Chapter 8

Linden screwed up her courage, prepared-- as many women had been before-- to give her all for one great romantic love. But Fate was feeling capricious and had made other plans for her evening. The suspicion that the path to True Love was not going to be smooth came within hours of gathering her resolve at the bistro.

Instead of playing the romantic roles of Bogart and Bergman, or Cary Grant and Grace Kelly, it soon looked to Linden like she and Tranum would spend their evening doing Laurel and Hardy or Lewis and Martin.

At least she got to be Martin, she thought resentfully as she changed out of her dusty clothes; Tranum made an excellent, if blond, Jerry Lewis when caught playing with the telephone. The first shrill ring had nearly had him jumping out of his gorgeous, tanned skin. That thought wasn't much consolation for miscalculating the margin of play time she was to be allowed with her Lewis before Rolf arrived at the inn and completely spoiled what fun she was managing to have.

The afternoon began unraveling rapidly after the incident with the telephone. Her brother had finally managed to put two and two together after Edred's booking and had called Trina demanding word of his sister. Hearing the honest concern-- perhaps even panic-- in his voice, Trina had taken pity on him and told him that Linden was in fact there. With the Viking who was not Amish.

She had also warned him not to come hot-footing it up the coast as everything was calm among the grapes, and Tranum was a real sweetie even if he was a sword-toting Viking.

Linden thanked Trina for the effort as they both stared at Tranum as he picked up and replaced the phone several times, but she wasn't any too certain about Rolf taking her advice. After all, Rolf never took advice.

Naturally, she explained her concern to Tranum as soon as as she could gain his attention. But he just shrugged, replaced the receiver in its cradle and wandered over to study the miniature piano hidden behind an exuberant ficcus.

Undeterred, she followed him behind the ficcus and prudently suggested that they leave at once before Rolf arrived, but her Viking had only said: It is time to stop playing, Linden. You need not be afraid. And do not speak of strangling your brother. Edred speaks a little Danish and would not understand your sense of humor.

Linden had flounced off and left her would-be Valentino in the lobby plinking on the harpsichord. He had apparently never seen one of those either. She hoped that no one taught him how to play Chopsticks. He would probably love such simple-minded entertainment, but she was in no mood to listen.

She was frustrated, disappointed, and all but crawling out of her itchy skin. Perhaps it was just a heat rash plaguing her.

Fortunately, air-conditioning, a cool shower and her favorite yellow sun dress restored her perspective and humor. She was the patient one, she reminded herself. The calm one. She could be reasonable. So what if her romantic mood was somewhat over-shadowed by her brother's possibly imminent arrival. She had decided that she wanted this wild thing, hadn't she? And Tranum still was the same sweet-- well, gorgeous-- man she had wanted two hours ago. That hadn't changed. She could be flexible about things.

All restored to a happy equilibrium by a pep-talk and a few rationalizations, Linden found herself following the delicious smell of roasting game-hen down to the dining room where people were congregating around the trays of the fantastic and colorful hors-d'oeuvres that Trina specialized in.

She found Tranum and the strange Swede, who looked fairly normal to her, except for the Bozo hair-do that frizzed around his bald pate in a bright horse-shoe of glaring orange. They were chatting with a harried Patrick as he rushed between kitchen and dining room in his pristine white chef's hat, bearing trays of exotic vegetables and bottles of wine to grace the table d'hote.

Trina was nowhere to be seen but Linden could make a good guess that she was holding down the kitchen while Patrick did the ye olde inn-keeper bit for the guests, with his gold- plated corkscrew worn on a chain-- rather like a watch fob-- that stretched across his immaculate white apron when he was not dramatically flourishing it about as he opened wine.

"Linden." A large hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. She was dragged into the all male circle of two that had staked out the largest plate of non-vegetable tidbits. "We are all going to play a game after dinner. It is called touch-football. Edred and I have never played. You will explain the rules, please."

We all... That probably meant all we men in Tranum vernacular. Which was fine--just fine!-- with her. She was like the swaying wild grass; she could bend without breaking.

"Hello, Edred." She nodded at the stocky redhead who smiled sunnily as he continued eating filo-wrapped shrimp at a serious pace. "It is a pleasure."

"Me also." Edred's English was an improvement on Tranum's, but not a large one. The mouth full of puff-pastry didn't help. She was glad he hadn't tried anything with gutturals in it. The P in pleasure was dangerous enough.

"Speak Danish, Linden. Edred can understand. Now tell us about touch-football."

"I don't know much..." she protested, but realized that it wouldn't do any good. Tranum was in search and question mode and wanted an answer. She tried deflection once any way; it was the honorable, female thing to do. "I thought we had other plans for the evening."

