Page 28 of Down and Dirty

“Says me, maggot. Pick up your gear and meet me and the commander in his office at eleven hundred. And, ladies, at ease. You can go to your rooms to shower before lunch, then report back to the grinder at oh two hundred.” Under his breath, the same man murmured something about “inappropriate conduct for an officer.”

It sounded like Zack-hairy coming to their defense, but it was hard to tell with all the sand clogging her ears.

Moving clumsily to a sitting position, she blinked repeatedly, trying to get the sand out of her eyes. Unable to see, she took hold of the hand stretched out to her. When she was standing, she saw that it was indeed Zack-hairy, and for once he was not grinning.

“You exceed yourself, lout, coming to my defense. I can protect myself.”

“Bullshit!”

“Crude oaf!”

“Come on,” he said, still holding on to her hand and leading her back into the water.

“No,” she squealed, trying to pull out of his grasp, to no avail. “No more salt water.”

“It’s the best way, honey.”

Still, she resisted.

But then he lifted her in his arms, something the brute persisted in doing, though Britta could not recall any man but him being able to do it since she’d gained her full height at sixteen winters. “Here we go,” he said, tossing her into an enormous oncoming wave, which hit her like a stone wall, knocking her over, then tumbling her head over heels, repeatedly.

Britta was not sure how much more punishment she could take, especially from this man. Now she had salt water in her mouth and nose and ears and throat, in addition to the sand. She was on her hands and knees crawling toward the beach minutes later, coughing, too tired to raise herself to a standing position.

Zack-hairy sat on the beach, arms resting on raised knees, watching her. If he dared to laugh, she might very well pick him up and dump him in the ocean. And she could do it, too, in the mood she was in.

When she got close to him, she managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. And, actually, Zack-hairy’s maneuver had helped remove the sand from her eyes and some of it from her other body cavities.

She was too exhausted to chastise him, like she usually did, but she could look. The man was too pretty for words. He matched her in height and then some. Wearing only running shorts — they had special garb for running in this country — he was slightly brown all over, except for his blond hair. His muscled chest. His long muscled legs. His perfectly sculpted face.

And I look like a drowned rat.

“Why don’t you just ring out, Britta?”

“I am not a person who quits.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t sign on for this, honey.”

“Do not call me honey or sweetling or dearling or any of your other slick words.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to go through all this,” he said, totally ignoring what she’d just said.

“Yea, I do. You have to understand, I have no skills in the womanly arts. I cannot do needlework or run a castle household. I can count the times I have been in a scullery. Herb gardens look like weeds to me. As for babies, they are stink-some, and their cries make me wince. But give me a bow and quiver, and I can shoot an arrow straight and true. Swordplay comes second nature to me.”

“Your point?”

“A warrior is all I am or can ever hope to be. I cannot fathom where I am or why, but I am where I should be. For now. Leastways I have work here.” Which she no longer had in the past.

“I could find you work.” He reached over to pick a bit of seaweed out of her hair, and she slapped his hand away.

“Hah! As a nursemaid for your bratling? I declined that offer afore.” She suspected the job would involve more than care for his child, more like care for the father… in the bedsport. And she was ill-trained for either job.

“I could take you to Madrene’s family.”

“You have told me there is danger in others knowing of my supposed time travel. Wouldst have me expose them to danger?”

He shrugged. “They’ve time-traveled, too. Yeah, the more people associated with them in this crazy business, whatever it is, the greater chance someone will find out. And, believe me, there is danger in that. Still… ” He shrugged again. “There are Ericssons and Magnussons all over the place, but mostly at Blue Dragon Vineyard.”

“And what, pray tell, would I do at a vineyard? Watch the grapes grow? Methinks that would be nigh as bad as being in a nunnery.”