Page 57 of Viking Unchained

“I know that, but I need time.”

“Time will alter nothing. Either your son is Miklof or he is not.”

“And what if he’s not? What will you do then?”

“I will do as I have always done. Nay, that is not true. I had already decided back in Baghdad to give up my search. If your Mike is not Miklof, I will give up my search and get on with my life, such as it will be.”

She wanted to ask where she would be in his life, in that case, but feared what he would say in his present mood. “And if you decide they’re the same, then what?”

“I will not be separated from Miklof again. Beyond that, I am not sure.”

“Can’t you wait ’til I bring Mike back here?”

He shook his head. “I have waited five years. That is enough.”

She pulled into the parking lot of Albertsons, shut off the ignition, and looked at him. Maybe she could turn this rotten-egg day into a yummy quiche. “I like your haircut.”

“Pfff! Too little, too late, m’lady.”

She hoped not.

A land of plenty, and plenty,

and plenty . . .

Thorfinn had been in a food mart before with Hilda when Torolf had been off doing SEAL work, but she had rushed him through the aisles, telling him he “dawdled” too much. Hah! The more she had nagged, the more he had dawdled, but in the process of attempting to annoy the wench he had had no opportunity to really study the place.

Now he was taking his time, and it was a paradise. For this alone he could stay in the future.

In the produce department, he touched with reverence the various fruits, some of which he had never heard of before, smelled their delicious scents, and marveled at the colors. Apples, lemons, limes, oranges, bananas, peaches, pears, plums, apricots, watermelons, cantaloupes, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries. He put some of each in the cart, even though Lydia kept chastising him that it was too much.

Finally, he went back to the entrance, got his own cart, and told her, “Begone!”

Lydia did as he ordered but kept coming back to check on him, rolling her eyes. He was still angry with her for her continual Dave-comparisons. So, mostly, he ignored her.

He was not ignored, though. Not by Lydia, and not by the women who eyed him, or even came up, offering to help. He knew what they were really offering and rebuffed them by saying, “I thank you for your offer, but my woman gives me all the help I need.”

Lydia overheard and hissed at him, “I am not your woman.”

“How do you know I was talking about you?”

“Oh,” she said, going off again, red-faced this time.

She followed him for awhile, and he noted dozens of different kinds of bread. Loaves. Sliced. Rolls of various shapes. White bread, rye, pumpernickel— whatever that was! Bread with raisins, dates, nuts, seeds, and bananas— a fruit new to him, for a certainty, and didn’t it have a suggestive shape! “In my land, women wake before dawn to begin making the unleavened manchet bread for the day. First, they grind the wheat with a mortar and pestle, mix the dough, then bake the circles of bread, leaving a hole in the center so the loaves can be stored on a short pole in the scullery, rather like pizza. A daily, arduous process. But here, for the love of Frigg, women have only to walk in and purchase their supply. What an easy life women have!”

“Hah! Next, you’ll be talking about how you had to walk five miles in the snow to get to school, after chopping wood and milking the cows.”

Thorfinn’s head jerked to the side. He had not realized he’d spoken aloud, but, really, this woman could be irksome, except for those times when she was . . . well, not irksome. Usually, that was when nakedness was involved. Or kissing. He had developed a new appreciation for kissing. Who knew there were so many kinds? But, really, he was a man of great pride, and she had no cause to make mock of his ignorance. “Nay, I am practically a high jarl, and that is servants’ work. As for school, we have none.

The monk scholar came to tutor me and my brothers, whilst my sisters learned a woman’s role in running a large household.”

Her jaw dropped, as it often did when he talked of his land. He got some small satisfaction in that.

“Wowoman’s role ?” she sputtered.

“Yea, that is what I said, and do not think to call me a male pig, either.”

“Male pig?”