"We do." That voice was so damn definite that it was hard not to be irritated. Then, demonstrating his priorities, he added: "But that is for later. I am not easily tired, Linden. You will not be neglected because of a game."

"We'll just see about that." She went on hastily as Tranum began to frown. She didn't want to hold another discussion about her bed, not in the dining room. Especially not if Edred understood Danish. "There are two teams. They play in a long field. One team kicks a ball to the other team and they try to run the ball back. They get to try four times and if they go far enough, they get another chance. Then it's the other team's turn. The man in the middle, the quarter-back throws the ball to a... what's it called?... receiver! Everybody else is blockers-- stoppet, I think you call it. That's about it. The other team tries to stop the one with the ball. You can't grab onto the other team's arms but you can knock them down-- Except, you have to be careful! No one is suppose to get killed or even badly hurt." She stared at Tranum and then at Edred. "This is not a blood sport. You will be behave yourselves."

Tranum laughed outright. For once Linden did not appreciate the rare and adorable crinkles at the corners of his beautiful eyes. She sniffed disdainfully. The smell of testosterone was in the air; in thirty minutes the place would reek like a locker-room at half-time. It quite spoiled the aroma of the game hens.

"I mean it. If someone is hurt they can go after you legally and take away anything you own or even imprison you... Nor would I be happy to see you hurt," she scolded severely. "This time you must listen, Tranum--"

"But I can not be hurt, pretty Linden," he objected idiotically. Linden threw up her one free hand. Both of them had forgotten Edred.

"One can only do so much to save a fool from his own folly. Go ahead and--" A delicate bell interrupted her grandfather's favorite speech before it had really begun. Not that it would have had any more effect on Tranum than it had had on Rolf, she thought sourly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Patrick intoned, "dinner is served."

A flotilla of wine and sherry glasses breezed toward the dining room tables. Tranum went also; since he still had a hold of her wrist, Linden went, too, with the silent Edred bringing up the rear, his fists and mouth full of shrimp.

Dinner was delicious. It must have been because everyone inhaled it with little conversation between mouthfuls.

Then the under-forty male crowd shoved back the Blue Willow, jumped to its feet and raced for their bedrooms to get changed for the Big Game.

One would think that their mothers had never told them to wait for their dinner to digest before engaging in strenuous activity, Linden thought with a sniff, or to remember to thank their host for a great meal. Of course, the host, who was leading the pack onto the field of battle, had eaten faster than anyone, so perhaps that rule didn't apply.

Linden sighed and told Tranum to put on his red and gold shirt, and then set about resigning herself to a nerve- wracking evening of waiting. It seemed inevitable that either Tranum of Rolf to ruin it for her.

It was too much to hope that Tranum would be covered under her medical insurance, she thought, pouring herself another half measure of wine. How much did a broken arm cost these days?

Trina soon emerged from the kitchen and joined Linden at her table. She shoved the wreckage of Tranum's dinner aside. There wasn't much left to shove; his game hen had been picked as clean as any billion year old fossil and he had eaten all the garnish.

"So how goes the great romance?" Trina asked, pouring out two glasses of chardonnay. "Did he get to sleep in the good bed last night?"

"Yes... and it doesn't." Linden scowled. "This afternoon, with a little encouragement, I could have been ravished in the back of the van or tumbled in a field of grapes under a hot summer sun. Tonight I am abandoned for football... And you know the really sad part?"

"You're not even married yet?"

Linden shook her head but allowed herself a small smile. She didn't explain that marriage wasn't in the plan.

"No, the sad part is that Tranum's never even heard of the game. Must be genetic or something. Football season starts and every male from age two years and up thinks he should be playing for the NFL." Linden took a long swallow of wine and prepared to indulge in a favorite single female pass-time, contemplating the behavior of the male species.

"No kidding? How could that be?" Trina also fortified herself with a generous sip from her own goblet. She wasn't speaking of the phenomenon of male sport obsession. "Isn't football a world-wide fixation?"

"Not in Svenborg. In fact... Trina, I've got a story to tell you." Linden leaned forward and folded her arms on the table cloth. she said earnestly: "When I'm done, I want you to tell me frankly if I've completely lost my mind. I mean, if you think this is just too much to believe--"

"Then it's too much for anyone to believe." Trina smiled at Linden's less than tactful thought. She was not offended by the truth. Her life-style was definitely above and beyond the ordinary, and she liked it that way. "Okay, lay it on me. I figured that something more than the obvious weekend fling was going on here. This just isn't your normal style."

