Page 66 of Viking Unchained

Madrene gave a visible sigh of relief, no doubt at the prospect of being spared his company.

I am relieved, too. Hours confined in a car with her and three bratlings would be torture.

“That is, if you think you’re ready,” Ian added.

“I am as ready as I will ever be.” And if it means forgoing Madrene’s company, I will for damn sure be ready.

“You can stay here tonight and go in with Ian in the morning. Mayhap he will let you practice drills with his SEALs,” Madrene said, getting up. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”

“In the meantime, go finish what you started, you two,” he said, lying down on the sofa, putting a small pillow under his head. He took great pleasure in Madrene’s eyes staring daggers at his shoes. “Really. I understand.”

“Do you?” Ian asked with a laugh. “Actually, Madrene was demonstrating one of the dance lessons that Lydia gave this week at her studio.” He waggled his eyebrows at him. “Pole dancing.”

“Ah,” Thorfinn said. “A great invention, that, especially when . . .” He paused. Should I?

“Especially when . . . ?” Ian prompted.

Why not? “Man to man, Ian, I must tell you, it is best viewed when the dancer is, um, nude.”

Madrene gasped and would no doubt like to make another remark to him about his crudity. Or smack the smirk off my face.

Ian, on the other hand, gave him a considering look. “You are a man after my own heart.” Then he turned to his wife. And winked.

Later Thorfinn walked down to the basement with Ian, who wanted to show him his weight-lifting corner.

“Thor’s teeth! What is this?” he asked on viewing the dozens of candles arranged around the darkened room with scarves floating from one of the support poles.

“Aromatherapy.”

“Are the flameless lights broken? The electricity, I mean.”

“Nope. This is for atmosphere.”

“It smells like a bloody flower garden.”

“It’s supposed to be romantic.”

Thorfinn gazed at Ian in wonder. He was a supposedly intelligent man. “Surely, all Madrene would have to do is take her clothes off to get your sap running. Bloody hell, a certain look would do it, I would think.”

“Ah, but the idea is to have her be along for the ride.”

“I do not understand.”

Ian laughed at him. “You don’t need to understand. It’s fun, dammit.”

“Fun and sex. Ah.” Thorfinn did understand then.

He wondered if he would ever have the chance to have this kind of fun again . . . with Lydia.

Oh, my stars! . . .

Lydia was miserable.

For the first few hours she was righteous in her indignation. In fact, she went down to the basement storage room and pulled out some boxes she hadn’t opened for four and a half years.

The first box contained all the things she was saving for Mike when he was older. The flag that had adorned Dave’s casket. His uniform and Budweiser, the nickname given to the SEAL trident pin. The Purple Heart and framed proclamation. A baseball mitt, tennis racket, hockey stick, and high school football cleats. Yearbooks. Sports trophies. She’d even saved his duffel bag containing a toiletry kit, complete with toothpaste and toothbrush, razor and shaving foam, deodorant, comb, aspirin, and Gold Bond powder for chafing in the desert. Finally, there was a red-ribbon-tied bundle of letters . . . letters they had written to each other over a ten-year period, from way back when she’d still been in high school. She held them to her chest, then put them back, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to read them yet. Maybe she never would be.

Next she pulled out the box of star memorabilia. Some people collected pig trinkets or geese, cows, angels, or snowmen; she had a fascination with stars. In fact, the box contained several strings of star lights for a Christmas tree, along with dozens of kinds of star ornaments she’d gathered over the years, mementoes from trips, coming-home presents. Star picture frames, a star lamp base, star wind chimes and sun catchers. She could account for the provenance of every one of them, and most were connected to Dave. There was even a star pendant and dangly silver star earrings.