Page 58 of The Last Viking

That enticing image lingered. And lingered. And lingered. It would not go away as he tossed about restlessly in his bed furs, unable to sleep.

I am doomed.

On the other hand, he made much ado over naught. Perchance if he said the words aloud—nay, not aloud—perchance if he said the words in his head, he would see how foolish the proposition really was. So, that’s what he would do, Geirolf decided. Scrunching his eyes closed, he clenched his fists, fortifying himself for the ordeal.

He might have been preparing for a brutal battle, or a dousing in the frigid North Sea.

I love Merry-Death, he said, testing. Then, it was as if a volcano erupted in his brain. The words poured out in an unending stream, like lava. I love Merry-Death, I love Merry-Death, I love Merry-Death, I love…

With that terrifying recognition, another equally terrifying prospect occurred to him. Was it possible that his destiny was not to replace the relic?

Was Merry-Death his destiny?

It was midnight and Meredith was still basking in her grandmother’s deep, footed bathtub—an extravagance her grandfather had provided for his beloved wife when putting in the large modern bathroom with its shower stall. Thank God for his extravagance. And his love.

She kept a thin stream of hot water running, and every once in a while dumped in more scented oil to replenish the bubbles, using her big toe to release some water so it wouldn’t overflow.

Oh, the memories of Gram coming upstairs at the end of the day for her nightly soak. The secret smile she and Gramps used to exchange. The scent of roses permeating the small house.

Was that why Meredith had continued to buy the same bath product over the years, although she hadn’t dared use it when Gramps was in the house for fear it would bring him too much pain? Did she associate the fragrance with love? Jeffrey had detested the perfumed oil. Too flowery. She adored it.

Taking another sip of white wine from the crystal glass on the tub ledge, Meredith leaned her head back, her hair dangling in a wet swath over the back edge. The house was quiet. Jillian had stopped in a half hour ago just before going to bed.

Even Jillie hadn’t been able to upset her tonight with her prodding questions about Rolf, his background, where he came from, her feelings for him. On and on she had grilled her, but for once Meredith had stood her ground. “Tomorrow, Jillie. Tomorrow, I’ll explain it all to you.” So, Jillie had gone off to sleep with her daughter.

For the first time in days, she felt at peace. No cares about the project. No worries about her personal future. No compulsive need to think and plan each little aspect of her life and work. No being on constant guard against Rolf’s tempting presence. Maybe she should take life like this soothing bath…go with the flow.

The door clicked open behind Meredith and she realized that her sister hadn’t gone to sleep, after all. “I hope you’re not going to renew your interrogation, Jillie. Hand me a towel, will you? My skin is beginning to feel like a prune.”

“Now that is something I would like to test for myself.” A deep masculine voice chuckled.

Geirolf feasted on the sight before him. Merry-Death let out a little squeal and tried to sink deeper into the water as he neared the tub. So, this is a bubble bath. Bloody hell, there are a few things about this land I would not mind taking back with me to the past. Bubble baths. Power tools. Merry-Death.

“Shhh,” Geirolf said, coming up to the side of the tub. “We would not want your sister storming in here to the rescue. No doubt she would launch a fierce assault to protect your virtue.”

The cynicism of his tone must have alerted Meredith. She studied him for a telling moment, then exclaimed, “Oh, good heavens! My sister put the make on you, didn’t she?”

Her lack of jealousy surprised him, giving him no time to fabricate a story. “’Twas naught of importance.”

“Hah! Maybe not to you. Listen, Rolf, you’ve got to understand my sister. She gives the impression of being overconfident, but deep down she’s insecure. My parents always made us kids feel…well, lacking. Jillie’s method of handling the continual criticism was rebellion…and cockiness.”

He shook his head at her. “You are amazing, Merry-Death. I cannot credit your making excuses for your sister’s guile. She attempts to lure your man into her bed, and you call it a trifle. Well, I consider it more than mischief, I tell you.”

“Rolf, you are not ‘my man.’ You are just…Oh, never mind. And you’re right. I do make too many excuses for Jillie. Do you know—” she hesitated, and then divulged “—I suspect that she made a play for Jeffrey while we were married.”

And that weasel Jeffrey probably succumbed. Poor Merry-Death! Always the victim of those she loved most. Before he had an opportunity to offer solicitude, she went on. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I thought perchance I would take a shower,” he lied.

“Liar!” She laughed. “You’ve already taken two showers today.”

He raised a brow. “You’ve been counting the number of showers I take. Hmmm. Mayhap you have been imagining yourself in there with me.”

“I have not,” she said indignantly, a becoming color suffusing her cheeks. A good guess, he decided with immense satisfaction. She had been picturing them both thus occupied. “Besides, you can’t just walk in here when I’m taking a bath. You’re going to wake everyone up.”

“No one will know I’m here if you soften your voice. Has anyone e’er told you it has a decided screech to it?”

“Rolf, you’ve got to respect my privacy.”