saturday,” Portland said. “I'm anxious to see it." "So am I. All things from my time." "I would have loved to see your time.” Portland ran her fingertips over his chest. “Ever since I was a little girl, I've been interested in the past. That's why I learned to speak so many ancient languages, like Latin, Greek, Chinese. I always had this silly fantasy." He tilted her face up to his and kissed her forehead. “Tell me." She smiled and turned away. “It's too silly." "I want to know." "Okay.” She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, her eyes glistening with humor and desire. “I used to picture this warrior in chain mail and leather riding up to me on a war stallion. He'd pull me into his arms and tell me I was going to be his wife." "You dreamed of this?" She shook her head. “Childish fantasy." "It still excites you. I can see it in your eyes." "You excite me, Eadred. You are a fantasy come true for me." "I can be no woman's fantasy without my manhood." "I know how much you want to make a life for yourself.” Portland placed a hand to his cheek, her gaze holding his. “The government will have to do something about you. They can't hide you forever." "Can't they? According to Richard they're very good at hiding and covering up. He told me about other UFO sightings that all governments have concealed. He told me crop markings have been found all over the world. The tattoo on my hip is a symbol from a crop marking. What about Roswell?" "Roswell? What have you and Richard been talking about?" "Only things that might be. I feel like I'm living lies. I am a man of the past. That much the government will allow me to say. But I have also had contact with an alien race, yet I must disguise this fact." "People fear what they don't know." "Especially when they're not given the opportunity to learn. It's like my life in the past." "What do you mean?" "I was a mercenary. I fought and killed. Killed. Do you have any idea how many men lost their lives at the end of my blade?"

"You did what you had to. It was a different time." "I could have farmed. I could have built ships, but I chose war. Yes, I earned more for my family that way and I had been trained since childhood to become a warrior, but there were times when I knew what I did was wrong, yet I still did it." Portland brushed a lock of hair from his brow. “War was a way of life for you." "War destroyed lives then just as it does now. I've seen the battles on television. Little has changed when it comes to people fighting for power, yet this world has so many good things too. If it hadn't been for the loss of those I loved, I would say I'm glad for a new start in this time—if I'm allowed it." Portland rested her head against his chest. “I know it sounds incredibly selfish, but I'm glad you're here. I'm just sorry for the loss of your family." "If not for you, I'd have never fully understood the magic of this world. I can't express my gratitude in words." "You have other methods.” She slipped her legs around his waist, straddling his body, her voice a whisper against his lips. Yes,he thought as he took her face in his hands and explored a mouth he'd learned to know well yet would never tire of,much more pleasant methods. **** Less than an hour later, Eadred and Portland were just sitting down to dinner when the doorbell rang. Moments later, Smith and Jones joined them at the table. The agents seemed to be in unusually good moods. Jones carried a paper shopping bag in one arm. "We have a surprise for you, Eadred,” Smith said, stealing a roll off the basket in the center of the table. "Not another video game?” Eadred wasn't sure he could take much more of those damned electronic toys. "No.” Smith cocked his head to one side. “That would be a surprise for me. This is for you." Jones handed the bag to Eadred. He and Portland exchanged glances before he removed the contents. Several books and a video. “These are to help you practice for your citizenship test." Eadred's gaze flew to the agents. "You're letting him take the test?” Portland's face brightened. “That's wonderful!" "There are conditions.” Jones held up his hand, his expression serious. “Smith and I have gone through hell convincing our superiors to allow this. We've really stuck our necks out for you on this one, Eadred." "Why?” he asked, not completely trusting his good fortune. Was he really going to be allowed a normal life? Or at least as normal as life could be for a thousand-year-old Viking who'd been abducted by aliens?

"We think you deserve it,” Smith said. "Here's the condition,” Jones continued. “You, and the few of us who know about your abduction, must never mention it. Your friend Richard, Portland's sister Ann, and the dean of that college have already been spoken to by our associates. In other words, the abduction never happened." "It did happen,” Eadred said. "No.” Smith placed a heavy hand on Eadred's shoulder, staring into his eyes. “It didn't. You've been saying you want a life, Eadred. We're giving you the opportunity to have one, but you must cooperate or else this chance will be taken away. Remember, it's not just about you. Portland, Ann, and Richard are also affected." "You're threatening us?” Portland breathed. "There's too much at risk to hint around,” Jones told them. “I know we're not supposed to get emotionally involved, but we're also affected by your decision." "We want you to have this chance,” Smith said to Eadred. “Take it, and don't be a jackass. What does it matter if you were on that ship or not? You can do anything you want now." Eadred knew he shouldn't feel any conflict. The offer Smith and Jones made was good. Simply by omitting a single fact, he could have a new life. He could get an education, a job, and marry Portland, if she'd have him. "Eadred, please.” She gripped his forearm. “I know how you feel about what happened. I know you don't want to hide it." "Do you want me to do this?” he asked. "It's not about me.” Her soft, warm hand stroked his cheek. “I want you to be happy, and I want you to stay—" "Alive?” he supplied, his voice cool as his gaze penetrated each of the agents. "Will you just zip it about what happened and take the damn test!” Smith stood, pacing the room. Portland took his hand and squeezed it. Gazing into her eyes, he knew what she wanted. Though confused about what had happened and curious about his abductors and why they'd chosen to freeze him instead of return him to his rightful home, he wanted a life with Portland more. "Okay,” he said. “When's the test?" "Due to your special circumstances, immigration has made an exception for you. You don't need to wait the usual amount of time before applying. We got them to push up the process for you, which may or may not be a benefit. There's a lot of history and governmental questions on that test. We don't think you'll have any problem with the interview since you've picked up spoken and written English like wildfire." "How long does he have to study?” Portland asked.

"Two months." "Lots of time,” Eadred said. Jones raised an eyebrow. “Confidence. I like that." "I'll even help you,” Smith said. “We can cut our game time in half and study." Eadred glanced at Portland and raised his eyes to heaven. She giggled and slipped her arms around him, kissing his cheek. At least she seemed happy. Soon he would be an independent man again and could really please her in every way. Maybe someday they could have children. If it hadn't been for his children, the request to forget his alien experience would have been little bother, but not knowing what happened to his sons and daughter plagued him, kept him awake nights long after Portland had drifted to sleep beside him. What had happened to them? The only ones who might have answers were the companions of the little man who'd saved his life so long ago. "Remember,” Jones said, once the meal was over and he and Smith prepared to leave, “never a word about the abduction." "Why does the government want to hide alien contact?” Portland ventured. "Fear of national panic.” Smith shrugged. “What people don't understand, they fear." "How will anyone ever understand UFOs and alien beings if the facts keep getting buried?" "We don't have many facts,” Jones said. “Until one of those damn ships lands and the little green men get off and start talking to us, we've got nothing to go on." "I know how you feel,” Eadred murmured. "Just think about passing that test,” Smith called over his shoulder as he and Jones headed for the front door. Once they were alone, Portland slipped into Eadred's arms. “I think they were considering killing you before, you know. Like hiding evidence." "I know. And if I didn't agree to their terms, I might have placed you in more danger. I don't want to do that. I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. What had he almost said? I love you. It was true, but he wasn't ready to admit it. Not until he had something real to offer her. Now he had the opportunity, and as Smith had so succinctly stated, he'd be a jackass not to take it. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven Eadred immersed himself in preparation for his citizenship test. If possible, he practiced English even more diligently than before.

"I think you speak better than I do,” Smith said one evening over dinner. As promised, the agent spent much time helping Eadred study. Even Richard put his book aside and spent most of his time practicing with Eadred. "All these tests.” Smith glanced at the pile of books on the table beside Eadred's half empty plate. “You must be bored out of your mind." "How can I be bored with so much to learn?” Eadred replied without raising his eyes from his notebook. Portland tugged it away from him. “What are you doing? For nearly a week you haven't even looked across the table at me during dinner." "The man's busy,” Smith said between mouthfuls of baked potato he'd stolen from Eadred's plate. Eadred tossed him a hungry glare and jerked the plate away. "Well, I have to hit the road.” Smith stood. “See you at the end of the week, Eadred. I'll tell you, it's nice that we don't have to follow you so closely anymore, now that you've gone public." Portland looked annoyed. “I'm not so sure I like it now that he's gone public. The dean of that university keeps pushing for the newspaper and television interviews the press wants." "I'm not going on television,” Eadred told her. “Don't worry about it." "You know, it might not be a bad idea.” Smith shrugged. “People are bound to be curious. If you let them get it out of their system, they'll eventually leave you alone." "First you want to keep me hidden, now you want me exposed. You can't make up your mind." "Look, I hate the damn press, but I know they're not going to leave you alone, especially if they find out you're staying here. You think you two had no privacy with me and Jones next door, what do you think will happen if reporters get wind the Viking is living here?" "Richard suggested I move closer to the university,” Eadred said. "They paying for it?” Smith asked, and Portland nodded. “Maybe you should consider it, even for a little while." Eadred and Portland exchanged glances, and he said, “We can talk more with Richard after the museum closes tomorrow night." With the Viking exhibition opening that weekend, Portland and Eadred had promised Richard they would visit. Eadred was both anxious and apprehensive about viewing relics from his time. He'd adjusted well to the modern world, mostly because of Portland, but partly because he forced himself to recall his past like a dream. If he dwelled too deeply in his memories, he sank into what the modern world called depression. What would it be like, seeing what had once been everyday items to him displayed behind glass walls, oddities to the people around him? "Do you really think I should move near the university?” Eadred asked Portland after Smith had gone.

"Only if you take me with you.” She stared at him through her lashes, placing her fork aside and reaching for his hand. He stood, tugging her into his arms. “Let's go upstairs." "Aren't you hungry?" "Yes.” He buried his face in her neck, his beard tickling her neck as his soft lips caressed her flesh. “And I want satisfaction." Portland closed her eyes and clung to him. “I guess we can eat later." Replying with a sensual growl, he slipped her T-shirt over her head and unhooked her bra. "Eadred, what if Smith or Jones come back?” Crossing her arms over her breasts, she shrieked with laughter as he tugged her into his arms and blew his lips against her belly, making a loud razzing sound. He carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Moments later, buried in her warm, fragrant body, he thought how lucky he was to have the chance for a new life with this sweet, wonderful woman. **** Portland sat in the back seat, pretending to search through her pocket book, as Ann wove through the Boston traffic at a frightening pace. She truly didn't have the stomach to watch as her sister drove, but Eadred seemed to be having a fine time in the front passenger seat as Ann—of all people—offered him driving pointers. "I'm looking forward to learning how to drive,” Eadred said. "Absolutely nothing to it,” Ann told him. "It seems simple enough." "Drive defensively and pay attention. That's all you can do—Hey!” Ann snarled, jamming on her brakes as a cyclist peddled across the street. “Idiots! Then they wonder why they end up in accidents." "And you call yourself a doctor?” Portland snapped at her sister. "Most people just don't use their brains." Portland raised her eyes to heaven as they pulled into a parking lot across from the museum. "I'm so glad I'm not working tonight,” Ann said. “Richard is so excited about this exhibition. He's been telling me about it on the phone. It sounds amazing." "You and Richard have been on the phone a lot lately.” Portland tossed her sister a knowing look as they stepped out of the car and walked toward the museum. Ann grinned. “It's nothing. We've been friends for years."

"Friends,” Portland said. “Of course." "Portland, don't start. Not tonight.” Ann searched through her pocket book for the museum passes. “Besides. It could never work between us. I'm tied to the hospital and he travels the world." "They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Imagine the happy reunions when he gets back from a dig." Ann looked thoughtful. “You might have something there." "Romance turns up in the most unusual places,” Portland said, glancing at Eadred as he took her hand. Ann smiled at the couple. “You'd be the expert on strange beginnings, of course." "I wish we could have gotten here sooner,” Portland said. “Richard would have given us a private tour first." "I couldn't leave the hospital any sooner. You must be particularly excited about this, Eadred." "I'm sure it will be very interesting." "You can tell us about everything. Then we can say we heard it all from a real Viking." They stepped through the tall glass doors of the museum and observed visitors milling around the enormous lobby or waiting in line to enter the exhibition hall. An enormous banner depicting a Viking ship dangled from the ceiling. "A warship?” Ann asked. Eadred shook his head. “Cargo." "Oh.” She smiled. “I always picture Vikings as warriors." "We traded often too." They showed their tickets and stepped through a pair of tall black doors. Eadred's heartbeat quickened as he entered the hall, unsure of what he'd see and feel. Several long glass cases filled with artifacts lined the walls. He approached the nearest one, Portland beside him. "I'm going to find Richard,” Ann said, disappearing in the crowd. Eadred scarcely heard her as his attention focused on the items beneath the glass. There were several gold arm rings, silver brooches, and a bronze neck ring. "Did you wear that stuff?” Portland asked. "I had an armband. Sigyn gave it to me."

"I don't blame her.” Portland slid her hand over Eadred's thick biceps. She leaned closer to the glass, pointing to a detailed silver spoonlike piece fastened to a leather necklace. “It's very attractive." "It's an ear scoop." "A what?” Portland wrinkled her nose in disgust. "It was used to clean out the ears." "And you wore it around your neck?" "What else would you do with it? We didn't have medicine cabinets back then." She laughed. “You've got me there. I'm almost afraid to ask what that is.” She pointed to another T-shaped item dangling from a piece of rope. "Thor's hammer. Many wore such amulets. I had one." "Maybe that was yours?” She winked. "No. Mine was silver, not bronze. Horik had a silver one. I brought it to him the last time I was ... home." Portland's hand tightened on his arm. He forced himself to appear unaffected by memories. Actually, it wasn't so difficult looking at the artifacts. He felt a touch of pride that even after so many years, his people captured the interest of a modern age. "Eadred! Portland!” Richard approached, his pale blue eyes shimmering with excitement. Ann strolled close beside him. “It's going great, don't you think?" "There are many people,” Eadred said. “You've done well." "I had a lot of help.” Richard looked almost sheepish. “There are years of work in this hall, though. I'm just glad other people can finally appreciate it. You have to come into the next room. There are displays of larger items like weapons and armor as well as farm tools and a ceremonial wagon." They followed the archaeologist into an adjoining room where, rather than hidden behind glass, most of the artifacts stood in roped-off scenarios, replicas of life in an ancient Scandinavian village. A particularly large crowd huddled around a display in the center of the room. "What's over there?” Portland asked. "Thepièce de résistance .” Richard guided them to the display. “None of us could believe it when we found this. The remains of a Viking child, probably about six years old." Richard shouldered his way through the crowd, the others close behind him. Eadred stood behind his companions, his height allowing him to clearly view the display by looking over their heads. He was no stranger to death and had seen countless bodies, both on the battlefield and at home, much fresher than this dried old corpse. In spite of himself his head spun. The bones were tiny.

What had once been a plump child's face was now a grayish skull. The clothing, almost disintegrated with age, reminded him of an outfit Erik had so often worn. The remains of a Viking child. It could be any child. It could be one of his. The image of Erik, Freja, and Horik rotting in graves was suddenly unbearable. He turned away, almost knocking a woman off her feet. "Excuse me,” he muttered, forcing his way through the crowded hall. He needed to get away. These historical displays were nothing more than a tomb to him, a reminder of a world he could never visit again, and of loved ones who were forever a memory. "Eadred!” Portland called to him, but he ignored her and continued walking. He couldn't face her or anyone else right now. He just wanted to breathe the smoggy air outside the museum. Let the pollution of the world drag him back to reality. Portland caught up to him in the lobby and grasped his arm. “Wait! Are you all right?" He glanced at her, knowing he failed to hide what he felt. Sympathy glistened in her eyes and he wanted it. What was happening to him? Had this world robbed him of his manhood in every way? Not only was he a kept man, supported by Portland and Richard's university, but he'd lost control of his emotions in the presence of another person, something that had never happened to him before. He was a warrior! Placing feelings aside meant life or death! "Eadred, I'm sorry. I didn't know about the body. I'm sure Richard forgot to mention it too. He never would have—" "It's not his fault. My time has passed." "It's only beginning for you." Eadred shook his head. “Erik was just that age. What if it was him? I don't know if he or my other children grew up and had good lives." "Eadred.” She reached out to him, but he stepped back, fighting tears until his head throbbed. "Don't,” he snapped. “Please." Hurt shone in her eyes. He cursed himself for venting his pain and confusion on her. She deserved better, but he couldn't seem to help himself. If she touched him, kissed him, his fragile hold on his emotions would be destroyed. "Ann and Richard are waiting for us,” she said. “I'll tell them we're leaving. We can go somewhere for coffee and talk, okay?" He nodded, his lips set in a grim line as she hurried back to the exhibition hall. A breeze wafted through the lobby, making the ship banner sway. The serpent at the bow seemed to laugh at him. Rather than wait for Portland, Eadred hurried out of the museum and stepped into the warm Boston night.

**** "Damn it, Ann, why didn't I stay with him?” Portland snapped, so worried about Eadred's disappearance that she forgot to panic as her sister stepped on the gas and sped through a yellow light. "Will you for God's sake calm down? He's a grown man." "But he's not familiar with Boston, or any city for that matter! What if he goes to a bad section and gets mugged?" "I get the feeling it would be the mugger's funeral,” Ann murmured under her breath. “He couldn't have gone far and Richard is searching in the other direction." Portland nodded. When Richard had learned of Eadred's reaction to the remains of the Viking child, he had left his own exhibition to search for his friend. "I should have said something about the skeleton,” Richard had snapped. “I wasn't thinking about anything except myself and my work!" Portland and Ann reassured him that it wasn't his fault before leaving the museum with the hopes of catching up to Eadred. "Why don't you pull over, Ann? We'll get out and walk for a while. He might have stopped for coffee or something to eat." "Good idea." Ann parked at the curb. As the women walked down the dark streets, Portland said, “I hope he's okay." "He speaks English well. He'll get back to the museum or call you." "I'm not so worried about that—like you said, he's not a child. I'm worried about how upset he was." "Of course he's upset. To him, it was only a few short months ago that he lost his entire family at once. It's normal for him to grieve." It was close to midnight when the women met Richard at the museum. The exhibition had long since closed for the night. Ann glanced at her watch. “I'm really sorry, Portland, but I have to get home and go to sleep. I have a long shift tomorrow." "Go ahead,” Portland sighed. “Thank you for looking." Ann placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. “He'll show up and he'll be fine. You'll see. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?" Portland shook her head.

