Chapter 14

But above even that, she could not give up her last stale breath until she knew that Tranum was safe from the goddess of Death that had come searching for him. Safe from the Hel ship that had come raiding at La Luna to take him away.

Against her will, and every prayer and wish, her strength finally gave out. She went slack as the oxygen depleted muscles refused the last fuzzy instructions from her dying brain. Her jaws began to open and the stream of spent air that was her last hold on life began its race for the white crests above her head.

But there were other hands at her waist and hair, she realized dimly. Warm, familiar hands that pulled her from the bony claws and up toward the silvery moonlight, up to the rain clouds that reeled overhead, up to life sustaining air. The thought helped her lock her diaphragm and refuse the first mouthful of black death; she would not breath the foul, arctic waters.

"No! You shall not have her!" snarled a voice that was kin to her Viking's, but rougher than any tone she had ever heard Tranum use. There was a splash beside her and then a warm hand pulled her shoreward. Above the growling surf, she heard the stranger say: "Linden is mine! Seven hundred years I traveled for her! Begone, you evil thing! I am promised to Odin. You shall have us not."

Then there was sand under her body and urgent hands pushing the hair from her face. Warm breath on her cheeks and lips.

"Linden! Beautiful Valkyrie, open your eyes! Please awake."

She tried to draw a breath now that it was safe, but the weight of the sodden gown was heavy on her chest and it seemed easier to just go back to the sleep where there was no pain.

The warm hands began to shake her.

"You will waken, Linden," the anguished voice ordered. "You shall not leave me! All my life I have searched for a home. Now I have found one-- But what use is a home if I have you not? Linden!"

Linden finally realized that it was Tranum calling to her, urging-- ordering-- her to come back. She made another effort to fill her lungs, to gasp in her first full breath that was air, not water.

Her stinging eyes began to focus on the form above her. The black tunnel receded from her periphery. Tranum was a gray ghost in the cloudy moonlight, sheened with water and bits of sand, but he felt real, warm and substantial, and even blurred by sea and tears, he looked beautiful beyond words.

"Tranum?" Linden felt herself begin to cry as the breaths came panting one on top of the other. The teardrops cut separate, hot tracks down her frozen cheeks, thawing out the places that Hel had touched with her icy fingers. "Tranum, it's really you."

"Danish, Linden," he scolded, pulling her into his arms. "I feared that you were dead. Stolen by Hel."

Linden laughed weakly as the tears continued to fall, and she wrapped herself around her Viking's warmth. Her thawing body began to shiver as it tried to raise its internal temperature.

"She didn't get me. You saved me from her. Thank-you," Linden began to kiss him with numbed lips, not minding that he was covered in salt and sand. Her words tumbled out of her frozen mouth as she tried to thank her love. "I was so afraid. I saw the ship coming just like in my dream and I knew that she would try and take you from me."

"I would not go." His voice was muffled in her wet hair. "That is why she tried to steal you. She knew that I would follow if she took you in her ship. I'm sorry, Linden. I did not know that Hel would try and steal me from Odin."

Linden began to calm down and listen to what Tranum was saying, and with the calm came an infinite number of questions.

"Tranum?" Linden tried to sit up so that she could see her lover's face.

"Yes, Linden." Tranum wrapped her even closer and began to kiss her shoulder. Her tunic had torn away on the left side, shredded in several long pieces. It left the abraded skin bare. She could feel the wind on her tender, bruised flesh.

"Love, look at me. Please." Tranum leaned back slightly. His reluctance to be separated by even those few inches was very apparent in his tight hand-hold. "Was that thing Hel? Really?"

Tranum hesitated.

"I could not see in the water," he said finally. "Yet it did have the feeling of the dead one. Perhaps she sent the Kraken up to the shore."

Linden shuddered and allowed Tranum to gather her back into his arms.

"How can that be?" she asked into the heavy pulse at his throat. "How...? You said... I don't understand."

"Nor do I. I drowned that day, yet when I awoke I was not in Valhalla. Nor was I on the road to Hel. I was here."

"You drowned..." she whispered.

"I drowned." Tranum again leaned back so that he could see Linden's face. "I drowned and then awoke on your beach. And almost seven hundred years had passed... Perhaps my soul got lost. Or perhaps Odin sent me here so that I might have a home before I died again. I do not know the reason, but I am here. And here I will stay."

"Sever hundred years?" Linden was stunned, but not disbelieving. Her nightmare battle with the thing in the arctic water had shaken her from her previous beliefs about what was and was not possible. At that moment, if Tranum had told her the sun was blue, she would have had faith that it was so.

"Yes. I am seven hundred years old." Tranum was watching her closely. His wary expression called up a weak giggle that was all the energy she could spare for hysterics. Tranum frowned. "This amuses you? Or perhaps it is that you do not believe me--"

Linden laid a sandy finger against his lips, stilling his words. In spite of her struggles, her promise ring was still in place on her left hand and it glowed with green fire under the cloudy sky.

