Chapter 6

Rolf reduced his speed to somewhere near legal levels as he turned off the private road and onto the gravel drive at Valhalla. It was difficult to keep the bike's revs down when his blood was singing a paean of triumph and the brisk sea breeze was filling his face shield with the refreshing smell of decaying Eucalyptus that meant he was home.

He came to a skidding halt in front of the longhouse, spraying a decent amount of gravel at the sod covered walls before killing the engine. Rolf sat back and waited, sure that Linden would be erupting from the inn to scold him for reckless driving and throwing up rocks into the already peppered walls. Part of the homecoming ritual was a lecture from his sister.

Petr and Tabby, wise to his preferred method of arrival, had chosen to wait in safety behind the thick plank door until Rolf had come to a full stop and the engine's loud revolutions had ceased.

Rolf pulled off his helmet and shouted at the two carefully extended heads: "Hey, guys! I did it! I got the oak keel-- Sixty beautiful feet of it! We've got beech for the ribs-- One beauty of a pine mast. I'm talkin' forty feet of prime here! Spruce root for the lashings and-- Hey! Where's Linden? I want to show her the burl charm I picked up in Ferndale." Rolf reached for the saddle bag and then looked about expectantly. "I figured that I'd better bring a bribe with me. Is she real pissed that I was gone so long?"

Petr and Tabby stepped out from behind the door.

"Hi, Rolf! That's great news. I didn't think you'd be able to get any oak," Tabby answered.

"Had to. The redwood just wouldn't work. Soaked up too much water and it's not hard enough. I tell you, I've been to hell and gone finding it, too. So, where's Linden?" he asked again.

"Well, we had a little bit of excitement while you were gone and um... Well, see, Linden needed a rest." Petr added: "We weren't expecting you back quite yet."

"Excitement?" Rolf interrupted. "Around here? Guys, you're scarin' me. The most exciting thing around here are the rip- tides and Linden wouldn't be caught dead in the bay. So where is she? Out in the garden?"

Petr didn't answer but guilt was writ large on his face.

"Your ship-builder from Fyn got here a little early," Tabby answered, when it became apparent that Petr had stalled out in the middle of his explanation. "And Linden--"

"What ship-builder from Fyn?" Rolf demanded. "You don't mean old Olaf do you? From Jutland?"

"Uh... no. We mean Tranum. You know, the Amish guy from Fyn..." Petr suggested hopefully. "The Amish guy from Fyn..." Rolf pushed back his sweat dampened hair. It had turned the color of honey. His tone was not so sweet. "Well, never mind. I can use all the help I can get. But where is Linden?-- She isn't sick, is she?"

"No! No. But um..." Petr swallowed and then smiled disingenuously. "We don't know quite where she is right now."

"She's on vacation." Tabby supplied tentatively. "Maybe San Francisco-- at the wharf. Is that where the historic ships are? Or maybe Los Angeles."

"On vacation at the wharf where historic ships are." Rolf hung his helmet over the right handlebar. "Linden doesn't go on vacation to see ships. Linden doesn't like ships. She also doesn't like to travel alone. Now cut the comedy and tell me where my sister is!"

"She'll be back by Thursday night-- Friday morning at the latest! She promised to be back in time to get ready for the linguists," Petr assured Rolf. "And it's not like she's alone or anything."

"She's not alone-- Petr, you aren't makin' me feel better. Who is with Linden?"

"The Amish guy from Fyn," he tried for a third time.

"What Amish guy from Fyn? Who is he?"

"Oh Lord!" Petr muttered. "I knew this was a bad idea. We should never had sent her off with that Viking-- even if he seemed to know all about the boat. I mean, the man carries a longsword-- a real one named Leg-Biter. He-- uh!" Petr grunted as Tabby gave him an elbow to the ribs.

"What Viking! Do you mean the guy from Fyn? The one who's Amish?" Rolf was almost shouting as his alarm grew. "There are no Amish Vikings, Petr. That's an oxy-moron. So which is he, Amish or Viking? And the answer had better be Amish if you've let Linden go off with him. And what's his last name?-- And damn it all! Where has he gone with Linden? You can't tell me that she just went off on a tear and didn't even leave a schedule for you! Linden always leaves a schedule! Even to go to the grocery store."

