Page 55 of The Last Viking

“Martha Stewart!” all three women chirped in unison.

“Yea. I watched her on the picture box this morn whilst breaking fast. By all the gods, she is a wonder. In less than an hour, she baked twelve loaves of bread, poured concrete for a rock garden, pruned an apple tree, and crocheted a tablecloth. And not once did she badger a man to come to her aid.”

“Is this guy for real?” Jillian asked Merry-Death.

“I’m not sure.”

“You women could learn much from Martha. In truth, ’tis what I told Sharon Stone yesternoon when she complained about her busy schedule.”

“What did you just say?” Merry-Death shrieked.

Really, if he were not so smitten with the wench, he would have to tell her that her voice made his eyes water betimes.

“You talked to Sharon Stone?”

“Did I not just say so?”

She put a hand to her forehead in that eternal female pose of “My lot in life is suffering and woe…and men are the root of all evil.” It was a good sign, in his opinion. She was weakening. “Where…how did you talk to Sharon Stone?”

“On the telephone. What a marvel that black box is!”

“Why did you call Sharon Stone? And how in God’s name were you able to get her number?”

“Hah! ’Twas not easy, I will tell you.” He put the travel cases on the floor and leaned into the corridor wall. “You know that Mike yearns for this woman, though I cannot see her appeal. Too coarse, if you ask me. And I must confess, Merry-Death, I do not believe she was born with blond hair. My sister-by-marriage, Gilda, looks just like Sharon, except—”

“Aaarrgh!” Meredith shrieked, again, causing his eyeballs to flinch. Next would come the watering. “Will you get on with your explanation.”

He cast her a disapproving scowl, and continued. “Mike wants the woman, and I was showing him how a Viking would handle the snaring.”

“Snaring? Snaring? Are you talking about snaring a woman?” Merry-Death sputtered.

“Exactly how is this snaring done?” Jillian was not quite so appalled at the notion of men snaring women.

“Straightforward. No muddling about with milksop pleas or sweet virginal dalliances. Just tell the woman, ‘I want you.’” He thought for a moment. “Or else just take her. That is, of course, another method. Some women don’t want to be asked. Yea, that is my usual strategy. ’Twas my mistake with you, Merry-Death. Too much muddling.”

“God, I’m glad I decided to come,” Jillian chortled. “You are going to be so-o-o good for my sister.”

“Well said!” Geirolf commented enthusiastically. Then he went back to their previous discussion. “Sharon cannot come to Maine, unfortunately. She is acting out a story for the TV box. But she invited Mike to come visit her in Holly-Forest.”

“Tell them who else you called, Rolf. Tell them,” Thea urged, jumping up and down with glee.

He brightened. “Oh, did I forget to inform you, Merry-Death? Tim and Al are coming here to help with your longship project. They will bring a picture box crew with them, too, to make a flummery, a pretend story, about Tim building a longship in the courtyard of his keep.”

Merry-Death went speechless, her lips trembling with words that would not come out. In truth, she resembled his Great-uncle Bjolf when about to have a fit. No doubt she was overcome with awe at his ability to adapt so well to her country. He puffed out his chest, continuing, “And Tim’s overlord will pay you. So there! You may thank me later for adding to the sorely depleted coffers of your project.”

“Tim and Al?” she squeaked out. Leastways, she did not shriek this time.

“Tsk-tsk. You are not paying attention. Tim Taylor and Al Borlund.”

“You’ve been making all these long-distance calls on my phone?” she inquired weakly.

“Yea. And believe me, I had to make dozens of them afore I got the correct numbers. Agents. Picture Guilds. Ted Turner. Tart-tongued upper-ate-oars.”

Merry-Death put her face in her hands. ’Twas a favored gesture of hers when talking with him. “I want an aspirin.”

“Ass-burn? Now? Well, well, well, Merry-Death! It sounds rather perverted to me, and your timing is odd—” he paused for only a moment “—but I’m willing, if you are.” He threw his arms out in invitation.

Jillian and Thea howled so hard tears streamed down their faces, but Merry-Death stared at him as if she’d been poleaxed.