"We're going to look a little more,” Richard said. “I'll give her a lift when we find him." Ann waved to them as she stepped into her car and drove away. "Where should we look now?” Richard asked. "I have no idea.” Portland pressed her fingertips to her temples. In spite of the aspirin she'd swallowed, her head still pounded. “We could try up that way again.” She pointed down a street where a few random lights glowed from restaurants and bars. Together, they walked the stretch of road, staring in windows or stepping inside restaurants to check tables out of view. Loud music sounded from behind peeling black walls of a dive that oozed the scent of booze and cigarettes. A voice accompanied the music—a deep, male voice belting out the blues. Portland stopped for a moment and listened. "What?” Richard glanced at her over his shoulder. "No way,” she muttered. “It's impossible!" "What?" "That guy singing sounds so familiar." Richard paused. “You know, you're right. Something about his phrasing..." Portland grasped Richard's arm as the doors opened and a bald-headed, tattooed man stepped outside, giving a clear view of the tiny bar. Standing on a stage in front of tables littered with booze bottles, ash trays, and leftover food, Eadred sang into the microphone attached to a karaoke machine. "This is too weird.” Richard raised an eyebrow. “Scandinavian soul music." "Come on!” Portland paid the man collecting the cover, grasped Richard's sleeve, and dragged him inside. Several people glanced at them as they approached the stage. Portland didn't even care how she and Richard, dressed in yuppie casual, didn't remotely fit in among half-dressed guys and girls downing alcohol and groping each other in the dimness. "You know,” Richard stared at Eadred, “he sounds pretty good." Eadred glanced in their direction and placed the microphone aside. Several people clapped for him and one woman dressed in a skin-tight black mini dress shouted for him to go on. Eadred ignored them as his gaze fixed on Portland. "What the hell are you doing?” she demanded as he approached. “We have been going crazy trying to find you, and you're having fun?" "I guess I was having a little fun.” He shrugged. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that."

"No, you shouldn't have, but I can understand why you did." "Boys and girls, let's have the little love chat outside, shall we?” Richard muttered, glancing around the bar. “This is hardly the place." "Just a moment.” Eadred turned to a group of four young men and women seated at a table in a corner of the room. He picked up a tall glass and drained the contents before nodding to the group. "See ya around, Eadred.” The youths waved to him. “Thanks for the drinks." "You went drinking with those kids?" "They're college students,” he said. “They were telling me about their semester. Very informative. And we hardly drank. Just three or four glasses." "Of what?" "It's called vodka." "You had three glasses of vodka?” Richard's lip curled. “And you're still coherent?" Portland raised in eyebrow. “You never told me you were a drinker." "I'm not.” He shrugged. “It reminded me a little of the men I traveled with. Drinking, eating, singing. Once in a while, such things are fun." "But you don't drink regularly?" "Portland, will you leave the man alone?” Richard snapped as the three walked outside. “Eadred, I'm sorry about the exhibition." Eadred shook his head. “It had nothing to do with you. I must come to terms with my losses and my life. I should have told you before I left the museum.” He stopped walking and tugged Portland close, cupping her face in his hand. “I'm very sorry. I just had to be alone for a while." As she gazed into his eyes, her anger faded. “So how did you end up chumming around with those students at the bar?" "I walked for a very long time, thinking about the past and the present.” He draped his arm over her shoulders as they continued walking toward the museum. Richard stayed a respectful distance ahead, and Portland silently thanked him for realizing she and Eadred needed a moment of privacy. "And?" "I loved my family. I miss them very much. I would give anything to have my children back again. I don't know how long it will take to mourn them. Perhaps the rest of my life, but I am alive. I don't want to talk about some of the things I thought about, but I do want you to know you're the biggest reason I want to remain a part of this world." "I am?"

"You must know that.” He stopped several feet from Richard's car. The archaeologist slid into the driver's seat and waited. Eadred brushed Portland's mouth with a kiss. “You must have some sense of how I feel." "I hoped you felt for me." "I more than feel for you, Portland." Her heart skipped a beat, but she took pride in the steadiness of her voice. “About the bar?" "I heard the music and the sound of people drinking and talking. For a moment, I was reminded of home. When I stepped inside, the room was crowded, so I got a drink and sat at a table near those students. I overheard their conversation about college and asked them some questions. We started talking." "And singing?” A smile played around Portland's lips. "Yes. I realized that in spite of all the changes, some things have stayed the same. Relationships are similar. People enjoy many of the same entertainments." "What are you saying?" "I'm saying that for the first time I realized I can be a part of this world." "Of course you can. You already are." "Not quite, but I'm learning.” He glanced toward the car. “Richard is waiting." "Patiently. I know." "We can talk more at home?" Portland liked the way he said “home.” She smiled and slid into the back of Richard's car, Eadred beside her. "Is everything okay?” the archaeologist asked. "Yes,” Portland said. “I think it is." "Just one question.” Richard shook his head. “Where the hell did you learn to sing the blues?" "Old Viking tradition." Portland stared at Eadred in surprise, then chuckled at the half smile on his lips. Richard smirked. “Don't even try to fake that one." "I bring the radio with me when I chop wood. The song I was singing is my favorite—at least in this time."

Portland smiled. “I didn't know that." "So what's your favorite song from your time?" "Always the archaeologist, Richard,” Portland teased. "Just natural curiosity. Give us a little Viking serenade, Eadred. If I'd have known you could sing, I'd have asked you long ago." Eadred looked skeptical. “Our songs are very different from what you're accustomed to." "That's the whole point. Let her rip." Eadred looked at Portland and shrugged before bellowing out a song that made 1980's heavy metal sound like Gregorian chants. Portland winced and shouted to Richard over Eadred's voice. “I see what he meant!" "This is culture!” the archaeologist shouted back. “I think." Eadred finished the song with a grin. “I told you." "And that was your favorite song?” Richard's brow furrowed. "My children and I sang it all the time." "Guess there was no Rock-a-bye Baby back then,” Portland murmured. "I did appreciate the exhibition, Richard,” Eadred said. "Oh, sure.” Richard didn't bother hiding his sarcasm. "I did. Your work is very important. You ensure the past is not forgotten. I thank you on behalf of my people." Richard glanced at the Viking. “You know, I've won awards and done interviews all over the world, but that is the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me about my work. How many other archaeologists can claim praise from a genuine man of the past?" Portland rested her head against Eadred's shoulder and thought,how many women can claim to be the girlfriend of a man who walked straight off the pages of a historical romance novel? **** To save Richard from driving them back to Vermont, Portland and Eadred decided to spend the night in a hotel on the outskirts of Boston. "Richard was pleased when you said you'd move nearer the university—at least for a while,” Portland said as she switched on the air-conditioning in their room. "I want to get these interviews or whatever they're called over as quickly as possible."

"Eadred.” Portland approached and placed her hands on his chest, staring into his eyes. “None of this might ever be over, you know. You're a topic of news and conversation. Even if people think you're a hoax, you'll still attract attention and speculation." "It might be better if they think I'm a hoax. That way they might get bored with me.” He slid his arms around her and kissed her. “But maybe it won't be so bad. At least this way I can answer questions about what life was really like for my people." They undressed and slipped naked beneath the sheets. Eadred pulled her into his arms. Her smooth legs entwined with his hard, hair-roughened ones. "I wish I could freeze this moment,” she whispered against the hollow of his shoulder. Eadred smiled. “Be careful what you wish for." "I suppose you're the wrong person to talk with about freezing time." "Sometimes it's best for time to plunge ahead,” he purred, rolling her onto her back and looming above her. His fingertips traced her collarbone and throat. Callused palms slid down her shoulders and covered her breasts, kneading tenderly. Portland sighed, her eyes slipping shut as she ran her hands down the length of his arms, savoring the sensation of warm flesh and hard muscle. As he slid down her body, his mouth danced across her belly, then focused on one breast, licking and nipping gently until she mewled with desire. He moved to the other breast, teasing the pebble-hard nipple. Her fingers bit into his shoulders as she moaned with passion. He claimed her slowly at first, tempting her with long, sensuous strokes that pushed her ever closer to the edge without allowing her to slip into bliss. When her panting breath, pounding heart, and mewls of pleasure told him she was on the verge climax, he thrust into her in a shorter, faster rhythm that stole her breath. Clinging to him, her arms and legs vicelike, she gasped, “Eadred, oh! Yes, my darling! Yes!" Unleashing the hold on his passion, he drove her to a shattering climax. With his pulse racing and body tingling with ultimate pleasure, he joined her in bliss. As they lay, sated, his body half draped over hers, he whispered in her ear, “I love you, Portland." Smiling, she kissed his cheek. “I love you too, Eadred." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve "Don't be worried.” Richard glanced at Eadred before fixing his gaze on the road, his hands tight on the car's steering wheel. Eadred raised his eyes to heaven. Ever since he—and Smith and Jones—had agreed to the television interview, Richard had been a wreck. Eadred was grateful for the agents’ help in ensuring that Stevens and the university didn't take advantage of his situation. The dean somehow felt he owned Eadred. Until he was a self-supporting citizen, the university probably did own a part of him. Soon, very soon, that

would be over. In a few days, he'd have his interview with the Immigration Department. He'd already passed the written test with flying colors. Portland had been as excited as he was. "You're sure you're not nervous?” Richard asked. "You've asked me that twenty times. You're enough to make a man nervous." "I just want you to be prepared. I should have talked that SOB Stevens into arranging another magazine interview, but no! He says this television talk show will be better for the university. Huh." "What are you so worried about? We've spoken to reporters before." "But in private, on our own ground, not on national television. These people are like vultures! You know ever since we started releasing information about you, there has been all kinds of controversy. Most people don't really believe you're a Viking. I've worked very hard to gain respect in my field. Imagine me being involved in a hoax of any kind? Disgusting!" "Every reporter we've spoken to has mentioned the possibility of a hoax. I tell them all the same thing. Let people believe what they want. I know the truth of my existence—the whole truth." "My God, Eadred, please, please keep quiet about the alien abduction! I know it's a bug up your backside that you have to hide all the facts about what happened to you, but remember how my assistant ended up. My safety, your safety, and Portland's safety depends on us forgetting you were ever abducted." "Forgetting? I don't think so. Smith and Jones still question me. Just last week they showed me photographs of new crop markings that match my tattoo. That means the same group of aliens who saved my life are still in existence. How do you think that makes me feel?" "I can't imagine. I told you we already have a publisher interested in the book I wrote about you?" "Yes. Have you thought of a title yet?" "I was sitting at my desk making notes yesterday afternoon when it hit me. I'm calling itRediscovering Thor . What do you think?" A smile played around Eadred's solemn mouth. “Thor, huh?" "I thought you might like that." "I somehow thought you'd be happier about this talk show. Isn't it a popular one?" "Are you kidding? It's one of the top shows in the country. The hostess, Janine, has her face plastered all over the papers and magazines." "Isn't this exactly what you and the university wanted?" "I just want a record of the truth. All right, maybe I want a little notoriety too. And I was also thinking about you. I know you don't like all this attention, so going on the country's top talk show isn't exactly first on your list for enjoyment."

"I don't mind so much." "What about all those people looking at you, and the cameras in your face, and—" "I think you're much more upset about it than I am." "I'm not upset. I've been in documentaries before, but this is different. You think I should have shaved off my beard for the show?" Eadred tossed Richard a skeptical look. The archaeologist glanced at the Viking's own dark, wiry facial hair. “Okay, so you're not the ideal guy to ask. Besides, the beard makes my nose look smaller." "Odin, give me strength,” Eadred muttered. "Still with the Odin thing, huh? Portland hasn't spoken in depth about Christianity yet?" "Portland's also a pagan." "She's a what?” Richard nearly sped through a red light, but managed to jam on his brakes in time. "She calls herself Wiccan." "Oh, man.” Richard glanced skyward. “Does Ann know?" "Why should Ann care about Portland's religion?" "So she's telling you there really is an Odin?" "Who says there isn't? Maybe your God is Odin." "And maybe you've had a little too much vodka again." "I haven't had alcohol since the night of the exhibition." "I've told you before, Eadred. There's no Valhalla. No Odin. No Valkyries." "Yet you believe in angels and a horned devil. The cynicism of this age." "I don't believe in religion of any kind. Just the facts." "Even worse. You have no faith or hope at all." "I have hope, all right. I hope this interview goes well, but if it doesn't, I'm not going to blame God or the devil. To me, Eadred, religion is simply another part of past cultures to study.” Richard pulled the car to the side of the road. “And here we are. Good luck." "Luck? Is that something based on fact? Can you really wish luck? I mean, is it something you can touch and study?"

"You are such a wiseass, you know that?” Richard grinned. “Let's just get this over with." "Sounds good to me." **** "Just a few short months ago, Blackstone University released an amazing story. A Viking man had been found frozen in ice in an arctic glacier. What made this story so unusual was that once the body was thawed, it was discovered the man was alive.” Janine, hostess of the world famous talk show,Janine's Whole Truth , spoke to the waiting audience in the studio. Eadred and Richard watched and listened to the intro from a backstage monitor. Though Richard had stopped fidgeting, Eadred still sensed his discomfort. Truthfully, there were places Eadred would much rather be. The idea of discussing his life in front of so many people was a bit unsettling, but he figured he owed Richard and the university that much. Soon the novelty of his story would wear off and people would forget about him. Then he could live like a regular person again. "A Viking man in perfect health after a thousand years. Some call him a miracle of God, others an elaborate hoax. Joining us today is Eadred and the man who discovered him, archaeologist Richard White." Applause sounded as Eadred followed Richard onto the stage. Don't panic,he thought to himself as he sat, aware of the eyes upon him and the tiny microphone clipped to his sports jacket.You've fought life-and-death battles, so this can't possibly affect you. Just answer the questions, and it will be over in a hour. His gaze swept the audience without truly noticing the staring faces. There was one in particular he was searching for. He noticed Portland in the second row center, seated beside Ann. Knowing she was there somehow made him feel better. "Thank you for joining us.” Janine approached the stage. “Richard, it's safe to say Eadred is here because of you. Tell us about how you first discovered him and what happened upon his awakening." "It wasn't only me. The entire team was involved as well as my deceased assistant Jake Phillips. There was also the medical staff that cared for Eadred once he thawed." "In case those in our audience aren't aware, your assistant, Jake Phillips, disappeared around the time of Eadred's discovery and his body was recently recovered—apparently it was a suicide. There's been speculation about the relationship between Eadred's discovery and your assistant's suicide. Is there anything you can tell us about that?" "No,” Richard stated. “We're here to discuss Eadred, not Jake's death." Janine smiled graciously, but Eadred noted the gesture didn't reach her eyes. He glanced at the audience. Some people stared with wide-eyed interest, others with skepticism and disgust. Suddenly his anxiety diminished. He could handle this now that he recognized it for what it was. This was battle. All he needed was wit and strategy. "Eadred, when I spoke with you backstage I was shocked by how well you've mastered the English language in such a short time. You almost sound like you've always lived in our time. How did you manage to grasp so much so quickly?"

"Diligent study." Again Janine smiled. “I can imagine. Still, some might say it's unusual, that if you really are a man from a thousand years ago—" "Eadred is highly intelligent,” Richard interjected. “His memory is what some might call photographic." Janine raised an eyebrow. “So in a way he's probably better suited for our time than the Dark Ages." "You're technologically advanced, I'll admit,” Eadred said. “However, you haven't discovered a way to diminish starvation, murder, and war. I'd say this age, in its own way, is as dark as my own." "Tell us how you felt about this world when you awakened." Eadred explained all he remembered from the moment his eyes opened in the hospital to his experiences up to that moment, taking time to answer Janine's questions and those of her audience. Some people were straightforward. Others seemed anxious to catch him in a lie. One gray-haired man in the front row introduced himself as a history professor from a prominent college in Boston. With encouragement from Janine, he grilled Eadred on details from his age, deliberately tossing out several erroneous statements to see if Eadred caught them. The man's attitude and interrogation might have amused Eadred had he not felt so damn furious. He was tired of questions, tired of cynics, and sick of being an object of curiosity. Throughout the interview, his gaze riveted on Portland. He noted the tension on her face, the anger at certain questions, and was almost sorry he'd asked her to come. "We did speak to some of the medical staff who had initial contact with you,” Janine said. “These are highly respected professionals who would have no reason to risk their credibility by involving themselves in a fabrication of your origins. They've admitted that they did little to keep you alive, that the thawing process was completely foreign and inexplicable to them. They refused to speculate on how this happened. Eadred, can you enlighten us about how you were frozen? Can you tell us what happened a thousand years ago that preserved you until now?" For the first time, Eadred paused. Now was his chance. He was on national television. Smith and Jones couldn't blow him away right on stage. Richard turned to him, his eyes wide and his jaw working restlessly. Eadred knew if they weren't in front of the camera, the archaeologist would be lecturing him about keeping his mouth shut. "Eadred?” Janine prodded. “How were you frozen?" If it wasn't for the safety of Portland, Richard, and the others involved, he'd have gone public with the complete truth long ago, without fear or regard for himself. "I don't remember what happened,” Eadred said. “The last memory I have is of a battle." "Then you must feel as curious as the rest of us about how you survived?" "Right now I'm more interested in my future." "Yes. You're becoming a citizen and I'm told you've chosen a last name, something unheard of in your time. What name have you decided on?"