Linden looked up as the two busboys began to clear the far tables. The other women guests had gone out into the early evening heat to cheer on the men or else sensibly settled in the game room for a few hands of bridge. Other than the help, they had the dining room to themselves.

"Something's crazy, that's for sure..." Linden muttered. "You ever heard of the Amish? Well, how about the Norse? Odin, Thor-- some guy named Havamal? You know, Vikings?"

"Vikings? Real Vikings? Odin worship? Pillage and plunder--"

"That's the ones-- though I don't know about the pillage and plunder. Most of that was just made up by the hysterical monks. Very little pillaging happened unless they were hired as mercenaries and these days--"

"I was thinking of pirates," Trina apologized. "Vikings went raiding and slaving. Scary lot, those blond barbarians. Tall and god-like by Roman standards... Look good on book covers."

Linden nodded at the inane comment. It might be irrelevant to her problem, but it was true.

"Well, now you've met one. A real one. Tranum. My great romance," Linden clarified. "I don't think he's a slave trader."

Trina blinked and had another sip of wine. "Go on, sweetie. Get to the good stuff."

Linden lowered her voice. "Less than a week ago Tranum sunk his hand-made boat off the coast of Monterey... Really. One day he just packed up from his grandfather's farm and-- like Leif Ericcson, I guess-- just decided to sail all the way from Denmark to the new world-- and all to work on my beloved brother's longboat. Can you imagine?" Linden demanded, then added: "Men!"

"Leif Ericcson didn't go to California did he?"

"Trina! Don't be so literal... Think about this, okay? I'm serious. Tranum had never seen a car, worn jeans, or eaten at a McDonalds. He doesn't have a passport-- I packed for him! I know!-- He didn't even have any clothes when he washed up on our beach because they went down with his boat. He came out of the sea with his amulet, his sword and some leggings... and a loin-cloth, I guess."

Trina was round eyed. She poured out two more glasses of wine without making any comment.

"I guess this makes him an illegal immigrant-- except I have no guarantee that he actually wants to emigrate." Linden sighed.

"I saw the amulet," Trina finally said. "It's a rune-sign. Thor's hammer. I thought it was just... affectation. Fashion. The Norse religion is gaining popularity in the states... He really worships in the old way? Sunstead and Yule? Animal sacrifice?... And his whole town's like that? Wow. Sweetie, I begin to see the problem. Are you really stuck on him?-- Never mind! Of course you are. Poor sensible Linden! What a situation to find yourself in... Is he adapting to our ways? I mean, does he like it here?"

"Oh yes. Witness the football! And once he can read--"

"Once he can-- Oh dear! This is complicated, isn't it? Well, have another glass of wine, sweetie, and then start over at the beginning. It won't change anything, but you'll feel lots better for talking about it. He's not just having you on is he? I mean, this does sound rather like something on Candid Camera."

"No. I thought that, too. That Rolf had put him up to it, but... No, he's on the level." Linden let out a slow breath and then gave a lop-sided smile. "But it's not all bleak, Trina. He doesn't mind that I'm a Christian."

"Well, there you go! At least he's not hide-bound. If he's educable, there's hope." Trina smiled back. "Now let's see if we can't find a few more of those tinsy little silver linings in all these clouds."

"Does a great body count?" Linden was beginning to feel a glow from the wine. That was a sign that she should stop drinking. From glow to coma was a very few sips for her metabolism.

"Of course, sweetie, that's worth double points. In your Viking's case, I'd even say triple. I mean those eyes! And that mane of hair!"

"Trina!" But her protest lacked strength. Linden agreed one hundred percent. Tranum Svensen was definitely the magnetic north on her emotional compass.

Her warrior returned home two hours later. He and his Niners shirt had suffered greatly. Grass over fireclay was not all that cushioning for a large body falling under a great many other large bodies.

"Linden?" He stood dripping sweat on the dining room carpet. Fortunately it was a commercial grade rug and cleaned easily.

Linden and Trina both stared as the rest of the jocks came trailing in. They were a pitiful sight with their assorted scrapes and tears decorated in cloraphyl green smears. The friendly game had obviously gotten out of hand.

"Is anyone dead?" Trina asked as Patrick finally staggered in. His usually tidy hair had been shoved roughly forward and hung over his right eye.

"No. And no one's in the hospital," he reported. "But Gees! I'm glad Tranum was on my team. You'd think we were in the Super Bowl. What an effort! The other guys didn't stand a chance..." Patrick pulled on his half-detached sleeve and grimaced at the damage.

"Tranum--" Linden began.

"Linden, I am hurt. I have bruises." The voice was faintly surprised. "That is not suppose to happen now."

