§ § § - Lilla Jordsö, autumn 1092
Christian and Leslie had managed to find an unoccupied one-room hut of their own, and it was here that they retreated in the dark of early evening following a surprisingly hearty feast of mutton, pork, freshly caught crab and salmon, turnips, cabbage and various fruits, washed down with ale and a sort of berry wine that was produced by the locals. Now pleasantly full, they sat on a raised earth platform covered by a woven rug, in each other's arms, ruminating over their day.
"The Originators Saga mentions that there were several small villages already in existence here when Ormssvärd and his men landed," Christian remarked. "The one we're in can't be anything but Ormsvärd's Landing in our time. There are three others that the saga names, which as far as the scholars have been able to determine are the sites of present-day Sundborg, Dalslund and Birka. That last was named for the predecessor to modern Stockholm, did you know that? It's our tribute to the country where our founders were born."
"I think I overheard Steve Karadimas say that the site where they placed the boat is where the royal cemetery is located," Leslie said, making him stare at her in surprise. "He saw an elm nearby and thought it looked like the big one that Arnulf's grave is located near."
"The Ancient Elm," Christian said softly, hugging her close and closing his eyes for just a moment. "Arnulf had always wanted to be buried near that tree. Mother and Father are interred not far away from it as well. Someday I'll show you, my Rose. So it seems that the reported location of the original landing is the true one."
She tipped her head up and kissed his bearded cheek, then drew back and rolled her eyes. "I take it back. I do like the long hair—there's something about it that makes you look like an irresistible rogue—but that beard has to go. Hey, just out of curiosity, are you still speaking jordiska?"
"I've spoken nothing but jordiska since we stepped through that door from the time-travel room," Christian assured her, smiling. "And I still hear you speaking it back to me, just as Mr. Roarke said I would." He turned to face her fully, a light coming to life in his eyes, and spoke in a soft, deliberate tone. "All day long I've had to fight to keep from sneaking away somewhere with you and making love to you until we're both exhausted. Hearing my language from your lips has made me crazy this entire time."
"Has it?" Leslie murmured, a slow smile curving her lips. "I wonder what you'd hear if I said…" She sat up straight, leaned into him and whispered into his ear; Christian groaned aloud and began to tug at her woolen tunic.
"Doesn't this damned thing have buttons or fasteners at all?" he demanded.
"Not a one," Leslie said, standing and pulling it over her head. As luck would have it, the linen shift went with it, and Christian was lost. Yanking off the fur garment and padding the space behind her with it, he dragged her back down into his lap, wove his hands into the long red curls and kissed her, deeply and fervently. For quite some time neither spoke at all, whether in English or jordiska—only Leslie's soft, urgent cries of his name broke their wordless interlude.
The chill that had begun to pervade the room eventually brought them back to drowsy awareness, and Christian lifted her clothing from the floor. "You'd better put these back on, my darling," he murmured, stroking a lazy hand over her skin. "Soon it will be too cold to sleep as you are, no matter how much I prefer that you do."
Leslie smiled at that and pushed herself reluctantly to her feet, then swiftly donned the clothes in the deepening cold. "I hope it'll be time to go back soon," she admitted, resuming her place at his side and cuddling up to him. "I really think we'll be happier in our own bed."
"Agreed," Christian said. "I'll be happier to see you with your real hair back, too."
She laughed at that. "The beard will be gone too…but I'm gonna miss that hair." She reached out and playfully tugged at a lock of the shoulder-length hair he had worn throughout the day, and he flinched.
"Ouch," he muttered. "Go easy on me, wench."
"Where's that tough Viking now, you great oak of a man?" Leslie teasingly retorted, sitting up, and he laughed.
" 'Great oak', then? I don't know where you came up with that, but I've been called worse," Christian said, snickering. "Ah, come here, you little tease. I only hope Ormssvärd is finding the happiness with my multiple-great-grandmother Gerda that I have with you." He pulled her down for a long kiss, then smiled up at her. "I love you so much, my Leslie Rose."
She smiled back and said softly, "And I love you, my gorgeous Viking prince." That made him grin; but when he would have said something, a familiar voice broke in.