"Ellis." Janine nodded. “Interesting choice. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but immigrants used to arrive in the United States on Ellis Island." "I am aware and I recognize the coincidence, but I've chosen it for another reason." "Can I have a guess?” For the first time, Janine's smile appeared genuine. She walked to Portland's seat and asked her to stand. Portland, looking uncomfortable but no less beautiful in a pants suit that matched the sky blue of her eyes, did as the hostess asked. "This is Portland Ellis, a language expert who translated for you before you mastered English. I understand you also live with her. Ms. Ellis, what was it like communicating with a man from a thousand years ago who knew nothing of our time?" "We spoke in Latin. It's not Eadred's first language, but it was common ground for us. Knowing him has been an amazing experience.” A smile played around Portland's lips as she glanced at Eadred. He wished they were alone so he could take her in his arms and pretend they were the only people in the world, at least for a little while. "And he's very attractive too, isn't he?” Janine grinned. “It's not often we see a man's man anymore. Sorry, gentlemen,” the hostess said to the men in the audience. “Is it safe to say, Portland, you two are more than friends?" "More like family.” Eadred replied before Portland. “My family is dead, but I've found friends who are now like family." "Yes,” Portland agreed. “I certainly consider Eadred part of my family." "Like a brother?” Janine raised an eyebrow. Portland grinned. “More like a great, great, great, great grandfather." Janine and the audience laughed. “Somehow I don't think you're telling the whole truth, Ms. Ellis. Speaking of the truth, we're coming to the close of the show, and I think I should tell you that in our audience is Dr. Mark Pines, an expert on body language. His methods of observation are nearly as accurate as a lie detector when it comes to proving if a person is lying or telling the truth.” Janine walked to the front row where a slender, middle-aged man with tawny hair and glasses sat on the edge of his chair. “Dr. Pines, many people, in spite of assurance from the government itself, believe Eadred is not a real Viking, but a hoax. In watching and listening to him and Richard today, is he, in your opinion, the real thing?" "I would say that both of them are sincere in what they've said.” Dr. Pines glanced from Richard to Eadred. “Either Eadred is the best liar in the world, or he is, in fact, a Viking. Or at least he truly believes he is." "So you're not saying he is a man of the past—" "I have no proof of that."

"But you are saying he is telling the truth—or what he believes the truth to be?" "Exactly so,” said Dr. Pines. “The only time he displayed a bit of uneasiness was when you asked what happened to him. However, that could be due to genuine confusion. I'm sure he has buried images about his experience." "So the doctor says you were holding out on us, Eadred.” Janine winked. “You're sure there's nothing you want to tell us about what happened back in the year nine hundred?" "I have no explanation,” Eadred stated. "This concludes our show for today. Eadred, Richard, thank you for joining us.” Janine turned to the camera. “The Viking iceman, fact or fiction? Our body language expert says he's telling the truth about his past, but there are some who still believe Eadred Ellis's story is nothing more than fabrication. Perhaps we'll never really know." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirteen "I think you both did really well,” Ann said, taking a bite of her tuna fish sandwich. “And I can't think of a better way to spend a long weekend than visiting New York and watching two handsome guys do an interview." "Two handsome guys, eh?” Richard winked at her. After the show, the four had stopped for lunch at a restaurant a few blocks away from the studio. Portland shared one side of a booth with Eadred, Ann with Richard. "You handled those barracudas like a pro,” Richard told Eadred. "That's the last time I do a television interview." "But Stevens thought you might—" "I don't care what Stevens wants.” Eadred stole a French fry from Portland's plate. "Hey!” She playfully slapped his hand. “Stop stealing my food." "Just trying to do you a favor.” He winked. “Fried food will kill you." Richard laughed. “You deserve that, after making him the Soy Dog King." "Maybe some of that health consciousness should rub off on you.” Ann elbowed Richard. “You drink more coffee than I do on a double shift." "Concerned about me, are you?” Richard turned to Ann with a playful smile. "Don't you wish."

"Boy, do I.” Richard cast the doctor a flirtatious look. Portland thought she saw a hint of a blush on Ann's cheeks. Something was definitely brewing between her sister and Richard. Portland hoped they'd be as happy as she and Eadred. "I don't blame you at all about not wanting to do any more television.” Portland glanced at Eadred. “You looked incredibly handsome on camera, though." "Not as beautiful as you did in the audience." "Excuse me, you two,” Richard said, “some of us are trying to eat lunch without getting sick to our stomachs." "We tried to get to the restaurant in one piece too. Not easy with you staring at Ann instead of the road,” Eadred said. Ann's lip curled. “Eadred, did you have to drag me into this?" "You're the one who did us the big favor by keeping him alive after he thawed out,” Richard said to Ann. “You could have pulled the plug or something." "If she did that, you wouldn't have that fat book contract forRediscovering Thor , would you?" Richard shook his head. “Eadred, I think I liked you better when you couldn't speak a word of English." "What's going on over there?” Ann nodded across the dining room. Portland and Eadred glanced over their shoulders to where the hostess was locking the door, two tall men in jeans and black sweaters beside her. Suddenly the men spun, guns in hand. "Everybody on your feet!” the taller of the two bellowed. Several people screamed, and a woman ran for the door. The second man kicked her to the floor where she sat, wailing, blood running from her lips. Ann stood and approached them. The tall man aimed his gun at Ann. “Don't move!" "I'm a doctor." "I don't give a shit if you're God. One more step and I'll blow your head off!” the gunman growled. “Everybody else stand up, get in the center of the room, and sit on the floor. Now! Move! You in the kitchen! Get your asses out here!" Portland's heartbeat quickened as she, Eadred, and Richard joined Ann in the center of the room, the other patrons and workers behind them. "You! Shut up!” The second gunman bellowed in the crying woman's face.

She whimpered, wiping her cut lips on her sleeve. "What do you want?” The manager stepped from the back room. “Money?" "Not the piddly little bit in this place,” the tall man snarled. “You call the cops back there?” The manager didn't reply, and the gunman laughed. “Good. Let them come. The faster they get here, the faster we get what we want." "What do you want?” Ann asked. "Lady, you have a big mouth!” The shorter one took several steps toward Ann and slapped her. "Son of a bitch!” Portland snarled, jumping to her feet. Eadred caught her and tugged her back down to the floor. "I said everybody sit down and shut up!” the taller gunman roared. "If you tell us what you want, we can resolve this situation quickly,” Eadred said. He stared at Eadred, noting his size, and aimed the weapon at him. Portland resisted the urge to panic. "You're so smart, you can make the arrangement. Pretty soon the phone is going to ring. When it does, you pick it up and tell the cop on the other end that unless we get a hundred thousand in cash and a private plane full of fuel, we're going to kill a hostage every ten minutes until we get what we want." The man nearest Portland stood and ran for the kitchen. A shot sounded, and the man screamed and fell, clutching his leg. "At least let me help him!” Ann said. The gunmen exchanged glances, then the shorter one waved her toward the injured man. "She'll need help.” Richard stood. “I'll do it." "We're running the show, not you!" "We can see that,” the archaeologist continued, “but she'll still need help." "Let him go, Tom,” the short one shrugged. Portland's gaze followed Ann and Richard as they knelt beside the victim. Everyone jumped when the phone rang. "Get it, tough guy.” Tom pointed to Eadred who stood and relayed the message to the officer on the other end of the line. Moments later, he hung up. “He said they'll need time to get what you're asking for. In the meanwhile, they'd like you to talk with—" "I'm not talking to nobody! And they got ten minutes before we start blowing people away, starting with

you, tough guy!" Portland's stomach clenched so tightly it ached. Her head throbbed. Eadred was going to be the first to die! He'd survived a thousand years only to be killed by a couple of greedy young punks! What the hell kind of cruel joke was that? He held her gaze and went to join her on the floor, but Tom aimed the gun in his direction. “Stay by the phone." Eadred leaned against the register, studying his adversaries. How could he look so calm knowing in ten minutes he was going to die? Die, no! Portland didn't want to think about living the rest of her life without him. Everyone in the room, save Ann, Richard, and the shooting victim, stared at the round black and white clock on the wall above the cash register. After seven minutes, the phone rang again. Eadred picked it up. He held out the receiver. “They want to speak with one of you." "Forget it. Tell them they got three minutes or we send your dead ass out there." Eadred relayed the message then said, “They'll need at least half an hour more." "Half an hour.” The tall one looked thoughtful. “That's three dead bodies. Hang up." Eadred did as the gunman bid. Portland watched the minute hand pass the twelve two more times. As it approached the third, she considered tackling the gunman, but knew it would do no good. "Tom, take him in the kitchen and get it over with." Tom used his weapon to wave Eadred through the door. "No! Don't do this!” Portland leapt to her feet. Richard dove at her, holding her tightly. Eadred and Tom disappeared behind the swinging metal door. "God!” Portland closed her eyes tightly against Richard's shoulder as crashing sounds echoed from the kitchen. "Tom! What the hell's going on in there! Tom!" A single shot split the sudden stillness. Portland, blinded by tears, tried pulling away from Richard. "Tom!” the lone gunman shouted. “Answer me, damn it!" The metal door flung open as Eadred fired at the gunman, who dropped to the ground, clutching his arm and bellowing in pain. A man and woman leaped on him. Portland, finally free of Richard, kicked the gun

out of the punk's reach and ran to Eadred. "Remind me to thank Smith again for teaching me how to shoot,” Eadred said as Richard opened the restaurant door and called for the police to enter. **** It took the remainder of the day to answer questions from the authorities and fill out paperwork. None of the wounded, including the two gunmen, sustained fatal injuries. When Portland and Eadred finally retired to their hotel room, they flopped, fully clothed, onto the bed. "Did I tell you how much you amaze me?” Portland rested her chin on his chest and gazed into his eyes. “Sometimes I think there's nothing you can't do. Serves those guys right for trying to push around a Viking warrior." "I love you, Portland.” He kissed her. “If anything had happened to you today—" "Happened to me? You were the one who went vigilante!" "They left me little choice." "That's true,” she admitted. “Still, most people wouldn't have had the guts or the skill to wrestle the gun away from a nut." "Or the luck." "Yes.” She smiled. “You certainly do seem to have a guardian spirit watching over you, just like you were a guardian spirit over us today." "You're making too much of it. I did what any man would have done to protect his life and his family." "You are so wrong about that.” She sat up and straddled him as she unbuttoned his shirt. “I'd like to show my appreciation for your uncommon courage." Gazing at her, he grasped her waist and smiled. “I appreciate appreciation." She giggled. “I thought you might." "Just,” he sighed as her lips replaced her hands on his torso and unzipped his pants, encircling his hardness in her fist and squeezing gently, “how appreciative are you?" "Let's find out." He closed his eyes as her warm, moist breath teased his manhood with a prelude of the night to come. **** Portland awoke to knocking on the hotel room door. She sat up, running a hand through her hair, and squinted as Eadred, a towel around his waist, walked out of the bathroom.

"Who is it?” he demanded. "Smith and Jones." "Uhhh.” Portland slapped a hand to her forehead and collapsed onto the pillows. Eadred muttered to himself as he opened the door. "Heard you had some action last night,” Smith said. "What?” Portland shot out of bed, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “Don't tell me you have this room bugged too?" "We never had anything bugged,” Jones stated. "And I didn't mean that kind of action.” Smith winked and tossed a newspaper onto the bed. The headline on the lower right corner read: Viking Man Saves Hostages. Eadred picked up the paper. Portland stood beside him, skimming the article. "Two armed men who held up a restaurant late yesterday afternoon were captured by a man simply known as Eadred. Eadred had just finished a guest spot on the talk showJanine's Whole Truth ,” Portland read. “According to experts in the Archaeology Department of Blackstone University as well as government spokespersons, Eadred had recently been revived after being frozen in ice since the year 900. Whether or not that's the ‘whole truth’ remains a point of controversy, but Eadred was responsible for saving the lives of over thirty restaurant patrons and staff." "We got here as soon as we could,” Smith said. “We were tied up yesterday." "Seems like you just can't keep a low profile.” Jones shook his head. “And by the way, nice job on Janine's show the other day." "You're a smart guy, Eadred, to keep your end of our bargain.” Smith winked as he and Jones left the room. “Oh, and you can have the paper." Portland flipped to the next page to continue reading the article. “Look. There's a picture. God, my butt looks huge! You're gorgeous, though." Eadred glanced over her shoulder at the black and white photo of him and Portland talking to police outside the restaurant. Eadred pinched her buttocks and grinned. “I think your butt looks great and feels even better." Portland grinned, thinking how empty her life had been before a thousand-year-old man had stumbled into it. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fourteen "Now it's official, Eadred.” Portland smiled at him as they sat, sipping wine, at the kitchen table in Richard's home. The archaeologist had invited them over to celebrate Eadred's new citizenship. He'd taken the oath that afternoon after passing his verbal examination. "So how does it feel?” Richard carried a pan of stuffed shells to the table and placed it beside the garden salad. "It feels good,” Eadred said. “Now I can get a job and go to school." "Sounds like a plan. Just remember, you have another interview scheduled at the university Thursday afternoon. Unfortunately, Stevens will be there. He wants to make sure his face is in the middle of all the press we've been getting." "He needs to get a life.” Eadred scooped some of the shells into his and Portland's dishes. Richard grinned. “It cracks me up to hear you talk slang." "Vikings must have had slang,” Portland said. "Sure we did." "You know, I never asked about that, did I?” Richard reached for his notebook, but Eadred snatched it and placed it aside. "Save it for the next book. Better yet, maybe I will." "You're not going to write a book?” Richard looked crushed. “Come on, Eadred, you can't do it to me. At least let me be your coauthor." "I'll see what I can do." "Even after I promised to help you get into the university when you're ready?" "Why do I get the feeling being as smart as he is, he's not going to need any help?” Portland said. "Can't argue there. How about if I threaten to throw this down the garbage disposal instead,” the archaeologist teased, picking up Eadred's plate of food before he took the first forkful. Eadred winked in Portland's direction. “It's okay. You used ricotta cheese. Too much of that will kill you." After dinner, Portland and Eadred returned to their hotel room and continued the celebration in bed. "We'll be going back to Vermont soon,” Portland said, “and this vacation will be over, so I was thinking maybe we could go to the beach tomorrow morning?" He wrapped his arms around her and tugged her close. “Wonderful. I love the beach."

"Richard said we can use the private beach behind his house anytime. Better than the crowds." "I was only joking, but I think he liked the idea of writing a book together." "Might be good practice for you, considering you've thought about archaeology as a possible profession." "It's something to consider." Straddling his waist, she braced her hands against his chest and spoke against his lips, “Think about it later." "Much later." His hands tightened on her hips as she moved sensually upon him. Portland gazed at him as she guided the pace of their pleasure. Usually, she preferred to close her eyes when she made love, but for the first time she realized what she was missing by not watching. Eadred's dark blue eyes fixed on her, and she watched them soften as lust claimed him. Beneath her fingertips, his chest expanded as he drew a deep, satisfied breath then released it. His eyes slipped shut, the lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. His head arched back exposing the strong line of his neck. The motion of his Adam's apple as he swallowed and the beating of his pulse in his throat aroused her almost as much as his hot, thick manhood rubbing her in all the right places. His lips parted and teeth gleaming white in contrast to his beard, he groaned with animal desire. Portland's body heated, her heartbeat leapt, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes. Her movements increased as the peak of fulfillment neared, and then she could no longer see, only feel. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, and she lost all semblance of control. As she exploded, his hips jerked upward and his breath grew ragged as he found his own climax amidst hers. **** "What a gorgeous morning!” Portland squinted against the sunlight as she and Eadred stepped onto the deck in back of Richard's house overlooking the beach. They'd phoned him at the university that morning, and he'd told them to swing by before going to the beach and he'd give them a spare key so they could use the house to change. "He has a great library,” Eadred said, following her outside. "Don't tell me you'd rather read than swim on a day like this?" "Maybe, but I'd rather look at you in that bathing suit than read." Portland glanced down at the black one-piece suit and matching sandals. “I never thought I looked very good in a bathing suit." "You were wrong.” He swept her into his arms and carried her down the steps. "Put me down!” She laughed. “Someone might see!" "No one's around, and besides, so what?"

On the beach, Portland spread a blanket on the sand while Eadred pulled out a bottle of sunscreen from her flowered beach bag. He knelt on the blanket and tugged her between his legs, rubbing lotion on her shoulders and back. Portland closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his big, callused, lotion-slicked hands on her flesh. When his lips touched her neck, a shiver of desire ran down her spine. Ever since she'd shown him the sunscreen that day on the island, it had been a favorite method of flirtation between them. When he had finished, she lathered the scented lotion over his back, working her way to his chest. Her fingers tightened in the sparse, dark hair that littered his pectorals. Tugging her into his arms, he kissed her. "Want to go swimming?” he asked. She shook her head. “I think I'll get some sun and look through some of my craft magazines, maybe find some new jewelry ideas." "Okay.” He stood and headed for the water. Craft magazines, nothing! Portland settled onto the blanket and watched him as he stepped into the water and swam. He stood several feet out, water gleaming off his tall, muscled frame, tendrils of dark, curling hair grabbing at his shoulders. Portland sighed, imagining what he looked like a thousand years ago on a beach somewhere in Scandinavia. He must have been the most handsome Viking ever. She watched him for nearly half an hour before picking up a magazine and flipping through pages of colorful beads, crystals, and gold and silver chains. "Oh my God." Portland glanced over her shoulder at the sound of a feminine voice. A tall, black-haired woman wearing baggy shorts and a tank top over her slim body stared at Eadred, a camera clutched in her hands. She raised the camera and snapped a couple of pictures. "Excuse me?” Portland said, irritated by the nerve of the woman. "Oh! Hello.” The photographer grinned. “Nearly stepped on you, didn't I? Look at that.” She pointed at Eadred. “Isn't he beautiful?" "Yes.” Portland stood and folded her arms across her chest. “He is. Why are you taking his picture?" "Is he with you?" "Yes." "Would you ask him to come a little closer? I'd really like to take some more pictures, if he wouldn't mind." Portland's lip curled with irritation. “Who the hell are you?" The woman narrowed her eyes at Portland, then shook her head and smiled. “I'm sorry. My name's

Stephanie. I'm an artist. I do mostly romance novel covers." Portland looked a bit skeptical. “Really?" "Really. Your friend—or husband—would make a wonderful model. Is he?" "What?" "A model?" "No." "Will he mind if I take his picture?" Portland considered how Eadred felt about the television and magazine interviews. “He might not like it, but I guess we could find out." Portland called to Eadred as she and Stephanie approached the shoreline. He joined them, stepping out of the deeper water, his body glistening with moisture and matting his chest hair against the solid plates of muscle. "Oh my God,” Stephanie murmured again. Portland understood her reaction well enough. She'd known Eadred for months and still felt the same knee-weakening lust each time she looked at him. The photographer continued, “He has a very unusual face. His eyes are so deep. He looks like one of those knights or gladiators I have to paint for so many books." "How about a Viking?” Portland suggested, a grin playing around her lips. "Yes,” Stephanie breathed. “I always think of them as big blonds, but with that body and those blue eyes ... Can't you just see him in leather with some big gold arm cuffs?" "Yes. Oh yes.” Portland breathed, then chastised herself. She sounded almost as silly as the artist! Eadred stopped in front of them, his gaze drifting from Portland to Stephanie. Rivulets of seawater drizzled down his chest and glistened in the pit of his throat. For a moment, neither woman spoke. "Eadred, this is Stephanie. She'd like to know if she can take your picture." "Why? Is she another archaeologist?" Stephanie looked perplexed. “What?" "It's a long story,” Portland said, then turned back to Eadred. “She's an artist. She paints covers for books and likes to use real people as models." "I'd just like to get some shots of you,” Stephanie said. “Would you mind?" Eadred glanced at Portland and shrugged. “Why not?" "Great. Let's get some over there.” Stephanie pointed to some rocks gleaming with water and strewn with seaweed close to the shore.