"I did mention this possibility before dinner." Linden stood up. She did it slowly because the wine was swishing around in her head and she didn't want to make any betraying staggers. Odin-- or was it Havamal?-- wouldn't like it. "Come on. A nice cool shower will make you feel better."

She reached out for him and then thought better of it. Tranum was more than just sweaty; he was down and out grubby. "Going to administer first aid?" Trina asked. She was also speaking very carefully, as if the chardonnay had thickened her tongue.

"Guess I better. Say good-night, Tranum."

Tranum complied but was watching her carefully with his alert, cat eyes. Linden exercised great control while walking up the stairs. She did not need Tranum to tell her that she had had far too much to drink. She already knew that four glasses of wine was at least two too many.

"Linden--"

"Are you very hurt? Do you need any bandages?" "No. It is just many bruises. Linden--"

"That's good. A nice shower will make you feel better."

"Linden!"

"What is it, Tranum?" She opened the bedroom door and headed straight for the bathroom. "I'll just start the shower, shall I?"

The bathroom door shut behind her. It was opened immediately. Linden suppressed a groan. She wasn't going to get a reprieve.

"Better get undressed," she said. "I don't think that your shirt is worth saving."

"I wish to speak with you, Linden," Tranum announced, but he obediently began to strip off his clothes.

Linden concentrated hard on the faucets. Which way did they turn?

"Yes?" She made her fingers clench around the knobs.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yes. We had wine with dinner. Remember?"

"That is not what I meant. It does not please me that every time you are upset you drink wine--"

"I do not! And I am not upset!" She cranked both handles to the left and water began to pour out.

"There should not be this fear of me. It is most disturbing and unnecessary. I am not Gordon. Your brother has been too careless about you. Reading is fine but--"

"Your shower is ready," she interrupted, pulling the stopper that sent water up to the shower head.

"Good." Tranum studied the cascading water and then stepped past her into the stall. She caught a brief flash of tanned leg.

Linden hastily averted her eyes and turned for the door, but before she could escape the bathroom Tranum had her manacled. A quick tug and she was pulled under the shower's cool rain.

"Tranum!" she gasped, trying to elude the deluge that had already soaked the thin rayon of her dress and outlined her body with indecent clarity. She wished that she had cranked the H a little farther to the left. The shower was cold.

"I wish for you to be alert for what comes next," he said. Tranum spun his captive around and took in the expression in her eyes. His Valkyrie was shocked but not fearful. He captured her hands again and dragged them down the length of his body. Her fingers kneaded him slightly, nipping with gentle claws. The battle lust left from the game was still raging through him, surging hotly under her warm hands.

"Are you alert, Linden? Do you know that I am here?" he asked softly, before pulling her close and allowing himself a taste of her lips.

She resisted, for a moment, but then relaxed against him. Her mouth softened under his. Her lips parted.

Tranum went into shock as he felt her tongue touch his lips and then invade his mouth. Every part of his body went rigid. Especially that part. He wanted to demand of his Valkyrie where she had learned to kiss in this manner. It was... He couldn't think of a word that meant both indecent and arousing.

Whatever his mind thought or approved of, his body loved what she did. Excitement from winning the game had fired him. Linden made him blaze. Her hands felt like coals laid on the dry tinder of his body after the cool of the water.

His fingers found there way under her wet skirts. A quick tug and the wet vestment was gone. He pulled back far enough to see that she wore a tiny bit of a loin cloth that was immodest in the extreme.

Again his body reacted, thickened, heated. As quickly as possible, the loin cloth was removed. He would study it later to discover what it was about the cloth that was so arousing.

"Linden."

She answered with a small moan that was both question and agreement. "Do not be nervous." Even as he said it, Tranum knew that the reassuring words were superfluous. His Valkyrie was not acting like a woman who was afraid of coupling.

"I'm not," she assured him in return, as her hands traced up his flank and over his shoulder blades. The bruises on his back should hurt but he didn't feel a thing. Maybe this was how he was to be healed. "Hurry."

Hard hands clamped around her waist, lifting Linden into the air. The cold tile slid along her back, shocking her into some semblance of intelligence. The water was cool. The tile was dangerously slippery and there was one very important matter they needed to see to before things went any further. Linden tried to wiggle free.

"Tranum, love, not here... We have to--" Linden bit his ear lightly to get his attention. She could tell that her purring, over-sized cat was nearly beyond understanding her vanishing Danish. "We have to go into the other room. In the table. There is a box of... We need it. Tranum!"

Her light smack sounded very loud on his wet skin. Her Viking paused his stropping. His green eyes were very close and bright.

"Linden, you are not to strike me," he warned.

