Page 25 of The Caged Viking

She glared right back at him.

“You did that strange trick without my permission,” he lashed out indignantly. “What will you do next, turn me into a toad?”

She muttered something about him already being a toad.

“Because I object to being hurled about like a jester’s puppet?”

“You escaped, didn’t you?”

“I would have escaped anyway, in my own way, and my own more seemly manner,” he insisted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. A little gratitude would be nice, baby.”

“Baby?”

“If the name fits!”

They faced off at each other, of an equal height with her still on the horse, him pressed against the animal’s side, and continued to glare, one more stubborn than the other, not wanting to be the first to look away.

Egil suspected that his master had met his match, in more ways than one. He could scarce wait to see what they would do next.

But first, Egil had other matters to be concerned over. He must tell Hauk about Bergliot. Soon. Afore he discovered elsewhere that the maid was actually Bjorn. His son.

Help me, gods! he thought, suspecting that Hauk would be a mite displeased at his withholding that information. He sighed. Where is a mead barrel when a man has a mighty thirst…or the need for ale-bravery?

Chapter 7

He’d thought a cage was his biggest problem until…

“Let me see if I understand,” Hauk said, his lips twitching with a combination of barely suppressed amusement and mounting impatience. “You traveled here from the future, a thousand bloody years in the future, your sole purpose to save me?”

“Exactly. The year two thousand and nineteen. Whew! I’m glad you finally understand.”

He rolled his eyes. This was the first chance he’d had to be alone with Kirstin and demand an explanation for the amazing feat that had the two of them twirling up in the air and out of the castle in some kind of magic whirlwind. And this was the answer she gave him? Time travel! Pff! More likely, she was a witch. Which was equally unacceptable.

He had to be careful. Yea, he owed her for her help. But he could not chance another sky ride. Leastways, not until the battle was over, and he’d sent King Dumb-as-Dirt to an early grave, hopefully in a dozen pieces.

They were in a small tent which had been assigned to Hauk and his entourage of Kirstin, Egil, and the lackwit maid Bergliot in the midst of the huge temporary settlement erected by Sweyn a considerable distance from Winchester. Hundreds of warriors had gathered already…a scene of organized pre-battle chaos, to be sure. But promising for the battle to come, which would be the following morning, if all went according to plan. They were waiting for Duke Richard of Norsemandy and his troops to join up with them.

Hauk was sitting on a chest, using a whetstone to sharpen his short sword. She was sitting on a pile of furs, opposite him, rebraiding her hair. Seen in the light of day, with the sun’s rays peeking through an opening in the tent, the pale blonde strands shimmered like spun silver. With her sapphire-blue eyes enhanced by the sky-blue of the suddenly (well, ’twas the first he’d noticed) form-fitting bodice of her gown and the deep blue stone hanging about her neck, she was more than comely.

And she was his.

He had mixed feelings about that.

So, she was not as uncomely as he’d first thought.

But she was strange, to say the least.

On the other hand, having a wife could be a convenience betimes.

But mostly they were a pain in the arse.

He cleared his throat and inquired with casualness that was forced, “And this…uh…what did you call it?...time travel…it happened just because you wished it?”

“Dreamed it,” she corrected.

“Wish, dream, summon, conjure, cast a witchy spell.” He drew the whetstone over the blade as he spoke. Rasp, rasp, rasp.