"Ah, good, you're both awake," said Roarke, making them turn to see him standing in the doorway in his familiar white suit. "It's time for you to go back; Professor and Mrs. Karadimas have already moved on to their next destination."
Christian and Leslie both got up, and Christian pulled the fur jacket back on. "I hope they weren't too deeply disillusioned by their visit here," he remarked.
"No more so than they already have been by their previous visits," Roarke said with a quiet chuckle. "I admit to being far more curious as to your impressions, both of you."
His daughter and son-in-law looked at each other, then joined hands and approached him. "Well, we certainly learned a lot," Leslie said. "Seems we've cleared up the legend of the big Founders' Swim, which came close to being no such thing, and discovered that the royal cemetery is much nearer to Ormsvärd's actual landing site than the village that was named for it. Oh yes, and I found out exactly what lengths Christian's willing to go to in his love for me. He was that close to killing his own ancestor for harming me."
Roarke straightened with surprise and stared at Christian. "Oh?"
Christian grunted, "The man had quite the ego. Little wonder he proclaimed himself king. My threats on him probably had no effect on it, and I find myself very much afraid that that very ego has filtered down through nearly forty generations and is taking up space in my stubbornly royal psyche."
Roarke and Leslie both laughed; seeing her father quickly consult his gold watch, Leslie teased, "We can psychoanalyze you later, my love. Right now, let's get back to our own time and our own home."
Sixty seconds later, Roarke delivered their present-day clothing and jewelry to them and left them alone to change clothes in the time-travel room. Christian checked his watch as he pulled it on, and said in surprise, "It's still early evening. Maybe we can sit on the deck for a while when we get home, enjoy the moonlight and listen to the ocean."
"Mmmm, that's a wonderful idea," Leslie said dreamily. "Ready?"
"Completely," he said, smiling, and took her hand to cross the room and slip out the door. Roarke, waiting on the other side, set the electronic lock.
"So you are off for home, then," he said. "You've earned a rest, both of you. Enjoy it."
"We will, Mr. Roarke," Christian said wholeheartedly. "I must thank you for the experience—and as well, for the compliment on my Viking-ship model. It took me nearly six months to complete, and gave me no end of headaches in the process, but it seems to have been worth the trouble."
Roarke smiled. "So it was. Very well, then, good night." He returned Leslie's quick hug, clasped Christian's shoulder for a moment, and watched them go.
Their car sat in the lane where they had left it that morning, and Leslie slid behind the wheel, putting them on the Ring Road in short order. A pleasant breeze swirled through the car as she drove, stirring their hair; Christian's hand strayed across the seat and settled on her thigh, earning him a smile from her. They let the comfortable silence have its way for the entire trip home, breaking it only when she pulled into their driveway. "Home sweet home," Christian murmured, yawning. "Shall we spend all day tomorrow in bed?"
Leslie parked, killed the engine and gave him a thoughtful look. "That all depends on what, exactly, you plan on doing in that bed." That made him pause long enough to shoot her a well, duh look. It was all she needed to make her burst out laughing; he joined in, and they got out and headed for the house arm in arm.
Just inside the front door, he caught her and kissed her as he'd done in another time and place, weaving that same drugging spell around her, and when they broke she was clinging to him as though she couldn't stand up on her own. "I'll go up and change," she said breathlessly. "Meet you there." Christian smiled, set her back from him, followed her down the foyer, and watched her climb the spiral staircase before heading for the lamp they kept on a timer to shut it off for the night. Halfway there, the doorbell rang, stopping him cold.
The clock said almost nine. "Who on earth could that be?" he muttered aloud and retraced his footsteps. He pulled open the door, asking, "Yes, what can I—" only to freeze with sheer shock.
"Trick or treat!" shouted two children's voices. But he couldn't see their faces. He saw two pairs of yellow ruffled pedal-pusher pants, two identical yellow sleeveless tops with ruffled collars, two pairs of scuffed sneakers (one in red, one in dingy white), and two white cloth sun hats—and that was all. The clothing seemed to be suspended in mid-air, moving of its own accord as if alive.