"Tranum, love-- pay attention. We have to go to the other room. Please--"

"As you wish." Tranum turned to leave, still holding her around her waist. Linden reached out quickly with both hands and turned the faucets more or less off.

The drought might be over but good Californians did not waste water.

"What is it that you require so urgently, Linden?"

"I don't know the word in Danish. It's... I'll put it on you," she said, reaching for the end table as soon as he lowered her onto the bed. She ripped open the stubborn cardboard box with dripping hands and scattered the thin packets on the pale carpet. Linden bent and scooped one up.

"Lay down, honey." Her voice was as shaky as her fingers.

"Why?" he asked, but complied as she laid a an urgent palm on his chest.

He sat up again as he felt her finger doing something odd to his foreskin and then to his heated flesh.

"Linden?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "It's okay now. We're safe."

"Safe?" But he didn't protest anymore as she lay down on top of him and returned to his mouth and began to nibble. In an instant, she was rolled beneath him. The tides surging through his body could wait no more. "You are ready, Linden?"

"Yes," she answered, flexing against his hard palm. Her skin felt prickly and feverish. "Yes. Now."

Tranum fitted himself against her. He stared for an instant at the strange blue thing she had put over him, but only for an instant. Linden said that they needed this, so he would trust that it was so.

He surged once and his Valkyrie's long legs wrapped around him. Her hands wound into his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers with urgent appeal.

Tranum stopped trying to understand her puzzling aggressiveness and decided to simply enjoy the novelty of a passionate female. Women in Svenborg were passive-- obedient. But America was different. Different buildings, different boats, different food, different women.

Then he couldn't think anything at all. His Valkyrie had tightened against him and cried out in enjoyment. This was shocking... A woman taking such open pleasure in sex!... He had never heard of this. Women were dutiful and affectionate but...

Tranum stopped being shocked as he flew over the edge of the precipice that had been waiting for the unwary traveler's momentary inattention. He buried his face in his Valkyrie's gold hair and gave a muffled roar as the healing heat poured through his battered body.

And his life force stopped almost at once. He understood now, what the strange device was for. It was something else that he would have to speak to Linden about. He did not care for what this suggested at all. After all, children were a man's immortality, his only sure future and desired above all things. The Blue thing probably meant that Linden was still thinking of past betrayals and did not trust him to be the father of her children.

"Tranum," Linden's voice was concerned as she smoothed down her Viking's damp hair. He seemed far too quiet, given that he hadn't passed out. Quiet meant thinking; that made her nervous now that the wine had burned off.

"Yes, Linden?" he asked, turning his head back and forth as he rubbed his face in her tresses, and tangling them horribly, no doubt.

"Are you, okay?" The question sounded idiotic but she wasn't sure quite what else to say. She had never attacked a man before and wasn't at all certain how he was taking it... or she was taking it. If Emily Post had ever covered this one, Linden had missed it. "I am healed, pretty Linden. And you?" Tranum raised up on his forearms and stared down at his flushed Valkyrie.

"Fine, thank you." When in doubt, fall back on good manners. In fact, she wasn't at all certain that she was fine. How could she be fine when she was the victim of over- whelming compulsions?

"Linden." Tranum looked very serious as he played with a lock of her hair.

"Yes?" she asked reluctantly. Her Viking was definitely thinking.

"Why did you want to stop my life force from entering your body?"

Linden closed her eyes and groaned. Wasn't she going to be allowed any time for basking in the afterglow before dealing with the post-coital beast that was perched over her like grim Nemesis?

She cracked open one eye and studied her tormenter. The silver hair was thick and smooth and fell carelessly around the tan face, partially hiding the hollows under his cheek bones. His thick mustache succeeded in part in camouflaging the slightly arrogant-- but entirely exciting mouth-- that was, for the moment, unsmiling. And then there were those cat eyes, fringed with fair but thick lashes that no feline had ever possessed. It was a face that was vivid with life, sober for the most part, and very intelligent.

"You don't want to have a child with me, do you?" she asked reasonably.

"Yes," came the infuriating answer. "I do."

Linden groaned again and dragged a pillow over her face. Her skin still prickled and there was a hunger inside, like her body knew that it had been cheated of its destiny. But that was just more of her crazy thinking; hadn't she already tried to explain this non-sense as a case of reincarnation?

"I need to have my head examined."

"Danish, Linden," said the voice that she loved and hated. Tranum took her pillow away and then rolled over to dispose of the pale blue latex. He looked disgusted. "We must do this again properly." Linden was afraid that her traitorous body agreed with him. Resistance would be difficult.

Club Valhalla

Copyrighted (c) 2002 Melanie Jackson

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