"You won't mind if I watch?” Portland asked, still feeling a bit uneasy. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of another woman ogling Eadred, even if she claimed to be a cover artist. She was probably more like a con artist. "Not at all.” Stephanie shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I'll take some of both of you together." "I don't know about that.” Portland blushed. "Come on.” Stephanie winked. “Don't be shy." She directed Eadred through several poses. According to Stephanie, he was a natural. "You know, I don't want to make any promises, but I have a connection who's in town I'd like to call. I think he'd like to meet Eadred." "What for?” Portland asked. "He looks like he could be the next biggest cover model in the romance genre." "The what?” Eadred stood from where he'd been sprawled on the sand, waves crashing over him. "Romance novels. Haven't you ever heard of them?” Stephanie turned to Portland. “What planet is he from?" "More like what age is he from?" "Huh?” Stephanie wrinkled her nose. It was Portland's turn for a bit of sarcasm. “What planet areyou from. Stephanie, don't you watch Janine's Whole Truth or read the papers?" **** "Hey, Eadred, Portland. You're early.” Richard smiled at them over a pile of papers on his desk. "We have some things we wanted to talk to you about before the interview,” Portland said, unable to keep the half smile from her lips. "What?" "Eadred got a job." "A job?” Dean Stevens, who had been watching in silence from a corner of the office, raised an eyebrow. “Can't be anything that good. I mean, he has virtually no education, no skills." "He's got everything required for this job,” Portland replied. “He's just about the most qualified man I can think of." "Well, don't keep us in suspense,” Richard said.

"Doesn't matter what it is.” Stevens stood. “The uiversity is making you a better offer. We want you at our disposal for the next few months for some projects. We'll continue paying for your room and board and we planned on offering you a fee as well, so whatever this new job is can wait." Eadred, his back to the Dean, ran his fingertip along the bookshelves at the far wall. “I'm afraid it can't. I already have a photo shoot scheduled for the end of the week." "Photo shoot?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “What's this about?" "Eadred was just hired as a model for a big-time romance novel publishing house." Stevens laughed. “You've got to be kidding." "Does this look like a joke?” Portland unzipped her bag and pulled out a copy of a contract. Stevens snatched it from her, skimming the contents. Richard read over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw what Eadred was being paid. "Take the job!” The archaeologist grasped the front of Eadred's shirt. “Damn. At times brawn really does pay more than brains—not to imply that you're stupid, but if you can make that kind of money just by showing a little skin on a few women's books, I say go for it." "This is ridiculous!” Steven tossed the contract on the table. “You owe us. If it wasn't for us, you wouldn't even be alive to do any modeling. We need you for these projects.” He snorted with mocking laughter as he turned to Portland. “Does he even understand what's going on with this modeling business?" Eadred turned to him, his gaze frigid and his voice even colder. “It doesn't take an oracle. They take my picture and pay me money." "I still say it's crazy. If he starts doing something like this, it will ruin our credibility. Everyone will really think he's a hoax." "Eadred,” Portland asked, “do you want to model?" "It's a lot of money, isn't it?" "A helluva lot,” Richard said under his breath. "Then, of course, I want to model." Stevens'sjaw clenched. “But—" Portland folded her arms across her chest. “He can do whatever he wants. He's not your experiment anymore." "Fine. If that's how you want it.” Stevens stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. "So,” Richard sat back at his desk, “are we still going to coauthor that book between photo sessions?" [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fifteen Vermont, Six Months Later Placing her book beside her on the sun-warmed grass, Portland sighed with contentment and stretched. She gazed at the lake where Eadred swam, his powerful strokes cutting through the water. Glancing at her watch, she noted that his workout would be over soon. Then they could start another kind of workout. She grinned, her belly fluttering at the thought. The past months had amazed her. Between Richard's book being released and Eadred's photo shoots for his new modeling job, so much had changed. At Eadred's request, she had traveled with him to New York for his shoots. Though she sometimes missed her quiet life in Vermont, it thrilled her that, in spite of the glamorous female models he often worked with, he always wanted her close by. "Why would I want such women when I have you?” he told her. “Besides, they're like skin and bone. When I hold a woman, I want to feel curves." Portland's thoughts scattered as Eadred emerged from the lake. The sight of his tall, powerful body still made her legs weak and her pulse race. He was far more ruggedly handsome than most other models. Though he'd learned to enjoy exercising with free weights, a majority of his activity resulted from continued practice of his favorite pastimes. In addition to swimming, running, and daily martial arts training, when home in Vermont, he rode Chief and chopped wood as often as possible. He and Portland loved spending time at home, and she was glad he hadn't taken absolutely every opportunity to work. He was satisfied earning a far better than average living and vowed that he would never again devote more time to a profession than to the people he loved. "What are you reading?” he asked, dropping onto the grass beside her and glancing at the book. He laughed. “Another of your romance books." "Yes, and whoever dreamed I'd be dating one of the cover models?" Grasping her arms, he dragged her atop his chest. "Eadred! You're getting me all wet!" He nuzzled her neck and wrapped his arms around her. Portland wriggled, clutching handfuls of his water-slicked hair as his beard tickled her. The sun seemed to hide suddenly and both of them glanced skyward. Portland gasped, terror filling her at the sight of the dark, spherical object looming overhead. "By the gods,” Eadred breathed as he stood, Portland clinging to his arm. He pushed her away. “Run to the house." "No! I'm staying with you." "Portland, I said—"

His words were lost in the roar of the ship as it landed by the lake. The door opened and two slim, hairless, blue-eyed women stepped out and approached. Don't be afraid,a voice sounded in Portland's head. The visitors turned to Eadred.We have been searching for you. **** Portland jumped awake, gasping, her heart pounding. Her gaze fell on Eadred who sat nearby, gazing at her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes. As her mind cleared, Portland remembered what had happened. The alien beings had taken them aboard their ship where they examined Eadred and answered questions about his past. A thousand years ago, Eadred had stumbled upon one of their explorers—the little man in the monastery. Seeing the Viking's illness, and in repayment for his rescue, the explorer had taken Eadred to the doctors aboard his ship where he was cured. Their intent had been to return Eadred to his village which they had discovered through reading his thoughts in the same telepathic manner they communicated with him and Portland. Upon arrival at the village, they found it destroyed. Eadred's wife and children had been killed by warriors serving a rival chieftain. Unsure of what to do with Eadred, they decided to leave him in the suspended sleep in which they'd kept him while on the ship. An emergency call from their companions called them away from Earth for a brief time. They left Eadred with the intent to return for him, but their ship was destroyed in a skirmish when they answered their comrades’ distress call. It wasn't until this past year that the remnants of their spacecraft was found and through old medical records, their descendents learned about Eadred. The mark on his hip was a tracking mechanism in the form of a peace symbol used by their kind for millennia. Portland could scarcely believe any of this had happened. She could only imagine the emotional turmoil raging inside Eadred, who had finally learned what happened to his family. She approached him and slipped her arms around his neck. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “At least their deaths were quick." "I'm so sorry,” she said, tears springing into her eyes. He clung to her as she shared his grief. Only when they stood to walk home did they notice that the grass around them had been burned into a pattern. Aerial photos taken later by Smith and Jones revealed these markings were identical to the tattoo on Eadred's hip. **** One month after Portland and Eadred's meeting with the visitors, Eadred stood, dressed in leather and chain mail similar to what he'd worn in his time. It was refreshing to actually take photos for a book wearing authentic-looking armor rather than the silly horned helmets usually in demand. "Turn to the side, Eadred,” Stephanie called to him as the camera flashed. “That's great." Thank the gods, the session would soon be over. There were many things Eadred liked about modeling—the money for one—but he hated being cooped in one place and standing around like a

statue. As soon as the shoot was over, he'd get some exercise and make love with Portland. Portland. It was long past time he stopped dishonoring her. He had vowed that once he'd found a way to earn a good living, he would ask her to be his wife. This past year had been nothing short of madness. He'd started adjusting to the modern world while under the scrutiny of the government as well as the public. He'd secured a career that would allow him to provide well as a husband. Most difficult of all was the meeting with his onetime saviors and the discovery of his family's horrible end. No one other than Portland and himself had witnessed the UFO hovering over the secluded part of Vermont, or perhaps the government had hushed that up as well. To Eadred, it no longer mattered. His questions had been answered. Portland had supported him through all of it. He loved her with every fiber of his being. Now was the time to show her how much. As he held yet another pose for Stephanie, he recalled the fantasy Portland had once revealed to him. I used to picture this warrior in chain mail and leather riding up to me on a war stallion. He'd pull me into his arms and tell me I was going to be his wife. A smile tugged at the corner of Eadred's lips. "Eadred, what are you doing?” Stephanie scolded. “You're supposed to be a dark, brooding Viking warrior, not a happy one!" "Stephanie, do you think you could arrange for me to borrow this costume for a while?" The photographer's brow furrowed. “Sure. I guess. What do you want it for?" "I can't go into detail. Let's just say it's to fulfill a fantasy." Stephanie grinned. “That's a good enough reason for this hopeless romantic." Eadred resisted the urge to smile again. With any luck, it would be a good enough reason for a certain other woman as well. **** "Portland!" Portland placed aside the necklace she'd been working on and raced up the cellar steps, her heart pounding. She wondered what in the world could prompt Eadred to shout so loudly that she heard him in the basement. "Get out here, woman!" "Woman?” Portland wrinkled her nose. What in the world had gotten into him? Stepping out the back door, she laughed aloud. Her entire body tingled with excitement when she caught sight of Eadred, his powerful body draped in leather and chain mail, astride Chief who stood in the field behind her house. He kicked the stallion to a gallop.

"Eadred, what are you doing?” She laughed, approaching the stallion as he came to a stop. Eadred dismounted and strode to her. The sensual expression in his blue-gray eyes staring at her through holes in the metal helmet made her shiver with desire. When he reached her, he tore off the helmet and wrapped one arm around her waist, pressing her close to his mail-covered chest. "You're mine, Portland,” he said against her lips. “I love you with my heart and soul. I want you to be my wife." Her pulse fluttered. All her life she'd dreamed of a moment such as this and it was better than she'd ever imagined. A real Viking—her Viking—wanted her as his wife. "Say yes, Portland. Without you, my life won't be complete.” His gaze, filled with love and desire, held her captive. "Yes. Oh, yes.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “I'll be your wife." As his mouth covered hers, she realized she'd never again have to dream of the past, not when she and Eadred had a future filled with endless possibilities. [Back to Table of Contents]

Excerpt from Nobody's Angel By Sylvie Kaye ISBN 1-55316-110-6 Copyright © 2003 Sylvie Kaye [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 1 "I didn't think you'd show up." The man's voice rumbled low and slow, like thunder on a Nevada night in spring. A ripple ran up Kristabel Lewis's spine. What she wouldn't give for that voice to say those words in that tone to her. Tempting as his voice was she didn't bother to turn when a few moments later the man sat down next to her on the royal-blue enamel bench that faced the JC Penney department store. Krista nudged her hip away from the stranger with the tummy-dipping voice, inching over until the crunch of her shopping bags stopped her. She bent down and heeled the packages at her feet to further shove them under the bench. Even the

large bag containing her new piece of luggage slid easily on the high-buffed, granite-colored tile. That's when she noticed a flash of red and yellow—up and down, up and down. The colorful sole of the man's long sneaker bobbed up and down on his knee. Krista had heard those tales about a man's manliness being judged by the size of his sneaker. This man must be one manly man. About a size twelve worth, she figured. She closed one eye and tried to make out the red and yellow pattern on the bouncing sneaker bottom. The colors seemed to form a dog of sorts. It looked to be a blurred greyhound. Her head wanted to bob in time with the dog, so she shifted her eyes upward. His bare ankle and a few sprigs of dark hair flashed at her wickedly. "Ahemm." That attention-getting rumble seemed directed at her, but she knew better. Krista didn't know any man with a voice that could make her insides quake. She sat up and crossed her misty-gray stockinged legs. Her hose matched her side-vented skirt, which promised to be this season's hottest color and this season's hottest length, or so the store clerk had assured her. Krista plucked at the sleeve of her red jacket. She'd just chalked up another successful shop-till-you-drop Saturday at the Kramesward Mall. Too bad she had nowhere to wear the hot outfit she'd gotten on sale today. Too bad she had nowhere to wear the last six outfits she'd gotten on sale. The only place she went lately, other than to the library where she worked, was to the mall in hot pursuit of yet another designer delight. But that was about to change with her new luggage. The suitcase was her birthday treat to herself. She figured that age thirty was past time to get on with her plans for her much dreamed about tour of all of the states. Krista crossed her arms and wagged her foot. After a moment her gaze drifted back to where she'd left off, the man's ankle, which bobbed faster now. Whoever he was waiting for had his jeans revving—his well-worn, well-washed, well-fitting jeans that covered his long, lanky legs. Another “Ahemm." Curiosity uncrossed Krista's legs as she pushed onward and upward. A red sweater hugged his broad chest. A few dark hairs flashed at her from its v neck and stopped her. She smiled at his neck. So far as she could see, the man was a lean, mean, sexy machine. "You aren't sorry you showed up, are you?” The man leaned forward. His face shadowed hers. There was no mistake. The sex machine was talking to her. Her eyes darted about. Not a soul within hearing distance. The man must've been talking to her all along. Obviously, a case of mistaken identity. She was about to tell him so when she faced off with him and her words froze.

His dark blond hair, although cut short, seemed wily and unpredictable. So did his hazel eyes. The man couldn't be considered handsome. His lips were wide, same with his nose. His smile was crooked, but friendly. His face had a compelling charm about it, although it was his hazel-brown eyes that held hers in a time warp. "No, I'm not sorry,” she mumbled, elbowing the packages on the seat beside her and pointing her gray suede toe at the large bags tucked beneath the bench. “I found bargains galore." "I bought socks. I forgot to pack them.” His large hand crumpled a tiny bag. “You a bit of a shopaholic?” he asked in that low, rumble of a voice. "Yes.” A bit wasn't exactly a lie, just a monumental understatement. Lately, shopping had become her social life, or rather her substitute for one. She bought stylish outfits with matching shoes or jewelry to wear on romantic dates with men that she had yet to meet and on her adventure around the country that she had yet to begin. Until then, she stuffed them into her closet where hanger space was becoming something to die for. "You never mentioned the shopaholic part.” His low rumble hinted of intimacy. She found that compelling, too. He slid his arm along the back of the metal bench, drawing her in further. She couldn't mention much of anything, what with her tongue and her mind doing flips over that voice of his. Not that she wanted to mention anything resembling the truth about the mix up just yet. She'd soak up a bit more of his mesmerizing voice and eyes first. "I, I don't overspend,” she said at last. “I hunt out great sales." Dull, dull, dull. No wonder her recent dates didn't ask her out after the third movie. Of course, by the third date, if they hadn't lost interest, Krista had. She'd given up on dating until she perfected her flirting skills. But for the date magnet sitting next to her she'd forego the skills and wing it. Krista talked on. “I have no other hobbies." "I'm not into bowling or darts myself.” His voice rippled through her. He grinned, a big friendly grin that rippled through her also. “I remember you saying you had no hobbies." She had? When? Never, that's when. This situation reeked of a blind date gone awry. Krista tugged at the lapel of her red jacket. Then she glanced again at his red sweater. Was that the signal color? She scanned the crowd for other women wearing red. She spotted two. One gray-haired woman with pumping elbows and very tight curls power-walked by. Her flashy red-and-silver metallic jogging suit never slowed down a pace. That pretty much ruled her out. The other was a teenager with green-streaked, orange hair and black lipstick. Her red sweater dangled with purple bangles. She snapped her fingers and skipped around in a small circle, dancing to a beat that definitely wasn't the “Moon River” ballad playing over the sound system.

Then a boy approached. From beneath his shaved head and pierced eyebrow, even white teeth smiled out at the world and the girl. She waved her sleeve-covered hands at him, then skipped across the polished floor into his arms. So much for the ladies in red. "You type a lot faster than you talk.” He smiled again. An intimate smile came over his intimate mouth, from which his rum-tumble voice generated. His blind date must be a typist. Krista smiled back at him. What to do? She was reluctant to reveal his error in identity and leave the intimacy of his arm and his mouth. "You have no hobbies at all?” she asked, biding her time. "Just dining and dancing,” he replied. Dining and dancing, what a dreamy hobby. Between his voice and physique and his dreamy hobby, the man was nothing less than a date magnet. "Are you a good dancer?” She almost sighed at the thought of being moved around a dance floor wrapped in his muscular, strong arms. Of course, when he discovered she wasn't his blind date he'd most certainly dance off without her. "I took ballroom dance lessons for a phys ed credit in college.” His low, masculine voice teased at her ear, and her stomach, and the tips of her gray suede shoes. "Really?” Another clever remark she couldn't take back. Where were the conversation skills she'd been brushing up on during her lunch break at the library? She'd have thought by page eighty-three ofFlirting 101 something would click in her mind or on her tongue. He shifted on the bench and drew her further into his masculine space. “A four-point-oh grade point average,” he said. Krista smiled graciously. What could a little dinner and dancing hurt? He might like her more than his blind date, the typist who'd stood him up. Then he'd be glad. She'd be glad. And if not glad, at least Krista would have somewhere to wear the Donna Karan dinner suit she'd gotten on sale last month down in Reno. Besides that, today was her birthday and she hadn't had a decent date in months, she rationalized. "I don't have a degree in dancing.” Chalk up another brilliant statement for her. But with him looking at her like that, like she was capable of walking—no, make that dancing—on air, she couldn't remember one witty passage from one witty page of the book on flirting. "So are you saying you'll be stepping on my toes?” Again he grinned. "As long as there's no fancy footwork, your toes will be safe.” That reply surprised her. It was almost witty. "Tonight then?"