"Well, she did this time," Petr muttered while glaring at Tabby and rubbing his ribs. "I think she was mad at us. And she is royally pissed at you."

"Me?" Rolf asked blankly. "What did I do?"

"You didn't tell her about the guy from Fyn."

"I don't know any guy from Fyn!" This time Rolf did shout.

"And who's on first?" Tabby added under her breath. "Rolf, you better come inside. It's kind of a long story."

"Tabby?" Rolf looked at her with blue eyes the same shade as his sister's. He asked half-facetiously: "Should I be preparing myself for a shock?"

"That might be best, Rolf," she admitted. "I'm afraid Linden really is on vacation. And Tranum really is a kind of old time Viking. You know, longboats and Odin worship and all that. He even sailed here by himself--"

"And sunk his ship in the bay," Petr added sotto voce as he dodged another elbow.

"He what?" Rolf asked, horrified.

"--But there is absolutely nothing to worry about. Tranum is really sweet on Linden," Tabby finished loudly. "He's nothing at all like that creep, Gordon."

"Oh Thor's hammer! That is not reassuring. Not if he's really a Viking. Is he really a Viking? I mean, really, really a Viking? Not just some Aryan supremacist... He came in a boat?... A sword called Leg-Biter?..."

"Sealskin leggings," Petr supplied, his tone morose. "Archaic Danish. Never seen an automobile or eaten a french- fry... Didn't even know what they were."

"How can that be?" Rolf demanded, his brow beginning to furrow in thought as he recalled a little bit of the last ritual he had begun reading off the old runestone he had smuggled out of Denmark on his last visit. But that was an utterly ridiculous thought, wasn't it?

"He's like the Amish, I guess. Lives in some back water called Svenborg." Petr spread his hands wide to indicate his ignorance.

Rolf tried to focus. "Svenborg? No, that can't be right. Svenborg is large and modern. You say he knows about the longboat we're building?"

"Yes, he does. And I'm afraid he is a Viking," Tabby admitted. "Linden even said so. But it's not that bad... He's a skald. Come inside, Rolf, and have some coffee. You look a little pale."

"Linden knows that he's a Viking... and she went off with him? Without leaving an itinerary?"

"Right."

"Why?" Rolf eyed his two friends suspiciously.

"Well, " Petr rolled his eyes in Tabby's direction and stepped well out of elbow distance.

"We blackmailed her," Tabby said flatly. "She needed to take a break and Tranum was a good excuse to get away. And I think she really likes him. Only now..." Tabby bit her lower lip.

"Only now what?"

"I am absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure that everything is fine! I just wish we knew where they've gone. I mean, I thought Linden would get over being pissed and give us a call before now... And she still might, once she gets settled for the night."

"Thor's hammer!" Rolf pushed past them and stomped into the silent inn. He stopped at the first telephone. "The wharf in San Francisco? Any particular pier?"

"Do you know where the Balclutha is berthed?" Tabby asked as she closed the door behind a reluctant Petr. "I think Tranum wanted to see that one."

"I know it," Rolf answered. "The Hyde Street pier. Let's find out if the harbor-master can get security to have a look along the docks. You two start thinking about where else she might have gone in case we don't find her there. And then you can tell me just what blackmail you used to get Linden to go away."

Rolf grinned for the first time in several minutes.

"I mean, I would dearly love to know just what it was that pushed Linden into such frivolous behavior. I thought that jerk, Gordon had ruined her forever."

Nineteenth Avenue was crazy near the park but better than the wharf and Fort Mason had been, and prettier by far. Linden's knowledge of Golden Gate Park's geography was scetchy but she knew enough to get to the tea gardens and Stowe Lake. After that, she figured that it was better to find a map and go exploring on foot-- Her map-crazy Viking would probably enjoy that.

Tranum appeared fascinated by the hordes, but was very quiet. Linden recalled once again that he did not like large towns. By his standards, Golden Gate Park probably qualified as a great metropolis.

It was just as well that they hadn't gone to Los Angeles, she reflected. He had been quite stunned enough with the crowds at the Maritime Museum and then at the Exploratorium. He probably would have fainted at the sight of Southern California freeways at rush-hour.