"Hush. I believe you. I truly do... I was just thinking about taking you to the outlet mall. You looked so shocked when you saw that purple dog. You believe in Hel and krakens but were surprised by a poodle."

The stern mouth relaxed into a smile as Linden removed her hand. Some sand remained in his mustache.

"I was shocked. I had thought myself in Valhalla. Selig told me many stories of Odin's hall, but never did he mention purple hounds. Also the cars were very strange."

"I know. I was afraid that if I let go of you, you would get run over."

"Hmph!" he snorted. "I am not that slack of wit or slow of foot."

Tranum stood suddenly, pulling Linden to her feet. Her knees were weak but she managed to remain upright with the help of Tranum's very hard hands.

"This tunic is heavy," she complained through clenched jaws. Her teeth began to chatter as the cold that Tranum's body had held at bay seeped through the wet wool and chafed her skin. Linden also became aware that she smelled like a damp barnyard animal. Specifically, a sheep that had been dipped in brine shrimp.

"It is greatly weighted with sand," Tranum said as he reached for her. "Best that we remove it."

"Well, its not that simple. The laces--" Her explanation was cut short as Tranum ripped the thin ties from their eyes and pulled the garment off of her.

Linden was left for a moment to shiver in her lace panties and her tangled hair.

"Come." Tranum scooped her up in his arm and started for the inn. His clothes were also caked with sand and very wet, but they didn't seem to impede him in any way.

Linden realized that she should protest being presented at the longhouse door in the all-together, but was too cold and tired to waste energy convincing Tranum that modesty should come before first-aid. And perhaps acute embarrassment would kick her circulatory system into high gear; she was still so very cold.

"I just do not understand how you could believe me to be Amish," Tranum grumbled. "I have not the appearance of a weak person."

"The Amish aren't weak," she argued back, cuddling as close as she could. "It takes great moral strength to refuse to fight even when you are being attacked. However, you're right about one thing." Linden lifted her head long enough to smile at her rescuer with stiff, blue lips. "I don't understand how I could have taken you for Amish either. Love must have struck me blind."

"Love?" he asked, his voice still a bit gruff as he looked down at her sand streaked face. "And are you still blind?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," she said truthfully.

"That is good, pretty Linden. Your love is a great treasure," he said earnestly, setting her on her feet before the inn door and pulling off his own tunic so that she would have something to wear when they stepped inside. "I will keep it with me always."

The words were sweet and caring; they just weren't the ones she wanted to hear.

Perhaps while she had been petitioning God for favors, she should have added one more to the list. Fate had given her another chance to love Tranum and live her life with him. If only she had thought to ask that Tranum love her in return.

Linden sighed into the wet wool as Tranum pushed it over her head.

Tranum, in typical high-handed fashion, ignored the surprised babble that came from the long hall, saying only that Linden was cold and needed to be warmed at once.

Rolf was tempted to follow his white faced sister, in spite of the bluntly discouraging words, but a second pointed look from Tranum had him holding back.

Whatever had happened, it was obvious that Tranum was reluctant to reveal it before their company. The three of them would have to discuss whatever odd thing had happened when they didn't have such an avid audience.

And he needn't worry about his sister's health. It was quite clear that Linden would have as attentive a nurse-maid as had ever been created. Perhaps one that was too attentive for her tastes. It would be very interesting to see how she reacted to being fussed over. She usually was the one who did all the worrying.

"Well, gentlemen, and lady," Rolf said as he turned to face his guests. They were glassy-eyed from the strong mead. "I guess the next order of business is to fix that old pier. That's two near drownings in two weeks. I think someone's trying to tell me something."

A raucous bellow broke from the group as they began debating which aspect of Norse or Christian Divinity might be trying to communicate with them. Rolf smiled, but he took the question very seriously. After Tranum's appearance, he figured that just about anything was possible.

As she and Tranum retreated from the noise, Linden ventured the opinion that the three professors weren't communing with anything except Bacchus, Lord of feast, drink and revelry. But as her teeth were chattering, and she had spoken in English, Tranum wasn't able to understand her.

Seconds later, Linden found herself standing in her shower, getting wet for a second time that evening. It wasn't any more pleasant than the first time, since she was cold enough to feel every hot drop at a painful sting. Still, she knew it was the best remedy for the chill, and Tranum was standing behind her acting as an effective anchor, so there wasn't any point in trying to escape the torture.

It was challenging for two adults to strip in the confines of the tall box stall, but they had had some practice and Tranum managed it without resorting to further vandalism of their clothing.

