Page 124 of The Reluctant Viking

“Where is my son?” someone bellowed imperiously.

Ruby looked up to see an enormous bear of a man filling the doorway, blocking out all of the people behind him.

Outraged, Ruby hissed, “Get out of here! Can’t you see we have a sick man here?”

The giant didn’t budge. “Who are you, wench?” he demanded with supreme arrogance.

“I’m Thork’s wife. Who the hell are you?”

“I am Thork’s father.” He glowered down at her as he scrutinized her through pale blue eyes—eyes that mirrored Thork’s.

Stunned, Ruby examined the old man more thoroughly. Dressed in a black velvet cloak, embroidered with gold thread and studded with precious jewels, he towered over her, about the same height as Thork but bulkier. His pure white hair hung exceedingly well-groomed all the way to his shoulder blades, held in place by a gold circlet around his forehead.

Ruby saw through the open doorway that a number of splendidly dressed noble Vikings filled the hallway, probably companions or family to this King Harald of Norway. Even Sigtrygg stood in the background in deference to the mighty ruler. But Ruby wasn’t impressed. This was the same father who’d neglected his son for years, who’d failed to protect him from his vicious brother, who’d never showed an ounce of affection.

Without being invited in, Harald walked regally to the bed and sat down in a chair. You would have thought it was a bloody throne. Placing a hand on Thork’s chest, he said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Thork, ’tis your father come to see you.”

Thork opened his eyes slowly and blinked in astonishment. “Father! What brings you here? Have I died already and gone to hell?”

Harald smiled wanly. “Nay, alive you are, and if I can help it, you will remain so. I have brought my own healer with me. I came as soon as I heard.”

Thork arched his eyebrows disbelievingly at his father.

“Didst your brother Eric have aught to do with this?” Harald’s mouth formed a thin line of displeasure and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Nay, not this time,” Thork answered with a short laugh at his father’s belated concern over Eric’s deadly games. “’Twas Ivar.”

“This I promise you, son, Ivar will be dead within the month, a blood-eagle on his back and your name carved in his chest.”

Thork tried to shake his head as his strength faded again. “’Tis no longer important—the killing. ’Tis all a waste.”

“No man harms my son and lives to boast of it,” the Norse king avowed with a steely voice.

“It all comes back to you, as always, does it not, Father?” Thork accused tiredly. “Why then didst you let my brother pursue me so?”

King Harald’s face grew hard and his lips trembled with indignation at his son’s harsh words. Finally he said, “I let him loose on you to make you strong, and it succeeded. You are the strongest of all my sons—the best of the litter.”

“The litter!” Thork choked on the exclamation. Ruby glared at Harald, trying to tell him silently that he was not helping his son. Thork muttered weakly, “’Twas all I ever was—one of your vast get, no more important than a dog.”

Harald inhaled sharply at Thork’s insult, then said softly, almost apologetically, “’Tis not true, Thork. I did care, and I promise you this, if you should die, Eric will never harm your sons.”

Thork grew agitated then and tried to sit up. “Do not think of taking either of my sons back with you. Stay out of their lives. I will not allow you to ruin their lives as you did mine.”

Harald stood, leaning angrily over his son, and appeared about to argue with him, then stopped suddenly. “So be it. You have my word. I will also let it be known throughout the Viking world that any who harm the boys will answer to me and my armies.”

Thork’s eyes turned to Ruby as he sank back down to the bed. He held out his hand to her. Ruby sat down on the mattress next to him and caressed the back of his hand.

“The boys will be safe now, sweetling. I can rest now. Whatever else he does, my father honors his word.”

Unfortunately, King Harald’s personal healer was unable to help Thork. Most of the time now, he lay in delirious fever, his lips cracked and bleeding, his eyes closed. At dusk on the twentieth day, Ruby stood near the window, staring ahead sightlessly. She looked down at the dragon brooch she held in her hand, caressing the pin fondly. Absently she stuck it in the pocket of her jeans, which she’d taken to wearing again while King Harald was in residence, just to infuriate him.

Thork suddenly sat up in bed with a shout and opened his eyes wide, looking straight at Ruby. “I saw us, Rube. I saw it all,” he exclaimed. “There was a long tunnel and at the end nothing but beautiful brightness. Then I saw you…and me. At least it looked like me…but somehow different.”

Perspiration beaded on his furrowed forehead, and Ruby tried to get him to lie back. He refused, having somehow regained his strength.

“Thork, lie down. It was just a dream,” Ruby soothed, trying to push him gently back.

“Nay, listen to me, Rube. ’Tis important,” he rasped out, as if it hurt him to speak. He clutched her hand in an iron grasp. “The images I saw at the end of the passageway…you and that other me…together. ’Twas so precious. It made my heart swell with happiness. Do not lose it, Rube. Whatever you do, do…not…lose…”