Page 35 of Viking Unchained

While they were eating, she said, “My husband, David Denton . . . Dave . . . died five years ago in Baghdad. An enemy ambush.”

I was ambushed in Baghdad, too, though that fact is probably irrelevant. Still . . . hmmmm.

“Dave was a Navy SEAL.”

Another SEAL! The world is overflowing with the arrogant lot.

“We have a son, Mike, who is more than four years old, as I told you before.”

As my son would be now.

“I loved Dave so much.”

Luta nigh hated my guts.

She gulped visibly several times and fought against tears. “Dave had silver-gray eyes, as does Mike. An unusual color unlike any I’ve ever seen before until . . .”

“. . . me,” he finished for her. I think I have fallen down the barmy hole.

She nodded. “It’s not just the eye color, though. When I saw you across the tavern, even before I could see your eyes, I got goose bumps. I sensed something about you.”

He realized now where this conversation was going. Pushing aside the tray with the half-eaten food, he said, “I am not Dave.”

“I know that, and yet . . . there’s something. Don’t you feel it?”

The only thing I feel is a growing vexation with your incessant jabbering. “No, I do not feel it, whatever it is. However, I will concede this. I am here in this . . . um, country . . . under unusual circumstances which I cannot explain, even if I wanted to. Let us just say that I was drawn here, to this time and place, for reasons unknown to me.”

“Damn!” She frowned. “Every time I think you’re just a stranger and I need to get rid of you, you say or do something that makes me second-guess myself.”

Chirp, chirp, chirp. She is like a bird that will not stop chirping. “What did I say this time?”

“That you felt drawn here. That might mean . . . that Dave sent you here.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, if you’re not leaving right away, you can go for a walk on the beach, or there’s a TV and DVD

player in the living room. Check out the DVDs. You might enjoy movies like Braveheart or Pirates of the Caribbean. Have you seen them?”

“Seen who? Of course I have seen pirates. Any Viking who rides the high seas has met a pirate or two.”

She blinked in confusion. “Never mind. If you need something, just yell. I have to go somewhere and think.”

“Somewhere?”

“The basement. To dance. I have a small studio downstairs. I don’t work today . . . on a Sunday. I always think more clearly when I dance, and you’ve given me tons to think about. Besides, I have some new dance moves to work out before tomorrow.” She stopped short when she realized she was blathering with nervousness.

“I do not understand what you say by half.”

“I’m not making much sense to myself either.”

After she departed, he muttered to himself, “My brain burns with questions, and the wench goes off to dance.”

The demented wench was

dancing with a maypole . . .

After an hour, Thorfinn decided he had had enough.