Page 112 of The Last Viking

Rolf’s expression softened as he stared at her. “In truth, I suspect you don’t know what you want. Most of your resistance these past days stems from hurt, and I understand that. Truly, I do. I’ve muddled your senses with my lackwit actions, Merry-Death. Let me explain myself. Mayhap it will help.”

He leaned back slightly, though still pinning her to the sofa, and she got her first good look at the “new” Rolf. He wore the same outfit he’d had on in her office a week ago—loafers, designer jeans, a white, collarless linen dress shirt, and a dark blue blazer. But his long hair had been cut. Not short-short, like Mike’s, but close-clipped on the sides and collar-length in the back.

“Why did you cut your hair?” She gasped.

“I’m adapting,” he said sheepishly.

A sadness rushed through her then that Rolf sought to lose his Viking persona. “Oh, Rolf, a haircut won’t make you a nineties man, nor fancy clothes. You can take the man out of the Viking, but you can’t take the Viking out of the man.”

“That’s not why I bought the clothes, nor submitted to a barb-whore.” His jaw jutted out in affront.

She bristled as she recalled that it had been her question about where he’d bought the apparel that had prompted their estrangement a week ago.

“Don’t go pike-stiff on me, Merry-Death,” he advised. “I’ve had more than enough of your willful ways this past sennight. ’Tis time you shut your teeth and opened your ears to my story.”

The crude clod! She squirmed, trying to break free.

“I will gag you, if necessary,” he warned.

She turned her face away, but he took her chin in a vicelike grip, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I love you, Merry-Death,” he said, “but sometimes you make it sore hard. And know this, I’ll not pursue you forever.”

Biting her bottom lip, she tried to keep tears from welling in her eyes at his words. She wanted him to say he loved her.

“My time-travel reversal did not work,” he started.

She speared him with a condescending glare. Tell me something I don’t already know.

“In the beginning, I contemplated coming back to your keep, but I worried about putting you through the agony of repeated leave-takings. I would have had to try the time reversal, over and over. Then I saw you on the television screen. The news scribes questioned whether the project would be canceled because of the danger. That gave me further evidence that my return would jeopardize not only your well-being, but the Trondheim Venture.”

“So, you went to London?” she scoffed, her upper lip curling with disdain.

“Nay, I went to Norway. Many weeks I searched my homeland, its libraries and museums. Finally, I found the answer. Ah, Merry-Death, ’twas wondrous news I discovered. The famine ended when I entered the time portal—the night of the Demon Moon.”

Despite herself, Meredith was interested in Rolf’s intriguing story.

“Can you see what that means, dearling? My return to the tenth century is no longer necessary.”

Meredith’s heart expanded at that significant disclosure. Still, there were so many puzzles. And forgiveness for his cruelty in pretending to be dead came hard for her. “Exactly when did you make that discovery?”

He hesitated and avoided direct eye contact, mumbling something under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Three sennights ago,” he admitted more loudly.

“Three weeks ago!”

“Now, Merry-Death, I still needed to know why I was sent through time, to another country…to you.”

All these endless weeks I’ve suffered, and he stayed away because he needed answers. I’m going to kill him. “Did you find the answers?” she inquired with icy sweetness.

“Well, some of them. I went to Lindisfarne—Holy Island—to return the sacred relic.”

Lindisfarne? He was sightseeing while I sat here crying my eyes out.

“There I met a monk. You’ll not credit this, I warrant, but the man claimed to be St. Aidan. In any case, the priest took the crucifix from me, and then directed me to go find my destiny.”