Chapter 7

The Chancery House was deliberately painted to enhance the fairy tale design of an abode that might easily have housed Mother Goose and the Gingerbread Man, if the pair had ever set up shop in the wine country and taken to tippling heavily before loading up their paint brushes. The candy- colored paint job that iced the fancy scroll-work was helped immensely by its cake-top, a set of custom-made stained glass windows backed with interior floods that lit up the dark of night like electric Christmas cookies hanging in the bower of the evergreen trees about the inn. The whimsical, wine bottle gazebo covered in twining four o'clocks, still open under the bright floodlights also made a wonderful picture for the travel magazines and commemorative post cards that Trina sold in the lobby.

The early "harvest" moon was only a few nights past full so the land was bright with golden light, and there were also a few well placed solar lamps, in a tame standard white, but shielded by the colorful skeleton of foliage draped thinly over their dwarf cone hats and giving ample illumination to the meandering gravel path that led gently uphill from the parking lot to the confectionery crown on the brow of the hill.

The garden that surrounded the ginger house was a small but practical affair. Designed for the use of Trina's chef, who was also her husband, it still managed to be pretty enough to pass as a pleasure garden for the inn guests. In the dusty heat that still clung to the early evening Linden could smell a variety of herbs underlying the strong scent of night blooming jasmine. A clump of feathery Camomile sided a turning in the path and then a selection of pungent lavenders and flowering rosemary.

Linden admired the clever use of space and made some mental notes about the garden at Club Valhalla. The utilitarian could still be ornamental and many of her heirloom plants were quite pretty in a simple way. It would be nice to find a way to share them with the inn's guests.

Tranum was also inhaling deeply and peering into the night. He seemed watchful but not as tense as he had been in San Francisco. With their two duffles swinging in his left hand and his casual, sure footed stroll, one hardly noticed that he was carrying a longsword slung over his right shoulder. It looked rather like a fishing rod, or so Linden told herself.

Trina heard them coming up the gravel path and had the inn's wide double doors open, letting more light stream into the hot night.

"Linden!" she cried exuberantly and was rushing down the stairs in a swirl of gauze skirts. "Sweetie, it's been forever!"

Linden laughed and hugged her demonstrative friend. Patrick, Trina's husband, followed more leisurely. He was a hold-over, eighties style yuppie, all button-down shirts, chinos, and penny loafers complete with tassels. It was his habitual lounging attire. He wore impractical linen suits during the day because they were cool enough to be bearable and he felt that they impressed the guests. Trina said the cleaner's bills were enormous, but one couldn't expect anyone as fastidious as Patrick to embrace the new "grunge look".

"Hey, Linden." The greeting from Patrick was warm but restrained when compared to Trina's effusion.

"Hey, Patrick." Linden leaned up to kiss his cheek.

All at once Tranum was at her back. A hard hand whipped around her waist and removed her a good two feet from Patrick's side before lips ever met flesh. She turned in consternation and looked at the carefully expressionless face above her. Her Viking's tense posture didn't look casual any more.

"Tranum." She touched his hand lightly. "It's okay. These are my friends, Trina and her husband, Patrick. Sorry, guys, Tranum's English is almost non-existent. Say hello, Tranum."

"Hallo." The tone wasn't hostile but it wouldn't win any congeniality contests either.

"Trina, Patrick, this is Tranum Svensen of Svenborg, Denmark. Tranum, Trina and Patrick."

"Hello," Patrick said courteously. "Welcome to Chancery House."

"Yes, hello," Trina echoed, looking Tranum over. "I take it that he doesn't go in for social kissing... Or is this just your lion's territorial boundary marking?"

Linden smiled faintly. "A little of both, I expect. Don't worry. He's more or less house-broken and I won't let him claw the furniture."

"Good heavens! Is that a sword?" Trina looked intrigued. She had a lurid imagination that running an inn which catered to a more forward-thinking clientele had done nothing to curb. Her creative powers had obviously slipped into over- drive at the sight of a weapon. "That is a sword! A great big one, too."

"He never leaves home without. It even has a name. Leg- Biter. Isn't that quaint?" Linden tried to step out of Tranum's embrace. She didn't get very far before the fingers again tightened.