Linden found herself thrust under the water and turned about as Tranum scrubbed her briskly with a number of sweet smelling cleaning products. There was nothing lover-like about his hands as he scraped the sand away, though he was exceedingly gentle with the parts of her body that were scratched or bruised.

Normally, Linden would have teased Tranum about his restraint, but she was too beleaguered to even consider flirting with her grim-faced Viking.

She managed one small protest when he squeezed some dish soap into her hair. But the stuff tasted vile, so she quickly closed her mouth and eyes, and concentrated on rinsing it off as quickly as possible.

She made a mental note to hide the bottle first thing in the morning. Tranum liked the color, but surely she could find some shampoo that was an equally vibrant shade of green.

The solar panels that supplied their hot water were abundant and generous to satisfy the inn's water needs, but eventually they gave out. It was only then that Tranum allowed her out of the shower and began to dry her off with every towel he could find in the willow basket she kept by the stall door.

Linden escaped swaddling long enough to scrub a clear place in the foggy mirror and was pleased to see that she was no longer wearing the blue and grey motif of her earlier reflection. She was, if anything, tending towards a shade of lobster red. Her hair was also a frightful tangle that would have to be combed out without aid of a conditioner. Tranum had used her hair rinse at some point in their shower; she recognized the distinctive ginger smell. But he hadn't used it on her hair where it would have done some good.

"Where is your comb, Linden. I shall smooth your hair."

"No thank-you," she said quickly, noting the nasty scratches on her shoulder. "I'd really rather do it myself this time. There's kind of an art to untangling hair."

"I am very skilled with removing snarls from fishing nets," Tranum insisted. "You may sit in the warm bed while I comb your tresses."

"No, really--" But Linden was picked up and carried into the bedroom. It was a neanderthal move, but her Viking was obviously too upset to be lectured about the proper role of the twentieth century male.

That thought gave her a moment's pause. Why should he know about the role of the twentieth century male? After all, he wasn't a one, was he? He had been born at the end of the thirteenth one, into the reign of Valdemars and the spread of Christianity to the north.

He was a Viking.

She blinked the disturbing thought away and managed to snare a hair pick on the way by the dresser. Hopefully it would do less damage than the rat-tail comb since it looked like she was going to get her tresses smoothed-- like it or not.

Linden knew that she should be making a stronger protest at being bull-dozed this way-- Begin as you mean to go on, Grandma Kirstensen was always saying-- But she was wearied past the point of wrangling with her determined lion about who would comb her hair. The battle of the sexes could be fought another day when she had had an opportunity to completely consider the ramifications of this night's revelation.

Also, she could understand Tranum desire to do something to help. He would not be accustomed to standing by helplessly while someone else struggled with a task he could easily do. His high-handedness was mostly the aftermath of the wave of adrenaline that had poured through his body when confronting Hel. Mostly.

And it would be a struggle to comb her hair, she realized, when she tried to pull the covers up to her chest. Her hands were almost too weak to grip the blankets. She apparently didn't have any aftermath or adrenaline left in her body to give her strength. His high-hand won by default.

Tranum quickly settled in behind her, pulling up the covers and urging her to lean back into his warmth, which she did gratefully. One strong hand came down to stroke her abdomen. The caress was possessive and gentle.

"You must try and sleep, beautiful Valkyrie."

"I'm not a Valkyrie," she felt obliged to point out. After her run in with whatever it was she had bumped into, Linden was not inclined to invoke any names or titles that belonged to Norse gods. Just in case they were still listening. She simply didn't feel up to entertaining any more Northern deities that evening, not even the nice ones.

"But you are very brave and beautiful, just like Sif--"

"Tranum, I'd rather you didn't make that particular comparison," Linden said quietly. "There is some precedent, history, of the gods being angered by mortals comparing themselves to their skills or appearance."

"There is no need to fear Sif." Tranum was clearly amused as stuffed the pick into her hair. Linden managed not to wince.

"No need to fear Sif." She was too tired to even try and reason with Tranum. She couldn't even come up with a good rationalization about what had happened out in the water. It hadn't been a stray snare-net that rammed that wave up onto the beach and grabbed her in its arms, had it?

"Well, what about..." she lowered her voice. "Thor. Maybe he would rather that you didn't talk about his wife."

Tranum considered for a moment.

"No. I think Thor is proud of his wife. He does not mind that people admire her. She brings him praise and fame. Only Loki is disliked, and that is because he cut off Sif's hair. This I understand. I would also be angered by anyone who cut off your golden tresses."

Linden refrained from making any comments about her locks getting torn out by the roots instead or cleanly shorn. It wouldn't have been fair since Tranum was being as careful as he could and probably wasn't pulling as much as she would have had the task been left to her own tired arms.

"So you don't mind if other men admire me?" She could almost swear that she could feel Tranum's frowning behind her back as he considered her question. Her Viking tended to speak with his entire body when he was displeased with something.