They hadn't gone inside the science museum at the Palace of Fine Arts. The parking lot had suggested a high level of insanity waiting inside and Linden quailed at the thought of trying to introduce Tranum to a century of scientific concepts. However, they had managed a quick walk around the stagnant, but still charming lake, while Linden got involved in an elaborate and heavily foot-noted explanation of the odd motif of the sunset colored temple that was home to the Exploritorium-- an art nouveau copy of Roman Greek revival built for the Pan-American exposition in the early nineteen hundreds-- not one word of which meant anything to Tranum.

He hadn't commented on the use of funeral urns as decorations or on her story of the muses of poetry and music that stood, backs turned on the world and faces covered as they wept atop the salmon, pillared walls, grieving for the death of the arts that the sculptor feared would come with the Industrial age.

The artist had been quite right, too. Industry had laid the Arts low; Then the Information Age, with its ugly, too real pictures of the suffering of the world-- available twenty-four hours a day and in living color-- had come along and driven an electronic stake through its faltering heart. Jingles about lite beer had replaced poetry. Rap had buried Beethoven. It was quite fitting that the muses were left to weep over the science museum.

Tranum hadn't commented, but he had been listening carefully, memorizing the story, she was sure. How else was he to remember things if he couldn't write beyond the basic sixteen runes of the Viking language? A new understanding of how limited her Viking's world was made Linden more determined than ever to give Tranum the gift of literacy.

The world of the Art might be dead for the Third Wave generation and be beyond what she could offer, but learning wasn't.

Linden sighed as traffic slowed to a near stop. They crawled at tortoise speed past the arboretum and neared the De Young and Natural History Museums. The sharp, banking turn for Stowe Lake eventually appeared, and seeing an almost reasonable gap in the traffic, Linden pulled the van into a hard left and started up the steep, shaded, and at the moment-- thanks to the illegally parked cars abandoned on the narrow, dirt shoulders-- very tight road.

Off to the left, they were hemmed in by a phalanx of old and dignified park trees, elms, poplars, mulberry and oak that gave the lake the welcome illusion of privacy from the traffic that seethed below.

To the right, Tranum looked out onto the miraculously green summer grass. It was spattered with low growing daisies of pale pink and cream and verdant still, in spite of the heat. Beyond the grass bank was the man-made lake, by now a little below normal water level and a turgid brown that the army would have approved of. In the middle sat the pine- covered island where the large, cranky geese slept in interesting white huddles in the sketchy shade.

The scene was gay and hectic with a hundred brightly colored paddle, motor and rowing boats all disobeying the flow of traffic-- by deliberation mostly, but sometimes due to a legitimate inability to control the thick oars of the ghastly little row boats, or a complete dyslexia about which was a clock-wise direction-- all being peddled, rowed or piloted by equally bright and hectic tourists, and a few masochistic locals that were insisting on an end-of-summer picnic.

Linden drove beyond the rental kiosk and the prospect for parking grew immediately better. She whipped into on open space just beyond the steep flight of concrete and stone stairs that led down to the back of the Japanese Tea Gardens, and heaved a sigh of relief.

She got out of the van quickly, not trusting some distracted tourist to plow into her open door, but Tranum was rather slower to disembark. He emerged, sniffing the air and looking cautiously at the people around him.

"We can't take Leg-Biter?" he asked wistfully. "Odin says that we should never part with our weapons when out in the fields, for it is impossible to know when we shall need them."

"No. No weapons allowed in the park. I know that a lot of these people look a little strange," she began with marvelous understatement as a teen with a mohawk and a death's head tattoo sped by on florescent roller-blades. The park was in fact chock-a-block with every form of ethnic dress, language and persons; and some of them were very weird. "But we'll be quite safe here... I hope," she added under her breath.

"We are going to the lake?" Tranum asked.

Linden hesitated. He did not sound at all happy about the idea. Perhaps the wharf had already pushed him into extremis with its surfeit of water-sport inclined tourists. And maybe he was thinking about his near drowning and not particularly wanting to do it again in the crowded lake.

"Let's go to the tea house. We will have some tea and... spicy breads-- crackers, cookies-- After that, we can decide if we want to stay or go."

"Cookies?"

"Not proper ones, but Fortune cookies. There are little messages inside the cookies. Let's go find out what Fate has in store for us."

