Chapter 2 #3
On the other side of the arena where Britta sat, high up, there were many buildings, but none resembled the timber-sided keeps she was accustomed to or the rare stone castles that the Normans favored.
Nor were there farmsteads and grazing animals.
Not even the wattle and daub cotters’ huts.
These buildings were rather ugly, although they did hold precious glass windows.
But wait. In the distance she saw a white castle with a red roof. Or was it orange? How odd! Why would anyone want a white dwelling? It must get dirty. She figured the king must live there, since only a king would have house servants enough to keep the building clean.
And the people...Thor’s Toenails, there were hundreds of them walking about, most of them in uniforms of brown or white, even women. She also saw what appeared to be horseless carriages traveling hither and yon, but mayhap she was mistaken about that. She must be.
Another woman swung her leg over the top, facing her. She was not panting at all.
“Whose castle is that over there?” She pointed to the white building.
“Huh? Oh, you mean the Hotel del Coronado.” Grinning at Britta, she said, “Hey, did you just get here? You must be my partner.”
Partner? We are partners? “Uh, what is your name?”
“Teresa Evans. You can call me Terri.” The petite woman with red curly hair and dancing green eyes was a head shorter than Britta but just as well-muscled, especially her upper arms and thighs.
Britta’s forehead creased with bafflement, but then she shrugged. The man with the red face had mentioned this being their first day; so, Britta’s failure to recall her partner’s name might be understandable.
“And you’re Britta Asado, right? I was told that my swim buddy would be the foreign exchange officer from the Norse navy.”
Since when do I need a “buddy” to swim? And since when does the Norselands boast its own knave-he.
..whatever a knave-he is? Britta could understand what these strange people were saying in a strange tongue, but the odd words here and there were a puzzle to her.
She was about to tell the woman her last name was Asadottir, not the shortened Asado, but then decided she liked the sound of it.
“Where are we?” Britta asked.
The woman eyed her even more curiously. “Coronado, California. At the Special Forces Training Compound. Trying out for the new team.”
Ah! A military training area. Britta nodded her understanding, even though she did not understand one bit.
“We were told last night that the Norse officer, Olga Svensson, had rung out before even arriving. She apparently eloped with her boyfriend, right? Good thing you were available for a last-minute replacement.”
“Yea, ’tis a good thing,” Britta said quickly. Until she got her bearings, she figured it was best to blend in. “I was just a mite muddleheaded from hitting my head.”
Terri laughed. “I thought it was your bottom you hit, not your head.”
Britta laughed back. “Both.”
“Do you know Olga very well?”
Olga? Oh, that Olga! Nay. “Of course.”
Terri gave her a questioning look, waiting for her to elaborate.
Think quick, Britta. Make up a story. “Sweet Frigg! Olga ever was the fey one, dancing from one man to another. But when the lustsome Gunnar cast his wicked eyes her way, well, Olga did not stand a chance. When given the choice of serving her country or serving her man, she chose—”
“Her man,” Terri finished for her with a laugh. “Wicked eyes will do it every time.”
“Yea, but ’tis more than that with Gunnar. He has wordfame for his impressive...endowments. A manroot the size of a gourd...a big gourd.” She spread her hands apart to show just how big. By the runes! Where do these ideas come from? Mayhap I have a gift for lying.
Their attention was diverted then by a man down below who took hold of the ropes and scaled them with surprising agility up the wall, over the top, and down again to demonstrate how it should be done.
“That’s the way, girls. Easy as Friday night hooking,” he said, winking at one of the women closest to him.
“You oughta know. It’s the only tail you get,” a woman shot back.
Another man yelled to a nearby woman on the ground, “Hey, Sanchez, yer so small, if we tied a string to yer ankle, you’d be a kite. Ha, ha, ha! Why dontcha fly on over and ring out?”
The woman named Sanchez said something in a language Britta could not understand. It was not English. But she suspected the words were foul, as evidenced by the widened eyes below.
Good!
Down below, the men continued to yell orders up at her and Terri, something about getting their sorry arses down the ropes so they could move to the obstacle course.
Hah! I would think this rope wall is obstacle enough.
“Yo, G.I. Girls, wanna jump? I’ll try to catch you.” One of the men leered up at her and Terri.
Another yelled, “Hey, honey, want me to come up and hold your hand?”
The chieftain, whose face was now purple, nigh screamed, “Either come down or ring out. Make up your friggin’ minds.”
“Those guys are jerks, aren’t they?”
Britta nodded, figuring that jerks must be comparable to crude, lust-filled males, which they definitely were. All men were, for that matter. “Yea, just because they have dangly parts somehow makes them think they are superior.”
Terri laughed. “I know they’re trying to get us to quit. None of them want women in the SEALs, but dammit, I’m not going to give them the satisfaction.”
“SEALs?” Britta homed in on that one word. She had heard of SEALs afore. They were an elite military force in a far-off land. “Dost mean we are in Ah-mare-eek-ah?”
The other woman’s forehead creased even more. “Are you okay? The sun is hot. Maybe you’re getting sunstroke.”
Britta shook her head. Nay, I just fell off a cliff, am suffering from the world’s worst ale-head, must needs avoid my father and his hirdsmen who want naught more than my sword dew on their blades or my maiden blood on a husband of their choosing’s cock, and then I might just find out if I am dead or alive. Being hot is the least of my concerns.
Then Terri said, “Oh, my God! Who is that? What a hunk!”
“A hunk of what?” Britta started to ask as she swung one leg over the top and was about to descend back down the rope wall.
She glanced beyond the side of the sandy arena where a man was approaching with fire in his blue eyes.
..eyes she would recognize anywhere. Gesticulating wildly, he stopped to talk with another man who was laughing so hard he held his sides.
It was the lout, the very same loathsome lout who was responsible for all her troubles. Well, not all. But enough. Zack-hairy the Pretty Boy. He was a hunk, all right. A hunk of trouble.
Oooh, I am going to give him a piece of my mind...if I ever manage to get down off this bloody damn rope wall.
That was when she slipped, causing the rope wall to shake even more than it had been, and all twelve of the women climbing up and down the wall, fell to the sand with a thud, shrieking with dismay. Most of the expletives were aimed at her.
“You women are the most clumsy dingbats I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” the chieftain sputtered. All the other men were laughing, instead of helping the women to their feet or checking for injuries. Chivalry must be dead in this country. “Somebody is going to pay for this fiasco, ladies.”
And he gazed directly at her.