“Where?”
“With that spy. Maybe he wasn’t caught originally. Or if he was, maybe he thought better about lying, or somehow William found out he was lying, or…There I go speculating again, when there has to be a history book around here. I kept the first and second semester volumes from the course I taught in the bottom drawer of my desk. We’re due for a little luck…”
She yanked open the bottom drawer, and there were two books. But they weren’t hers. They were different in size and the authors were different, though the subject was still medieval history. And they were engraved as she’d had hers engraved with her name. The name on these…
“I don’t believe it!” she fairly shrieked. “Roseleen Horton? Roseleen Horton! I married that lying, cheating, conniving bastard?”
“Who?”
“Barry Horton,” she lamented in disgust. “You remember? Blueberry.”
“The one whose likeness you destroyed?”
“Exactly. I despise the man. He stole from me. How could I possibly be so stupid in this revised version of the world as to marry him?”
“You are married?”
There was a sharp edge to his tone that she failed to notice in her agitation. “Not for long,” she assured him. “There has to be a way to correct whatever went wrong and get things back to normal here, because I’d go nuts if I thought I had to live with Barry as my husband. We just have to figure out what needs to be corrected, and I’ll get started on that right now. Pull up a chair, Thorn. This may take a while.”
It would have taken much less time if the authors weren’t so detailed in their chapter summaries, or such overall good writers. Roseleen’s fascination was caught in discovering all the differences in the two histories, and what things didn’t change. And included in the back of the second volume was a brief accounting of the centuries after the Middle Ages, right up to modern times, at least these new modern times, listing all the major events of importance.
It was a good two hours later before she closed the second book, and she’d merely been skimming through the summaries in both books, not the whole chapters. Thorn had sat there silently all the while, mostly just watching her read. That took quite a bit of patience on his part, which the average man just didn’t have. Of course, there was nothing average about Thorn. She’d discovered that right from the start.
And now she had to tell him the bad news, that his hero, his liege lord, had died far sooner than he should have. But she didn’t have to go into detail about that, and she could keep him from dwelling on it by mentioning all the other incredible events she’d just read about.
So she told him, “It’s what I suspected would have happened, Thorn. What had previously been Duke William’s advantage, that Harold Godwineson had come straight from battle with another army, became Harold Hardrada’s advantage instead. The Norwegian king was able to defeat the English and become their new king.
“His house ruled England for a little more than a century, then what they call the Great Scandinavian Wars broke out. Instead of England’s becoming more powerful from the infusion of strength it received through William’s Norman line, it became just a minor country that supplied soldiers for the wars up north, which lasted several centuries.
“America was discovered much later than it should have been, and given some ridiculous-sounding name I refuse to repeat,” she said in disgust. “It was still a melting pot of nationalities from tyrant countries, and still became independent, but not until the eighteen twenties.
“Europe has regressed to feudal states, under what is very similar to the feudal system of old that you’re familiar with. The new ‘America’ finally went democratic, though more than a hundred years late. Of course, better late than not at all, I suppose. With all the extra wars, little and big, and so many that I lost count, it’s no wonder the Age of Invention got passed by, with only a few of the wonders of my day making an appearance in this new time. At this rate, it will be another hundred years before this world catches up to where it should be in the way of technology.”
She took a deep breath after that long recital and waited for Thorn’s reaction. And waited. She was annoyed that he just continued to stare at her, making no comment after all that.
She let another few seconds pass before she finally demanded, “Well, say something.”
He obliged her, but first he glanced again at that empty wall that should have held the medieval posters. “Do those books make mention of that English spy?”
Roseleen sighed. So much for getting him a little distracted from William of Normandy’s premature demise. “Yes, it’s documented this time around, and that spy’s confession, verified as false, by the way, gets full credit for the Normans’ defeat. Up to that point, history is as I know it, every other occurrence exactly as it should be.”
“As it should be,” he repeated thoughtfully. “And as it should be, there was no spy, correct?”
“Yes, at least, it was never documented. He could have been part of the original scenario, but not have been important enough to be mentioned.” Then she suddenly frowned. “You know, it occurs to me that this undocumented incident might not have occurred at all if you and I hadn’t been there, but I can’t see how we could have changed anything that concerns that spy. I certainly didn’t meet the fellow. Did you, when you went to see William yesterday morning?”
“Nay, he had already been disposed of.”
“Then it was a done deal before we even got there—wait a minute! What about your other Thorn?”
“Other Thorn?”
“I mean you,” she said impatiently. “When you were first summoned to the eleventh century through the sword. You weren’t really supposed to be there that time either, you were there only by unnatural means, because of the sword’s curse. But when you were there then, did you have anything to do with that spy? Were you the one who captured him, or interrogated him?”
“Nay, I did not even know of him, until Sir John du Priel made mention of him.”
“Sir John?”
