Thork still intended to marry Elise. Ruby accepted that fatalistically, even though they never spoke of it or their own future together. Thork probably expected that she would go with him to Jomsborg as his mistress—at least for a time. Ruby’s emotions were crystal-fragile at the moment, and she avoided a confrontation with Thork over the issue. In truth, she feared she might break into a million pieces if she pressed for a commitment and Thork told her that’s all she meant to him—a “bedmate.”
So they made love and pretended all was well, each avoiding discussion of the festering canker between them. One day at a time, that was all Ruby could handle right now. But she did pray a lot.
Finally the three ships crossed the English Channel for Normandy, while the other two went back north to Jorvik. No sooner had their ships dropped anchor in Normandy than a contingent of armed men lined the shore. Having recognized the ships’ colors, the Norman Vikings escorted them back to Hrolf’s keep. They treated Thork with distrust because he was, after all, son of Harald, high-king of Norway, a hated enemy of Hrolf.
Surrounded by guards with menacing weapons, they entered the great hall of Hrolf’s fortified palace in Rouen. A huge man, at least six-foot-five and built like a tree, stood to greet them. Ruby could see how he’d earned the nickname The Marcher. Truly, not many horses could hold a man his size.
“I bid you welcome to Normandy, Thork,” Hrolf said in a polite but cool voice. “Come forward and share some ale with me.” Meanwhile, his eyes pierced him with icy mistrust.
Hrolf drew them to a roaring fire, which offset the damp chill of the misty day. Several well-dressed men and women sat there, including one lady whom he introduced warmly with a pat on her arm as Poppa. Ruby wasn’t sure if she was his wife or mistress.
Thork shifted uneasily and came right to the point. “I come from King Sigtrygg and then go from here to Hedeby, then to Jomsborg where I resume my Jomsviking duties.”
Hrolf’s intelligent eyes examined Thork keenly. “What does that wily old bear want from me now?”
Thork cast an inscrutable gaze at Ruby, seeming to weigh his thoughts carefully before he drew her forward with a hand at her elbow. “He sent me here with this woman—Ruby Jordan. She claims to be a kin of yours.”
“Mine? How could that be?” Hrolf demanded with consternation, glancing apologetically to Poppa. “Some get on a village maid? What claim you, girl?”
All eyes turned on Ruby, and there was a collective gasp as the group then turned to look at a middle-aged woman seated at the edge of the seated circle. Ruby looked exactly like the woman must have at a younger age. Ruby soon learned that Eddha was Hrolf’s oldest sister. Thork and Selik stared disbelievingly at Ruby, realizing she must have spoken the truth all along. Relief softened Thork’s tense features as the implications of the resemblance became clear.
“Now you won’t have to chop off my head,” Ruby whispered morbidly and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow while Hrolf and his family agitatedly discussed the situation among themselves.
“Nay, but I may smack your rump,” Thork responded with dry humor. “What else do you hide from me?”
Ruby was about to remind him that she’d been telling him the truth all along when Hrolf called Ruby closer and asked her to sit in the chair next to him, which he freed by shooing a young hesir away. Thork and Selik dropped into heavy armchairs brought forth by scurrying servants and sipped at the cups of wine placed in their hands.
“Now tell me true. Who are you?” Hrolf demanded.
Ruby looked at Thork, wondering if she dared tell the real story. He rolled his eyes up to the heavens, which was no help at all. She decided to give it a try. “I come from the future, the year 1994,” she began slowly, and immediately saw the entire group stare at her in stunned disbelief, wondering if this was a trick or she was crazy.