Beyond A Viking Horizon Page 2

  What was she going to do?

  Chapter Two

  Kopi SmykkerArhus, Denmark 908

  Balmung reclined at the end of the scarred wood table and took a deep drink of ale. His brother, Ofeig, was home for a rare visit and lounged next to him. Ofeig was a year younger than he, and, at thirty-two, had made a name for himself as a mighty warrior, a man to be respected -- and feared.

  Balmung knew that when the loneliness which was a direct result of such a reputation got too much for Ofeig, he came home. To be with family. To regroup.

  Times were changing, and proud Viking warriors such as his brother were losing their place in this world as trading, exploring, and farming were proving extremely profitable, and much less dangerous. Yet Ofeig was driven, by what was anyone's guess. Balmung hoped he would find whatever it was he was looking for before his search cost him his life as he sold his sword to the highest bidder both on sea and upon land.

  Balmung could have become a warrior himself, he mused, but the desire to cultivate life rather than take it was a strong force within him.

  Over the rim of his cup, Balmung's gaze strayed to his youngest brother Davyn. Davyn had known exactly what he had been looking for as he had traveled the seas, far and wide, and Time had delivered it to him. Davyn's wife, Rosie, as with Leif's wife, Kat, had come from a span of one thousand years in the future. Not only had Leif and Davyn gotten their mates from this future Time, but Balmung's sister, Ailsa, had been rescued from slavery by Rosie's cousin, a man likewise from the future, and who was also now Alisa's husband, Singlee.

  Balmung stretched his long legs under the table and studied Singlee. The Chinese warrior stood out in the room full of rowdy Norse warriors. His jet black hair was pulled back in a queue whose tip reached his waist, and he was dressed in brightly colored silk pajamas of his culture. Balmung allowed himself a chuckle. Singlee hated when anyone called his garments pajamas. His brother-in-law's fighting skills were without compare, having gained him the respect of the clan early on, and his loyalty to family and great love of his wife put him beyond reproach.

  Balmung was happy for Alisa, and for Leif and Davyn, and was pleased that they had found mates who completed them. But each of his siblings had been at the mercy of two pendants -- nay, he corrected himself -- technically four pendants, and Time itself, in order to achieve those great loves.

  Balmung stifled a sigh. But for him, his heart, his very soul, lay upon the land which he had built his life. Balmung knew, with every fiber of his being, that if he should ever find the woman who would complete him, it would be on his terms, and he would do so from his land, from his Time. He would not be a pawn in Times hands.

  "You seem lost in thought, brother." Ofeig said, a single brow raised in question.

  "Aye," Balmung responded easily. "I was thinking that I will not become a pawn in Time's hands," he held up a stalling hand as his brother started to speak. "I know, I know, if not for our brothers remarkable journeys through Time, they would have never met or loved their women, I'm just saying that's not the way for me."

  Ofeig winced. "You best make sure that their women are not near enough to hear you call them such," he warned.

  Balmung laughed out loud, a booming sound all but drowned out by the merry making of the warriors filling the great hall.

  "Aye," he agreed, turning his head this way and that in a manner that had Ofeig grinning. "Those two scare me to death when they're angered."

  "You'd be daft if they didn't," Ofeig agreed. "I don't know how our brothers manage the terror."

  "Ahh," Balmung said, his lips turned into a sly smile. "Our brothers know how to distract their wives from their bouts of anger until they no longer remember what is was they were angry about."

  Balmung yelped when the side of his head received a blow and he reached instinctively for the dirk secured within the folds of his vest.

  "Don't draw your weapon, brother," Ofeig said quickly, his eyes watering from suppressed laughter. "Tis just Kat, our wee sister-in-law seeking well deserved restitution for the unkind remarks you uttered against her."

  "Ouch!" Ofeig said, glaring over his shoulder at Rosie, who had just popped him upside his head.

