A Viking For The Viscountess Page 8

  “Can you read those?”

  He traced his fingers over the carved lines and let out a slow breath, nodding.

  He might be a Viking, if he could read the runes, her mind reasoned.

  She didn’t know what to believe. The fact that he spoke Norwegian instead of English was unusual, but then again, she had learned the language from Grelod when she was a young girl. It meant nothing.

  But no one could read runes.

  She closed her eyes, trying not to think of what that meant. Arik stood, his gaze fixed upon the distance. There was no triumph in his expression, but instead she saw his melancholy.

  “What is it?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. “Is something wrong?”

  “I was thinking of my brother,” he answered quietly. “I realized that I will not see Magnus again in this lifetime.”

  Without knowing why, Juliana took his hand and held it. “But you will see him again in the afterlife.” Once more, a chill crept over her. She sensed that these moments with Arik Thorgrim were fleeting, regardless of where he’d come from. And beneath it all was the premonition that he would die.

  Which was foolish. She tried to shake away the errant thought, but the coldness remained, twining around her good sense.

  “I hope I will see him again in Valhalla.” He squeezed her hand and took the shovel, walking downhill. “Come. We will leave our horses here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the stream.” He led the way, but Juliana held back. The stream was closer to the duke’s house, and if they ventured that far, they could be found.

  “Mr. Thorgrim, we might be seen by the duke or his servants. We should not be trespassing, for these lands belong to him.”

  “They belong to my brother,” he corrected in a cool voice. “And to my family. If this man wants to claim anything, let him try to take it from me.”

  And with that, he left her with no choice except to follow.

  Arik dug beside the streambed until the sun rimmed the horizon. His arms were covered in mud, and his fingers were wrinkled from being submerged. Yet, he felt confident that the hoard would be here.

  When they were boys, he and his brother had pretended to be raiders burying their treasure. Magnus had invented a name for himself, Odinum, after the Allfather god. In their imagination, Odinum was a powerful invader, one with immense treasure. They had buried stones within the river, pretending they were ingots of gold and silver.

  Upon the runestone, Arik had seen his own name, followed by the name Odinum. Though he could not know why Magnus had inscribed the name, he suspected that his brother had left an offering for him, but the river had evolved over time into a stream. He’d dug on both sides, but so far had come up with nothing. If there had been anything, it might be gone after all these years. Or buried so deeply that no man could find it.

  “It’s getting dark, Mr. Thorgrim. We should go back,” Juliana urged.

  Arik rinsed his arms off in the cold stream and regarded her. He didn’t want to leave at this moment, for there was still an hour of light remaining. If there was any chance of finding a treasure for Juliana, he wanted to try. Then, too, he couldn’t allow her to ride off alone.

  “At sundown, I will take you back,” he promised.

  “Are you certain you’re digging in the right place?” she asked.

  “I am.” His hands touched a large flat stone beneath the water, and he struggled to pry it up. A moment later, his fingers touched something cold and metallic. He dug deeper and pulled hard to bring up a lead box.

  “Bring the sacks,” he ordered Juliana. “We’ve found my brother’s hoard.”

  They worked until the light was nearly gone, washing the lead box until he could open the lid. Inside were silver pieces, silver coins, gold, and several armbands. Juliana was as excited as he was, and she exclaimed over the intricate metal clasps. In all, he guessed there were fifty silver coins, seven armbands, and various ingots of gold.

  When it was all placed inside the sack, she sobered. “I don’t know what to believe about this. I know you said you were a Viking sent through time. It’s madness to consider such a thing.” She rested her hands in her lap, studying him. “But…I’m almost afraid it’s real. You could not have found this unless you truly did read those runes.”

  Though it shouldn’t matter whether or not she believed him, he wanted her to know that he had not lied. “I cannot guess why I was sent here, Juliana of Arthur. But I believe that we were meant to find Magnus’s hoard. And my brother’s gold will help to save your son.” With it, he could hire the mercenaries he needed to help him on this quest.

  He stood, reaching to help her up, and in the soft light of the moon, she appeared somber. “I don’t know what we should do now.”

  Arik gripped her hand and then slid his arm around her waist. “We return to your house and make our plans.”

  It brought him comfort to know that his brother had indeed walked these lands. The runes had revealed not only the location of the hoard, but also the names of his brother’s sons. Magnus had enjoyed a long life, and for that, Arik was grateful.

  The flare of a torch caught his attention, and instantly, Arik seized his sword hilt. When he spied a man approaching on horseback, flanked by three other men, he set down the sacks containing the hoard of treasure.

  But the moment he saw the man’s features, his blood ran cold. Although his gray hair was shorter and he wore no beard, this man was the image of his father, Valdr.

  Images and memories slammed through him, and he sensed the presence of another soul within him. Father, the voice within was crying out, in a language that was not his.

  Arik couldn’t move or speak. He was beginning to sense that his life had been traded for another’s. Dreams flooded his mind, of learning to ride a horse while this man held the reins. Of listening to stories at night, before a father pulled the covers over him.

  He remembered arguing about freedom and his desire to fight. He’d left this place and this man and had nearly died at sea.