Christian sucked in a noisy gasp, which served to make him realize that he had even forgotten to breathe in his stunned astonishment, and stumbled back two steps. "Leslie!" he shouted, still gaping.
Seconds later he heard her footsteps pounding down the stairs and across the living room. "Christian, my darling, what's the matter?" she cried in a panic.
"Look!" he sputtered, pointing at the apparition on the doorstep. Leslie peered past him, shot up straight with surprise, and then burst into laughter.
"You two little devils!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here at this hour? You know you've both got school tomorrow."
"We know, Miss Leslie," said Brianna Harding's voice, "but Mom said you ought to get to see what we looked like at our class party. And Mr. Roarke said that was only fair, so he gave Mom two potions for me, and Noelle's mom got two for her."
"And we took one at school, and the other one before we came here," Noelle Tokita's voice took up the excited narrative. "And guess what, Miss Leslie, we won for the most original costume! Our teacher loved it!"
"That's great!" Leslie said cheerfully. "You guys really do look like twins—good for you!" She was rewarded with delighted giggles.
"Can we still have some candy?" Brianna asked hopefully.
Leslie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Oh, I guess so, but you better not eat any till you have lunch at school tomorrow. Wait here a second." She ducked into the kitchen and headed for a cabinet. Christian was right on her heels.
"How can you be so cavalier about this?" he demanded in an urgent whisper. "Do you know what ran through my mind when I saw those two like that? Leslie, I all but had cardiac arrest right there in front of those little girls!"
Surprised, Leslie turned to stare at him. "My gosh, Christian, it's just the invisibility potion they wanted to use for Halloween. Are you all right? You look a little pale."
Christian shuddered visibly. "I don't wonder. If Maureen and Myeko put those girls up to that, then I'm going to explain to them in minute detail exactly what happened to me when they sent them over here."
Leslie giggled and kissed his cheek. "Lighten up, my love, it's not worth a guilt trip. Give me half a minute and they'll be on their way home." She rummaged around in the cabinet, unearthed a bag of miniature candy bars and took it out to the foyer, dumping a fistful into each child's goodie bag. "There you go, and happy Halloween."
"Thanks, Miss Leslie, happy Halloween!" the girls cried and tore off across the Enstad property, over the lane and up through the Hardings' yard, where Leslie could see a large jack-o-lantern glowing in the front window. She grinned and watched till she saw the two bobbing sets of clothing disappear inside the Harding house, then closed the door and locked it for the night. Christian was still in the kitchen, hugging himself and peering out the window with a disgruntled expression.
"I've decided I hate Halloween," he announced grumpily.
Leslie laughed again, putting away the candy bars and sliding her arms around him. "Poor baby," she crooned. "And all you wanted to do was sit on the deck and bask in the full moon, didn't you? We still have time to do that, my love, come on."
Christian scowled, took her hand and planted it directly over his heart. "Feel that," he commanded. "I'm still not back to normal."
"I wasn't going to let it get back to normal," Leslie teased gently, tracing his lips with one finger. "If you give me a chance, I'll double your heart rate myself, and for a much different reason." She gave him a coaxing smile and replaced her finger with her lips; he submitted, but not with the enthusiasm she'd hoped for. "Christian, what's wrong?"
He shook his head. "I don't know," he said, hugging himself again.
Leslie's playful mood fell away and she stared at him in surprise. "Are you cold?"
"Yes," Christian murmured and peered at her in puzzlement. "Aren't you?"
"No…" Leslie frowned, and on some instinctive hunch laid a hand across his forehead. She gasped. "Christian, you're burning up!"
"What?" he said, confused by the slang.
"You have a fever, my love," she said with alarm. "Come on, you've got to get into bed right now. Where on earth could that possibly have come from? You were fine all day—" The thought of their adventure stopped her and she groaned. "It must have been the trip through time. You must've caught something from one of those buddies of your ancestor's…maybe even the self-proclaimed king himself." She led him through the living room and up the steps; he followed, silent and unresisting, and by the time they got into the bedroom, she could actually see him shivering. "If I could go back and deck the lot of them for making you sick, I would. Get your clothes off, my love, quick."