“He was present when the spy made his confession. He liked not the handling of the interrogation, and intended to question the man once more the next morn, but I challenged him to a bout of drinking that eventide, and he lost. He still slept the next morn, I believe.”
Roseleen’s eyes flared wide. “And that morning was when we were there yesterday, right? When the duke made his decision to sail?”
“Aye.”
“So the spy was disposed of before Sir John could speak to him again. That’s it, Thorn! This Sir John fellow would probably have gotten the truth out of the man, and everything else would then have continued as it should have, with the two Harolds fighting first, and William not sailing to England until the end of September.”
“Yet how can that be changed?” he questioned. “I have no control over what was previously done when I was first there, Roseleen.”
“Yes, you do,” she said with a grin.
“How?”
“We just have to go back a day sooner, before you were whisked back to Valhalla, and prevent your other self from challenging Sir John to that drinking match.”
He looked at her as if she’d asked him to chop off his own head. “I cannot confront myself. This you were told. The very heavens would shake—”
“Don’t exaggerate Viking style,” she chided him. “And I’m not asking you to meet up with your other self. I can take care of that. You can just make sure that Sir John gets to bed early that night.”
He stood up, slapped his hands down flat on her desk, and leaned halfway across it. His blue eyes had narrowed so much, she actually drew back, somewhat intimidated. And she couldn’t imagine what brought this on, but her Viking was most definitely angry about something. He didn’t keep her in suspense for very long.
“How, exactly, wouldst you take care of it, Roseleen?”
The question came out in too slow and accusatory a manner for her not to grasp that he was thinking
the worst, and that stirred her own ire. “Just what have you tried and convicted me of here, Thorn? Do you honestly think I would do you—or rather, your other self, bodily harm, just to…keep…”
Her words trailed away because he was now looking so startled by what she was saying, she knew she was mistaken in the conclusion she’d drawn. He confirmed it.
“That did not occur to me.”
“Then what—?”
She didn’t finish—again. She started laughing as the only other reason that could provoke that kind of reaction in him came to mind. He was jealous, and of himself no less. It was absurd. It was also kind of thrilling. She’d never had anyone be jealous over her before.
“’Tis not amusing,” he growled now.
“No, of course not,” she agreed with him, though she was still grinning widely. “But the only thing I had in mind doing was distracting your other Thorn, and only long enough for you to put Sir John to bed.”
“But how will you distract him?”
“Have you never heard of conversation?”
“He had only two interests, and neither was for conversation.”
“Fighting and—women?” she guessed, and almost laughed again, recalling one of their earlier conversations about his needs. “And in all these centuries, you’ve only added one interest to those two—food.”
He was getting annoyed with her amusement, enough to say, “Nay, there is one other interest I now have—the proper training of my woman.”
It was a deliberate provocation. She knew that, and still it caught her squarely. She rose up along with her temper, to lean forward across her desk just as he was doing, glaring at him nose to nose.
“You are borderlining it, big guy, using the word training in a context other than job-related. When is it going to sink in that women today stand on an equal footing with men?”
“If there is aught equal between men and women, I would you show it to me now,” he countered.
“I’m not talking brawn and size, and I believe you know that.”
“Nay, what you speak of is having the last say in all things. Wherein is that equal?”
That gave her pause. Had she been coming off with a superior-than-thou attitude without realizing it? Had she let the fact that he knew next to nothing about her world fool her into thinking he wasn’t intelligent? He was merely barbaric in certain aspects of his thinking—where women were concerned—and that was perfectly normal, all things considered, particularly since it had been more than two hundred years since he’d last been summoned. Equality between men and women certainly hadn’t existed in the seventeen hundreds.
She owed him an apology, she supposed, and a broad one, since she’d probably tweaked his pride in more areas than just one, albeit unintentionally. But she wasn’t looking forward to it at the moment, when she was still simmering over that “training” crack. So the interruption just then would have been welcome—if it were anyone other than who it was: her nemesis, Barry Horton.
27
“What are you doing here, Rosie? Didn’t I tell you to stay home today?”
Even though Roseleen had read the name engraved on the books, it was still disconcerting to realize that she had actually married this man in this altered world. And he was vastly changed from the Barry she knew. His gray eyes were the same, of course, but his light blond hair was long and unkempt, his clothes casual and sloppy, rather than in their usual pristine condition, not exactly the sophisticated academic look he’d always strived for.
And to be confronted with questions that she wasn’t sure how to answer? How nice. He couldn’t just say “I see you’re busy so I’ll talk to you later.” No, good old Barry, rude to the last drop, and in a tone guaranteed to annoy her.
“Did you?” Roseleen replied stiffly. “I don’t recall.” And then she couldn’t resist adding, “And even if you had, Barry, you don’t really think I—”
“Do you need another lesson in obedience?” he cut in as he walked toward her.
His expression, not to mention his tone, had turned downright threatening. And what he’d said implied that she’d been taught lessons before. Unbelievable. Barry Horton had turned into a wife beater? And apparently he didn’t care who knew it, if he could say something like that in front of Thorn.