She nodded and all but sighed into his hazel eyes. Any Saturday night would be fine. Recently, she'd been opting to stay home and wash her hair, her lingerie, the cat. Well, Kitty was her neighbor's cat. Krista cat-sat Saturday nights whenever her next-door neighbor, Ellie, went away for the weekend. "Eight o'clock okay?” the golden specks in his eyes asked. "Eight's okay,” she said mesmerized by the specks and his voice. The way he said ‘okay’ made the notion of going out with a total stranger seem completely okay. A crowded restaurant and a crowded dance floor sounded safe enough, she assured herself. If not, she'd show him a demonstration of the street karate she learned in the self-defense course at the YMCA this past winter. Her instructor had bragged that her kick-to-the-nose was the best he'd ever seen. Looked like Kitty was on her own tonight. Dining and dancing beat out cat sitting for a thirtieth birthday celebration any time. Turning thirty was bad enough, but turning thirty with only the cat for company was downright depressing. Maybe she'd bring a doggie bag home for Kitty. "I guess it's time to download, so to speak.” His hazel eyes sparkled under the mall lighting. Download? What did that have to do with Kitty's bag and her happy-feet gliding across a dance floor wearing her brand new Aigner dress pumps? Download rang of computer lingo even to Krista's untrained ear. Just what she needed was more awkward communication problems. She'd known computers weren't for her when the teacher over at the high school instructed her to click on start to stop. That's when Krista decided to drop the night class. "As we agreed, no nicknames now that we're out of the chatroom.” He held out a large, strong hand that had long, strong fingers. “I'm Dirk Raynard. Out at the homestead we do some digital farming and ranching and provide stock for Nevada's semi-pro rodeo circuit, mostly bulls.” He continued to hold her hand. “All with the help of my Pentium-powered PC." Was the size of hands like the size of feet she wondered as the warmth of his long fingers and large palm engulfed her much smaller hand? She blinked up at Dirk. “Kristabel Lewis. Most everyone calls me Krista. I'm an assistant librarian, with the help of a very no-tech, Dewey decimal, card catalog system. Computerization hasn't been allocated for the library for this year or for next.” She hoped that curbed any further computer talk he might have on his mind. "Kristabel,” he repeated, with a lopsided, trusting smile. For all of a heartbeat, she wanted to confess that she'd never been in a chatroom. Then he squeezed her hand and her heart skipped a beat and the confession. "Interesting name,” he said. “It has nothing to do with your nick." "No, it doesn't.” What did her chatroom nickname have to do with, she wondered? "Rancher kind of speaks for itself.” He chuckled.

She laughed a nervous little laugh and crossed her legs, then her fingers, hoping he didn't ask her to explain her nick. "Care to go for coffee before I help haul your packages out to your car?” He stood. She stood, too. The tall, lean, sexy, dancing machine was more than a head taller than she was and just the perfect height for dancing. This was going to be one birthday to remember. Dirk manhandled the larger of her packages while she scooped the smaller bags into what he called her ‘graceful arms.’ He touched her elbow and escorted her over to the cappuccino bar in the food court where the aroma of coffee beans and spices lingered on the air. After settling her and her packages at a small, chrome table, they each picked a gourmet coffee flavor. "Hmm, cinnamon,” Krista said when she sipped hers. Dirk sat on the chrome chair across from hers and clicked a blue pen. "I'll need your address and your phone number, in case I get lost.” His pen hovered over the square, paper napkin. "Maybe I should meet you somewhere. Not that I don't trust you. But, my neighbor, Ellie—she's my best friend—she'd have a cow if she found out you came out to the house. Actually, she'll have a cow when she finds out about you." Dirk ruffled his free hand through his hair. “But I thought you were satisfied after you emailed Pansy Potter and she vouched for my upstanding character." "Pansy Potter.” Krista nodded. “Didn't she write the book,Like an Animal ? I met her at a library book signing. She's a lovely person.” Krista had heard many good things about the trustworthy, local northern-Nevada author. "That's the same Pansy. Vet, author and old school chum.” Dirk smiled. “Then I'll pick you up at your house like a proper date should." "I'm sure Pansy's word will be good enough for my friend Ellie.” It would certainly be good enough for Krista. When she got home, she intended to give Pansy Potter a call. If Pansy didn't vouch for Dirk, her next call would be to her own old school chum, Gabe Hallinger, the local chief of police. Dirk nodded and Krista recited her address and directions. With a few flicks of her wrist, she explained a tricky left-right-left turn. Dirk's eyes followed her slender, delicate wrist while it sensually snaked back-and-forth and back-and-forth. If only she knew, those entrancing motions were wiping all sense of direction right out of his head. "I think I got the gist of it.” He cleared his throat and squinted down at the tiny square. “No apartment number?" "No. I own my home.” She puckered her perfect red lips into a bow and gently blew on her steaming cappuccino. The foam didn't moved but every nerve in his body did. Every single neuron twitched and

twittered. Thankfully, before any nerve damage set in, she stopped blowing. He scribbled furiously on another napkin, then held it out to her. “FYI." She looked at him blankly. "For your information? Online lingo?" "Right.” She smiled a shaky smile. Nerves. He'd figured as much. This first date grated on his nerves, too, even after six months of verbal foreplay on the computer. “In the interest of fair play, and your friend Ellie, that's my address and phone number. You can call my brother Chad out at the house if you'd like. He's the farming half of the homestead." She took the napkin in her graceful fingers. “This is very fair.” A dark brunette lock feathered down across her cheek while she read. She flicked at the lock with her flawlessly manicured fingertips. Krista was proving to be one surprise after another. Dirk hadn't expected her to be so, so, sexy, or so expensively groomed. She hadn't sounded the least bit over-priced in the computer chatroom. He wondered how an assistant librarian could afford her own home and still shop till she dropped. "I own my own house, too,” he said. Almost. He and his brother and the bank did. "That's nice.” She sipped at the foam on her coffee. Dirk supposed there were worse things Krista could be besides rich. Dishonest came to mind. He had little tolerance for liars, cheats, or thieves since their accountant disappeared with last year's profits. "A ranch house, I suppose,” she mumbled. He nodded and smiled. In the chatroom she'd been much more articulate and clever. She was probably uptight over this face-to-face get together. Although her lips looked anything but uptight as she sipped at her coffee. They looked red and wet and sensual. He shifted on the chair. Suddenly, his jeans were cramping his comfort. His discomfort wasn't all in his jeans or due to her lips, though. He had to admit, despite the hours they'd spent online laughing at the same jokes and exchanging snappy dialogue, this meeting in the flesh was daunting. "When I get back to the hotel, I'll make reservations for tonight. Is there anywhere special you'd like to go?" "No.” She shook her head. She was definitely chattier in cyberspace. Over on the bench, he'd thought she wasn't going to speak to him at all. Once she'd gotten a good look at him, he figured she'd changed her mind altogether. Big and average might not be her type. That's why he'd given her plenty of time. In case she decided to bolt. But she hadn't. Was he ever glad, too. Of all the women he'd met on the web, she'd been his first choice. As soon as

he'd set eyes on her, she'd become his only choice. She was not only bright and sassy—well once she relaxed he was sure she'd be bright and sassy again—but she was feminine and graceful and a knockout. Who said this computer dating stuff couldn't be exacted into a science? **** After shuffling Krista and her packages into her tan Volvo, Dirk climbed into his black Bronco and adjusted the visor against the late day sun. Springville was about an hour drive from the city. She wouldn't have much time to get ready for their date. But he recalled her saying she was a punctuality freak so he punched the gas pedal on his way back to the hotel and again on his way out of town. The address she'd given him was on a shady, maple tree-lined street. He found her house easily, considering the snaking hand directions she'd given him. Snaking tongues and other snaking body parts had flashed before his eyes during most of that distracting demonstration. After parking behind her car in the macadam driveway, he vaulted up the three steps to her stoop. He couldn't contain his energy. He had good vibes about their date. At exactly eight o'clock, Dirk rang the doorbell. Five minutes ticked by. By the porch lights, he studied her eaves and her shutters. From where he stood, the two-story house looked to be freshly painted and in good repair. He rang the bell again and picked imaginary lint from his black suit jacket. He watched moths gather near the lights while he sniffed in the smell of early honeysuckle from the nearby trellis. Another five minutes squeaked by. So much for punctuality. It seemed a bit of exaggeration came along with this internet dating stuff. Then the oak door swung open. "I'm almost ready.” Krista hopped up and down on one foot while gracefully manipulating her other into a high heel. "Looks as if you need a hand.” He pointed to her droopy neckline. She nodded and he circled her. When Dirk drew the two sides of her dress together, his knuckles grazed her backbone. Her skin felt silky smooth. It was as soft as angel hair and smelled like heaven—or maybe hell because he was suddenly burning up. He trailed one hand down the length of her zipper to below her waist. His rough, callused fingers nearly snagged the soft, ivory fabric. With a slight tug, the zipper edged upward. Slowly, the plastic teeth bit into each other. Then he drew it even slower. He savored the feel of her body beneath the movement. When at last her zipper was up, he had an urge to yank it back down and start all over again. Geez Loueez, he blew out soundlessly. Since when had zipping zippers become such a peak experience? He'd have to keep breathing to a minimum around her heavenly aroma. He palmed her bare shoulders. The skin was heavenly there, too, to the touch and to the smell. Against his better judgment he breathed in way too deeply, then turned her in his arms. "There.” He checked out his handiwork. The scooped neckline of her dress no longer drooped. Now it merely plunged, enticingly. He kicked back an urge to plant a succulent kiss between those tantalizing, creamy mounds. "Thanks.” Her soft brown eyes met his for a second before she twisted in his arms and plucked her

jacket from the newel post. The silky, ivory material crushed between them as she held it tightly to her chest. “I have to say good night to Kitty before we go.” Her wispy breath teased his lips. "Kitty? You have a roommate?” More surprises. "No, that's Kitty." She pointed one pretty pink nail in the direction of a scraggly, gray cat perched on the back of a turquoise chintz chair. "You never mentioned you had a pet.” Dirk followed her swaying hips into the cozy living room. "Kitty's not mine. She stays over whenever my neighbor, Ellie, visits her boyfriend. He's in prison." "Prison.” He could hear his voice rise. And Krista and her friend had been worried about Dirk's character. She waved one of her delicate hands. “Nothing serious like murder.” She nuzzled the scraggly, gray fur ball. “Night, Kitty. Only five more minutes untilThis Old Cat comes on.” With a flicker of pink, she tapped the remote until the TV clicked on and flashed through the channels to seventy-seven. Krista smiled up at Dirk. “Ready?" She had a great smile, irresistible actually, and a great mouth. What he'd like to do to that ladylike mouth couldn't be put to words. He'd like to kiss it, taste it, tongue it, suck it. Instead, he trailed after her, like a contented cat purring at her heels. She had pretty heels, expensive leather ones. One thing a cattleman knew was leather. Then thoughts of leather flew from his head. She bent and flicked on the night light in the entranceway. With a swish, the ivory dress stretched tight across her bottom. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. She had a very female fanny. "Kitty prefers to sleep with the light on.” Krista bent down further to fluff the pastel blanket in Kitty's wicker bed. Her round female bottom wriggled with each fluff. He opened the button at the collar of his shirt. Finally, they were off. Once more he trailed after her high heels. Her heels clicked across the brick sidewalk and over to the driveway. He helped her climb into the truck, which was a bit of a stretch for her froufrou short dress. That's when he discovered she had very long, female legs to go with her very round, female fanny. He had one heady hour's drive ahead of him back into the city. The closeness of her heavenly scent had his blood pumping hot, when his blood shouldn't be pumping hot, not over anything as trivial as her smell anyway. It's not as if she'd flung those legs or fanny at him. He blamed it on the bulls. Compared to the stink of bulls that he was accustomed to, her fragrance would boil any man's blood. He cracked the window open hoping for a whiff of sagebrush as they drove by the open countryside. Dirk chatted, while Krista gave brief, general answers. The drive seemed to stretch on for more than an hour. How long would it take her to get used to him? How long until she became chatty and witty like in

the chatroom? He hoped she'd loosen up soon. At last, they arrived at the hotel. The restaurant staff helped fill in the gaps in their almost one-sided conversation. The maître d’ greeted them and showed them to a table draped in pink linen. A silver vase held a pink rose and candles flickered from a silver holder. Through the candle glow, Krista looked like an elegant angel seated across from Dirk. The angel provoked hot urges in his manhood and warm ones around his heart? How could he not fall for her? The angel smiled at him. “So how's, a, everyone?" "You mean my brother? Didn't you call him?" She shook her head no. "Guess you didn't have time.” Dirk shrugged. “Chad's Chad. He's still romancing the entire RFD Singles Club one at a time." "RFD? I'm not familiar with that computer term.” She looked confused. "It's a postal term.” He chuckled. “For the rural and farming areas." "Oh.” She nodded with a nervous laugh. “Romancing the countryside sounds like a big job." "All done with slight of hand and no computer.” Dirk reached across the table and touched Krista's dainty hand. “I tried selling him on a computer search, but he has criteria all his own." Dirk thumbed the silky skin between her thumb and finger. He'd been one lucky computer nerd to run into her on the internet. All too soon the menus arrived and Dirk let go of her angelic hand. Once dinner got underway, Krista began loosening up. She started off with a shrimp appetizer, not that her appetite needed teasing. His darling angel ate her jumbo shrimp with the gusto of a pregnant mare. The more she ate, the looser she got, though. By the time the lobster bisque arrived she was downright chatty, if not yet witty. "Today's my birthday,” she said. “I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't want you to feel you had to fuss. I bought Kitty a cat bed as a birthday treat. That's what was in one of the large packages you carried." He crooked his head. “I thought you said you were a Capricorn?" "Capricorn, Cancer, Cleo ... I can never keep track of all those signs.” She spooned up a mouthful of soup.

"You mean Leo,” he corrected. "Leo?” Another spoonful of soup disappeared. “See, that's what I mean.” Her spoon paused only long enough for her to release a puff of exasperation. "How old are you again?” Dirk asked. "Thirty.” She flipped her delicate wrist and checked her dainty gold watch. “As of exactly twenty minutes ago. What was your age again?” she asked. "Thirty-six. I assumed you were already thirty-plus,” he said. “After all we did meet in the Thirty-Something Chatroom." "Never assume.” She wagged one long, feminine finger at him. "Point taken.” Playfully, he swiped at the tip of her pointed pink nail. The waiter cleared away the soup bowls and served their dinner. Krista nibbled down a steak filet, a baked potato smothered with sour cream, and a steamed vegetable medley, while she recited the library's bestseller list. Between bites of food and small, feminine dabs of her pink linen napkin, she gave Dirk a synopsis on each and every book on the top-ten list. "You're really into novels,” he said. "Oh, I don't just read novels. I'm reading up on all fifty states, alphabetically. I'm up to the Os. I'm also reading the encyclopedia, and I'm up to the Hs." Dirk figured she must have finished the dictionary because she hadn't mentioned it. She'd said something once, online, about being into books. But she'd never mentioned she was such a voracious reader, or eater. He smiled. A voracious woman, he liked that. And he'd wanted to like her, just not so much or so soon. While she spooned chocolate mousse into her angelic mouth—her mousse and then his—he fingered his empty spoon. Chocolate was his biggest weakness, up until now, anyway. She finished her second cup of coffee while he paid the bill. "Still interested in dancing?” he asked. What with all the food she'd chowed down, she probably couldn't move. "I think I need the exercise.” She smiled sweetly and patted her tummy. When he stood to help her with her chair, he weighed the wisdom of assisting her with that pat. He wouldn't mind patting her down a bit. He passed on the idea. It was too soon. Although they'd known each other for six months, this was still technically their first date. By skirting a few tables, they wove their way through the restaurant and out into the lobby. Briefly, they waited in front of a bank of brass elevators. A swift ride swept them up to the top floor where dancing took place beneath a glass-doomed ceiling and the stars.