"Well, what do you say we take this act indoors," Patrick suggested, slapping at his neck. "Our local blood-suckers are on the wing tonight."

They started for the house. Tranum's hand stayed on Linden's waist holding her in a lock-step. It was not comfortable because Leg-Biter was now tucked up under his arm and the hilt prodded her with every left foot forward.

"Tranum," she whispered. "There is no need to stay so close."

"There is a need."

"You're upsetting Trina. She has decided not to kiss you."

"That is good. She is married. She should not kiss other men. Neither should you."

"It's just a way of greeting friends," Linden chided in a whisper.

"Have you had dinner?" Trina asked as they stepped into the large foyer. The architecture was pure Victorian but the furniture was not. The reproductions and art work were all clean-lined, light colored, and uncluttered. There were no silly knick-knacks to serve as dust-catchers or breakables for careless guests.

"Yes, thanks. A pizza. No offense, Patrick, but we were starved. And I wanted to introduce Tranum to the wonders of traditional American cuisine."

"And you did it at a pizza parlor?" Patrick groaned. "The Danes have the finest palets in the world! You're going to ruin him with all those cheap chemical foods."

Linden snorted. Tranum's palet was about as refined as the proverbial sow's ear... or stomach.

"What does he say?" Tranum asked.

Linden translated loosely.

"He does not like pizza?" Tranum asked in surprise. Then, with speculation: "He makes food that is better than pizza?"

Linden laughed and then translated back into English for her friends.

Patrick smiled at Tranum and said: "Don't worry, I'll save you from any more of that fast-food poison."

Linden explained, and then Tranum surprised her by saying in English: "McDonalds is okay."

Patrick put his hands over his ears and groaned comically. "Sacrilege!" he uttered. "Cholesterol!"

"So, what's it to be? The front parlor for duplicate bridge with the guests? Or are you tired?" Trina asked, eyes sparkling. "And is it one bedroom or two? You didn't say over the phone."

"Trina!" Patrick scolded. "A little subtlety, woman." "That is the million dollar question." Linden sighed, very glad at that moment that Tranum didn't understand English. "And I still haven't made up my mind. I think I lack the courage of my convictions."

"Or desires?"

"What does she say, Linden? She is asking about the sleeping chambers?" he asked, disproving her theory that he didn't understand some of what they were saying.

"A moment, Tranum."

"Maybe it had better be two. I mean, he's a doll but-- " Trina began. Patrick threw up his hands in a hopeless gesture of protest.

"She was like this when I met her," he disclaimed.

"Will that be a problem?" Linden asked, ignoring both men.

"For tonight, no." Trina hesitated, playing with the silver charm on the fine chain she habitually wore. It was a pentagram. Trina was a follower of Wicca. It was interesting to Linden that Patrick was not. The fact that they had been together for four years went a long way to proving that mixed marriages could work; at least in California.

"Tomorrow may be a problem. We have a provisional booking," Trina was saying.

"Linden--"

"Honey, please be patient." The exasperated endearment slipped out unnoticed by her. "Trina, am I nuts to be considering this?"

Her friend looked at Tranum and then at Leg-Biter. She smiled. Patrick wished them both a good night and headed for the bridge parlor at a full retreat.

"He is rather large... But he seems gentle enough. Still, sweetie, if you're having to ask me about this..."

"I know. Just a moment, Trina." Linden turned and looked up at Tranum. He was waiting with what he no doubt imagined was great patience, but wasn't actually anything of the sort. His pale eyes showed unwavering intent. "Tranum, are you going to make a big fuss if we have separate rooms."

The green eyes studied her and then suddenly he grinned. It was the largest smile she had yet seen.

"Yes. I shall make a great fuss." For one half of one second there was enough humor there for Santa and ten jolly elves. Then it was gone. "I will not do anything you don't like, Linden, but we are in a strange place. I want you near me where I can protect you. Everyone sleeps together at home. It is not... immodest."

And if she didn't agree, he was quite likely to camp in her room any way.

Feeling rather like a passenger on a runaway train, or perhaps more like a voyager on a troubled ship-- say, the Titanic-- Linden turned back to her amused friend and shrugged.

"One room. This is blackmail, Tranum. Coercion" she added.

