Page 106 of The Reluctant Viking

Once again, Eirik nodded, but tears welled in his eyes, the imminence of his father’s departure finally hitting him.

Thork quickly scanned the hall to see if anyone watched them. Feeling it was safe, he brusquely pulled Eirik into his arms, and they embraced each other tightly for a long time.

It was the first time Ruby had ever seen the father and son show physical affection for each other. Ruby closed her eyes briefly, painfully, at the sheer intensity of the moment. How many such moments had there been in the past?

Next it was her turn. “Eirik, take care of yourself. Always know that there are people in this world who love you very much—myself included,” Ruby choked out. “I think you can learn a lot from this Saxon king about what is important in life, besides military might. Take advantage of everything he can teach you.” Then, uncaring of whether he would resist her or not, Ruby hugged him warmly and kissed his cheek repeatedly, wetting his face with her tears.

Ruby wept silently as she and Thork and Selik walked across the bailey in stony silence toward the stables and the horses that would take them to the Thames River and Thork’s ships. Only once did she speak: “Thork, how can you bear to leave a ten-year-old boy like that?”

The hard, desolate eyes he turned on her almost broke Ruby’s heart. She wilted under Thork’s silent condemnation of her hasty words. Then he strode ahead, leaving her behind with Selik.

Even Selik was not his usual joking self. “Best leave him alone for a while. ’Tis how he always acts when he must leave his sons.”

With all the river traffic from King Athelstan’s coronation, it took Thork’s five ships a day to maneuver through the Thames to the open seas. The smells, congestion and frustrating delays managed to transform bad moods into even worse ones by the time they camped for the evening.

That night in their tent, which was pitched on the periphery of the campsite, Ruby took the initiative in their lovemaking, trying to make up to Thork with gentle caresses and sweet words for the loss she knew he must feel over leaving his son. How he had done it all these years was beyond her comprehension.

When she’d first met Thork, Ruby had thought of him as cruel and unloving to abandon his two sons. Now she wondered if he wasn’t, in fact, an incredibly brave man who was bleeding inside with loneliness.

Over and over during the night, Ruby whispered, “I love you.” He never returned the words to her, and that tore at her heart, but Ruby said them nonetheless because she was increasingly convinced that no one, not a father or mother, not a child, not even a loved one—no one—had ever said the words to him before. How could any person—man or woman, child or adult—live without ever feeling loved? It was a chilling thought.

They didn’t depart for Normandy the next day. Instead, all the goods on the five ships were unloaded and rearranged around their campsite. Apparently, while they relaxed at Athelstan’s coronation, Thork’s men had been busy trading in London and had sold what amounted to two shiploads of goods.

Thork decided that two empty ships would return to Jorvik where Olaf would reload them with trading products and then meet Thork and Selik in Hedeby, a trading town on the southern tip of the Jutland peninsula. After Thork finished his business in Normandy, he and Selik would go on to Hedeby, then Jomsborg, where the ships would be transformed into military vessels.

During the day, the men snickered at the soft glances Thork and Ruby exchanged constantly. At night, through whispered words and feathery caresses, Ruby and Thork spun webs of love, unspoken on his part, that drew them closer and closer together. Limited by the close proximity of Thork’s shipmates in their nearby tents, their lovemaking was gentler and quieter than their wild, frenzied coming together in King Athelstan’s palace, but equally satisfying.

Ruby no longer fought their lovemaking as an unwise decision. Instead, she treated it as fate—an inevitable progression in her strange travel through time, something that was preordained for some reason she was yet to understand.

Thork still intended to marry Elise. Ruby accepted that fatalistically, even though they never spoke of it or their own future together. Thork probably expected that she would go with him to Jomsborg as his mistress—at least for a time. Ruby’s emotions were crystal-fragile at the moment, and she avoided a confrontation with Thork over the issue. In truth, she feared she might break into a million pieces if she pressed for a commitment and Thork told her that’s all she meant to him—a “bedmate.”

So they made love and pretended all was well, each avoiding discussion of the festering canker between them. One day at a time, that was all Ruby could handle right now. But she did pray a lot.

Finally the three ships crossed the English Channel for Normandy, while the other two went back north to Jorvik. No sooner had their ships dropped anchor in Normandy than a contingent of armed men lined the shore. Having recognized the ships’ colors, the Norman Vikings escorted them back to Hrolf’s keep. They treated Thork with distrust because he was, after all, son of Harald, high-king of Norway, a hated enemy of Hrolf.

Surrounded by guards with menacing weapons, they entered the great hall of Hrolf’s fortified palace in Rouen. A huge man, at least six-foot-five and built like a tree, stood to greet them. Ruby could see how he’d earned the nickname The Marcher. Truly, not many horses could hold a man his size.

“I bid you welcome to Normandy, Thork,” Hrolf said in a polite but cool voice. “Come forward and share some ale with me.” Meanwhile, his eyes pierced him with icy mistrust.

Hrolf drew them to a roaring fire, which offset the damp chill of the misty day. Several well-dressed men and women sat there, including one lady whom he introduced warmly with a pat on her arm as Poppa. Ruby wasn’t sure if she was his wife or mistress.

Thork shifted uneasily and came right to the point. “I come from King Sigtrygg and then go from here to Hedeby, then to Jomsborg where I resume my Jomsviking duties.”

Hrolf’s intelligent eyes examined Thork keenly. “What does that wily old bear want from me now?”

Thork cast an inscrutable gaze at Ruby, seeming to weigh his thoughts carefully before he drew her forward with a hand at her elbow. “He sent me here with this woman—Ruby Jordan. She claims to be a kin of yours.”

“Mine? How could that be?” Hrolf demanded with consternation, glancing apologetically to Poppa. “Some get on a village maid? What claim you, girl?”

All eyes turned on Ruby, and there was a collective gasp as the group then turned to look at a middle-aged woman seated at the edge of the seated circle. Ruby looked exactly like the woman must have at a younger age. Ruby soon learned that Eddha was Hrolf’s oldest sister. Thork and Selik stared disbelievingly at Ruby, realizing she must have spoken the truth all along. Relief softened Thork’s tense features as the implications of the resemblance became clear.

“Now you won’t have to chop off my head,” Ruby whispered morbidly and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow while Hrolf and his family agitatedly discussed the situation among themselves.

“Nay, but I may smack your rump,” Thork responded with dry humor. “What else do you hide from me?”

Ruby was about to remind him that she’d been telling him the truth all along when Hrolf called Ruby closer and asked her to sit in the chair next to him, which he freed by shooing a young hesir away. Thork and Selik dropped into heavy armchairs brought forth by scurrying servants and sipped at the cups of wine placed in their hands.

“Now tell me true. Who are you?” Hrolf demanded.