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator car, Krista looked up. Starlight sparkled in her gentle brown eyes. “It's spectacular, isn't it?” she breathed. He answered automatically. “It is.” But she was what was spectacular. She had to be the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. Haloed in starlight and dressed in ivory, she was as close to an angel as he'd ever get in Nevada or on this earth. He touched his hand to her waist and led her over to a burgundy, velvet loveseat. They ordered drinks. White wine for her, a Jim Beam for him. Bourbon should get his head out of the heavenly clouds and nail his feet to the ground nicely. After two sips, his black loafers dug into the plush rug. "What do you think?” He figured the decor was a safe, grounded subject. "I think we shouldn't waste anymore time." His heart stopped. His thoughts exactly. He gulped at his bourbon and burrowed his leather soles deeper into the gray carpeting. But his mind floated anyway, and his tongue soon followed. "My room's on the fifth—" "Nice.” The angel floated to her feet. Her heavenly scent circled his head, but this time it seemed tinged with fire and brimstone. “Let's talk about your accommodations later and not waste this divine music a minute longer." That got his head out of the clouds fast, his feet grounded, and anything else that was up went down. "Yes, let's dance.” He should've known better. The food had unwound Krista, but notthat much. He led her out onto the tiny dance floor where space was scarce. Couples swayed to the slow dance tunes the trio of musicians played. When all her sweetness was put to music and encircled in his arms that floaty feeling engulfed him again all too quickly. She fit his body precisely. He never imagined heaven on earth could feel so soft, or round, or pliant. "You certainly are a smooth dancer,” her silky voice whispered near his ear. He had other smooth moves he'd like to show her, but they had nothing to do with dancing. "And you dance divinely,” he managed to mutter without sucking in too much of her scent. With a contented smile, she nestled her head beneath his chin. Now he struggled not to inhale at all. How could such a heavenly aroma provoke such unheavenly impulses? She snuggled into him. His body began throwing off heat faster than an inferno. She had to feel him burning up for her, yet she seemed unscorched. After a bit the tempo of the music changed. The next song was faster, with no body contact. Some dancers left the floor while others revved up. He got a chance to cool his heels away from her expensive leather ones, which had been straddling his loafers. Maybe his seared thigh would get a chance to cool

off as well. The half a yard or so that separated them didn't do much good though. Krista's brunette hair swayed and her body swayed and his thoughts strayed. She shook her fanny at his groin. He could think of a better use for all that rhythm of hers. The horizontal boogie came to mind. What was wrong with him? He'd barely just met the woman and his testosterone was snorting out of control like a horny bull during breeding season. He fought for control. He didn't want to grope her or scare her off. He had other feelings growing for her. The baser ones just seemed to be growing faster at the moment. When the music slowed down again, his firing inferno heated up even more. Forced closer by the increased number of couples squeezing onto the dance floor, he tried to put mind over matter, sort of give his big head priority over the little head. Nope, it was easier not to think at all, or breathe. She could sway and smell all she liked. He wasn't going to think of her like some one-night stand. This was the woman he intended to get serious with. Krista snuggled against his chest and that took the starch right out of his hotel-starched, white shirt. Her soft, cuddly moves were melting his resolve fast. Body heat that radiated from the other dancers made the surrounding air hot and close. Krista's body fired up his discomfort. Then, just in time, the set ended and the band took a break. Back on the velvet settee, he breathed easy until she leaned her head back against the cushions and fanned at her face with her hands. She looked dewy and breathless and sexy. "I'm overheated. Are you?” Her eyes were closed so she didn't see him dabbing at his forehead with his hankie. Was he ever? "Yes.” That was all he could manage to croak out. The ivory of her dress and her skin contrasted against the rich burgundy of the sofa and made his mouth go dry. "Should we take a walk outside to cool off until the next set?” She rolled her head sideways, lazily. Her long, dark lashes fluttered open. She looked at him all dreamy-like. Or maybe the dreaminess was in his mind and not a reflection of hers. "Yes.” Cooling off was an excellent idea. He grabbed her hand and was on his feet in a flash. In another flash, they were confined within the polished brass walls of the elevator. He continued to hold her small, delicate hand. He looked down into her gentle, brown eyes. She looked up at him. Her pink lips parted, slightly. "I think we shouldn't waste anymore time,” she whispered. There were those words again. He wasn't falling for them this time. This time, he knew she didn't mean

what he'd hoped she'd meant last time. Only this time, she did. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down toward her face, and kissed him, slowly, tenderly. Mentally, he took stock of how much she'd drunk—not more than a sip or two of wine. That meant she was sober, and that she wanted him. With that, he pulled her close and got into the kiss. She had soft lips. Her breath tasted sweet. Her mouth tasted sweet. Her tongue tasted the sweetest. This more than made up for the dessert he'd missed out on after dinner. She tasted better than chocolate. Even better than Almond Joy—and those were his favorite. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 2 The down button in the elevator glowed amber. Krista sensed the elevator car descending rapidly, too rapidly. She peeped one eye open, but kept her lips sealed to Dirk's. The lobby loomed two stops away. She wasn't willing to let this scrumptious kiss end just yet. After telling Dirk it was her birthday, she'd waited two full hours before getting up the nerve to come right out and ask him for a birthday kiss. With a last stroking caress behind his ear, she aimed her finger at the up button. The car pitched slightly and began ascending. At about the same time, Dirk pitched his hips into hers and her hormone level ascended, too. He tugged at her wrist until her fingers cradled his ear once more. His hands cradled her, but lower. Her bottom fit nicely into his warm, large palms. He kneaded her flesh, and coaxed her hips into a rhythm that matched the slow, melodic, suddenly erotic-sounding, elevator music playing overhead. His hips joined hers to the beat. He was such a smooth dancer. Krista tried to tell him so, but all she could squeak out was a small moan. He managed to shimmy his hip against a row of elevator buttons. Down, they were heading down again. "Hit number five,” he murmured against her lips. His room was on the fifth floor. All she'd wanted was one birthday kiss. Now, outrageous as it seemed, she wanted more, much more, and obviously so did he. Wanting him was not so outrageous, Krista reasoned. It had been so long since she'd been held in masculine arms. And this man felt so warm, so tender, so right. Warm? Who was she kidding? He was hot.

Her fumbling fingers pressed the round button with the brassy, metallic5 imprinted on it. His tongue stroked and tickled and teased hers. Her head swirled and numbers flashed above the doors. Seven and plummeting. This was too outrageous. She barely knew the man. up—at the last second she stretched out her palm and slapped at the button. They were on the rise again. Then down, she hit the down button. "Up or down, sweetness?” Dirk mumbled between their locked lips. Up, then down. Up, then down. She couldn't make up her mind. Every time she determined to pull away, she couldn't bring herself to part with those persuasive lips, and hips, and dips. Every ounce of longing drained from her bones and was replaced with the most incredible hormone rush. She pressed the up button once again. "This is one wild ride, Kristabel, my belle. Some of my championship bucking bulls are more predictable.” He sealed his words with hot lips and a silky tongue. Krista gave up. She hit the Up and Down buttons. Abruptly, the car jerked and the overhead music died. "I think the elevator's stopped,” she murmured against his teeth. "So it seems,” his teeth answered. She gulped down his husky voice and it tickled her stomach. She peeked. Sure enough, floors five and six were both lit up. “I think we're jammed between floors,” she mumbled into his mouth. Their lips seemed jammed as well, but little else was. When the car had jolted to a halt, they hadn't. Hands roamed, hers and his. Fingers stroked, hers and his. Bodies melded, hers to his. "Shouldn't we do something?” she whispered. "You're doing just fine.” He wove his fingers into her hair and resettled his mouth over hers. His hot tongue did things to the inside of her mouth that she didn't know a tongue could do. The tip tickled the roof of her mouth and her gum line. Krista hadn't known the gum line could be an erogenous zone until her woman's core tickled. Although thoughts of his tongue working its magic there could have triggered the reaction. She tried once more for sanity. “Shouldn't we buzz or phone or shout?” she asked breathlessly between their clinging lips. "Afterward, sweetness."

Afterward. The word hung on the still, hot air inside the elevator. The metal walls all but smoldered with shadowy heat and the promise of what came beforeafterward . She broke out in a hot flush. Dirk was ever so considerate though. He peeled her ivory jacket away from her heated body. With a toss, the slinky material dripped over the hip-high handrail that Krista gripped for white-knuckled support. For a brief moment, cool air and his cool, roughened fingers stroked her bare arms. Then sensuous, white-hot sparks replaced the coolness. Forget overheated. Her whole body blazed. Restlessly, Krista slipped off her shoes and they landed on the plush carpeted floor with muffledthunks . She perched her knee alongside his hipbone. Her tight, straight skirt stopped her short of her goal and inches from the source of his steely heat. Again Dirk obliged her. With soft swishes, ever so slowly, he bunched the fabric of her dress between his fingers. Her hem edged silkily upward. The skimming fabric tickled her outer thighs. Both the tingles and the hem stopped mid-thigh. Impulse drove her to raise her knee a little higher and try to encircle his waist. The same impulse must have driven him on. He assisted her. He cradled her bottom in his hands and urged her upward. A low growl announced when they reached their goal. His blazing hard core nestled tantalizingly against her melting core. She wriggled her hips and he thrust his forward. With another soft swish and a slight pivot, her back seared the metal wall while her cheeks perched onto the narrow, brass hand railing. His body weight pressed into her and, oh, did he ever feel good. She'd been right about her blind date and his tall, sleek body and his sinewy, firm muscles. Everything was lean where it should be lean and hard where it should be hard. He was one lean, sexy machine. "Belle,” he gasped into her mouth, “my hard drive is about to crash." She didn't need a computer course to figure out his meaning. For once, her tongue didn't trip over an answer. Its newfound wit had nothing to do with theFlirting 101 volume she'd been reading all week either. Her tongue became quite clever all on its own. She could tell Dirk liked what it had to say. As she stroked the roof of his mouth with her tongue, a low moan echoed up from his rigid disk drive. A delicious decadence descended over her. It was an entirely new feeling for the entirely new thirty-year-old woman. Dirk was turning out to be quite the birthday present. Her present caressed her beige-toned thigh with his large palm. His touch was gentle, gliding, sensual, and combustible against the beige nylon. If he touched the combustible crotch of her beige pantyhose she couldn't be responsible for what happened next. She'd surely ignite, burn up just like a candle on a birthday cake. His eager mouth continued to work over hers. She gasped to suck in a bit of air. Just as her jacket slithered to the carpeted floor and she was about to follow, the elevator car dropped. She grasped the railing to keep her balance. The elevator bounced with a hefty bounce. She figured they must have finally

hit the ground level. "We're here.” The words tumbled from his lips, not sounding the least disappointed. Krista bit back her disappointment and finger combed her hair in an attempt to look presentable before entering the lobby. Quickly, she smoothed down her skirt and picked up her jacket and shoes from the elevator's carpeted floor. With a loud whoosh and a gust of cooling air, the doors hissed opened. Dirk swung her up into his arms. Her shoes and jacket dangled from her fingers. Numbers danced before her eyes.501. 503 . No doubt about it. This was not the lobby. "Put me down,” she giggled, squirming in his strong arms. “What will people think?" He stopped in the middle of the empty hallway. “They'll think you're saving your strength for other things.” His hazel eyes held hers. She should tell him to shush up. She should tell him she wasn't the other-things-kind-of-girl. But suddenly she wanted to be. She nuzzled her head under his clean-shaven chin. He smelled of a musky aftershave. She cuddled up against his broad chest. Although her tall, muscled birthday gift lacked glitzy paper and a bow, she all but drooled over the idea of him doing a slow peel. He moved down the hall in long strides. She watched their combined shadow darken the burgundy-and-gray stripes on the wallpaper. Doors with brass plates slipped by.507. 509 . Dinner, dancing, and being carried off to a man's room, oh, but this was going to be one outrageously romantic birthday to remember all right. **** Dirk guessed she was used to him now. He glanced down at her flushed cheeks. Pink, just like her nail polish. Even in her overheated state, Krista was perfectly matched, perfectly put together, and light as a feather, which was remarkable what with all she'd eaten. He touched her down in front of the room marked511 . Her dainty, shoeless feet skirted the carpeted hall for a moment while he unlocked the door. As soon as it swung open, he scooped her back up into his arms. He liked the feel of her against his body, liked the smell of her, liked the look of her. Squeezable and smoochable, she was one adorable package. He nudged the door shut and shouldered the light switch on the wall. Instantly, from across the room, a lamp cast a golden glow. Dirk stopped on his way to the bed long enough for Krista to drop her dangling shoes and jacket onto the stuffed chair. Then his knee sank into the mattress and he centered her on the swirls of the blue and green bedspread. When he was satisfied with her placement, he kissed her softly while he peeled off his jacket and heeled off his shoes. She returned his kiss with a tenderness that all but melted his heart. It was way too early in the relationship to allow her heart-melting privileges.

Even so, he wanted her to know that this was more than a race with lust. This relationship was heading toward something meaningful, important. He needed to slow things down. "Music?” he asked, breaking away from her tender lips. Music should calm the savage breast.Breast , wrong word. She had nice breasts, not too large and not too small, a nice handful. This train of thought wasn't doing anything to slow his racing testosterone. He flicked on the radio next to the bed. A Kenny G. instrumental floated across the room. Dirk sprawled out full length next to Krista. He put an arm around her shoulders and crossed his ankles. He tried to concentrate on the blue and green, geometric pattern that bordered the ceiling. "Nice socks,” she said in a breathy voice. He glanced at his socks and then at her. Her dark brown eyes searched his and twinkled. “Are they ‘one size fits all'?" He wriggled the toes of his orange-striped, tiger-paw, black socks. “Nope. They're what's called an extended size." "Extended, is that more than large?” Her twinkle brightened. She toyed with his shirt button. "Uh-huh." "Are those the socks you bought at the mall today?" "Yes.” He rolled onto his side and traced his finger across her tummy, dipping briefly into the indent at her belly button. Her stomach muscles flinched beneath the pad of his finger. That and the gut-wrenching romantic chords of Kenny G. weren't helping his racing testosterone levels one bit. Then Krista unexpectedly whispered in his ear—about the price of socks. “How much were they?" The titillating strains of Kenny G. faded into the background and his testosterone plummeted. “Nine dollars,” he croaked. "Too much,” she said. “Achille's Heels were on sale." "You don't do this often, do you?" Probably not ever, from the looks of her innocent brown eyes. Not that he did, often. It had been months and months, so many months that he'd forgotten what the wanting felt like, until tonight. Everything about Krista excited him. "Do what often?” she asked. “Admire men's extended-size socks?” A twitch of a smile touched her lips. "No. This.” He leaned over her and traced her lips with his tongue, teasingly. By her swift, small intake of breath he could tell that she was teased. He stroked her lips, aching for them to form those infamous I-think-we-shouldn't-waste-anymore-time words.

When they didn't, he coaxed her mouth open. His tongue danced with her tongue, to a beat way faster than the back-to-back Kenny G. songs playing on the radio. Somehow, she hummed along to the beat of the music. No, she wasn't humming. The small sound emanating from her throat was definitely a moan. "You are the most delicious woman I've ever had the pleasure to kiss, Krista, my belle.” He combed his fingers through her silky dark hair and spread the strands across the pillow. “You're better than M&Ms,” he murmured absently. “They only melt in my mouth while you, sweetness, melt in my hands. I like that. I like that a lot." "That's pretty romantic lingo,” she nibbled on his lip, “for a computer nerd." "And you're not very quiet, for a librarian.” Then his kisses quieted her. And he shut up, too, for a long while. His lips kissed her lips, her chin, her neck. He worked his way along the enticing neckline of the dress he'd enjoyed zipping up earlier. He dipped his tongue into the cleavage that had tempted him earlier. When he could stand it no longer, he said, “I'd like another go-round at that zipper." Her faint smile gave him hope. He tugged on her hand and coaxed her up from the bed. She didn't need a whole lot of coaxing. He turned her in his arms. “In reverse this time, sweetness." With a lithe movement, she lifted her dark hair away from her neck. He unzipped her dress. The vinyl teeth slid apart a lot faster than they had bit together. He nudged the ivory fabric away from her shoulders, then followed the path the dress had taken with warm, wet kisses. His lips slowly slid their way down the arch of her spine. His teeth and fingers peeled away whatever lingerie stood in his wake. Her pale, lacy bra, her matching panties, and her hose landed in a delicate pile on top of her pink-painted toenails. He kissed his way back up, even slower. Dirk had never kissed a woman this much before, or wanted to. When he reached her neck, he planted small, moist kisses along her nape and her shoulders. When he turned her to face him, he kissed her collarbone and her throat. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he whispered. "It's a little late,” she said breathlessly, “now that I'm undressed." "You're beautiful both dressed and undressed.” Was she ever? Basked in a halo from the nearby lamp, her skin gleamed golden. "And you?” she asked, stroking the tip of her pink nail against the collar of his white shirt. "Neither dressed nor undressed.” He shook his head. "Maybe I should be the judge of that.” Slowly, she ran her index finger down over the front of his shirt. Her nail grazed each button. Dirk needed no further coaching. In a jumble of flying fingers and buttons, he had his shirt open and off

in a jiffy. Next, she ran that same finger down through the hairs on his chest and around his nipples. He tried to control the shiver that ran down his spine and tickled his tailbone. Her finger traced over his black leather belt, then back and forth across the shiny, silver belt buckle. That was all the encouragement he could stand. His belt buckle jangled when he flicked it open. “Want a go at my zipper?” he asked in a hushed, husky voice. He dropped his hands to his sides and held his breath while he waited for her to decide. When her ladylike hands touched him there, he thought he'd landed on the moon. Such exhilaration over such a light, gentle touch. When those dainty fingers unzipped him, it was all he could do to keep himself from crash-landing off the moon. When she looked down, her dark eyes rounded and she gasped. He figured an explanation was in order. “I packed in a hurry. I forgot socks and underwear.” He shrugged. “I only bought socks because you see them and all." "Extended size underwear weren't on sale anyway,” she said in a wispy voice. Dirk pulled her close and kissed her hard. Did she ever feel sweet in his arms, all naked and soft and fragrant. It was time for a real moon landing. He kicked his pants off. Then he nearly dragged her down while he groped through his pants pocket for a packet. Once they were upright again, he unrolled the latex onto himself. Surprisingly, pink-painted nails assisted him. With a slight adjustment, he lifted her up and fit himself between her legs. Graceful as ever, she wrapped her legs around his hips and snuggled onto him. He teased her, and himself, with sliding, gliding moves, that simulated but never penetrated. Their kisses got hot, and hotter. His movements became fast, then slow, and then even slower... Ever so slowly, he impaled her against the wall beside the night table. Dirk waited for her to adjust to his size. She adjusted just fine, and quick. Soon she wriggled and thrust her hips. "For a big guy, you're very gentle.” She wove her arms around his nape and bit gently at his neck. He'd meant to tease her a bit, while still standing, then take her to bed. Instead, exuberance overtook him and her. When he blasted clear off the moon, he took her heavenly body with him. The sexy, angelic librarian was just that, sexy and angelic, inviting and feminine, lusty and tender, against the wall, on the floor, and finally on the bed. In bed was the best. He tasted every inch of her flesh, front and back. He especially liked the way she purred and squirmed when he smacked tiny, fluttering kisses right above the cleft of her buns. If he'd had known she was going to return the favor and kiss every inch of his flesh, he'd have been even more creative. Afterward, palm-to-palm and eye-to-eye they made slow, soul-shattering love. She had the softest, brownest eyes that glazed over with the softest, brownest patina.