But then, he hadn’t even spared a glance at Thorn, was treating him as if he weren’t even there. And their medieval garb hadn’t drawn a single comment from him, though her own yellow gown, elaborate as it was, was a little less out of the ordinary than Thorn’s cross-gartered leggings and sword. But still, you’d think Barry, as derisive as he could be, would have made some remark…
Treating him as if he weren’t there?
Roseleen looked sharply in Thorn’s direction. She’d wondered once before if anyone else in her time could see him. Mrs. Humes might have served dinner for two that night at the Cottage, but Roseleen didn’t actually recall the woman looking at Thorn or speaking to him. She’d been told there would be two for dinner and she’d served two settings, but she wasn’t the type who would mention the fact that no one was sitting in the other chair. An American housekeeper wouldn’t hesitate to ask, “You do realize, don’t you, that you’re eating alone?” But the reserved Mrs. Humes would put it down to American eccentricity and might discuss it with her husband later, but she wouldn’t remark on it to her employer.
Only in the past had she actually seen people talk to Thorn.
On the other hand, Thorn Blooddrinker was a very intimidating man, especially with that sword on his hip. Any contemporary man with any sense at all wouldn’t want to draw his notice, might even go to extremes to avoid it, and ignoring him as if he weren’t there could be one of those extremes.
She decided to settle the matter and ask Barry outright if he could see Thorn, but when she glanced back at him to do so, she found him raising a fist to her. She gasped, but there was simply no time to avoid the blow he intended to deliver. There was barely enough time for her to cringe and close her eyes.
But nothing happened. He obviously had thought better of it, or decided to wait until they were in the privacy of their own home, wherever that was. Or maybe just the threat of impending violence had worked on her in the past. Was she supposed to be properly subdued and submissive now? Fat chance of that. What she was was angry, furious actually, at the scare she’d just been given.
But she opened her eyes to find that she was wrong on all counts. Barry hadn’t changed his mind about hitting her, he’d had it changed for him. Thorn had hold of his fist, and although Barry was straining mightily to break that hold, he couldn’t quite manage it. Thorn, on the other hand, wasn’t straining at all. When Barry finally noticed that—he could see Thorn, obviously—he gave up.
With an impotent glare in her direction, Barry ordered, “Call off this cretin, Rosie, or you’ll regret—”
“I wouldn’t be making any threats right now if I were you,” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest. It was all she could do to keep from grinning. “My friend here might not like it.”
“I don’t care what—” he started to bluster, but she was pleased to cut that off too.
“Also, I’d apologize for calling him a cretin. Vikings take exception to being likened to idiots, and although I’m sure you didn’t mean it in that context, that you were more or less only making reference to his considerable size, albeit in a derogatory way, he wouldn’t see it that way.”
To give him credit, Barry did pale somewhat, though it just wasn’t in his character to back down, especially since Thorn hadn’t actually done him any harm, and it didn’t really look as if any was forthcoming. That in itself annoyed Roseleen quite a bit. Thorn could have at least looked a little angry, considering Barry’s intention had been to do her harm. But his expression was inscrutable, giving away nothing of his thoughts or feelings.
Barry must have taken courage from that, because his tone didn’t change at all as he accused her, “You’ve taken leave of
your senses, right?”
“Yes, apparently, or I wouldn’t still be talking to you. So state your business here, Barry, then get out. Or is your business stealing again? After all, you assumed I wouldn’t be here, didn’t you?”
He actually looked uneasy now. Had she hit it on the nose with her taunting dig?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted, though his voice lacked the strength that that statement demanded.
“Sure you don’t. I wouldn’t happen to keep my research notes here, would I? Haven’t you gotten around to stealing them yet, this time around?”
“This time? I’ve never—”
“Oh, shut up, Barry,” she interrupted him again. “I’m not going to get into how I’ve been through this before. But it was wise of you to wait until after you married me this time. Sort of gives me a second chance to stop you if I was willing to take it, but I’m not. I’d much prefer getting back to where I didn’t marry you.”
Of course, he really had no idea what she was talking about now. How she wished it were the Barry she knew standing there instead, rather than this wife-beating double. Ironic, that both Barrys were apparently real jerks.
“Divorce?” Barry concluded from what she’d said. “If you think I’ll grant you one—”
“Divorce won’t be necessary,” she told him with a tight little smile. “I have a much quicker way of getting you out of my life.”
And to get on to it, she turned to Thorn. “We can go now, back to the date we decided on. I’ve got everything I need here.”
His nod of agreement was typically curt. And there was one glorious moment of watching Barry blanch as Thorn let go of him to draw Blooddrinker’s Curse. Apparently, Barry thought killing him was her “quicker way.” But the moment was a brief one, because Thorn extended his hand, and she took it. However, it was replaced by an even briefer moment that was priceless—the expression on Barry’s face as they disappeared right in front of him.