The Fortress of Time Read online

  Asa, Floki’s wife, appeared on the path with their lunch in a basket. Her eyes widened and she rushed towards them, basket dropped on the ground. She took the rope behind Sigurd and hauled with him. Sigurd felt that the rope gave easier and the stake started moving towards them, but he grunted. “What are you doing, woman? Go away.”

  She only groaned and pulled harder. The tip of the log rose up, but too quickly. How was she so strong?

  “Go away, Asa!” Alarm rang in Sigurd’s voice. She’d surely make a mistake, she had no idea how to do this and was going to get them both killed.

  “You need help, jarl,” she grunted through her teeth.

  Anger rose in Sigurd’s stomach like hot bile. He’d seen the kind of help women provided... “I forbade women to come near the fortress!”

  Rage gave Sigurd strength he did not know he had. He yanked the rope, and the stake jerked up. It stood vertically for a moment, then lost its balance and fell on the left wall with a thump. The arch above the path cracked in the thinnest place from the blow. Sand and small stones showered on the path below.

  Floki jumped away. But the arch did not break.

  “Silly woman!” Sigurd growled. “How are we going to build the wall when stones can fall on us at any moment?”

  Sigurd caught a movement, and his eyes darted to the ground by the ditch.

  A woman lay there.

  The air shifted as if heat radiated from the ground, but then it was gone. Freyja, the goddess of love, sprawled on the path, her famous golden hair spilling over the ground around her.

  He blinked. How did she get there?

  The stake began sliding towards the ground. The friction of the heavy log against the wall shifted the fragile balance of the cracked arch, and a rock the size of a child’s head began falling towards the woman.

  It all took just a moment, but Sigurd saw it as if time had slowed.

  He darted towards the unconscious body and yanked her just enough. The stone hit the ground right where her head had lain.

  Everyone held their breath.

  Sigurd stared at her. She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Her skin was flawless, her eyelids sparkled with hues of golden stardust, her soft pink lips swelled as if calling for a kiss. She wore the strangest clothes he had ever seen: a gray jacket hugged her waist and arms so that she had little room for movement; a skirt clung to her hips and ended just above the knees, shamelessly exposing beautiful legs. Sharp sticks that could pierce a man’s eye were glued to the heels of her shiny shoes. Did she use them as weapons?

  On her neck lay a golden thread of a necklace of such delicacy that it could only have been crafted with magic by dwarfs from legends. Pearls stuck from her earlobes. An armring around her wrist had one white circle, tiny runes along the edge, and two arrows that pointed at them from the center as thin as bone needles. The armring ticked and one of the arrows moved.

  Human hands had not made these objects. “She must be a goddess,” Sigurd whispered.

  Asa came close. “Is she alive?”

  Sigurd pressed his ear against her jacket, warm from the heat of her body. He heard a good thump-thump, thump-thump. He nodded to Asa. He looked the woman over to see if she was visibly hurt, but she looked unharmed.

  Realization hit Sigurd. He looked at his people. “The gods must have sent her to help us with the fortress.”

  He did not trust mortal women, but goddesses were another thing altogether.

  They nodded, their eyes big and full of wonder. Maybe she, as a goddess, favored him. Maybe she would do magic and bring them strength to finish the fortress by the end of summer. With the number of men they had now, they had no hope.

  “Well then, jarl,” Asa pressed her fists against her waist. “What are we going to do with her? She looks fine to me at first glance, but I need to examine her properly. And treat her if need be. But imagine what she would think if she woke up on a bench in my house. Floki’s feet in her face, chicken poop on the floor, cows mooing. She shouldn’t even sleep on a bench in your great hall.”

  “Why not?” Floki said. “It was good enough for Vigdis her whole life. Even kings sleep there when they visit.”

  Asa’s eyes rounded. “Do you want to offend the gods, Floki?” She turned to Sigurd. “She needs to be in the best place in the whole village so that she feels honored.”

