Page 4 of Viking Unchained

“Hmpfh! There are a few people back in the Norselands that would find humor in that philosophy.

Deliberately making oneself sweat and ache! Life is hard enough, they would say.” Madrene was using a Silver Strand Studio towel to wipe off her brow and neck as she talked. Madrene was always saying weird things like that, referring to Vikings of old and Dark Age “Norselands,” as if she had personal experience with both. Plus, she talked in a quaint manner sometimes, using words like “mayhap,” or "’tis”

or "’twas.” Or, even more interesting, “bedsport.”

“Stop complaining,” Madrene’s sister Kirstin Magnusson said, as she too mopped her brow. “Now you won’t feel guilty when you have crème brûlée for dessert at lunch today.” Kirstin, three years younger than her sister at thirty-two, was a newly hired professor of ancient studies at San Diego State University.

Kirstin shared her sister’s long, platinum blonde hair, but whereas Madrene was buxom, Kirstin was flat-chested. Both of them were stunningly beautiful.

“As if I would e’er feel guilty over food!”

“You’re coming to lunch with us today, aren’t you, Lydia? ” asked yet another member of this very interesting family. It was red-haired Alison Magnusson, who was married to Madrene and Kirstin’s brother Ragnor; she was a Navy physician affiliated with the SEAL teams. Alison’s brother was Commander MacLean. Lots of convoluted family connections here. “We’re celebrating over at the Del.”

The Del she referred to was the famous Hotel del Coronado, known for its red-roofed, castlelike appearance and for the famous people who had stayed there over the years.

“Of course,” Lydia answered. Mike was going to a birthday party straight from nursery school today and didn’t have to be picked up ’til three. “And crème brûlée sounds veeeery tempting.”

They drove together in Alison’s Mercedes sedan. On the way and while walking into the Del, there was talk, talk, talk. These women did know how to talk. Not that they shut Lydia out, but mostly she just chose to sit back in fascination. So, this is what big families are like. Lydia was an only child of Minnesota dairy farmers. Dave had been the only son of a nearby couple who raised beef cattle. While her parents had been loving, she had always felt lonely . . . still did, even with her darling Mike. And it looked as if he was going to be an only child, too.

Once seated in the Sheerwater Restaurant in the Del, with its spectacular view of the Pacific, they started off with one of the Del’s signature margaritas—watermelon today.

“To tube tying!” Madrene raised her stemmed glass in a toast.

Everyone tapped glasses with her, even Lydia, who had to ask, “Tube tying?”

“Yea, ’tis true. I had my tubes tied on Monday.”

Lydia choked on her drink. Oh, good Lord!

Madrene smiled widely, then took a long drink, licking the salt off her top lip. “Do not missay me. I love children. I have three of them. Two-year-old Ivan, fifteen-month-old Ranulf, and now three-month-old John. Methinks that is enough.”

I’ll never complain about being tired with one little boy again. “I wasn’t being judgmental,” Lydia inserted quickly. “Believe me, I’m all for women’s rights and birth control. I was just . . . surprised.”

“I know that, dearling.” Madrene squeezed her hand. “Ian was supposed to get one of those vasectomy things, but he walked around half-green for the past sennight; so, I took pity on the lackwit. But believe you me, I intend to profit from that favor. I’m thinking, a tractor.”

Kirstin and Alison laughed.

This woman is nuts. “A tractor?” Lydia was having trouble following Madrene’s train of thought.

“My husband is a commander of SEALs, but I yearn to be a farmer. In fact, my father gifted me a farm in the Imperial Valley as a bride-gift. Someday, when Ian retires, we will become farmers, although every time we visit, Ian gets a rash. I think he does it apurpose to thwart me.”

Somehow, Lydia could not picture Ian MacLean giving up the teams to become a farmer. On the other hand, Madrene appeared to be a very strong-minded woman. Instead of voicing that opinion, she told Madrene, “My parents are dairy farmers in Minnesota. I couldn’t wait to get away. It’s grueling work.”

“Oh, I know good and well how grueling the work is. My father had a large farmstead afore coming to this country. I ran the household ’til my first marriage, and then again after my marriage failed.”

There had to be a story there, Lydia decided, but one she wouldn’t ask about right now. She hadn’t realized that Ian was Madrene’s second husband.

Ian had trained for SEALs with Lydia’s husband, Dave, but he married after Dave’s death. So Lydia had never socialized with them and barely knew Ian well enough to say hello, even though he and the other teammates had come to Virginia for Dave’s funeral. She’d met Madrene through the aerobics class.

“Back to Madrene having her tubes tied. You have to understand that where we come from”—Kirstin exchanged a secretive glance with Madrene—“women do not have this kind of choice. Well, men either.

Birth control was nonexistent back then . . . I mean, back there, except for early withdrawal, which is highly unreliable. Besides, most Viking men are too prideful of their male parts, not to mention lustful, to give up any part of the sexual experience. It’s not unusual for women to have ten children or more. In fact, our father has bred fourteen children, twelve of them still living.” Kirstin seemed to realize belatedly that she had spouted out quite a bit of information. Probably the college professor in her. “Sorry. It’s a sore subject with me.”

Fourteen children? Lydia forced herself not to arch her brows in shock. “Where is it precisely that you’re from?”

“The Norselands,” Madrene replied.

“Norway,” Kirstin said at the same time.