Page 74 of Viking Unchained

“Magnus,” he said, indicating the chair next to him.

Sinking down with a long sigh, Magnus leaned over and refilled Thorfinn’s glass, then filled his own, setting the bottle on the wood floor.

“Is my sister Katla in good health?”

Katla was Thorfinn’s mother and the youngest sister of Magnus, and of Geirolf and Jorund Ericsson, both of whom were here today with their families, all of whom had presumably bloody well time-traveled.

“Last I heard, Mother fared well.”

“She was only fourteen when she wed her Norman groom, you know?”

He nodded.

“’Tis odd that in this country fourteen is still considered a child. But when I look at my little Marie, who is approaching seventeen, I am astonished to think anyone would think her old enough to marry and have children.”

“Different times and places,” he commented, a bit slowly, the wine beginning to affect his senses.

“And, you, Thorfinn, how fare you?”

He shrugged. “Not so well, I fear.”

“’Tis hard to adjust at first. Give yourself time. May the gods bless me, I am still adjusting, and I have been here more than seventeen years.”

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

The two men smiled at each other.

“Madrene tells me you are smitten with a woman.”

“Madrene has a big mouth.”

“That she does. Some say I left the Norselands to escape my oldest daughter’s nagging, but do not tell her I said so.”

Thorfinn laughed, then grew serious again. “Lydia . . . she’s talking about Lydia Denton. She was married to a Navy SEAL.”

“Bloody hell! Is every man in the world a SEAL?”

“’Twould seem so. Leastways, Dave Denton died in service to his country, and she says she cannot be involved with another military man.” He took a long sip of wine, emptying his glass, and set it aside. He’d already had too much to drink.

“Is that all?”

"’Tis enough. Fighting is all I know. And do not tell me I could become a grape grower, or farmer, or any other bloody thing. ’Tis bad enough I feel like a lackwit over the simplest things in this country.”

“Believe me when I tell you that you will adjust. Unless . . . do you want to go back, Thorfinn?”

“I do not know. For a certainty, I would not want to leave anytime soon. There is more involved here, Magnus. You know that my wife Luta left me five years ago and took my son Miklof with her.”

Magnus nodded, though his brow was furrowed with confusion.

“It’s very possible that Lydia’s son Michael is my son Miklof.”

“How could that be?”

“I do not know. At first, Lydia thought I was her husband, Dave, come back from the grave, all because we share the same gray eyes.”

“Your eyes are an unusual color.”

“What difference does . . . Leastways, she seems to have given up that notion. Now she thinks her dead husband sent me to her.”