Page 42 of The Very Virile Viking

On the other hand… Thank you, God! Magnus could not see in the dim light, but he was betting her face was flushed at the admission. "A teeny, tiny bit, eh?" he teased. "Sounds like destiny to me."

"Whether you get breathless or I get breathless is beside the point," she said huffily. Then she seemed to think of something else. "What about your celibacy vow?"

Oh, so that is what my conscience was trying to call to mind when my sap was rising. The damned vow. Nay, the necessary vow. I cannot have any more children... not even with this comely lady . "I forgot, but not to worry. This kind of lovemaking does not count."

"Oh, really?" She twisted sideways on the bench so she was facing him. "There are rules for celibacy vows, are there?"

He knew she was teasing him, but he was a Viking, and Vikings took their vows seriously. "No rules.

Just common sense."

"I mean, a man could still be called celibate if there is no completion… that is, if there is no satisfaction…" Any more satisfaction and my eyes will be permanently crossed . He stopped himself and exhaled with frustration at his difficulty explaining himself. "Oh, hell, what I mean to say is that the vow is still intact if there is no insertion of a male part into a female part. What we did is called a dry tup in my country, and, for a certainty, it does not count."

He would have been patting himself on the back with congratulations at his final response if she were not laughing so hard.

When her laughter died down and she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes, she informed him, "I do not blame you for what happened here tonight, Magnus, but it cannot happen again."

"Definitely not," he agreed.

They stood then and began to walk back toward the house.

And both of them thought, Ha !

When all else fails, pray…

Rose Abruzzi stood at her bedroom window, staring out at the vineyards she loved so well.

In one hand was the rosary she used for her nightly novena. In the other hand was a cigarette—the first Rose had had since the children had arrived early this afternoon. She was going to try not to smoke in front of them.

For the past fifteen minutes or so, she had been unabashedly watching her granddaughter and the handsome Norseman. Tears misted her eyes. She remembered too well how first love felt… though it had been fifty years and more for her. And it was first love for Angela—Rose was convinced of that, despite her granddaughter's failed marriage.

Already her brain was rushing forward, making plans. A wedding at the Blue Dragon… wouldn't that be a wondrous event? And more children… even with all the Viking already had. Baptisms, birthday parties, family holidays. Most of all, dare she hope that someday the winery would reopen and flourish? But first there would have to be a wedding. That was the first step… well, no, love was the first step, but she could already see that the two of them were starting along that road, even if they did not know it yet.

Rose watched the couple a little bit longer and saw how he kept reaching for her hand, and she kept swatting him away. He was laughing at something she said. She was raising her chin haughtily. Not exactly lover-like.

Rose decided then and there that she'd better say two rosaries tonight.

Chapter Seven

The roar of silence…

Angela overslept the next morning.

When she finally awakened at nine a.m., two hours past her usual rising, she realized that what had penetrated her deep sleep was the silence. No automobile traffic outside her apartment building. No musical wakeup from her bedside radio alarm. No children shrieking and squabbling.

Just birdsong outside her windows.

And a herd of mice running back and forth along the corridor outside her bedroom, then up and down the stairs… over and over… back and forth… up and down… usually accompanied by a "shhh" from one or another of them. The mice were, of course, the children—at least four of them, would be her guess. They must be running about on tiptoe, trying their best not to awaken her, no doubt at her grandmother's and Juanita's orders. Instead their very silence had penetrated her sleep, along with the incessant tiptoeing, which probably meant they were up to some mischief.

Angela stretched and yawned openmouthed at the satisfaction she'd gained from her long, deep sleep—something she rarely indulged in. Only then, midyawn and midstretch, did she remember another satisfaction that had come her way recently.

Magnus, she thought, and groaned with dismay as images flashed before her eyes of the kiss he had used to thank her, for God only knew what. The kiss was not just a kiss. No, it was much more than that. And she, who was usually so careful, had participated fully.

She disliked men like Magnus. He was totally irresponsible to have brought thirteen children into the world. Forget about celibacy vows; he should have had a vasectomy ten children ago.

And this continual acting gig of his! Really, enough was enough! She had heard way too many " 'tis"es and " 'twas"es and mispronunciations of common words.

And those swords of his and Torolf's that were parked in the Weller pottery umbrella stand in the front hall! Do I need a daily reminder of the violence that is a part of society today? Did 9/11 teach me anything ?