Tranum looked dubious as she took his hand.

She let go as they started down the steep, shady stair choosing to keep a firm hold on the handrail. Its flights and landings were made out of an interesting and uneven patch work of repairs in grey stone, concrete and asphalt. At the bottom it widened out, much as the mouth of a river does, and flowed gracefully into another green sea of lawn.

They meandered right, and as they joined the surge of bright bodies on the crowded walk, Linden tucked her hand back into Tranum's hard palm. She waited for a reprimand but it didn't come. She glanced up once to find his cat eyes on her face, but he didn't say anything against being held onto like a child. Encouraged, she laced fingers with him and moved a scant inch closer.

"Do not be afraid, pretty Linden. Our fortunes will be fair. I was born under a lucky moon." The voice was as reassuring as a caress.

"I'm not afraid. The fortune cookies are always nice ones. I just don't want to lose you in the crowd-- This way!" She veered left pulling Tranum with her as she dove into a smaller stream that was lining up for carriage rides. The main force surged forward with the green traffic light, rolling on for the Steinhardt Aquarium.

Tranum looked to the left at the red pagoda roof that seemed to hover above the large, ornamental plum tree, and then beyond to the rather massive, dark wood gate where the ticket booth to the tea gardens was.

"This is a place to eat?" he asked warily. "It is not like McDonalds. It has the look of a fortress."

Linden had to admit that the grand portal did look more like a castle fortification than a park entrance.

"It's really pretty inside," she assured him. And so it was. They only had time for a short glimpse of the lily-pad pond outside the De Young Museum, which, Linden noticed, also appeared rather fortress-like even when surrounded with brightly clad visitors. She wondered briefly what the new museum would look like when it was done, and then they were inside the relative peace and quiet of the tea gardens.

They wound their way through the ornamental trees, around the stunning red pagoda where the rock doves lived, past the ridiculous arched bridged where everyone crowded with cameras trying to immortalize their trip across the ten foot horse shoe that was supposed to bring luck, and finally to the open air tea house where the weary tourists gathered for a rest and a mild caffeine pick-me-up.

They were directed to one of the long, perimeter tables by a traditionally kimono and obi garbed woman that Tranum studied covertly in a manner that suggested to Linden, stealth and guile rather than good manners. No doubt he would classify her as one of the strange people he had seen that day.

They took their seats on the heavily varnished wooden bench and almost immediately a dish of spiced cookies, cups and a squat, steaming pot appeared before them. Linden dropped some bills into the plastic tray and after that, they were left in relative peace to enjoy their view of the shallow koi pond and sculptured dwarf cedars.

Tranum did not immediately reach for the food, so Linden obligingly poured out his tea and put a few crackers onto his napkin.

"Which one is it?" he asked.

"Which one is what?" she asked back.

"The one that holds our fate. Which cookie?" Tranum was grave.

"This one." She pointed. "But don't take it too seriously, okay? It's just a game."

"There are two of them," he pointed back.

"One for each person," Linden explained. "Shall I go first?" "No." Tranum's hand covered hers. "I will go first to see our fate. If it is safe then you may follow."

He quickly selected a cookie and broke it neatly in half. The little paper inside was written in two languages; red for Chinese messages, black for English. Tranum stared at it for a moment and then held it out for Linden to see. He did not let her touch it.

"What does it say?"

Linden focused on the message. Tranum's reaction to this usually silly custom was raising the hairs on her nape. Which was foolish! These were only fortune cookies, she reminded herself. They were not to be taken seriously-- not like a horoscope or a mood ring or tea leaves would be.

The ridiculous pep-talk made her feel better.

"You will find a welcome in a strange land," she read cheerfully, relieved that this was all the slip said. "Isn't that nice?"

"That is all?" he asked, echoing her own thoughts. "Yes, that is a nice fortune and very true. Open your cookie, Linden. Let us see what it says."

Linden obliged, no longer the least bit nervous.

"Let's see." She turned the paper over. It read: A great love will come to you from far away.

Linden dropped the slip in surprise and an errant bit of breeze tried to whisk her fate away. But Tranum was too quick. Her fortune was recaptured and put back firmly into her uneasy hands.

"What does it say, Linden?" The green eyes were now worried.

