Page 49 of The Caged Viking

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To be or not to be…in love, that is…

I’m glad you’re my wife. Kirstin repeated Hauk’s words in her head.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about his declaration. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She was flattered. Maybe a little worried, too, because Hauk might decide to keep her here, or try to. She wouldn’t put it past him. She touched her arm rings, just to reassure herself she was safe, for now.

The question is: Am I glad that he’s my husband?

She glanced over to where he half-reclined against the wall, sleeping deeply, his head tilted slightly forward. It had to be an uncomfortable position, but the man was exhausted beyond caring.

Life in the eleventh century was hard at the best of times, and they’d been particularly bad for Hauk. Loss of his son, imprisonment, escape by a means that was frightening even to Kirstin, finding his son was alive, and then the battle. She couldn’t help but notice the rips in his tunic and braies seeping blood from presumably small wounds, the black and blue marks on his face and arms that would soon turn purple. New scars would surely join those already marring his body…a body still displaying the ravages of near-starvation.

The poor man!

Dear God, she prayed, please don’t let him lose his son on top of everything else. He appears to be a good man. Help him, Lord. Kirstin was not an overly religious person, but she was convinced that God had something to do with this time travel of hers. Who else to go to for help, then?

Well, there was one thing she could do to help. Now that Bjorn seemed to be out of the woods, for the time being, she could feed him…all of them, in fact…her chicken soup. But no one would want to eat cold broth with fat congealing on the top. So, she picked up the cauldron by its handle with both hands and made her way carefully across the room. She needed to look for the nearest fire. Since it was summer and fairly warm, even inside this dank castle, hearths wouldn’t be lit for heat. She decided the kitchen or scullery would be her best bet.

Before she left, she repeated her earlier question to herself. Studying Hauk in this most vulnerable position she would probably ever find him in, she asked, Am I glad that he’s my husband?

The answer, to her dismay, was yes. Absolutely yes.

But that didn’t mean she was in love with the man.

Did it?

It occurred to her as she walked down the hallway that she was in Winchester Castle, near the great hall where her time-travel experience began. She was wearing the arm rings. This would be the perfect opportunity for her to attempt to go home.

Her heart lurched and she felt a humming in her ears. An almost magnetic pull drew her to the archway leading into the great hall. Over there, a mere thirty feet away, was the spot where she’d first emerged from her time travel.

I could step across the room right now, and within moments be back home, or at Rosestead, or somewhere in the future, wherever I pictured in my mind.

It’s too soon, the other side of her brain demurred. I have to prepare for this departure.

Why? Hauk is no longer in his cage. He is free to go home.

But am I free?

Depends on what you mean by free.

It would be cruel for me to just leave without saying good-bye to him, or to Bjorn, who is incidentally not wholly recovered.

Excuses!

I’m just not sure what to do.

Just do it, for God’s sake! It’s the only logical thing to do.

Instead, she spun on her heels and walked in the other direction.

To her surprise, Hauk was standing a short distance away, just watching her. She could swear there were tears in his eyes. But then he glanced downward and grinned. “Were you planning to take your chicken slop with you?”

* * *

In the heat of the night…

Hauk was sitting on the side of Bjorn’s pallet with a wet rag in his hand when Kirstin returned, lugging her cauldron in both hands, some of the liquid sloshing over the sides and wetting her gown. With a long sigh, she set it on the floor and, noticing what he was doing, exclaimed, “Oh, no! Does he have a fever?”