Page 31 of The Caged Viking

A second chance to make things right?

Bjorn is alive!

Praise the gods!

And, yes, a bit of praise for Egil, too.

Happy at his apparent pardon, Egil scampered off in his crab-like gait, gained after years of riding one longship after another over rolling waves. Thus, Hauk was alone, somewhat, except for his wife who trailed behind him, when he approached the tent and saw his son, clearly a boyling now, dressed in a belted tunic over slim braies and ankle boots. His blond hair was pulled off his face and tied at the nape with a leather thong. There was a strong resemblance that should have been apparent to Hauk before.

“Bjorn!” he called out.

The boy turned abruptly at his greeting, his expression wary. He was skinny as a pike, just as Hauk had been at that age.

“I had no idea…Egil just told me,” Hauk choked out. “By thunder! This is the best news I’ve had in years.”

Bjorn’s chin went up and he backed away from Hauk’s extended arms.

“Son?” Hauk said. “You have naught to be afeared of. I am your father.”

“Hah! You are no father to me.” He spat on the ground for emphasis. “Where have you been these ten years and more? Where were you when my mother was dying? Where were you when the bloody Saxons murdered my foster father, Pallig Tokeson, and his family? And then you let yourself be caged like a tame dog. No matter.” He waved a hand dismissively, as if Hauk and his misdeeds were of no importance to him and continued to back away.

Hauk grabbed Bjorn’s upper arm and yanked him to a halt.

“Bugger off!” The boy tried to squirm out of his hold, to no avail.

His insolence and lack of respect would merit a whomping if they came from anyone else. Should he try to explain his absence? Should he force the squirming Bjorn to stand still, and to hell and Muspell with any explanations? Should he tell him of his regrets and how much he loved him? Should he try to explain how he’d been taken by the Saxons? With a grunt of disgust at his wavering thoughts, he pulled the boy into a tight bear hug, murmuring, “My son! Alive! And you helped Egil rescue me? Praise the gods!”

Bjorn bit his shoulder and muttered, “Kiss my arse!”

Hauk chuckled. He had to admire the boy’s spunk.

But then, said spunky boy kneed him in the ballocks, hard. Reflexively, Hauk loosened his embrace, and Bjorn took advantage of the lapse, running off, laughing.

Hauk was bent over at the waist, cupping his private parts, gasping for breath, when Kirstin came up to him. She dared to grin at his position. “Still think you could handle consummation?”

Not any time soon, he thought, but what he said was, “Betimes, a man must endure a little pain to gain his reward.”

Then he winked at her, just in case she didn’t get his meaning.

She must have because she gave him a look of disgust, which was not the usual reaction he got from women when he winked at them.

He gave her a shove into the tent and followed after her. “Heed me well, you headstrong, willful woman. Before we go to meet with Sweyn, you must needs listen to me. If you speak to Sweyn the way you do to me, he will discount anything that comes from your mouth as that of a barmy person who is wasting his precious time. Or he may deem you a spy for the Saxons, which would be just as bad for you. Believe you me, Sweyn is not known for his patience or kindness. On a whim he could slit your tongue, or strip you naked and let his archers use you for target practice.”

“Blah, blah, blah! I don’t care a fig about Sweyn or what he thinks of me,” the impudent wench said, plopping down on the travel chest. “I came to rescue you, and now that you’re free, there’s no reason for me to be here anymore. Suffice it to say, mission accomplished!”

He paced the small space inside the tent and glanced intermittently at her, trying to figure her out. Why was she not shivering with fear, as any normal female would, or many a male, as well?

“If you hadn’t touched my arm rings and thought of escape to the outside of the castle,” she continued, speaking slowly as if he were a slow-witted youthling, “we could have been far, far away from here. Maybe back in America, which is what I would have pictured in my mind.”

He gave her a glance of horror. Did she honestly believe that was a situation he would desire?

“But do you care? No. You are where you want to be and that is all that matters. So, go off and do your war things.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ll go home on my own, somehow.”

“Barmy as a bat drukkinn on mead,” he muttered.

“Really. Go off and fight your silly war and probably end up dead, defeating the whole purpose of my rescue mission.”

“You are not going anywhere until I discover why you are here, wife.”