She briefly considered lying to him and was annoyed with herself. She wouldn't lie unless the fortune affected her. If she was affected, then it was better that she start telling the truth, at least to herself.

And for heaven's sake! It was just a silly piece of paper!

"A great love will come to me from far away," she reported with a smile, daring Fate to prove her right.

Tranum smiled back under his mustache and Linden found herself wondering if it would tickle when she kissed him.

"That is all?" He also sounded cheerful as he popped the cookie into his mouth. He bit down once and then got a funny look on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, trying not to laugh. "Did you get a hot one?"

"No." His lips barely moved. "It is permitted to eat one's fortune?"

Linden did laugh. "Most definitely. Take a chance! Swallow your fate. Be the captain of your soul."

Tranum studied her as he resumed chewing on his destiny. He was probably trying to decide if she was playing again.

At that moment a particularly bold blue jay presented himself at their table in a flutter of azure wings, distracting Linden from Tranum's all but hidden smile. The intruder strode directly up to their cookie dish and eyed it carefully as if making a selection at the corner bakery.

"Blue jay. They don't like the spicy ones," Linden reported to Tranum. She broke off a bit of her fortune cookie and offered it to the bright avian.

The jay was not shy. He snatched her offering up at once and gulped it down greedily, then had the nerve to stand there, head cocked, waiting for her to offer more. When she didn't, he complained about the service with a loud caw.

This time Linden offered a larger piece. Pleased and ever gluttonous, the jay plucked it from her fingers and then retreated to the dark green canopy overhead to finish his afternoon snack among his vivid brethren; All the while he was chattering raucously and taunting the slightly more timid squirrels that had missed out on this feast.

Linden knew from experience that later in the fall, the park's favorite rodents would lose their hesitation and mug the tables quite freely. But for now they were content with waiting politely in the grass for any strays or offerings that came their way.

Linden felt the lightest of tugs on her head and looked down from the trees to find Tranum's scarred fingers playing with a lock of her hair.

"I am glad that you do not bind your gold tresses," he said absently. "It gives me great pleasure to see them in the sun."

It was not an unusual compliment, but it pleased her any way since he was so obviously sincere in his observation.

"I'm glad that you don't bind up your tresses either," she answered lightly. "Would you care for some more tea?"

"Thank you," he said politely and then sniffed the air. "It smells of flowers."

"Jasmine. A white or sometimes pink blossom." Linden inhaled the light scent. "It is supposed to bring serenity... Are you feeling serene yet?"

"Very serene," he answered idly, coiling a lock of her hair around his finger and drawing her steadily closer. "Are you serene, pretty Linden?"

"Laid back totally," she answered, briefly forgetting her plan for the nineties.

"Danish, Linden," he scolded as his lips touched lightly on hers.

It was a chaste kiss but she felt its effects all the way down to her stomach. And the mustache did tickle in an intriguing way.

They left the park by a torturous but terribly scenic route that took them by the by the former spot of the white glass palace where the park's rarest plants had been kept, and then around the polo fields and finally by an unbearably picturesque windmill. The brown, conical structure was solidly built and faced towards the sparkling bay where the breezes consistently blew. Not that the breeze was a necessity; the windmill had never been intended as functional. The latticed wooden sails on their thick white spokes never spun in the clear blue or overcast gray of the San Francisco sky. They and the tan pitted stone tower were merely a backdrop for an aged Lebanon Cypress-- that had grown into a physical impediment should the mill ever be put to use-- and for the many seasonal displays of flowers that the city gardeners toiled over. Just now, the colors were bright with summer's late blooming florals; a patch of nasturtium, some shaggy asters, and mums-- bronze, gold, all shades from vivid to pale lilac, and even red and rust--piled thickly at the base of the towering wall.

Linden would have stopped to admire them more closely but there was no parking to be had, and she wanted time to drive by Lombard Street before decamping well in advance of the afternoon commute.

Lombard was pretty but the traffic was bad. Linden had to keep an eye on the insane drivers as she paused at the street's abrupt end. Tranum was able to enjoy a glimpse of the pastel colored cliff-houses that snuggled together behind drifts of shell-pink hydrangeas, falls of darker bougainvillea, and an immaculately trimmed hedge of old boxwood that snaked down the famous, twisted drive.