"No," he said at last. "They may admire. They shall not touch, of course. Modesty is a great virtue in women."

"Of course." Linden closed her eyes and relaxed completely. She had a feeling that her horrid dreams would not be repeated that evening. She had stopped dreaming about ravishing Vikings once Tranum washed up on the beach-- More was the pity! Surely now the danger from Hel was gone, too.

Following that thought, she told Tranum: "I dreamed about you many times. Before you came."

The pick momentarily stilled its torture.

"Yes? And was it a good vision?"

A sleepy smile curved Linden's mouth. It was only a tiny bit wanton; Linden was too weary for anything else. But Tranum could feel his body reacting to it as if she had offered a specific, carnal invitation.

Linden felt Tranum stir and grow hard. His body began a slow climb in temperature that was a dead give away of his own thoughts. Her smile widened. "I like not this loss of control I suffer around you," he complained, setting the pick aside. "It is expected that a man would desire a woman such as you, but too often you persuade me to carelessness."

"And so?"

"What it I injure you when I am crazed?"

"You don't like to lose control?... Are you sure?" Her arms were just strong enough to glide down the iron thighs that bracketed her hips. "It seems that you like it. And you have never hurt me, Tranum. Not ever."

Tranum groaned. "Tease me not, pretty Linden. I have already admitted that I have no will when I am with you."

But he didn't push her hands away.

"We could be very slow and gentle," she pointed out. "And I do not know if I can sleep yet. I need to be close to you again. You were almost taken from me and--"

"Very well, pretty tormentor." Strong hands lifted her and then laid her on the bed.

Linden sighed and reached up for him.

"But you will be still," he instructed, catching her hands and returning them to the blankets as he leaned down.

"Yes, Tranum," she agreed meekly, and then sucked in her breath. His damp hair was cold on her stomach, but his lips were very warm at her breast. A callused palm traced a path of fire from calf to thigh. Her legs shifted restlessly against the covers.

"Tranum?"

"Be still," he repeated. His lips moved down to the curve of her ribs and then to her navel.

"But..." Her breath caught again at his fingers tickled the inside of her thigh. "That tickles."

"But you will remain still, will you not, pretty Linden?"

It occurred to Linden that she was being teased. Maybe. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"How still?" she asked suspiciously as Tranum stroked her again.

"Very still. You will not move your hands or legs. Your head will remain on the pillow."

"Do you really think so?" she asked curiously. Her Viking didn't often play with her as he deemed it childish and beneath his dignity. Why he should choose this evening to do so, she did not even try to guess.

"Yes. I know so." Her Viking smiled down at her, his mustache curving at the corners and his eyes crinkling into now familiar creases.

"And if I don't?" she inquired curiously.

"Perhaps I will cease touching you."

Linden snorted. She reached out to caresses her Viking, running a hand down the length of him and causing him to shudder as her fingers closed around him. His eyes rolled back as leaned into her palm.

"I don't think that is very likely to happen," Linden pointed out with brave impudence. She really was feeling a whole lot better, and Tranum's playfulness was so rare that she wanted to take full advantage of it.

Her cat opened his green eyes and frowned at her in mock menace. A large hand reached out for the other pillow. He laid it beside his knees and then reached for her again.

Before Linden could so much as protest, he had her on her stomach, draped over the pillow like an indecent, pagan offering.

"Tranum!"

"You have teased me enough, little Valkyrie." Hard fingers curled around her hands, lacing them together. Her arms were held fast on either side of her head. Knees moved her legs apart as he settle comfortably behind her and spread himself like a living blanket. His tone was satisfied. "I think that this will hold you still."

She flexed at the knees and locked ankles with him. It was the only part of her that had any mobility so she used it.

Sharp teeth nipped at her nape.

"Have you considered that this position makes you as much my captive as I am yours?"

"That is not so," he contradicted with a slow gyration of the hips. His arousal settled smoothly between her legs. "I have all the movement of body that we require, and you must remain quite still."

"What if I told you that we don't do things like this here? That it is impolite to bully me this way."

It was Tranum's turn to snort. "We have already done this thing here. And you enjoyed it very much."

Linden couldn't deny that it was true. She sighed dramatically and caressed his calf with her right foot.

"Very well. Wake me up when you are done-- Ouch!" she yelped at the second bite on her nape. It hadn't actually hurt, but a protest was necessary for form's sake.

"Be careful, pretty Linden. As I have told you before, I bite."

In retaliation she wiggled her bottom against him, causing him to groan.

"So do I. So, want to play with me?"

"I do not play," he answered firmly, releasing her hands to take hold of her waist. He pulled her securely against him. "But you may play, if you so desire."

Linden sighed in surrender and let him have his wicked way with her.

Club Valhalla

Copyrighted (c) 2002 Melanie Jackson

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