Christian gave her a wistful smile as he started to undress. "Normally that order would have me undressing you first, but I don't think I'm capable of that just at the moment. Don't panic so, my Rose. I've had fevers before. I suppose I should warn you in advance that I can be a difficult patient, though. My sister could tell you stories."
"Uh-oh," muttered Leslie, sighing. "Just what I need. What happens to you—do you get imperial or something, like you do under the influence?"
"No, not that," Christian said with a shaky laugh, stepping out of his jeans, "but once the illness really takes hold, I'm helpless. It seems I truly will be spending all day tomorrow in bed, though not the way I'd planned." He hugged himself again and clamped his jaw shut.
Leslie found a pair of the pajama bottoms he usually wore to bed and handed them to him. "Maybe I should call Father…I've never dealt with this before. I was always the one who had the fevers, the few times anyone did. Chicken soup and medicine…"
Christian regarded her in amused surprise. "Didn't you h-hear me? I s-said you shouldn't p-panic so. F-fate take it, I d-don't need th-this." His teeth were actually chattering as he spoke, and again he clenched his jaw in an attempt to stop it.
He pulled on the pants, watching her sprint to the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet, muttering aloud: "…miserable viruses, who knows but they were different back in 1092…better hope modern-day cures work on these things…oughta go back and slay some Vikings in their sleep…" She came back out to find him laughing. "Christian Enstad, get into that bed right now. You shouldn't be up. And here, take some of this."
Obediently Christian rounded the bed to his side and crawled in, still chortling. "I can see I'm going to be pampered very nicely," he teased her, taking the medicine she gave him, then rolling onto one side and pulling the covers securely over his shoulder. Leslie could see the light blanket trembling with his shivering and threw the comforter up and over him as well, then leaned over and hugged him one-armed, covers and all.
"You'll be warm in a bit, my love," she murmured, kissing his cheek again. "We never should have made you go back. Should've listened to that remark you made this morning about booster shots…we just never thought…"
Christian rolled back enough to stare up at her. "Leslie, my Rose, that's more than enough. It's only a fever, and it will run its course in due time. Don't blow it out of proportion, all right? Don't make yourself crazy worrying, and for fate's sake, don't sit up all night waiting for me to go delirious from this thing. You'll do me no good if you don't take care of yourself. Go and do what you do before bed, and then come here and keep me warm. Fuss any more and you'll be exactly like Mariki."
This had the desired effect: Leslie growled deep in her throat and glared at him, and he grinned. "I'll get you for that, Christian Enstad. Okay, okay, I'm going."
A few minutes later she doused the last light, opened the window to pick up the freshening night breeze, and got into bed next to him. They huddled close together, Leslie stroking his back in an attempt to alleviate his persistent shivering; he smiled at her, then lifted himself up and rolled her onto her stomach, much to her surprise. "What're you doing? I thought you were still cold," she protested.
He pushed her nightshirt up to bare her back. "Just making sure there's no lasting damage from Ormssvärd's blow this morning. Lie still and let me give you a back rub."
She raised her head and gaped at him in astonishment. "But you're…"
"Feverish, my cherished wife, not feeble," he said, kissing her. "I'm no invalid, and I'm not helpless. I'm just worried about you. Besides, any excuse to touch you…"
"Impossible, incorrigible rogue," she murmured, his slow, gentle stroking delivering a surprisingly devastating effect on her. "I can't resist you…"
"I know," he replied impishly and kissed her once more. "Now lie down and be quiet, and enjoy this, all right?" She smiled dreamily and subsided to his ministrations. By the time he finished, however, Christian had thrown the covers back, now overheated from the fever and his exertions. Leslie felt the heat radiating from him and stared at him.
"Go to sleep," he said, seeing the worried light in her eyes and smiling in reassurance. "I'll be asleep myself soon. I love you, my Rose."
She sighed. "I love you too. Oh, Christian, you beautiful, disobedient rogue."
"Stop," he shushed her quietly, with a smile. "It'll be all right." He slowly stroked her hair for the next fifteen minutes, till she finally fell asleep; then he sighed, lay flat on his back atop the covers in an attempt to catch the brisk night breeze, and drifted off.