"Pretty?" she asked.

"Pretty," he agreed.

"Seen enough?"

"Yes."

"Okay. We will get out of the crazy town."

Tranum stared at her. "This town is full of crazy people?" he demanded. "Why then did we come here?"

"Well... because the ships are here. And 'crazy' is just an American expression. But I guess the people are kind of crazy. At least, everyone else thinks that they're crazy." Linden began looking for signs for 101 North.

"Why?"

Linden gave the matter a moment's thought, trying to come up with an answer he would understand.

"Well, look at these streets. Do they look like a sane person planned this?" She glanced right for a moment, not at the street but at her Viking. Tranum's face was considering. "Also, the earthquakes keep knocking it down. But the people just build again, right in the same spot. And mostly everyone thinks they're crazy because they-- the residents-- don't care if their neighbors are crazy. Do you understand? I mean, anyone can come here, no matter how weird, and nobody will ask questions of them. Unconditional acceptance."

"It sounds like a good place to play." The voice was neutral.

"Yes. But I wouldn't want to live here."

It was a relief to be out of the city and headed for Trina's B and B. Linden had met her friend two years ago when they were both virgin attendants at a hotelier's convention in Los Gatos.

Trina and her husband had just opened her little Bed and Breakfast next to one of the smaller mud-bath spas that were so popular around Calistoga. She had come to the convention to get some tips on how to put together package deals that would include trips to the nearby wineries and other attractions. Linden, who was also looking for some tips on marketing Club Valhalla in the local trade magazines sponsered by the organization, had been instantly drawn to the vivacious brunette.

She had never found the time to visit Trina's inn, being so busy with Club Valhalla's maiden effort, but this enforced vacation had given her a great opportunity to pay a call and she had jumped at the chance to see Chancery House.

Fortunately, Trina had an opening for that night-- and maybe the night after, she wasn't sure yet-- and she insisted that Linden and her guest come and stay... Free of charge no less!

The arrangement suited Linden well. From Trina's they would be able to take in a fair amount of the wine country and... whatever. She had to think about that. Originally, she was going to take Tranum up to Mendocino, but in light of his less than ecstatic reaction to the tide pools, perhaps something other than more ocean was in order. Maybe the gold country. It would be hot but comparatively deserted, and Tranum seemed to enjoy the sun...

Well, Trina would probably have some recommendations.

Linden glanced in the rear-view mirror. The city was coming to life behind them. String after string of amber beads followed the contours of the hills and bay. The pretty sight must compensate the residents somewhat for the fact that as they left the bays breezes behind, they could almost chew on the smoggy air and no longer see the stars at night.

"Look behind you, Tranum," she said softly. "It is a pretty farewell from the crazy city."

Tranum obligingly set his souvenir Bay Area map aside-- the dusk was growing too quickly to see it any way-- and turned in his seat to view the spangled skyline.

"Very pretty," he agreed. "And where do we go now, Linden? To the home of your friend, Trina?"

"Yes. She also has an inn like Club Valhalla."

"She has a longhouse," he asked in surprise. Tranum had asked earlier why all of the houses were above ground-- some of them, the sky-scrapers, way above ground.

"No. Chancery House is Victorian. We also call the style 'gingerbread'. It means that it has a lot of elaborate carving on it."

"Yes? This will be interesting to see. In Denmark, we have carving inside the house... If you like, Linden, I could carve some of the posts in Club Valhalla. Then they would not be so plain."

"Could you? That would be wonderful," she said warmly. "People-- some of them-- come to Club Valhalla because they want to see what a real Viking house would be like."

"Club Valhalla is not like a real Viking house," he told her. "It is not cold enough. There are no fires and no smoke. Also it is too clean and the food too spicy--"

"You don't like the food?"

"I very much enjoy the food, but it is not like real Viking food. Your mead is good," he added as an after- thought.

"I didn't know you had tried it."

"Petr gave me some while you were sleeping. It is not good to drink until you are unconscious, Linden," he added, apropos to nothing that she could see.

"No, it isn't," she agreed. "But most people are not that sensible-- Thank heavens! Mead brings a great deal of wealth to the inn."

"There is no better load a man can carry than much common sense; no worse load than too much drink." "Havamal?" she guessed.