  Sigurd knew where Asa was leading. But he did not like the thought of a stranger in his bed one bit. Gods, he hated when women were right.

  “My bedchamber,” Sigurd said. “Indeed, she should feel welcome. We need a miracle to finish the fortress.”

  Sigurd took the woman in his arms like a precious spoil from a raid and walked towards the village. His skin tingled where her body pressed against his. There might, after all, be nothing wrong with having a goddess in his bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Someone breathed next to Donna.

  Strange. This must be a dream. She did not remember going on a date last night. In fact, she couldn’t remember much at all, her mind buzzing like a meditation gong.

  Good. No thinking now. The aftertaste of something unpleasant that had happened in her waking life lingered in the corners of her psyche like a thief. She wanted to forget it, to make it go away. If this was one of those dreams, with a man next to her, she’d better enjoy his company.

  She opened her eyes and saw the silhouette of someone big lying with his back to her. A man, indeed.

  This was new. Her sexy dreams usually began close to the action—a knight, or a pirate, or even a Japanese samurai—coming in, whispering something sweet in her ear, and taking her like he was starving and she was his last meal. When she was awake, she despised the type. But in the privacy of her fantasies, only a strong, powerful man could set her body on fire.

  Donna surveyed the room around her. It was dark, the only light coming from four lanterns hanging in the corners. A thatched roof sloped high above her head. Axes, swords, and shields hung on the rough plank walls. Three chests stood by the wooden door, which had gaps and offered little privacy. There were no windows. The wind howled outside, and the smell of rain reached her nose.

  Not her New York apartment, that was for sure. What a strangely vivid fantasy.

  Donna turned on her side, and furs tickled her ankles. She looked under the fur blanket. She had some sort of a linen nightdress on, medieval by the looks of it.

  Donna was curious now as to what kind of a guy her subconscious had come up with this time. A Viking by the looks of the room… She reached out to the massive shoulder and ran her fingertips along his shape. The man stirred and slapped her hand as if it was a fly.

  Donna frowned. Ok, dream master, this is too real. Can we sweeten this up, please?

  She slid closer to the man, brushing her hand against his shoulder blade and down the bulging muscles of his back. But before she could reach his buttocks—which would for sure be deliciously firm and round—the man pivoted, pinned her to the mattress and put a knife to her throat.

  Donna gasped, adrenaline sending her heart into an erratic beat. The man studied her. Then his face relaxed, and he rolled onto his back. Donna clutched the fur blanket under her chin and crawled into the furthest corner of the bed.

  “Goddess, it’s you,” the man’s voice rolled like the purr of a lion. He put the knife aside. “Do not play with a sleeping warrior.”

  No kidding. Donna swallowed.

  As her heart rate began to slow down, she realized that he’d called her a goddess. No way this was reality.

  She studied him. He was striking: dark-blond hair, a short beard, eyes the color of the leaden sky. The air buzzed around him, and even though he did not touch her, the aura of his presence tickled her skin like static electricity. No one had ever affected her that way, not even Daniel.

  This would do.

  Donna breathed out and gave out a chuckle. “You frightened me, too.”

  As the words came out of her mouth, she knew she spoke a
foreign language. But she had no difficulty searching for words or understanding the man. This dream was going to be fun.

  “How are you feeling? You lay unconscious since yesterday.”

  She frowned. “I did? I don’t remember how I got here.”

  “You just appeared. I brought you here. I hope that you find this satisfactory.”

  “Oh.” Donna smiled. “Very. What is your name?”

  “Sigurd Randverson. I am the jarl here.”

  Donna bit her lip. She remembered from history class that a jarl was like an earl. She was in bed with a Viking jarl, and what a handsome one. Anticipation warmed her body. He reached out and brushed her lower lip with his thumb. Her breath quickened. “Welcome. What may I call you, goddess?”

  “Donna.”

  “Donna,” he rolled her name on his tongue like candy. His gaze crawled down her body, and her skin tingled. “My beautiful goddess.”