  Balmung grinned. "Restitution, brother,"

  Kat scooted Balmung aside and climbed over the bench to sit by him. "I would think that two big, strong men such as yourselves would have something more interesting to talk about than your 'angry' sisters-in-laws." she said, wiggling her two index fingers in the air at the word angry.

  Rosie took a seat on Balmung's other side and turned her golden, almond shaped eyes on him. "We only become angry when we're provoked, gringo," she informed him. "And we're provoked much too often by the men in this family!"

  Her words were stern, but her smile was soft. Each man knew that she was, in her and Kat's modern words, 'all bark and no bite' and if Balmung were honest, he did enjoy provoking Rosie's and Kat's unique and quick tempers.

  Kat leaned forward, her sea-green eyes uncomfortably serious as they met first Balmung, then Ofeig's. "Do you really think that you can outsmart Time?"

  "What I really think, sister," Balmung said, refusing to acknowledge the shiver which slipped down his spine at her question. "Is that I plan to stay as far away as humanly possible from those portal opening pendants. I do not need to be sucked through Time in order to find a bride. If I chose to marry, I shall do so with a woman from right here."

  Why did his words sound -- nay, feel so hollow?

  Kat and Rosie shared a knowing look while Ofeig wisely shifted his body to face a warrior to his left, leaving Balmung to fend for himself.

  Kat pounced on his words. "So," she said. "You are looking for love."

  Balmung resisted the urge to pull his hair in frustration. She was forever parading maidens in front of him in hopes that one would catch his eye. She refused to believe that he was content just as he was, and he refused to consider that, perhaps, he wasn't content at all.

  "What I am looking for," he ground out. "Is some peace and quiet."

  He stepped over the bench, and, kissing her lightly on the forehead, took his leave.

  He felt her frowning at his back until the thick double doors of the great hall closed behind him. In his opinion, future women were much too outspoken.

  Chapter Three

  Iris adjusted the oval mirror attached to two screws atop her dresser until she could see her entire reflection. The mirror was of low quality, and her appearance was cloudy and somewhat distorted in places. She unwrapped the scarf from her head, realizing that if she hadn't wrapped her hair last night before bed her short bob would be as burnt as her feet and hands. She was grateful for the small concession to her great losses that night.

  She finger combed the glossy wisps into place wincing as her burnt fingers protested the movement. She had kept the style which had been so popular in Chicago. A thick bang just touched her brow, and the hair at the mid point of her left ear slickly curved around the back of her head to rest just below her chin on the right.

  Noah used to be amazed at how she could alter her appearance by using a flat iron, or a curling rod. And, due to the many times when such appliances hadn't been available to her, she could twist, braid or decorate her hair with colorful scarves in such ways as to announce her proud heritage like a badge of honor.

  She brushed at her hair again. Iris had determined early on to always keep up with her appearance, regardless if she had spent from dawn to dusk in the fields with her husband. When they sat down for dinner at night her hair had been fixed, her burnt honey skin had been oiled, and the stylish day dress she had worn, although thread-bear, had been clean and pressed, and arranged about her with care and pride.

  The neatly made narrow bed in the corner caught her eye. That small bed which she had shared with her husband. They had never minded the lack of room, for they had slept spooned, warmed and content. She had conceived and delivered little Lissie in that bed.

  She fo
cused upon her reflection again. Studying. She was a willowy five foot three, one hundred and fifteen pounds. Her limbs were toned and as graceful as any dancers should be, for she continued to dance by the tunes of the records she hadn't been able to part with.

  When she danced, it was as if Noah were here still. Watching her. Loving her.

  Her own big, wide set eyes stared back at her from the mirror, a clear, soft brown, framed by a thick sweep of dark lashes. Her brows arched naturally and winged, just a bit, toward her temples. She ran a slim finger over her cheek. Her complexion was flawless, her cheekbones high and gently pronounced. She pursed her dusky lips. They were full and always ready to give a tender kiss to her children, or engage in a passion filled meshing with her husband's.

