Page 75 of Viking Unchained

“And the child?”

“He has my eyes.”

Magnus downed his wine in one big swallow. “Whew! I thought I had heard some amazing things, but your story beats them all. Could it be true?”

“I am hoping that when I see the boy in person next week—he is visiting his grandsires in Minnesota—I will know.”

“What a tangle you are in, Thorfinn! Not just your feelings for this woman, and, nay, do not deny you have feelings for her. It is on your face, clear as a Norseland sky on a summer day. But also there is the issue of her not wanting a military man. Then, finally, the boy. I would not want to be in your boots.”

Just then, Torolf rushed up to them, still dressed in his camouflage outfit. He must have just arrived back from his mission across the ocean.

“Thank the gods you’re here, Finn. Come quickly. We’ve gotta catch a plane for Minnesota.”

Thorfinn stood abruptly, all his senses on alert.

“Lydia and her son are in danger.”

Old MacHartley had a farm,

E-I-E-I-O...

Lydia was still settling in at her parents’ house at Mill Pond Farm, after hugging Mike ’til he protested he couldn’t breathe and went off to help his grandmother feed the chickens. Lydia was now drinking her third cup of strong black coffee, which she needed to keep her awake following a sleepless night at Cage’s apartment.

You’d never know that danger lurked as her dad and Lanny Brown, his full-time farmhand, went about their regular work, accompanied by a fascinated Cage, who’d never been on a working farm before. Her mother was busy, too, notwithstanding the lurking danger. Once she was done with the chickens, her mother would come in to can the three gallons of tomatoes, which were bubbling behind Lydia on the gas stove.

Well, what could she expect? They milked one hundred and fifty Holsteins here, with three hundred cattle total, half of them “replacements” ranging in age from just born to two years old and ready to give birth and join the milking herd. There were twice-daily chores on a farm, day in and day out, including milking, feeding, cleaning the barn and milking parlor, as well as seasonal chores, such as mowing, raking, baling hay, planting corn, and combining to make silage. Not to mention all the inputting of data onto a computer that was required on a modern farm—not that Mill Pond was all that modern.

As an indication of the silent menace, Cage wore a pistol under his jacket. And she’d noticed his eyes were always on the alert, scanning the perimeter, even when he was talking to one of them.

Mike, oblivious to the danger, loved it here, especially with all the fat, healthy cats that thrived on the milk they were given. She’d loved it, too . . . up to a certain age. If he’d asked her once, he’d asked a hundred times if they could bring a cat back to California with them. One of these days, she might agree.

Or else get him a dog. In fact, a guard dog might be a good idea, in light of the brick incident.

Her cell phone hadn’t rung since she’d been here, and Lydia realized that she’d forgotten to charge the battery. No sooner did she plug it in than it rang.

“Hello.”

“Lydia? Is that you?

“Finn. Finally!”

“Where are you?”

“At my parents’ farm.”

“Stay inside and lock the doors.”

“It’s okay. Cage is here with me.”

It sounded as if he was swearing under his breath in some foreign language.

“I tried to call you last night.”

“You did?” He was no longer swearing.

“I couldn’t get anyone to come to the house. Except Cage.”

“He was not there already?”