  Her cheeks heated, his words making her melt like caramel in the sun. The New York woman in her would have already made fun of him—and of herself, for reacting like that.

  But that New York woman could take a break.

  Donna wrapped her arms around his neck and gently pulled him closer. His scent enveloped her. Fresh sea, pine and the musky scent of man. Oh, she could lose herself completely in him. Her palms crawled down and landed on his bulging chest covered in blond curls. His fingers ran up her forearms and kneaded the muscles of her arms. His hands warmed her and relaxed her.

  “Your skin is like silk,” he murmured. “This is no skin of a mortal. Will you lie with me, goddess?”

  Lie with him? She was ready to sell her soul to spend a night with him.

  “Yes.”

  He tilted his head and sealed his mouth over hers. His firm lips were soft and full of need. They pressed against hers gently. His tongue tasted hers, stroking it gently.

  His hands traveled down her legs and pulled the nightdress up over her head until he freed Donna from it. Her naked skin burned with anticipation. His fingers circled her nipples but didn’t touch them. Electricity shot through her, her breasts ached pleasantly. Her body writhed against him, impatient for more, the sweet friction making her pliable and warm. She reached for his trousers, but he stopped her.

  He lay her down on the mattress and pulled her arms high above her head, locking them with one hand, then came back to her breasts and kneaded them with the other. Her back arched and she pressed herself against his palm. She bit her lip as she tried and failed to hold back a whimper.

  “I want you to beg,” his coarse voice resonated in her chest.

  Oh, it won’t take long.

  His hand drifted down her side, back down between her legs, fingers teasing. A light brush of his thumb over her clit made her cry out. When he slipped one large finger into her sleekness, a long moan escaped her throat. A second finger entered, working her slower than she wanted, but sending her to a world of sweet agony she’d had no idea existed.

  “Does this please you?” Sigurd bent his head to trail a line of nips and delicate licks along her neck, outright biting when he reached her shoulder.

  “Ah,” she was delirious from pleasure. “This is the best dream I have ever had.”

  He continued his sweet torture. “A dream? Goddess, if this is a dream, then I am a dwarf of Nidavellir.”

  Donna was way too hot and way too far gone to fully understand his words.

  “Whatever you say...please, don’t stop.” Her body continued moving in waves against his, but he froze.

  “Donna. This is not a dream. You are here, with me, in Norway, in Vörnen.”

  This was too precise. Donna opened her eyes. He loomed over her with a frown.

  She swallowed. “Vörnen, Norway? And you are a Viking jarl?”

  “A Norse jarl.”

  Cold sweat broke out on her skin. What if this wasn’t a dream? Still aroused, Donna became aware of her nakedness. She jerked to remove her hands from under his arm and cover herself, but he pinned them against the pillow and pressed her into the mattress.

  “Pinch me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “If it’s not a dream, it will hurt. Pinch me.”

  “That is strange logic, goddess,”

  He pinched her in the naked side of her waist, and sharp pain mixed with a tickle shot through her.

  She froze, her memory returning in an avalanche. The courthouse. Marta. Daniel. Old lady with a spindle. There is a man who needs you...

  Sleek horror crawled down her spine. She’d just instigated sex with a man she’d only just met.

  But more importantly, where was she? What had happened to her? Was she hallucinating? This was too real—and Sigurd’s pinch hurt. Was she kidnapped by an accomplice of the old lady? She did not remember anything after touching that spindle. Had she fallen and gotten a concussion? But her head did not hurt.

  Wherever she was and whatever had happened to her, an uncontrollable need to run away to safety took over her body and her mind. She had to see outside.

  “Let me go, you barbarian!” she writhed as if her life depended on it, kicking him and biting. She had to know. But he was like a mountain.

  “No. I am not letting you run away.”

  “I am not running away. I just need to see where I am. Let me go!”

  She was lying. She would run away if she had to.

  Still holding her arms, he rose. “Don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight even for a moment.”