"Odin," he answered. "Also, there is something else I wished to speak of, if it will not distress you."

"Yes?" She waited, trying to guess which of the many things he had seen in the city would elicit a question. He had asked her surprisingly little about what they had seen.

"Why does everyone sleep in a separate chamber?"

"Why...?" Linden collected herself. It figured that he'd want to know about something mundane; he hadn't said diddly about anything she thought would amaze him. "Well, we value our privacy. Also, it is quiet. After a day spent listening to a dozen guests, it's nice to have somewhere quiet to go."

"You do this in winter also?"

"Yep. Except Tabby and Petr. They are um..." Linden considered her limited Danish.

"Lovers?" Tranum supplied.

"Yes." Linden felt herself blush and hoped that Tranum didn't notice her embarrassment. She couldn't quite understand why she was uncomfortable, unless it was using the word lover anywhere in her Viking's vicinity. Linden added: "Our winters are not cold. We don't have snow in the south. Just rain-- you'll like it."

"Yes, Linden, I believe I shall." Tranum's voice as bland as cream. For some reason that only added to the heat in her face. Better make that pepper-cream, she thought, one loaded with both intent and innuendo. "And you'll be with me this winter, won't you, pretty Linden?"

She remembered her grandmother's favorite Mark Twain witticism: Man is the only animal that blushes-- and the only one who needs to.

Grandma didn't know the half of it, she thought with a sigh. She would have understood about the fascination a woman could have for a man-- and maybe even about good old desire-- but Grandma was the soul of practicality; she would never have contemplated some of things that were going through Linden's mind right now. No, never in a million years. Grandma had believed in marriage, not Linden's sudden, and inexplicable plan for an emotionally uninvolved relationship with the man in her dreams.

"Linden? Answer me, please."

"A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is fatal," she quoted Oscar Wilde instead. "And that means?"

Linden counted five and then translated honestly.

"Not all wise men are Danish," Tranum conceded magnanimously. "Petr said that I must allow you to choose; that I must wait for a sign. But you have chosen me and I think that I will take your circular answer to mean that you will be with me."

"Hope ever, hope on," she muttered, disgusted that she couldn't work up a single protest to the smug, possessive tone. Her brain simply refused to look beyond the next few days and the feeling that it was absolutely right to consider taking Tranum as a lover.

"But you must remember to speak Danish. Once I can read Rolf's books and talk to others, then you may use English."

"Tranum." She dug down through her new, heady emotions for some of the old outrage and finally pulled up some minor irritation. No one should be as smug and bossy as he was after one innocent kiss.

"Yes? Do not be shy, Linden." The voice was warm-- as it always was when he addressed her. She glanced right.

The irritation died as soon as it was exposed to Tranum's innocent gaze. He wasn't actually asking for anything beyond good manners, and she would feel really guilty if she succeeded in hurting whatever tender feelings-- surely there were some!-- lurked under that confident exterior.

"What would you like for dinner?" It was time for a diplomatic change of subject since she didn't care either to fight or retreat.

"McDonalds?"

"Let's try something else. Have you ever had a pizza?" "Pizza?" he asked with interest.

"It's better than hamburgers," she assured him. "Spicy." "Then I would like to have pizza... Linden?"

"Yes?"

"I like American ways. With food. Men and women should eat together. And religion-- I want you to speak freely of your Christian God." The tone was positive.

"Why, thank-you, Tranum. I've always thought we have a good system--"

"But the separate chambers are not good. I think we should change this right away." It was full dark now, but those cat eyes were riveted to her face. She bet that they could see just fine in the night.

"I'm thinking about it. Perhaps when we return home, if you're cold, you would like to sleep with one of our goats," she suggested, hoping he would let the matter go. She needed another seventy miles, some more Mark Twain and a pepperoni pizza to think about this. It wouldn't do to make a hasty decision on an empty stomach; or an empty head.

"Perhaps." He sounded thoughtful but Linden was sure that there was a smile under that mustache. "I think I would rather sleep with you. You don't seem to have as many fleas and you smell better."

This time when Linden reached out to hit him, she escaped with a kiss on her wrist.

His mustache tickled there, too.

Club Valhalla

Copyrighted (c) 2002 Melanie Jackson

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