"This is true," he agreed cheerfully. "It is dane-geld."

"Cheer up," Trina recommended. "It has two beds. If he misbehaves, kick him out and make him sleep in the one by the far wall. It's nowhere near as comfortable. I'll send up a whip and chair. You know, they never learn if you don't train them."

"Yeah, right." Linden smiled suddenly. The image of smacking Tranum on the nose and telling him to get off the bed was a funny one. Things like that never worked well with cats. If she allowed him on the bed this first time, on the bed he would stay.

Her decision was made, for better or for worse. Now all she had to do was enjoy herself and stay casual about what she was doing.

"Live a little, sweetie," Trina recommended while snagging a skeleton key from the board behind the desk. "You have plenty of courage for all your convictions. Or desires. And it's good to see that your heart is still beating after the creep, Gordon."

"Gordon?" Tranum asked with a frown.

"Don't worry about Gordon. He's not important... What time is it?" Linden asked, consulting her watch as they turned toward the stairs. The less said about Gordon, the better. He had been her one weakness and idiocy before coming to California. Unfortunately, he'd been a big one, and she didn't want a reminder of her previous misjudgment to ruin her holiday. "Ten. Too late to call Petr and Tabby. I'll do it in the morning. I left in such a hurry this morning that I forgot to tell them where we were going."

"I'm sure they're still up--"

"I doubt it. Not with both of us boss cats away. I told you that Rolf was off chasing wood for his boat? Again. And anyway, I'm in no hurry to talk with them. So what room do we have?" Linden asked.

"Sage. It's kind of our bridal suite, and it has its own bath," Trina answered starting up the stairs. The stunning hall runner had been hand sculpted out of standard carpet by a local artist and looked almost like a Persian rug. It might well have cost as much, too. Trina featured a lot of local artists' work at the inn. And she sold a lot of it to her guests, which worked out well for everyone concerned.

"So, teach me something in Danish. I feel bad not talking to your friend. And he might be good for a reference or two. I'd like to start catering to a more international clientele." Trina looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly at Tranum.

He was walking two paces behind them now that Patrick was gone. Linden didn't have the heart to mention how doubtful it was that any of Tranum's friends would be coming to visit.

"He likes food. Try morgenmad. That means breakfast." She felt Tranum's attention turn from the watercolor florals on the wall back to their conversation. "Bacon og aeg--"

"Linden!" They both said at once.

Linden turned and smiled at Tranum.

"You are playing again," he accused.

"Yes." Linden turned to her friend. "Say 'Jeg hedder Trina'-- That means, my name is Trina."

They stopped on the landing. Or rather Trina was on the landing. Linden was one step down and Tranum another step below Linden. It put them all more or less at the same height.

"Jeg hedder Trina," Trina said. "Hvordan har du det..." Linden supplied softly.

"Hvordan har du det-- What does that mean?" Trina asked.

"'How are you?'" They both turned to look at Tranum. Linden had the impression that he was trying not to smile, but it was hard to tell under that mustache. "Tranum, I know the accent is bad, but she is trying to be polite. Behave yourself."

"I know this, Linden," he said reproachfully. He looked to Trina and nodded politely. "Det glaeder mig at traeffe Dem."

"He's pleased to meet you." Linden duly reported.

"Well, that's a relief! I wasn't too certain there at first." Trina swung around and continued down the hall with its multi-colored doors labeled lavender, marigold, and so on, and then into what had been the servant's staircase. They started up the winding steps. It grew warmer and stuffier with every tread. "Don't worry. There's an air-conditioner-- And you'll have a lot more privacy up here."

"Thanks-- I think."

Trina laughed. She left them, with a key, outside their bedroom door. It was painted a not unexpected shade of grey green that matched its assigned name. Linden pushed the door open, relieved at the wave of cool air that flowed out into the hall.

Tranum handed her the duffles and ungallantly pushed her aside while he charged ahead, looking behind the door and then crossing to the bedroom's walk-in closet and bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked reluctantly, shutting the door and turning on a second light. The hurricane lamp on the shared bedside table threw a pink glow over the room. Done in crisp, cool cottons, it made an excellent bridal bower.

