“Damn it,” Lara cried. “I give up. I can’t say Lara no matter how hard I try.” She glanced up at the woman. “I said it.”
“You said what?” She was obviously getting annoyed.
“My name.”
“Helga?”
“No, my real name. It’s Helga.” Lara stomped her foot angrily. “Helga.” She huffed out an annoyed breath. Forget it! The snow was starting to melt. “Eirick…” She’d tried to say Reece, but Eirick came out instead. “Eirrrrrick…”
“What about Eirick?” the woman asked.
“Eirick told me to find appropriate clothing.”
“Ingrid,” the woman called to a young girl. “Bring this daft woman a dress to wear. She looks about Olga’s size.”
“Yes, mum!”
So she was labeled as daft? Well, she supposed it was fitting, the way she’d carried on about her name. What kind of lunatic tells someone her name twenty times? A few minutes later, the young girl brought Lara a woolen gown of deep blue.
“This will look very pretty with your blonde hair,” the girl said. She handed the gown to her and scampered away before Lara could thank her.
“Blonde hair?” Lara murmured, perplexed. She had brown hair, some reddish highlights, but in no way was she a blonde. She used the bottom of her linen shirt as a potholder as she picked up the pot of melted snow and glanced down at her reflection. Instead of her own familiar face, some beautiful blonde woman stared back at her. Lara screamed. She seemed to be doing that a lot today.
Chapter 4
Reece, aka Eirick, stormed out of his chambers, long sword in one hand, the look of a crazed warrior on his face.
“What happened? I heard a scream,” he said.
Lara looked up at him. Her eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head. “It isn’t me.”
“It damn well was you,” cranky, tired lady said. “She’s the one screaming and carrying on like a crazy person. She might be easy on the eyes, son, but she’s about as smart as this spoon of mine.” She brandished the spoon at Reece. “I know I told you to bring back a wife, but I was hoping you’d be smart enough to go for more than looks, Eirick. Heavens, what kind of grandchildren can I expect out of this match.”
“Ah mother,” Reece said with a devilish grin. “She’ll settle down. I’m certain of it.”
He lowered his sword and approached Lara, wrapping an arm around her back.
“It isn’t me,” she said, shaking her head, still unable to comprehend what she’d seen in the water’s reflection. “It isn’t me.”
“Come,” he said gently.
Eirick’s mother was shaking her head sadly. “Fool men,” she said under her breath. “They’re all alike. Even my own son.”
Reece ushered Lara into his room and closed the door. He took the pot of water from her and set it on a table.
“What happened, Lara?”
“You mean Helga.”
“Helga?”
“Tell me, Reece. When you look at me, do you see a beautiful blonde Norsewoman, or do you see the real me?”
“I see the real you, of course. You see me, right? Not this Eirick dude?”
“I see you,” she said. “You should have warned me that everyone else was seeing someone else. I made a complete ass out of myself.”
Reece chuckled. “No, sweetheart, you made a complete ass out of Helga.”
That made her feel a little better. Just a tiny bit. She smiled, and then laughed.
“Well, Helga didn’t make a very good impression on her future mother-in-law.”
Reece chuckled. “There’s nothing unusual about that,” he said. “Do you mind if I wash up?”
Her eyes drifted over his hard muscled chest, sprinkled with dark chest hair. The tips of her breasts tautened, imagining those course hairs brushing against her sensitive nipples. She blinked hard and her attention shifted to the narrow, strip of hair that ran between his washboard abs and disappeared into the waistband of his pants. The ache centered between her thighs caught her off guard. Oh geez, she was picturing him above her again. Those narrow hips between her thighs. The secret in his pants thrusting deep into her body.
“Of course not,” she breathed, somehow working enough brain cells to remember his question. “If you smell half as bad as your bed, you could use a bath.”
“You want me.” He grinned at her.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned her back to him and examined the woolen gown she’d been given. It was quite simple—an A-line, floor length number with an empress waist, long-sleeves, and a straight-lined bodice.