  Her heart twisted in an all too familiar pain. Noah never tired of telling her how lovely she was, and, although he had been gone for a year now, she couldn't, she wouldn't, regardless of how futile it seemed at times, let herself go.

  She watched as heated tears rolled down her cheeks. Until today, Noah had been the only man to kiss her. Halvor had stolen that from them both.

  The sheriff was right, she would watch out for him. And she absolutely wouldn't allow the seed Rikard had deliberately planted to germinate within her. She would never, ever, sell her body for tips.

  Chapter Four

  Kopi SmykkerArhus, Denmark 908

  Balmung awoke with a start, his skin slick with sweat, his heart thumping against his chest at a mad gallop. The cursed scent of smoke filled the air of his bed chamber and the bitter sound of weeping rang in his ears. The weeping! This was the third night in a row which the heartbreaking sound had awoken him. Thank goodness the pitiful sobs did not plague him during the daylight hours or he knew he would go mad.

  He rubbed unsteady hands over his face and took a calming breath. There was no need to get up, to strike a light, to search. He had done those exact things the last two nights and found nothing within or outside. Nothing. No woman weeping, no fires burning. Only the great, all consuming feeling of sadness, abandonment, and hopelessness. But not his own despair, of that he was certain, for he was quite content with his life, wasn't he?

  Balmung stretched himself out atop his coverings and forced his eyes closed and his mind blank. The sooner this night was over, the sooner the sun crested the horizon, the sooner he could put aside the deep sadness which assailed him each night.

  Morning greeted him at last and Balmung dressed with hast, eager to leave the suddenly confining walls of his keep. He didn't bother to eat. He had no appetite after the long, grievous night he had just endured.

  He threw open the strong door of his keep, stepped over the threshold and into the crisp morning air, filling his lungs with the new day. Balmung was comforted by the knowledge that each new day held endless possibilities and he was eager to see what this day held for him. Stretching, he rubbed at his sleep deprived eyes, noting, with a frown, something shining just at the edge of the field.

  A since of forbearing mixed with the oddest surge of excitement followed him as he made his way to investigate. Kneeling upon the dew dampened earth, he brushed away a thin layer of dirt until a green glowing pendant -- one he knew as well as he knew his own reflection -- winked up at him.

  Blended metal was cut into a perfect circle with five sharp points stationed at the edge of the circle at even intervals. A rune letter, Lagu, which meant water or sea, was placed in the center of the disk, which symbolized life sustaining water or oath-associated beer. Encircling the rune letter was a complicated series of circles and knots, all intertwined, with no obvious beginning or ending to their journey.

  Those circles and knots now glowing brightly were raised upon the unusual metal, indicating the stretching forward of time. The future.

  He cursed even as his hand was drawn toward the pendant.

  And the earth shifted beneath him.

  He stood, steadied himself. What had just happened? He looked warily at the pendant still clutched in his palm. Not green now, not glowing. How had this trouble making pendant come to be within his soil? Had he been propelled though Time? Nay, he didn't think so, after all, each experience he had heard of from his family members and their sojourns though Time involved spinning within a dark vortex. He had definitely not spun helplessly within a vortex. The all too familiar sent of burnt ground wafted to him, he glanced down and sucked in a breath.

  He was standing in the center of a charred field. What had happened to the tender shoots? When had his crops burned? He scanned the blackened land; the morning light glinted off a white washed structure. A structure he recognized instantly.

  His home, in the distance, the same, yet different. Placing one unsteady foot in front of the other he stumbled though the ashes toward his home, taking in the changes, changes which had not been there only a handful of moments before.

  The perimeter of the keep had a white picket fence, enclosing a deep green lawn. An addition had been added in front of the entry way, some sort of outdoor space made of wood with an overhang supported by large square pillars at each corner of the wide, long expanse. He noted the smoke and water damage along the back, and east walls, walls which he had built with timber, yet were now covered by stone. His stomach did a slow roll, whoever had reinforced the structure with stone had saved it from the hungry flames which had devoured the fields. A glance told him that the outer structures, one of which he recognized as his barn, and the other looked to be a dwelling for, he squinted to see clearly, aye -- for chickens, had also been converted from wood to stone.