"Why is there a wind?" Tranum halted before the portable air-conditioning unit in the window. It sat humming quietly.

"It's a machine to make the air cool, like the one in the van. What are you doing?" she asked again, as he dropped to his knees and peered under the stiff, white bed-skirt.

"Look carefully around doorways before you walk in; you never know what enemy might be hiding there."

"Odin, or Havamal?" Linden tossed the duffles onto a wing- backed chair. "Shall I check the closet?"

"Odin. No, I will check. You are just playing again and would not be careful."

"Sorry... But really, Tranum. I'm sure Trina and Patrick would not allow any enemies in our room." It did not strike Linden that this conversation was in any way odd. She had evolved a new, highly tolerant standard of conversation for dealing with her Viking.

"Probably not." Tranum straightened and laid Leg-Biter across the bed on the far wall. He began a more leisurely inspection of their room, still taking the time to look in the dresser drawers.

"There is nothing in here. Why are there two beds?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

It was probably too much to have expected him to admire the duvets, Linden admitted to herself.

"Is this room for a whole family?" The voice pursued relentlessly.

"Well, it could be. Some people just prefer to have their own bed. And some people use one bed for sleeping and one for... lying around." Linden turned and began to rummage industriously through her canvas sack. After a moment she realized that it wasn't her sack she was rifling.

She sighed and reached for the other duffle.

"Are you nervous, Linden?" The voice of Fate's-- or maybe Doom's-- proxy asked perceptively.

"Well, a little..."

"You should not be. I will protect you."

"Protection! God Lord! I never even thought..." Linden straightened, walked over to the nightstand and opened the top drawer.

There it was, right next to the restaurant guide and the Prayers of Kahill Gibran, a small box of condoms, just as Trina had always threatened to do. It was her contribution to public safety and also an effort to avoid liability if anyone contracted some fatal disease on premises, and threatened to sue the inn.

Stranger things had happened in California; Trina also had a plan for the Nineties.

"What is it, Linden?" Tranum appeared at her shoulder and looked down into the drawer. "Oh! Books!"

He reached for the poems and the restaurant guide without so much as a glance at the small box. It suggested to Linden that there was yet another twentieth century innovation that he didn't know about. The thought of explaining was daunting. Suddenly, her courage deserted her.

"Look, I'm going to--"

"Danish, Linden." Tranum was busy looking through the pages of his new find. "There are no pictures in this one," he complained, tossing the prayers aside.

"Pictures... Now there's an idea. Here. This is something that is just full of pictures." Linden walked across the room to the small television table and removed the antimacassar that had been draped over the top in an effort to hide the favorite American opiate of the masses. "Let's see. What would be totally harmless? Channel nine, I think. Good old public broadcasting! Please make it a nature show... something quiet and safe-- Yes!"

"Danish-- What is that?"

"Television. TV. It is a machine for learning and entertainment." A school of colorful fish swam onto the screen and a calm voice began to talk about the wonders of the barrier reef in Australia. Linden turned the sound down. "There. This is better than those books."

"What is the voice saying?" Tranum was leaning foreward, eyes intent.

"These are the plants and animals that live in a place called Australia. The man is just describing the animals in case a blind person is listening," she answered mendaciously. She wasn't in the habit of lying, but exceptions had to be made during a crisis, and she was having one of an emotional variety that precluded standing around and translating commentary on the mating habits of eels. "Now, I'm going to go into the other room and have a bath. You'll be okay without me?"

"Of course," the voice was distracted. She was to escape without another lecture about being overly protective.

"Good." She picked up her duffle and headed for the small bathroom. "I'll see you in a while."

"Okay," he answered in English, stretching out on his stomach and moving closer to the small screen.

Linden fled.

Tranum stared at the small box. It was an enthralling machine and perhaps that was not good. He did not want to be magicked into inattention by the talking box.

He shifted his head to look at the door Linden had gone though. There was a thin line of yellow light all around the opening and the sound of running water. He watched that for a while, finding the shifting shadows of her movements to be of more interest than the bright colored fish on the television.