“Don’t forget I know you, Lara. I know that look. And baby, let me assure you that it is so good between us. You don’t have to play coy with me.”
“Who’s playing? I don’t want you, okay?”
“I also know all your spots,” he added.
“I don’t have spots,” she said testily.
He chuckled again. “Oh Reece,” he gasped, mocking her higher pitched voice. “Oh, yes. Right there. Don’t stop. Oh, faster, Reece. Faster. Oh, yes, that’s the spot. Yes. Yes!”
“Stop that!” she demanded, turning her head to glare at him. “I know you’re making it up, because I never call out like that during sex.”
“You do when you’re with me.”
“Whatever!” She huffed and turned away again. He’s such a liar! She would never give herself over to passion so freely that she’d cry out like that. Her previous experiences with men had all been less than satisfying. If it weren’t for her trusty vibrator, she wouldn’t have known what an orgasm felt like.
Lara pulled the baggie shirt off over her head and hurriedly slid into her new dress. She kicked the hideous pants off and smoothed her hands over the gown. It was a little itchy, but beat that ugly outfit she’d been wearing by a mile. She heard some splashing as Reece busied himself with washing. Rather than stand there and torture herself with imaginings of his wet skin, she headed for the door.
“I think I should go help, um… your mother,” she said. “Try to repair some of the damage I’ve done to poor Helga’s reputation.”
She chanced a glance at him. A mistake. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, tucking the unruly strands behind his ears. His eyes, usually covered by one stray lock or another bore into her intensely, hitting her with the force of a battering ram. Her knees wobbled.
“You’re a knockout in that dress, Lara. I thank God those Vikings can’t see the real you. I’d have to bring Axe Junior to dinner to keep them at bay.”
She was pleased with his compliment, but refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her. Good thing he wasn’t looking at her feet, or he would have seen her toes curl under.
“Axe Junior?” she questioned.
He pointed to the smaller of two axes hanging on the wall among a group of weapons, which included the long sword he’d brandished in the main hall. “Axe Junior. Axe Senior is too unwieldy to carry in polite company.” He pointed to the two handed axe below the small hand-axe.
“No problems there, then. I don’t think these Vikings do…” she finger quoted do “…po
lite.”
“You might be surprised. They’re rugged, but not barbaric.”
“I saw two of them having sex, right out there in the open.”
“Is that what has you so hot and bothered, sweetheart? Or was it because I made you wet by talking dirty to you.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Screw you, Jericho.”
“Whenever you’re ready, you know I am.” He winked at her.
She opened the door, refusing to look at him, least she get lost in his intense stare again. “You’re impossible.”
She left the room, slamming the door halfway through his laugh. Lara spotted cranky, tired mother-in-law-to-be still standing over the fire in the center of the room. She was ladling out stew to a line of women each holding one or more empty bowls. The long house was very full now. All of the bunks were occupied by two or more Vikings. Women were seated among the men. Wives, she presumed. The slave women would drop off filled bowls of stew to those in attendance and collect more bowls before getting back in line. Lara followed their example. She retrieved two bowls from a table near the exit door and moved to the end of the line. She recognized the woman in front of her as the one who had been next to her on the long boat. She had an ugly bruise on her right cheek and kept her eyes downcast. Lara reminded herself of Reece’s warning about changing the past, but that didn’t make it any easier to see this. Maybe Helga had somehow helped her people escape and that was the fate of these mistreated women. Lara wanted to believe that with all her heart.
The line moved quickly. When it was Lara’s turn, cranky, tired, mother-in-law-to-be paused. “I need a break,” she said, handing the spoon to Lara. “You take over.” She took the bowls out of Lara’s hands and stood waiting for Lara to serve the stew. Lara was very careful in ladling the stew into the bowls. She worked hard at ignoring her rumbling stomach. Even though this stew looked more like a pot of grease with some chunks of meat and what might be vegetables or roots or sticks thrown in, Lara was willing to forgo her rule about only eating things she could readily identify.