  And now the man was standing before him.

  His own memories and the stranger’s memories intersected, each clouding the other. He had never met this man…and yet, he knew who the stranger was.

  Arik took a step forward, and Juliana held her ground. “It’s the duke,” she whispered. “We have to leave. W—we shouldn’t be here.”

  He shook his head. The man looked too much like the father he hadn’t seen in three years. The overwhelming desire came over him, to embrace the man, though he knew it could not be his father.

  “Eric?” the man murmured, holding up a torch. “Is that you?” His face had turned ashen, as if he’d never expected to see his son again. He spoke the Anglo-Saxon tongue, and each word was clear.

  “He thinks you are his son,” Juliana whispered in Norwegian. “The one who drowned at sea, years ago.”

  Arik stared at the man, not knowing what to say. He could not relinquish the belief that this man was somehow connected to his lost father. Even the name of his son was similar to his own.

  He’d believed that he was sent here to help Juliana of Arthur. Now, he was beginning to wonder if there was a greater purpose for him. He stepped nearer to the man and replied, “I am Arik Thorgrim. Not your son.”

  Juliana’s mouth dropped open when he spoke her language. A moment later, a fierce anger stole over those stormy gray eyes.

  “Forgive me,” the duke said. “But…you look so much like him.”

  The broken pieces were starting to come together. Perhaps his memories were tangled with the memories of this man’s son. Perhaps they had both crossed through time during the storm. There was no way to know for certain.

  “This is Gregory Fielding, His Grace the Duke of Somerford,” Juliana said. He detected the note of unrest in her voice and didn’t know if it was anger or fear.

  The duke dismounted from his horse and approached. “Did the sea bring you here?”

&nb
sp; Arik inclined his head. “It did.”

  Juliana caught his arm, her expression furious again. He knew she would want an explanation about why he was now speaking her language. But from the wrath in her eyes, she might not believe the truth.

  Arik took a breath and opened the sack at his feet. Then he unfolded another sack he’d brought with him and filled it with half of his brother’s hoard. He couldn’t say what provoked him to give the treasure to this man, but the duke resembled his father so strongly, the urge was impossible to deny.

  Then he held out the sack. “I give you half of this hoard freely. It belonged to my brother.” He made no mention of where he had found the hoard, for the man might believe he had a right to it. “The rest I am giving over to Juliana’s son, since his lands were stolen from him.”

  The duke paled, examining the contents for a moment before accepting the sack. “Come to my house in the morning. There is a great deal I should like to discuss with you.”

  Arik agreed with that. But even more, he wanted to better understand the connection between the strange visions and this man. “This I will do.”

  It almost felt as if he should go with this man now, so strong was the instinct to follow him. The look in the man’s eyes reminded him so strongly of Valdr, it was all Arik could do to turn away. He guided Juliana back to their horses, still carrying half his brother’s hoard in the sack. Though he helped her onto her mare, her silence was damning.

  Once they were back upon her husband’s lands, she drew her horse to a stop. “I cannot conceive of how I almost believed your tales. I must have been dreaming to even imagine it. I don’t know if you’re the duke’s bastard son or—or someone Marcus paid…but you are not a Viking.”

  “I have told you who I am. Arik Thorgrim, son of Valdr.”

  Her face held a blend of anger and frustration. “This was such a mistake. I never should have come here with you. You’ve done nothing but tell lies, and I was too eager to hear them.” She started to ride away, but he quickened his pace and caught up, taking her horse’s reins.

  “You will go nowhere, woman. We have not finished talking.”

  “Talking? In which language?” She swung down and began walking toward the grounds. “Norwegian? Or the English language that you supposedly couldn’t speak.”

  “I could not speak your tongue, until the dream.” He strode alongside her, catching her arm. “One morning, I awakened with knowledge of your manner of speaking, and while there are some words I do not know, more has become clear.”

  “Lies!” she exploded. “Now take your hands off me.” Her rage was so great, her gloved hands were trembling. “I went along with this, because I know something happened that night. Something I cannot explain. But I will not stay with a man who has told falsehoods, nor will I let him endanger my son. We were well enough without you, so you can take your Viking hoard—or whatever you want to call it—and go!”

  He trusted not the English words he’d used with her, and clearly her anger had not diminished. Best to simply take her back to the house and let her eat and rest.

  “I am going nowhere, Juliana of Arthur. And you lost the wager, if you will recall.”

  She jerked her arm away and continued walking toward the house. “Our wager is finished. If you want somewhere to stay this night, go and speak with the Duke of Somerford. I suppose the pair of you have a great deal you could talk about.”

  Arik wasn’t going to let her go that easily. “I have more that I wish to discuss with you.” He started to guide her toward the house, but she refused to take another step.

  “Not in the house. Someone has returned,” she told him, pointing toward the illuminated windows.

  “Then we will talk here.” Without asking, he lifted her up and brought her toward a wooden structure not far from the gardens.

  “Put me down,” Juliana insisted, squirming to get free. She weighed nearly nothing, and he ignored her protests as he opened the door. Inside, he found all manner of tools for tending the soil.