  As he neared, he noted an odd, rather transparent door in front of what he knew to be the thick, sturdy door of his shelter. Where only this morn his fortress had been windowless, except for the arrow slits that ran high on the perimeter of the walls, now there were large square windows cut right through the thick stone. Some sort of surface covered them, crystal clear and much too fragile looking. Boxes filled to overflowing with bright flowers were attached on brackets in front of those same windows, the same flowers which lined the inside of the small fence. He looked up to the roof and was further stunned.

  What had happened to his tar and thatch roof? Now, the arching expanse was smooth looking, covered in neat rows of -- of he did not know what, but it sparkled and gleamed in the morning sun.

  How could it offer any protection from the elements? And how could his strong fortress offer any protection from enemies with holes cut into it, not just in the front, flanking the door, but, he noted walking around, what appeared to be each and every room? He made his way back to the front of the house, pausing just inside the open gate.

  Suddenly a small child came banging out the small outer door, as naked as the day she was born, screeching and laughing. And she was headed full force to the edge of the steep stairway that led to the addition of the house. His heart in his throat, he lunged forward, even knowing that he would never make it to the child in time. The babe's laughs were drowned out by yelling of another small girl, this one perhaps four or five winters, who came banging out of his home, diving and catching the younger one only a breath before the infant took a nasty tumble.

  "Lissie!" the child scolded even as she hugged the baby to her. "You know better than to run outside. Momma's gon'to tan your hide if you do it again."

  Not showing the least bit of thanks for having just been saved an injury, Lissie threw back her chubby arm and knocked whom he assumed was her sister, upside her braided head with an open palm.

  "Ouch!" the child said, not loosing her hold on little Lissie. Lissie squirmed, her bare bottom pushing away from the skinny arm and wiggling in her efforts to free herself from the tight hold. Nether child had noted him as yet, and he was content for the moment to watch this little struggle for power, not really knowing which child would win. Then he saw, with more than a small amount of alarm, that Lissie's mouth was open. Small, sharp looking teeth were bared, and her wide, dark gaze zeroed in on the older girl's upper arm. The litt
le terror was going to bite her sister!

  "Enough!" he said, with just enough force to distract the infant from her painful mission. As he reached them, two sets of dark eyes swung to him, the older girl's eye narrowing with suspicion and just a little bit of fear.

  "She was about to bite you," he explained, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

  Momentarily distracted from his unexpected appearance, she turned a frown at the babe in her arms and muttered. "I hate it when she bites."

  "Daddy!" Lissie exclaimed, propelling her weight toward him with open arms. Both he and the little girl gaped at the toddler even as he instinctively reached out and caught the wiggling bundle.

  "Who are you?" a woman's voice demanded.

  Balmung tried unsuccessfully to unwind the chubby arms from around his neck, arms that were remarkably strong for one so small. He hadn't heard the thin outer door open again, when he looked up a woman and two small lads were now standing at the threshold.

  And his heart momentarily stopped beating.

  "Lissie was going to bite me," the girl explained. "He told her 'no' so she didn't."

  He was grateful for the child speaking up in his defense, for the mother looked ready to slay him with her bare hands. His own power of speech had abandoned him, leaving him gaping at the vision like a love sick pup.

  The woman was stunning. Truly, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, and, in that instant, he silently apologized for taunting Time, for fighting against it.

  Her skin was the color of dusk on a starless night, perfect in its silken smoothness. He longed to caress the high cheek bones, to run a gentle finger over her full, half parted lips. His attention was drawn to her eyes, his heart immediately captured by their deep brown depths, despite the distrust and confusion now lurking within them as she returned his gaze.