His little Valkyrie was very nervous about sharing a room with him, which was why he had allowed her to escape for a while. It had already occurred to him that in spite of her age, because this evil Gordon had betrayed her and made her shy, she might still be an innocent. And if she had always slept away from others, perhaps she had never witnessed the act of sex and was still fearful of coupling.

It mattered not for this eventide. She was too nervous and too tired to enjoy lying with him, and he had already won a major battle; his Valkyrie now shared a room with him. With this victory he would be content. For a while.

After a time, Tranum turned back to the picture box. It was showing some ridiculous tan, big-eared bear sitting in a Eucalyptus tree. It was eating leaves... slowly. The beast looked both sleepy and stupid, a creature that would never be welcomed in Valhalla.

It made him aware of how very tired he was. He did not want to think about Valhalla right now when nothing productive would come of his thoughts and he had other, more pleasant things to consider before sleeping.

The day had not been physically challenging, but he felt as if his every emotion had been drained from his body in a great spiritual battle. His beleaguered brain had learned a million new things about strange ships, strange food, stranger people, and even stranger machines. It was all... strange. Some things were beautiful, some ugly, mostly it was loud, and all of it foreign.

And what could he-- should he-- trust in this new world where nothing was the same as it had been before he died? Linden, the answer came. He could trust Linden. And, what was more-- he thought, with a lightening of spirits-- That was something that had not changed. Men and women were still the same. Desire was still very much desire, even in America.

When he heard the bathroom door open, Tranum considerately closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

His Valkyrie approached in a soft cloud of lavender scent. He heard her sigh quietly. He wanted to think that it was in regret at finding him asleep, but admitted that it might well be relief.

The television was quieted and then a light blanket was laid over him. A wisp of golden hair touched his arm where it pillowed his head, and then the lightest of kisses was touched to his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Viking. Sweet dreams."

It pleased him that she remembered to speak Danish to him even when she thought he was asleep. Then he was no longer pretending. The long day had taken its toll on his spirit and his body sent his mind into healing sleep.

Linden awoke the next morning to an unusual warmth and the sound of a laboring air-conditioner. Two seconds cogitation told her that she was cocooned in Tranum's arms. She didn't open her eyes right away, but instead gave herself a few moments of grace before finding out if her Viking was also awake.

She had a dim memory of being joined in the bed somewhere in the dark of the night, but at the time she had been glad of the warmth and far too exhausted to protest the invasion by her over-sized lion.

She suspected that the cat had made himself at home in the midnight hours and now it was too late to complain of his presence.

Linden opened one eye and found Tranum's green gaze watching her sleepily. Behind the sleep was a great deal of lazy satisfaction at finding himself in her bed.

"Oh..." She tucked her face under his prickly chin and refused to look up, even when he chuckled.

"I am not awake," she announced into the light covering of fur on his chest. The silvery down was very soft and in an odd way, very familiar.

"As you wish." Strong fingers began to play with her tangled hair. Linden's heart picked up its resting pace and started galloping.

"You're not awake either," she insisted.

"You can not know that if you are asleep," the voice said reasonably. "No? Well, I'm going to lay here and wish real hard."

"As you please." The fingers were now smoothing down her spine. Linden was grateful that she had chosen to wear pajamas instead of her usual thin sleep-shirt.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Linden moved her own hand experimentally and found that Tranum was not wearing a shirt on his back. Which was a stupid thing to notice when she already had her face pressed against his chest and she knew that it didn't have any covering on it.

The real question was, What about the rest of him? While she considered the question her hand went no lower than the middle of his back.

"Because the sun has risen. Also I can smell the cook fires. It will be interesting to taste some of Patrick's better than pizza food." One hard hand had wandered down to her cotton covered leg. The sheer material didn't do much to shelter her from the heat of his palm.

"Good idea. Why don't you go see Patrick right now."

"Are you nervous again, Linden?" The voice was kind but more than a little amused. The cat was playing with her.

"Very," she admitted. "I don't sleep with strangers."

The hand on her leg moved up to her chin and urged her to look up. Deciding that she was behaving like a crawling coward, Linden allowed him to tilt her face up. She met his gaze steadily.

"You will not be afraid of me, Linden. I shall not hurt you. Have I not promised this?"

"I know that." She silently cursed her fair complexion that colored in an accurate emotional barometer that Tranum found easy to read. "Don't you find this just a little bit strange and embarrassing?"