  “Now we will talk with no one to interrupt,” he said, setting her down near a large sack. Arik leaned against the door, blocking her from leaving. “Why do you believe that I lied to you?”

  “Because men do not simply wake up and know another language! You knew it all along, and you led me to believe that you wanted to help me and my son.” She lowered her tone, shaking her head. “I should have known that the only reason you brought me here was because it was close to the buried hoard. Perhaps you stole it and reburied it there.” She lifted her hands in a shrug. “Not that it matters, because in the morning, I am going back to my son.”

  Arik paused, trying to choose the right words to say. He used his own language, trusting those words more. “The first night we met, you gave yourself to me. Why?”

  Her face burned crimson. “None of that matters. It was a mistake, just as every moment with you has been wrong.”

  He remained on the far side of the room, speaking calmly. “It was because we were both spellbound. I believed I was with the woman I had been betrothed to. While you believed you were dreaming.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I couldn’t imagine you were real. And whoever you truly are, I want you to stay away from me and my son.”

  “Because you believe I have told you untruths.” He moved in, holding her waist with both palms. She was so slender, like a willow. Her hands moved to try and push him away, but she was no match for his strength.

  “I know you have.” Her voice had grown quiet now, and she ceased her struggles. He softened his hold in response.

  “Juliana of Arthur, as I have told you, the gods sent me here for reasons I cannot name. I do not know why my dream showed me the memories of a man whose father I met only an hour ago. Or why I can speak a language that is not my own. But this I swear to you—I will never hurt you or your son. I will guard you both and slay whatever enemies threaten you.”

  He lifted her chin with one palm. “Has no man ever fought for you, kjære?” He touched the pulse at her neck. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her cheeks were flushed. Whether it was fear or desire, he could not know.

  She shook her head in silence. “I cannot believe what you say. None of it is true.”

  “You remember that night,” he whispered darkly. “It haunts you. The way it haunts me.”

  She tried to break free of him, but he held her fast. “You know that we were brought together somehow. I brought you swiftly to your pleasure, and you cried out for me.”

  “Don’t,” she warned him.

  He released her, and she pushed open the door, walking back toward the house. She gripped her skirts, hurrying as fast as she dared. It seemed that she intended to confront whoever was inside the house and beg shelter for the night.

  “I was summoned to you,” he reminded her, keeping up with her pace. “And I will find out why.”

  She stopped suddenly and spun to face him. “Do as you wish, Mr. Thorgrim. But stay away from me.”

  He had no intention of doing so. Yet, before she could break free of him again, he heard an older woman call out from near the house, “Juliana, is that you? Come here, girl.”

  Juliana had gone utterly motionless. “How on earth did she find me?” From the fear on her face, Arik suspected it was an unwanted visitor.

  He leaned in, muttering, “Do I need to kill this woman?”

  “You may want to, before she leaves. But no, it’s only my grandmother.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Now then,” Olivia Pickford, the Baroness of Traveston, crossed her arms and regarded Juliana. Behind the woman stood her maid and a footman. “Juliana, would you care to explain why you are skulking around the gardens with this man? What have you to say for yourself?”

  Words failed her, and Juliana had no idea what to say to her grandmother. If she admitted that she had been traveling with Arik, her grandmother would believe she was little better than a common trollop.

  Instead, she stra
ightened and faced down the woman, braving a smile. “It’s good to see you, Grandmama. Are you planning to stay the night at Hawthorne House?” Stalling her was the best way to avoid answering questions, she decided.

  “Well, I wasn’t about to spend the night in that hovel your father gave you.” The baroness shuddered at the thought. “It’s hardly fit for anyone.” Her gaze passed over Arik, and she pressed her lips together. “Who are you, young man, and what, pray tell, are you doing with my granddaughter?”

  Don’t answer her, Juliana wanted to plead. She had no idea what sort of tale Mr. Thorgrim would spin, and she dreaded his answer.

  But he stepped forward, regarding her grandmother. He crossed his arms and stared at her as if trying to decide what to say.

  “Wait a moment,” Lady Traveston interrupted, before he could utter a word. “I do know who you are. Your father’s lands adjoin these, don’t they? You’re the Duke of Somerford’s son.”

  Before Arik could answer, the baroness smiled as if she’d suddenly put the pieces together. “Lord Thorgraham, I believe. I suppose you are out walking with my granddaughter, is that it?”

  “I did go walking with her, yes.”

  Juliana breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t told her grandmother any strange stories. There were problems enough with the arrival of Lady Traveston. She didn’t want to make matters worse.

  “We all believed you’d drowned at sea.” Her grandmother stepped forward, peering closer. “Your father must have been delighted at your return.”

  When he glanced at her, Juliana nodded. Yes, lie. Tell her what she wants to hear.

  “I only saw him today,” Arik answered. It was strange to hear him speaking English. His voice was stilted, as if he didn’t trust what he was saying.

  He is not who he says he is, she reminded herself. But regardless of his identity, the fact remained that she had allowed him to seduce her. And whether he was the duke’s lost son or a bastard son who resembled him, she had to maintain her distance.