The things she said to him were the most outrageous things he'd ever heard. No one had ever called him a hunk before. And that wasn't all. She thought he was handsome. She thought he was sexy. She thought he was clever. He was both flattered and humbled. Sometime later, after he got his head out of the clouds, it was only to find that he was head over heels. This relationship was going somewhere, fast. He told her so. Told her about his plans for the homestead, and for a wife. But Krista had fallen asleep in his arms. He pulled her close and hugged her to him. After tugging the bed sheet up over her shoulders, he kissed her temple and closed his eyes. He dozed for a minute. Anyway it had seemed like only a minute when the blare of the alarm clock jerked him awake. He hated to leave the warmth of her tender body snuggled enticingly up against him. But he had business to attend to this morning. Gently, he rocked her. “Wake up, little librarian." She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “It's still dark out." "I hate to sleep and run, but a prize bull is scheduled to be trucked out to the ranch this morning." "They deliver bulls before dawn?" "No.” He slid out of bed and pulled on his pants. With backward tosses, he picked up her dainty undies and other clothing from the floor and flipped them in the direction of the bed. “It will be mid-morning until I get you home and me back out to the homestead." By the time he stood up, she'd gathered her ivory clothing into a jumble that she clutched to her chest along with the blue sheet. His heart flipped. She looked so darn cute, and vulnerable. "Do you want the bathroom first?” he asked. She nodded. He turned and waited. A bit later, he stashed his gear into the cargo area of the Bronco and buckled Krista into the passenger seat. Not that she needed his help buckling up, but he needed an excuse to make sure she was real and touchable and not some dream that evaporated in the early morning light. Once they were on their way back to Springville, he noticed how quiet Krista had become. Gone was the talkative, relaxed woman from the night before. He chalked her silence up to sleep deprivation. Soon as they were within the town limits, he glanced at the clock on the dash—seven a.m. already. “I'll email you sometime this afternoon." "Oh, you can't.” Krista shook her head and what was left of her dark curls from last night bounced and swayed. “The computer broke." "A crash?” he asked. “Did you try rebooting?" "Kitty crashed it beyond reboot. Yesterday morning she pulled the whole system down by its cord. It's

in the shop, the, a computer shop." Dirk maneuvered the quick left-right-left turn onto her narrow, tree-lined street, then pulled into her driveway. When he braked to a stop, he slid his arm along the back of the vinyl seat. He pecked Krista on the cheek. “I'll call you, then. What's a good time?" "Ah, I'll be in and out all day. Ellie's coming by to pick up Kitty and who knows where we'll land after that." "I'll just keep trying then.” He leaned in and locked his lips to hers. She had the sweetest tasting kisses. One just never seemed to do. As soon as their lips parted, he wanted another kiss. "You don't have to see me in.” Krista jangled a key ring from her pink-polished nail. “I know you're running late." With that, she slipped from the seat and was gone. He watched her walk up the sidewalk. He liked watching her walk. She had quite a watchable walk. He backed out onto the street and waited until she unlocked the front door. When she turned and waved to him, he honked the horn and pulled away from the curb. Out of the blue, a bright yellow compact honked back at him right before it swerved into Krista's driveway. The driver flashed a blaze of orange hair and a wicked wink. Ellie, would be his guess. Dirk made a quick stop at the bakery on his way out of town and then headed toward Interstate 80 and home. [Back to Table of Contents]

Excerpt from CRAIG LEGACY By Terry Campbell ISBN 1-55316-121-1 Copyright © 2004 Linda Campbell and Bobbye Terry Dedication To Barbara Rutherford in memory of her husband Billy. He was the inspiration for writing the book and was nothing like John Broady. Instead, he was a noble and good man who, after retirement as a state employee, drove his mules across the property of the real Craig Knoll and kept it spotlessly groomed. He'll always be remembered. [Back to Table of Contents]

CHAPTER ONE

Goochland, Virginia, Present Day Women! They were as unreadable as the wilderness and as ruthless as General Sherman. Colonel Benjamin Craig's gaze drifted from the woman setting up her computer to a framed photo of her on the wall—this month's cover ofForbes magazine. The headline screamed: 21st Century's Financial Wunderkind. And Frankie Matthews, all-woman wunderkind, was about to be defeated. His legacy—no, his life—depended upon it. Time was running out. Minute by minute the clock ticked down. He had only until the end of the year, ten days to convince her she must enter the portal and travel back to when he had lived. Because on the eleventh day, she would turn thirty and would be too old to go back. How he knew this, he couldn't explain. He just knew it was true. Ben pushed the fear of time and failure from his mind. Being alone at Craig Knoll for the past one hundred and forty plus years had given him many hours to carefully design his battle strategy. He'd waited for the one person who could carry out his plan. With Frankie's arrival, he'd found his key. He frowned at an unwanted twinge of regret, refusing to allow scruples to stand in the way of his correcting history, returning it to its rightful course with him as the head of the Craig family legacy—not his younger brother Noah. How much longer did she plan to work on that infernal machine? He glanced at the family's grandfather clock. Four-thirty in the morning was time to get up, not go to bed. He crossed the room, then knelt beside Frankie. “It's late. Go to bed. This can wait,” he whispered. Frankie flicked her hand over her ear as if brushing aside a bothersome gnat. Ben reared back and rose. Fists on his hips, he glared down at her.Damn, when did she become immune to my suggestions ? Moments later, she rolled her shoulders, then stood and moved toward her bedroom. If he'd been capable of breathing, he would have exhaled in a whoosh. No way she wouldn't do as he commanded. After all, he'd never failed at anything in his life; Frankie, a mere chit of a woman, was doomed to failure. That, he guaranteed. He watched, mesmerized, as Frankie removed her clothes. Yes, she was short, shorter than most women, even those in his time. But God help him, she had a figure that turned a man's mind to mush. Then there was her hair—strands of gold caressing one of the nicest asses he'd ever seen; firm cheeks that would have filled his hands to perfection. Too bad she hadn't lived in his time. Then again, before long she would. "Sweet dreams, Frankie!" ****

The moon pulled free of the clouds and shone down upon the carnage littering the yard. Good. He'd killed all three. The man's knees buckled. He fell forward, barely holding himself half erect with the rifle. He looked down at his chest and saw the spreading red mark. “No!" An old black man ran forward. “Hang on, Masta Ben. Hang on,” he said, taking the rifle from Ben's hands and easing him onto the ground. Ben closed his eyes and grabbed the old man's hand. A single tear traced his cheek. “I haven't found her yet, Uncle Henry. I was supposed to find her." "Have faith Masta Ben. The gods, your God, he knows what he's doin'. You'll find her." Ben shook his head. “Take care of Mama and the sisters.” His eyes drifted closed. “Where are you, my love?” He gasped the words, then lay still... **** Frankie jerked upright in her bed. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her. Scalding tears ran down her cheeks. She'd had dreams before, but nothing like this. One moment she'd been floating above Craig Knoll. Not her Craig Knoll, but the one she'd seen in photos from over a hundred years ago. The next moment she was inside a man's head—a man named Ben. She's seen through his eyes, felt his fear and experienced his feelings of inadequacy, self-recrimination and finally his howl of anguish and refusal to allow death to take him. Frankie wondered if it were possible for a person to will himself not to die. If so, Ben Craig would have been the man to accomplish it. She shook her head. Jeez, what was it with her and Craig Knoll? Ben was a figment of her imagination, a character in a dream. So why did she smell magnolias in December? Frowning, Frankie slid back under the bedcovers. There had to be a logical explanation. The trick would be to find it. "Never should've come home.” She punched her pillow, then buried her face in it. “Damn, the dreams've started again!" Ben grinned at Frankie's reaction. So what if that wasn't the way he'd really died. True, the damned yellow-bellied Yank had shot him; but the added part about not finding his true love was, in his humble opinion, a brilliant stroke of genius. It pulled every tender heartstring Frankie had. He bent and whispered in her ear, “Get up and go to your thinking place." Frankie glanced at her bedside alarm clock. “Rats. It's already eight-thirty." Ben rubbed his hands together. Step one, as with all his plans, had been flawlessly executed.

**** Frankie settled herself comfortably against the blanket-covered antique wrought-iron bench, then studied the icy four-acre pond. What was wrong with her? All her life she had called the pond her thinking place. Her gaze drifted over the surrounding countryside as she looked at it as she had the first time she'd seen it. In summer, green rolling plains of land hugged the water, caressing it. In full leaf, the trees hid this spot from the distant fields and the road, only several hundred yards away. This oasis of life sang to her. Its lapping waves were notes of a love ballad deep within her soul. Even in winter with naked trees and ice-tipped grass, its stark beauty had always spoken to her. The mansion and this hidden sanctuary had created the woman she'd become. Yet today she sat blindly staring at the pond, unable to figure out why coming home felt like a double-digit loss. Frankie sighed and, closing her eyes against the glare off the ice, looked deep inside herself. She'd like to blame her inability to fall in love on her parents’ deaths, but she couldn't. Yes, she had retreated from people. Yes, she had closed off a part of her heart, afraid to let anyone too near for fear they too would desert her. Then again, she'd only been six at the time, and Aunt Ginnie and Uncle Max had refused to allow her to stay in her self-imposed shell. With their unconditional love she'd relearned to trust. Well, everyone except men. Frowning, Frankie opened her eyes.Why not men? Her refusal to get involved was visceral, and it made no sense. If she didn't know better, she'd swear she'd been brainwashed into avoiding romantic entanglements. She chuckled at the absurd thought. She wasn't controlled by an outside force, bending her will to its own, making her nothing more than a marionette. She was a portfolio manager for an investment fund for God's sake. No, her problem was closer to home. It was Craig Knoll to be exact. It drew her. Drew her? Hell, it talked to her, invaded her dreams, and being away too long left her feeling like an amputee suffering the phantom pain of a missing limb. The question was, why? Except for when she'd been away at college, she'd never managed more than four months absence before returning home. Until this time. Pride filled her. This time, she had succeeded in staying away for thirteen months, nine days and six hours. She knew the exact time because the house had told her as it whispered its welcome. Goosebumps covered her. Someone was watching her. A warm breeze brushed strands of her long hair back from her face. “Oh, my God,” she whispered at the sensation of lips searing a path down her neck. Shocked, Frankie sat frozen as an unseen hand tipped her head back and to the side.

She tried to fight the lassitude overwhelming her, only to find herself enjoying the strange sensations flooding her senses. When a low deep voice murmured, “You're mine, Frankie. Now and forever,” she bolted upright. Shame filled her. Her longing for love and a lover no longer limited themselves to dreams. They now consumed her waking hours too. Shaking, she hugged herself. “I'm overworked, that's all. Not to mention my overactive imagination.” Frankie inhaled deeply, then bit her lower lip. The fragrance of magnolias hung in the sharp, clean winter air. “That's impossible.” Magnolias bloomed in late May and through June, not during the icy month of December. Yet, the distinctive scent she smelled couldn't be denied. Her gaze drifted slowly across Craig Knoll's landscape. For a few seconds, it had seemed like... Frankie shook her head in denial. So why did she feel as if her dream lover were with her, beside her, waiting for her to acknowledge him? "Hey, Frankie!" "Then again, maybe not,” she mumbled. She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun and squinted in the direction of the voice. Two mules pulled a flatbed wagon toward her from the far side of the pond. She watched in silence as the man drove his team along the narrow path toward her. Her nightmare had arrived. Its name: John Broady. After tethering his mules next to her rider-mower, Broady walked over to her. “Hi, you, Frankie.” He glanced at his hand, then wiped it on his grubby overalls. Grabbing her right hand, he squeezed. “Good to see you home. Wasn't expectin’ to see you ‘til spring." He plopped down beside her on the bench, his bulk covering half of it. “Where're Mr. and Mrs. Craig? Haven't seen ‘em around." Frankie pulled the hood of her ski jacket up and hunkered down into it, then slanted him a glance. Spying with binoculars, again . “They're still in Richmond and will be down within a week,” she said, staring at the frozen pond. Moving further to her left on the bench, Frankie turned and smiled. “I'm surprised you didn't come over in your truck instead of driving your mules." "I drive ‘em everywhere I can. You ought to know that by now, Frankie. Hell, they're a whole lot more reliable than a car. Especially durin’ the winter.” Broady shrugged, then grinned. “I saw your car and figured it best to check on things." "You're right. I should know better.” Frankie pasted a polite smile on her face and met his gaze. “I know for a fact Aunt Ginnie and Uncle Max are pleased you're so diligent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting back." She stood and looked down at Broady, still sitting on her quilt. “I hate to inconvenience you, John, but I

need the blanket." He lumbered to his feet. “I'll carry it for you, Frankie.” Grinning, he jerked it off the bench and followed her. “Still can't believe how small you are. Why, you ain't a bit taller than when you was fourteen." At the tractor, he lurched forward to grasp her elbow. “Let me help. I noticed you still have trouble gettin’ up that old lawn tractor." Shooting him a dark look, she jerked free of his tight hold. “I can manage.” The last thing she wanted was Broady's help. Why did he have to bring up her height? Damn and double damn. Like she needed to be reminded she barely cleared five feet. "Your Uncle Max told me last summer you was talkin’ about movin’ that investment business of yours here to Craig Knoll. Surprised it took so long." "Really? I'm surprised it didn't take longer. In fact, I'd changed my mind all together and was going to stay in Richmond." "You love the homestead too much to go do a fool thing like that. Your uncle says you've hit the big time and are handlin’ the Craig Foundation investments.” Broady's gaze slid over her. “Who'd've ever guessed, you being such a small, little thing an’ all." "Wonders never cease. Imagine that, a small, little thing figuring out the big bad world of high finance.” Turning, she climbed onto the tractor. "Now don't go gettin’ your pretty feathers ruffled. I didn't mean no harm." Frankie winced. He was right. She'd been rude, and why? Because he'd pointed out how small she was. Get a grip. It's not as if it were a news flash . As she sat, Broady leaned against the vehicle and smiled. “Have you seen the ghost yet?" Frankie's fingers froze on the ignition key. “Ghost?" "Didn't your aunt tell you about the tricks he played on ‘em?" A tremor shot through her. “Not really. She said there'd been a couple of minor incidents and that's why people are claiming the house is haunted." "A couple of minor incidents?” He hooted, smacking the side of the tractor with a fist. “She'd sure enough get an argument from them construction workers who remodeled the milk rooms." "Why?" "It was that old wardrobe that spooked ‘em. Your aunt, she lost lots of workers over that wooden closet." Frankie swallowed hard. There was only one armoire in the apartment. The one facing her bed. At the gleam in Broady's eye, she stiffened her back. He was doing it again, telling her tales so she would turn to him for help.

"The wardrobe is nothing but a piece of furniture,” she said, staring down at him as if he were one of her assistants who hadn't completed the necessary research on a potential investment. Broady winked. “That's what your aunt kept saying. Course, that didn't explain why every time she had the men move it up to the attic and come the next mornin’ the dag-nab thing was right back where it started. Happened every day for a week. I'm tellin’ you true, Frankie, them workers was gettin’ to the point they needed to bring an extra pair of shorts to work." "Give it up, John. Everyone knows Aunt Ginnie loves anything to do with the paranormal. Besides, she'd have told me about this business, trust me. Heck, she's seenGhost over a dozen times." "And how many times did you see it with her?" Frankie knew better than to answer that question. The truth would sink her. "She probably didn't say nothin’ ‘cause she's afraid she'd give you the creeps and you wouldn't come home." "These are just tales, John. Tall tales. And they have no basis in reality." Broady grinned, then pulled his knit cap off and scratched his oily thinning hair. “Yep, I was right. Your aunt still hasn't told you ole William Craig's oldest son was named Ben, has she?” Broady grinned, then spit a stream of tobacco juice. “It's Ben Craig that's been hauntin’ Craig Knoll." He pointed toward the backyard. “I hear most of the time he appears downstairs in the old milk room. Sometimes he's even around the yard or here at the pond. They say his spirit still roams the family homestead ‘cause he wasn't supposed to die." Frankie blinked several times, then took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. If she swallowed Broady's story, then her dream man was Ben Craig. She wanted to swear on a stack of bibles her dream had been a product of old stories she'd heard in her youth. She knew better. She knew little of the history surrounding the original owners. They were Uncle Max's ancestors, not hers. Besides, Aunt Ginnie had only discovered some old family photos two months ago and placed them on display in the upstairs front room. Unlinking her fingers, she leaned forward and turned the ignition key. Once the motor sputtered to life, she nodded to Broady. “Thanks for the interesting tale, John. Although, in my experience, it isn't the dead I have to worry about, but the living." "Don't you go frettin’ none.” Broady patted her thigh, then gave it a slight squeeze. “I'll keep a good eye on you. Make sure no one bothers you." "I'm sure you will, John.” Shoving the small tractor into drive, she headed for the family cemetery. Five minutes later, Frankie stared down at Ben's headstone. Kneeling, she traced the words craved in the granite.

Colonel Benjamin William Craig September 14, 1835—June 21, 1864 Murdered. His honor lives on. The man had died almost a hundred and forty years ago. Yet, until Broady had told her his sorry tale, she hadn't known he'd existed. So why did she feel like crying? **** Ben watched Frankie's fingers lightly touch the words on his headstone. He wished he could become corporeal again as he had when Frankie, a heartbroken child, had arrived at Craig Knoll. He'd known that night as he'd comforted the sobbing six-year-old that she was his salvation. From that day forward, he'd stayed at Frankie's side whenever she'd been home. Then again, maybe it was just as well he didn't materialize with a solid form. She'd grown into a beautiful woman. Keep focused on the goal. Her romantic soul was her Achilles’ heel. And he was a master at playing on another's weakness. How to reach it was another matter. Once she'd believed in true love. She'd thought certain souls were destined to be together, and neither time nor place could prevent them from joining. He chuckled, as he often had, over her naivete. Once he'd been like her, even through the bloodshed and incessant slaughters of the war. Through it all, he'd held onto his dreams. Dreams of comfort. Dreams of writing the stories within him that begged to be told. The only thing missing had been the perfect woman who would be his lover and the mother of his children. Then Beatrice had gotten her hooks into him and had begun to teach him the shattering truth. Her brutal lessons had murdered his spirit as surely as the bullet from the Northern traitor had extinguished his life. Love was for romantic fools. Now he was neither. Romance had been severed from his being as completely as the ligament in his lower leg. As for being a fool, he would never fall captive. Since Joseph's death and his ensuing betrothal to his brother's widow, he'd forbade himself the freedom of hope. Perhaps that alone had saved him on the battlefield. Yet, ever since his physical death, he'd known that his rejection of faith had left him withered and incomplete, never to be a fulfilled man. Not that it mattered. He had a more pressing problem to solve: John Broady's effect on Frankie. With his half-truths, the man had almost single-handedly ruined Ben's years of work—his gentle nudges and loving words. He now saw how instead of welcoming the idea of his existence, the thought he might have controlled her would repel her. And if she discovered the truth, she would refuse to help him just on principle. Unfortunately, finesse was no longer an option. The time for action had arrived.