"Everything here is strange," he pointed out. "And I see nothing to be embarrassed about."

"No? 'There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear'," she translated easily. Grandma had been fluent in her Bible and she preferred it in the old tongue. Maybe Tranum had a plan for the nineties, too.

"Who said that?" The half-hidden smile appeared.

"First John. It is from the Christian Bible."

"Yes? It is pretty any way. And now--" Tranum kissed her on the forehead, threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. Linden hastily shut her eyes and then gave in and peeked. Her Viking was wearing Rolf's pajama bottoms.

She was not disappointed, she told herself firmly.

"I will go seek Patrick and discover if this food is truly better than pizza."

"You need to get dressed--" she started.

"This I know, Linden," he answered, disappearing into the bathroom with a pair of jeans and Club Valhalla T-shirt that Linden had thrown in to augment his limited clothes supply. He turned on the tap and raised his voice over the noise. "You should also dress and come to eat. This way you will have time to visit with your little friend before we leave. Perhaps you should also make the wind go away. It is cold enough now."

"Leave? Where are we going?" Linden sat up and stared at the bathroom door. Tranum was right about the air- conditioner; the room was quite chill.

"Where ever you wish to go and play, Linden. As long as we are alone."

"Absolutely all alone?"

"As alone as we can be. And no crazy people at all." The sound of the bathtub filling came through the closed door drowning out his grumbled complaints. Then there was a splash and a much louder hiss of pain.

"Use both handles together," she advised with a raised voice. "One is for hot and one is for cold."

"You might have warned me of this dangerous device," Tranum complained as he turned on a second faucet. "It is not like Club Valhalla."

Linden sighed. She might have warned him... if she had thought of it. It was hard to know just what he did or did not need to be warned about.

She tossed back her own sheet and got to her feet. It seemed like a good idea to be dressed before Tranum emerged from his toiletries. She hoped that he was clear from Petr's quick lesson about how to use Rolf's borrowed electric shaver. His mustache tickled; three day's growth of beard did not.

Tranum insisted the Linden's cooking was every bit as good as Patrick's, but that didn't seem to keep him from enjoying a hearty meal-- all without recourse to cutlery. Linden made more notes about modern inventions that she was going to have to demonstrate at another time, breakfast at Chancery House with a full complement of intellectual wine-sippers not being the most opportune of moments.

The day was a largely private one as they visited some of the less popular wineries and spent a fair amount of time just admiring the dusty fields of ripening grapes. Another month would see the fruit at its zenith, but it was still a beautiful view of the acres upon acres of colorful vines.

True to his strictures, Tranum only drank moderately, but he agreed that there was a particularly good gewurtztraminer that they should lay in for the sweet-tooths at Club Valhalla. Linden stopped at that one case of sweet wine; Monterey had its own wineries and she liked to buy local wines whenever possible.

They had a ploughman's lunch at a tiny bistro attached to tasting room and general store at the last winery stop on the inn's map. They kept the meal light in order to do justice to Patrick's dinner that evening. He was preparing game-hens with roasted thyme and wild rice, and let it be known that he would be most upset if they missed another meal at Chancery House.

And Tranum agreed that it would be a shame to miss one of Patrick's meals.

Linden broke off a crust of bread and wrapped it around a piece of Gouda. She offered a bite to Tranum.

Her Viking accepted the tidbit, biting down with very white but slightly crooked teeth. She found the small overlap of his two front teeth to be endearing, but she doubted that he would see it that way, so said nothing about his boyish charm.

"You are smiling, Linden. What thought is wandering through your mind?" He continued to chew while studying her. His eyes went from her lips to check the color in her cheeks and then up to her eyes.

"Wandering? I?"

Tranum nodded. "You have done nothing outrageous today. I wondered when the playing would start."

"Outrageous? I'm not outrageous. I'm the responsible one-- the reasonable one! I hardly ever play." The protest was automatic by that point.

"This I believe. Your brother has left you with a heavy burden." He sounded more comprehending than sympathetic.

"Yes. But it was my choice to accept the burden," she felt compelled to admit. "I didn't have to go into business with Rolf. I could have remained in Minnesota, kept my job as a teacher."

