Page 40 of Viking Unchained

“I was married to a woman named Luta . . . a girl, really, ” he started. “When I was twenty-five and she was eighteen, we had a son. A mere two weeks after the birthing, she rose from her bed and left my keep, taking the babe with her. Disappeared like the wind, she did. Only later did I discover that she’d had a lover afore our marriage . . . a merchant . . . who returned and took her off on his trading ship—willingly, I might add. Rumor has it that they all died in a violent sea storm, but—”

She put a hand on his arm. “But you haven’t been able to accept the death.”

He nodded. “I searched for more than a year, but nothing. Oh, I cared not what happened to the traitorous Luta, but my son . . .” His choked voice trailed off.

“You loved him very much, then, even though you’d only had him for a few weeks?”

“I loved him in the womb. I loved him as I caught his wee body coming out of the womb. I loved the way his big silver eyes stared up at me, as if he recognized me.” He ignored the tears of sympathy welling in her eyes. “Several months past I got word that a woman and boy resembling Luta and Miklof had been seen in Baghdad.”

“Ah, so that’s why you were in Baghdad?”

“Yea, my brother Steven and I traveled there with our seamen. To no avail. It was not Luta.”

She was frowning now, trying to figure out what all this had to do with her. When understanding came, she gasped. “You can’t believe that Michael . . . Mike . . . and your son are one and the same.”

“The evidence is there,” he said, pointing to the picture in front of him on the low table.

“He is not your son.”

“So you say.”

For a brief second, she did not see the implications of his contention, but then she did. “No! You cannot have him. He’s mine.” She tried to stand, but he pushed her back down and held her at his side with a firm arm around her shoulders. Only when her squirming and flailing of arms and kicking of legs and spitting out foul words had died down did he seat her on the low table in front of him, betwixt his widespread knees.

Still holding her by the shoulders, he said, “I need to see the boy. Methinks I will know for a certainty if he is Miklof. Just as there is a maternal bond, a father knows his son, too.”

“That’s bull. You’re looking for a substitute for your lost son, and you’ll see things that aren’t there.”

“Like you see your dead husband in me?”

“That’s different. I’ll tell you this, I’ll never let you see Mike if there’s even the remotest chance you plan to take him from me.”

“Who said aught about taking him?” Especially since I have nowhere to take him at the present time.

“What then?”

Bloody hell! How do I know? “Mayhap we will raise him together.”

That caused her mouth to drop open.

He waggled his eyebrows at her, the way Steven did when playing the fool. “Mayhap I will even pretend to be your Dave, if you are very nice to me.”

Her mouth slammed shut, and her eyes flashed blue fire, but then she said, “When pigs fly.”

He just laughed and stood, drawing her up beside him, then tugging her along like a troublesome puppy as he walked to the bedchamber where he had left his den-ham braies.

At first she balked, no doubt figuring he was up for another bout of swiving. He was, but that would have to wait. Pulling a piece of parchment out of the leather money pouch that had been in his braies pocket, he handed it to her and said, “I need you to tap this number into your telephone. ”

“What? Whose number is it?”

Thorfinn had become familiar with the amazing talking device known as a telephone, but was still unclear how to do it himself. On this parchment was a series of numbers Torolf had given him in case of an emergency.

“Do not worry yourself about who it is. Just do it. In fact, make us something to break our fast whilst I am talking.”

She sputtered her indignation at his giving her orders. Stubborn wench!

“I have a fierce hunger . . . for food. Well, for that other, too, but first things first,” he continued. “That meal you prepared for us earlier was not enough to satisfy a cat.”

“You ate enough to feed a horse, and it was followed by a quart of strawberry ice cream.”