  Donna nodded. He let her go and went to the door, blocking it. He was still naked from the waist up, and Donna’s breath caught in her throat from the mighty sight of him. He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen.

  He nodded to one of the chests with his chin. “Here are some clothes for you. The ones you came in are not suitable for our conditions. Maybe they are perfect for your world”—he pointed his finger at the ceiling—“but here, you’ll freeze in them. I hid your shoe-weapons in a safe place. I can’t trust you.”

  Donna wanted to laugh. Did he think her stilettos were weapons? This was ridiculous.

  She got up, the blanket of furs still wrapped around her to cover her nakedness, and walked to the chests. She opened the one he pointed at and found a long linen shift, a red apron dress with brooches, and soft leather shoes.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  He only raised his eyebrows.

  “Turn around, Sigurd.”

  “I am not letting you out of my sight, goddess. First, I don’t trust you yet. Second, I am not going to deny myself the pleasure of seeing your naked body in my own house.”

  Donna growled. “How dare you treat me like I am your property!”

  Sigurd only scoffed.

  “Turn around, you self-centered hemorrhoid!”

  “A what?”

  “I am not changing while you are staring at me.”

  “Suit yourself. Stay naked forever.”

  Donna’s chin rose, and she pressed her anger down. She needed to see where she was. She had to decide what was more important, her pride or finding out the truth. “Whatever. You want to see me naked? Fine. You already did. I have to see what’s outside.”

  The furs fell in a small pile around her. Sigurd sucked in a breath, and Donna hid a smile. Without looking at him, but with burning cheeks, she dressed. The clothes were surprisingly soft and pleasant against her skin, and the shoes were a little big, but comfortable.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Sigurd put on a tunic and took an ax. He clasped her elbow, and she shoved him back. “Don’t you touch me!”

  He only chuckled, “That is not possible, goddess.”

  He grasped her upper arm even firmer, opened the door, and led her through a giant hall.

  Donna eyed everything with an open mouth. The hall was dark, spacious and long. There was a little platform with a giant wooden throne. Fire crackled softly in a long hearth in the center of the room. Along the walls, were benches
with people sleeping on them. The columns were decorated with Viking patterns that reminded Donna of the golden spindle. It smelled like hay, and ale, and wood.

  It all seemed so real. Her hands started to shake.

  They went through the high gates of the hall outside.

  It was dawn, and Donna could see wooden longhouses all around her. Down past the village lay the surface of a smooth fjord, several Viking-looking longships were docked at the pier, and mountains rose like walls along its shores. The air was fresh and almost tasted sweet.

  It seemed that, by some miracle, Donna was indeed in Norway, in some sort of a medieval village. If she believed in magic, she’d think she’d traveled back in time…

  No. Impossible. It must be some sort of reenactment. But how had she gotten here, and how would she get home? Was she a prisoner here? Her vision blackened, the earth shifted under her feet. Her hand searched for something to hold on to and gripped a warm arm.

  She glanced at Sigurd, their eyes locked, and the solid strength in his gray gaze steadied her.

  “I need to go back.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She needed what?

  Sigurd’s hand stiffened around Donna’s elbow. She’d looked like she would faint just now, as if she found herself in an impossible place.

  There was something so human in her reaction. She did not seem like a goddess at all. There was a plea in her blue eyes. And panic. And terror.

  He gritted his teeth. His muscles were still soaked in the aftertaste of her body against his. He could not remember wanting any woman as much as he wanted her. Everything that he had felt next to her was close to divine. He had thought that, finally, the gods smiled at him.

  But if she had no intention to be here, why had the gods sent her? She said she needed to go back. “And where is that?”

  “New York,” she breathed out.

  “Do you mean the town of Jorvik in Northumbria that Ivar the Boneless conquered?”

  Her eyes widened even more. “Northumbria? The ancient kingdom that no longer exists? Stop joking around! Everyone has heard of New York.”

  He raised his eyebrows.