"But you chose to come to Club Valhalla."

"In a manner of speaking. It is more that Club Valhalla chose Rolf and me. We had no idea that we would end up as inn-keepers. That wasn't the plan at all."

"But Fate intervened." Linden could hear the capital F in Fate.

"In a sense. I don't mean that someone or something chose this for us," she clarified. "It was just a combination of accident and the careless exercise of free-will."

"That is how it seems to me also." Tranum stared at her intently, weighing something in his mind. "It is an accident that I am here, but also my free-will. And is by free-will that I remain." Then he blinked once and smiled. "But there is no need to think of this now. What shall we do this evening, Linden? What would you like to do for play?"

"Well... I hadn't thought. Want to take a mud bath?" she asked with an impish smile.

"Mud bath?" "Yeah. Its suppose to be really relaxing to lay in warm mud."

"Do you wish to do this?" he asked incredulously.

"Not really--"

"Good. Then we shall retire early. I do not want you to be tired when we go to search for gold."

"We probably aren't going to find any gold," she warned. "It's just an excuse to go there--"

"I shall find gold, if it is there." The tone was as firm as granite. Linden didn't get a chance to argue before he went on. "I have studied the maps and made a plan for our travels."

"You have?" Linden allowed herself to be distracted from the thankless task of explaining about the tourist industry in the gold country. "Okay. Where are we going?"

"Trina gave me some broshers--"

"Brochures. Yes?"

"We will go to Columbia in Calaveras County. They have there a candy kitchen where they cook nothing but sweets. This I wish to see. Then we will go to Murphys. A man in the inn who spoke strange Swedish told me that they have there many famous caverns. The largest one moans-- You will not be afraid of a moaning cavern will you, Linden?" He gave her a considering look. "It is just wind and rock, the man said." "No. I'm not afraid... I don't think. I find that I don't like being down inside a boat, but maybe caves are different. In any case, you should see it if you want to. And what then?"

"Then we go to Monterey and see the Aquarium. The strange Swede said that I should see it. He was surprised that we have not already been there. Edred is coming to Monterey and wants to stay at Club Valhalla. Trina called Petr on the telephone and made a res..."

"Reservation. She did?"

"Yes. For the Mead Feed. It is the last one until we build the boat, yes? He is anticipating hearing my saga and drinking good mead with the men of learning."

"Your saga! I had completely forgotten. Will you need very long to work on it?"

"I have it already in my head. But we should return any way, for Rolf has come home. I wish to speak with him." "Has he? Well, Trina has been busy... Did she tell Petr that we were visiting her?" she asked uneasily.

"No. She... Edred said that she said that she did not want to spoil your fun. Does knowing that Rolf is at Club Valhalla spoil your fun, Linden?"

"Yes and no. Mostly no."

"Does your brother disapprove of you having a lover?" Tranum asked calmly. Linden swallowed the wrong way and began to cough on the course crumbs. "I thought this was a matter of free-will. That you chose who would share your bed. Petr said you did."

"It is," she wheezed, reaching for a glass of iced tea. "I don't know if Rolf disapproves or not. If he does, he better not say anything. He is already walking on some very thin ice!"

"Are you all right, Linden? Should I hold you upside down and shake you?" Tranum eyed her flushed face.

"No thank-you." She got her breathing back under control. "Tranum, you must not bring up... sharing beds in the middle of a public place--"

"Why? It is your bed and your choice. Petr said--"

"Because its a private matter and nobody else wants to hear about it!"

"But many of these people want to hear about this. They are listening closely." Tranum gestured to the two nearby tables where conversation had stopped. One woman was actually caught staring with her fork suspended halfway to her mouth.

For one moment Linden was horrified, and then she remembered that they were speaking in Danish. The chances of anyone understanding them was slim. It was only her coughing that had startled everyone. There were six nervous people, all ready to jump up and perform the Heimlich maneuver on her.

She smiled at them. "I'm okay... They don't speak Danish. Now look! While we are the subject of my bed and my free- will, then we might just as well have a conversation about it. If it is my bed--"

"Our bed--"

"-- and my will, then what are you doing in my room?" "Our room. And it is your will that you be with me. I have merely assisted you in making this decision."