He lifted her hair into the air, then let it drift down a few strands at a time while kissing her neck. [Back to Table of Contents]

CHAPTER TWO Frankie shook her head. It'd taken her an hour and three airplane size bottles of Scotch to calm down. “Some Ice Queen.” Praise the Lord that the foundation's board wasn't aware she'd turned to alcohol to calm down. Filled with self-disgust at her display of weakness, she inspected the provisions Aunt Ginnie and Uncle Max had supplied. The cupboards contained canned goods, including paté, tins of truffles and assorted condiments. She jerked open the refrigerator door, then laughed. Good old Uncle Max. He always thought in terms of life's necessities—she found two precooked marinated chicken breasts, a rice-mold and bowl of fruit salad. In contrast, Aunt Ginnie, believing life without romance was nothing more than existence, had stocked a shelf with French wines—Pouilly-Fumé and Avenay Champagne. Frankie removed the chicken, then winced as she read the note taped on it. “Nuking will dry it out. Reheat at three hundred and fifty degrees for twenty minutes. For best flavor, use the barbecue." She didn't need Uncle Max to remind her she couldn't cook worth a damn. Boil water, yes. Microwave something, yes. Call a five-star restaurant and have the meal delivered,oh yes ! But cook? Not in this lifetime. At least he'd provided enough precooked meals to last the few days until they arrived at the homestead. Frankie glanced out the window. In spite of the dusting of snow on the ground, she decided to try the barbecue. "Thank God, it's gas.” She wondered if she'd ever live down the humiliation of emptying a can of lighter fluid onto ready-to-start charcoal only to have it sit there—wet, black and dead. With a sigh, she jerked herself back from her one failed moment of domesticity and studied the sky. If the weather held another thirty minutes, she'd have the perfect summer meal during the dead of winter. Once back in the kitchen, Frankie put the plate with the marinated chicken breast on a tray. As she placed the other piece of chicken back in the refrigerator, her gaze lit on the chilled champagne. "Why not.” She removed the cold bubbly and grabbed a glass. After setting them on the tray, she headed outside. Moments later, she gazed out over the large open backyard and took a deep breath, inhaling the clean crisp air of the homestead. It was good to be back home. Once dinner began to cook, she reached for the champagne. Her gaze narrowed on the two glasses.

“I'd swear I only picked up one.” With a shrug, she filled both long-stemmed flutes. She'd pretend she was here with her lover. Not that she'd ever had a lover. Thanks to her shyness, love of horses and preference for books, she hadn't dated much. And those she had gone out with hadn't touched that secret place in her heart. Then later, when she'd finished college and had entered the workforce, she'd refused to get involved with anyone who didn't meet her demanding criteria. How and where she'd developed that criteria she'd still never figured out. The only thing she did know was that at twenty-nine she was that rare anachronism, a virgin. With eyes closed, Frankie sipped her champagne and fantasized about her soul mate. He'd be a gentleman of the old school—genial and good-hearted. He needed to be confident but not cocky. Someone strong enough in his own right that he wouldn't be overwhelmed by her, and perhaps most important, she wanted a sensuous lover, the kind her romance novels raved about. She clinked the glasses together. Leaning back against the brick stair, she saluted the deep rose light of the fading day. “To my lover. May I find him soon." The wind murmured by her from the south, rustling the few dry leaves left in the yard. Frankie bolted upright and sniffed. The scent of magnolias filled the air. As the heavy scent swirled around her, thoughts of Ben flooded her mind. His long dark lashes and Union-blue eyes, his strength, both of body and mind drew her. Suddenly, Frankie knew that if she couldn't have Ben, she wanted his modern day clone. A gust of wind once again brushed her face, lifting her long hair off her neck. Frankie shivered. She'd swear fingers, not the wind, had threaded through the strands and were slowly releasing them. A deep voice whispered next to her ear, “I'm coming soon, my love." Frankie jumped. Champagne drenched her blouse. As the scent of magnolias faded along with the breeze, she quickly scanned the yard. Fields of snow and bare trees stared back, mocking her. Rushing to the grill, she removed her chicken, then bolted back into the house. Entering the kitchen, she set the plate of chicken on the counter. “You're being a ninny, Frankie. Chill." She reached for the bottle of champagne, then bit her lower lip. “Damn!” Did she dare go outside and retrieve it? Of course she did. She wasn't a wuss who jumped at her own shadow. Damn it all, she was a hard-boiled businesswoman. A bottom-liner. Stiffening her back, Frankie marched to the front door and opened it. Then, through narrowed eyes, she studied the area as if it were a minefield. "Don't be a goose. Just do it,” she hissed. After taking several deep breaths, she rushed over to the bottle of champagne and glasses. With a speed unknown to Southern ladies, she placed the bottle on the tray, then her empty glass. Her hand touched the second crystal flute, and she froze. It was empty. "I drank it. Yeah, that's what happened. I drank it,” she said, lifting the glass.

A breeze caressed her cheek. With it came a whisper as soft and gentle as a sigh, “Soon, my love. Soon." The fragile crystal crashed to the brick patio. **** "Don't leave me! Frankie!" She jerked upright in her bed. She'd had the same dream for three nights straight. Yet this one had been different. Tonight, the man had beggedher not to leave him. "Damn it, it's a dream! Nothing more!” So why did she feel it was much more? With a shrug, she stretched and inhaled. Magnolias in December? Again? Frankie ignored the rest of the room and focused her gaze on Ben Craig, in full Confederate dress uniform, seated in her Queen Anne winged-chair beside the waning fire. On the table beside him rested an unblemished white magnolia blossom. Frankie squeezed her eyes shut.Obviously drinking that entire bottle of champagne was not one of my brighter moves. You, my dear Frankie, are off the sauce for a good, long while . She slowly opened her eyes. He's still sitting there. Talk about a hallucination, this one's got to be one of the all time greats. I mean, he's one magnificent hunk. Jeez, he even has the ruggedly chiseled features of the heroes in romances. Whatever that means. As aberrations went, he was a beaut, real eye candy. He was also studying her.Oh, well, at least he isn't a pink elephant . Although, she wasn't too sure how she felt about his roguish smile. "Good. You are not frightened. But then, I knew you would not be." His voice reminded her of water washing over her naked body on hot summer nights skinny-dipping in the pond—cool, soothing, yet sinfully delicious. "Frightened? Not a chance. You're not real. You're just an alcohol induced dream.” Frankie giggled. “Only this time, I'm in it. Directing what's happening." Afraid he'd disappear if she glanced away, Frankie kept her gaze on him while she fumbled with the switch of the lamp next to her bed. He seemed to exude a vitality that transcended the grave. It felt as if his life force was touching her soul. She also sensed that beneath its strength lay a gentleness waiting to be released. Ben picked up the magnolia and, twirling the stem between his fingers, rose. With a smile, he moved toward her. Despite the slight limp that marred his gait, his movements were smooth.

He stopped beside her bed. Ben knew how he handled her now would determine his future. Or was that his past, he wondered. “Allow me to introduce myself. Colonel Benjamin Craig at your service,” he said, executing a small bow. “But you may call me Ben." "Hi there, Ben,” she said with another giggle. "I fear it is time you learned that I am neither a dream, nor a hallucination nor an apparition.” He found himself wishing he were more than mere mist as he cupped her head in his hands. He bent forward. To his shock, his lips firmed as they brushed hers. A light electric current, starting where his mouth touched hers, danced through him. He slowly pulled back.My God, what had happened? He wasn't supposed to feel corporeal pleasure. Yet he had. Hisbody had gone on alert. This is not good. He refused to let anything, including lust, deter him from his ultimate goal. Not even his second taste of desire in almost one hundred and forty years. He needed, as they said in today's world, to get his act together. "My dear Frankie, I have waited a very long time for you.” His energy moved her hair from her face. “You already know that, do you not?" Frankie shook her head. “Boy, I'm now having waking dreams. Not that I'm complaining, mind you." Ben tried not to preen as Frankie slowly perused him, but it was hard. He remembered the effect he'd had on women during his life. They'd never been shy about telling him of his attractiveness or their desire to have him as a husband. He felt a surge of old pride. Frankie looked at him with the same longing as women always had, even after Beatrice had made him hard and cynical. Over the intervening years he'd often wondered which of the two had changed him the most. Yet, Beatrice and the war were much the same—emasculating and irreversibly destructive. Ben smothered a chuckle. The joke was on him. The world's darkest forces had made him what he was today—a splintered soul with no refuge. "Amazing,” she muttered. "What's amazing?" "Your eyes. They're Union blue." Ben snapped backward. Strange, how even after all these years the word “Union” brought him up short. Forcing an indifference he didn't feel, Ben laughed. “They're navy blue. And I am not a dream, Frankie." "I know a dream when I have one. And this is a dream, because ghosts don't exist." "Have it your way, little one.” Ben took a step back and looked down at her. “I enjoy watching you

sleep. You're enchanting with your hair in disarray over the pillow.” His gaze slid over her face. Smiling, he reached out and with a finger of pure energy traced her cheekbone. "Your skin is as soft and delicate as this flower.” His fingers left her face and stroked the large magnolia bloom. “I have touched you before. Many times. I know your feel and scent. And one day soon, you will know mine." Frankie closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. "I am still here,” Ben said with a chuckle. “I have waited for you. Through the years, your soul has beckoned me." "M-my soul b-beckoned yours?" He sat beside her, his body making a slight imprint on the mattress. "I'm going to die, aren't I? You're one of those guiding spirits here to help me make the transition, aren't you?” she asked, inching away from him. "No. That is not what fate has in store for us.” He leaned forward. This time as his lips brushed hers he knew all she felt was a summer breeze. “One day soon, we will be lovers." "How? You're dead. A ghost. No offense, but I don't want to join you in the great beyond. At least, not for another sixty or so years." Ben grinned, then laughed, his first true, heartfelt laugh since the war had come upon them. “You are mine. We were meant to be together. You will save me—soon.” With a graceful movement, he removed the blossom from her lap and stood. He waved his hand and the pillows returned to their previous position. "You aren't real!" "But I am. In my time,” he said with a sigh. “And soon you will join me. I need you, Frankie. You are my salvation." Frankie pushed herself upright. “Bottom-line it. How am I your salvation and what is it you need from me?" Ben frowned. She was supposed to drop at his feet and willingly do his bidding. He'd worked on her for over twenty-three years. Yet here she sat defying him, demanding that he answer her questions. When had she turned into such a termagant? "You want my help, lay out the problem." Glaring at her, Ben paced the room. How could he have forgotten that in the last six years she had gained the reputation as a financial wizard? As a result of this folly, he had underestimated her. Hopefully, it would not prove fatal. Ben faced her. He appreciated neither her grim expression nor her rigid back. Slowly, he forced himself to rein in his anger. While she was a hard-nosed businesswoman, she had also devoured romance novels

from her early teen years. It was critical he find and touch that young woman. For she was the one who would travel through time to save him, not this hard-edged piece of baggage. “This is not a contract negotiation, Frankie." "Seems like it to me. You want me to do something. Until I know what it is, I won't tell you if I can or will help. Or what it'll cost you." "Always the businesswoman.” Ben folded his arms across his chest. “I wonder where that romantic, history-loving young woman went." "She discovered her degree in history wouldn't put food on the table, went back to college, and got an MBA." A shudder of relief shot through Ben. The impulsive, accident-prone girl he'd watched grow up was not dead, just buried. "We'll talk later.”After I've figured out how to breach your walls . **** Frankie stretched and wiggled her toes, then gasped.No way. I'm still asleep, still dreaming . She refused to open her eyes. The last thing she needed was to discover that last night's encounter hadn't been a dream. “There's no such thing as ghosts." Though she said the words, she didn't believe them. Frankie wished she did, but she didn't. She'd never lied to herself before and wasn't about to start now. Much as she wanted to believe her subconscious had reacted to John Broady's tale, she knew something important and real had taken place. With a sigh, she opened her eyes. Sunlight filtered into the bedroom between the drawn drapes. As she scooted up and leaned back against her bed's headboard, she scanned the room and sniffed again. Her gaze slid to the right. On the spare pillow beside her lay a magnolia—fresh, white and unblemished. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Eyes squeezed shut, she inhaled deeply, then winced.Oh, my God, it wasn't a dream. The blossom's real . She reined in her rising panic. If she could handle investing in volatile high-tech stocks without losing control, she'd be damned if she'd allow a ghost to unnerve her. Slowly opening her eyes, she reached for the magnolia. As her fingers closed around its stem, a whisper on the air kissed her ear. “I am real. Last night happened. We will talk again. Soon." Frankie dropped the flower. She grabbed the spare pillow and buried her sweat-drenched face in the dry cool linen case. It was one thing to fantasize about Ben. It was quite another to be haunted by his ghost. God help her. If the foundation discovered this new wrinkle in her life, they would withdraw their money from her faster than Ben dematerialized. Tossing the pillow aside, Frankie wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth. She

was a rational, career-oriented woman. Women like her didn't believe in ghosts, much less see them. Yet, she'd met Ben, and he seemed bent on persuading, if not outright pressuring her to do as he wished. Two things were obvious: Ben Craig's soul was not at rest. And for some reason, he'd chosen her as the vehicle to remedy the situation. Frankie scowled. That left her with two choices. Convince Ben he was wrong. Make him understand that there was no way she'd make out with a dead man—or was that a vapor? No matter how solid he appeared he had less substance than an early morning fog. Hell, her internet stocks had more stability. Failing getting Ben off her back, she'd have to leave Craig Knoll and never return. Given the choice, she'd rather take on Ben Craig's ghost than her aunt and uncle when she tried to explain why she'd left the homestead and recoiled at the thought of returning. **** Frankie stared at the coffeemaker. Ah, soon she'd have access to her lifeline—strong and highly caffeinated coffee. As soon as enough of her early morning elixir had dripped into the pot, she jerked the glass container free and filled the largest mug she owned. Thirty minutes later, Frankie set her fourth cup of java on the dining room table beside a yellow legal pad and two pens—one red, the other black. After a quick glance around the room, she flopped onto one of the needlepoint chairs. Picking up the black pen, she drew a line down the middle of the paper. The left side, she labeled “Sane/Rational.” In red ink, she titled the right side “Looney Tunes." Twenty minutes later, Frankie stared in disgust at the sheet of paper. The list on the left was short and to the point. It contained her name, age, job, lack of a boyfriend and nothing else. She studied the last entry, no boyfriend, and frowned.Given the last twenty-four hours, I ought to rethink which column that one belongs in . A quick glance at the red ink convinced her she didn't need another item on that side of the ledger. Slowly exhaling, she reread the list. “Drawn to a ghost. Ghost calls me, ‘my love'. Ghost insists we will be together but I'm not dying. So how do we come together? Just as I thought, no answer." Frankie tore the sheet from the pad. She quickly walked to the fireplace, lit a match and touched it to a corner of the paper. Once the flames flared up the offending document's edges, she pitched it into the hearth and watched as it curled and blackened. When reduced to ashes, Frankie mixed them with those of the previous evening's blaze. She was safe. With the evidence destroyed, no one could now judge her unbalanced. Unfortunately, that didn't change the fact she knew differently. She was in trouble, big trouble. Heading for the mother of all breakdowns. ****

The characters on the computer monitor blurred together. She'd spent five straight hours researching the Craig family, ghosts, telekinesis and poltergeists with the same single-minded focus she used when researching a company for possible investment. She shoved her fingers through her mane of hair. If this were all she had to show for her efforts at work, she'd be pounding the pavement looking for a new job. Information on the Craig family made Howard Hughes during his final years seem positively voluble. She'd found almost nothing on the family prior to 1866. What little she did have postdated the Civil War. Ben's father, William Craig, had owned several parcels of land throughout central Virginia. Although he'd grown tobacco and other crops, the bulk of his fortune had come from the shipment of goods and liquor down river to Richmond on bateaux. If possible, there was even less information about Ben. Other than how he'd died—gunned down by three Union deserters while saving the family—she'd found nothing to explain his haunting. Her investigation of the paranormal showed he was atypical. He appeared as a solid being until she touched him. The faint scent of magnolia preceded his materialization. He moved objects and people with ease. None of her findings made sense. Then again, why should they? Nothing about the past few days made sense. Why had he suddenly appeared? And why to her, a nonbeliever of all people? Frankie propped her elbows on the table and placed her chin on her hands. What was it he'd said? Something about having waited for her and her soul beckoning his. She pushed away from the computer and stood. “Time for another infusion of caffeine.” She headed for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and removed a can of diet cola. With a wince, she leaned against the counter. Forget the kick from caffeine, she needed an ice pack more. She pressed, then rolled the cold, unopened can against her throbbing forehead. As the vise-like grip around her eyes lessened, she popped the can open and gulped the icy liquid. Ten minutes later, she was back in front of her computer. Using her mouse, she cleared the screen saver. “What..." Two sentences glowed up from the seventeen-inch monitor, daring her with their message: You cannot fight it. We belong together, forever. How had a nineteenth-century man operated her computer, especially one who was dead? Typewriters were only developed in the mid-eighteen hundreds, and she doubted a man of Ben's position would have used one. She needed proof that a ghost existed, if only for her sanity. She clicked on the print icon.

The paper slid from her laser printer print side down. Frankie picked up the sheet. Blank white paper stared back at her. Biting her lower lip, Frankie glanced back at the screen. The two sentences flickered, then faded from view, leaving behind a momentary phosphorescent outline. "That does it. I'm outta here.” Grabbing her jacket, Frankie raced from the house. As she charged toward the pond, frost-coated blades of grass crunched. Her breath fogged in the air. Suddenly her foot shot out from under her and she slammed onto the frozen ground. “You're reverting to old reckless habits,” she ground out. Pushing herself upright, she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Not comfortable, but at least it's safe." [Back to Table of Contents]

About the Author Kate Hill's work has appeared in publications both on and off the internet. When she's not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, and researching vampires and Viking history. Rediscovering Thor is Kate's first eBook with LTDBooks.com. Visit her online at: www.kate-hill.com. [Back to Table of Contents]

Publisher Info: LTDBooks is the publisher of original fiction in a variety of electronic formats. Selected titles available in trade paperback. At LTDBooks there's something for everyone: from Horror to Historical, Romance to Mystery, Fantasy to Intrigue and everything in between. At LTDBooks the story doesn't have to fit the mold—it just has to be well-told.

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