"Assisted?"

"Yes. And you will feel much better about this when we are lovers. I was prepared to be patient, but perhaps it would be better to be done with the waiting. Rolf has upset you and may frighten you away. We have opportunity tonight and tomorrow... It is time for you to lose your fear of what this Gordon did," he announced, taking a bite of orange and grimacing at the taste of the bitter peel. "I am not a betrayer. I do not take oaths that I do not mean."

Linden rose to her feet and dropped her napkin on the table. She picked up the check and walked to the old- fashioned register. She found that her knees were very weak and that the open air terrace had grown uncomfortably warm.

She hadn't heard him correctly-- That was the problem. How the devil had he learned about Gordon? It had to be Tabby. Or Petr. They had told him about Gordon. And he had taken it upon himself to "cure" her-- Surely no one could be that... She looked over her shoulder at her silver haired Dane as he polished off a last bite of apple and got slowly to his feet... No one could be that arrogant, could they? So lacking in tact and romance? Not really. Not in this day and age--

But that was the problem. Again. He just wasn't a part of this day and age. Linden felt like banging her head on the counter in frustration.

Why-- oh why!-- did it have to be Tranum that she fell for? Was she doomed by an attraction to impossible men?

She had to quit screwing around and make a decision before it was too late. She was attracted to Tranum; she felt like she had known him for years, had already been his lover, knew his body, his scent and taste.

But unless she believed in re-incarnation, that simply wasn't so. It was just her body being emphatic about its desires.

And she had a plan for the nineties. A sensible-- necessary-- plan.

Linden bit her lower lip and then sighed. If she wanted Tranum out of her life-- fine and dandy! But she had to boot him out and make it stick. Tell Rolf to get another builder. No more of this half-hearted wobbling back and forth! No more of this ah-yes! ah-no! flip-flopping that was so unlike her.

Linden took a deep, calming breath and asked herself the sixty-four dollar question... So, was she in, or was she out? Did she believe in her plan, or did she believe in the power and wisdom of her emotions' overwhelming case of love at first sight?

Hanging above the register, right at average female height, was a rack of fuzzy animal greeting cards designed to appeal to persons that liked cute. She recognized the artist; Trina carried her work at the inn as well. Linden stared at the hand-painted watercolors as she continued her measured breathing and waited for her psyche to answer her question.

The brightest of the cards featured a wary vixen standing in deep shade, ears cocked forward, at the edge of a meadow of dark blue lupine. It was plain to Linden, even in her distracted state, that the shy animal wanted to venture out into the sun, but the timid creature lacked the courage to take the first step out into the open. She would probably turn away from the light and continue to watch from the shadows as the braver bunnies and squirrels played in the happy field, she thought sadly.

The poor thing obviously didn't have a flexible plan of survival... or she was just too afraid to take a chance on her heart's desires.

Suddenly, a line from Harriet Beecher Stowes' Little Foxes jumped into Linden's head: The bitterest tears shed over the grave are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

In a word, regret.

Linden's hands grew steady and she counted out the bills and handed them to the aged clerk who had taken his place at the register. Her smile was automatic but still charmed the elderly man.

She had her answer, like it or not. For once, she was going with her heart instead of her head.

Having a plan was fine, Linden admitted as she closed her wallet and dropped it back into her purse. But never let it be said that when the potential love of a lifetime came knocking at her door, or calling in a field of summer lupine-- or maybe ripening fall grapes, as the case might be-- that Linden Kirstensen, the descendant of Vikings and western pioneers, was too much of a coward to answer the call.

Anyway, a plan had to be flexible for it to adapt to changing circumstances.

"Ready?" she asked, turning toward the table with a determined smile and a new glitter in her eyes. "Then let's get this show on the road."

"Danish, Linden," her love answered as he stuffed a sprig of Italian parsley in his mouth and turned her way.

She found the part of his green smile that showed under his mustache to be charming, which only confirmed her conclusion that she was swimming in deep emotional water. Linden threw her handbag over her shoulder and hoped sincerely that she didn't end up drowning there before she found her way back to shore.

Club Valhalla

Copyrighted (c) 2002 Melanie Jackson

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