In Time for
Christmas - Short Story
by Cheryl Alldredge
The Christmas season is less
than jolly for Beth, recently divorced and alone for the
holiday. It promises to be a miserable day until a sexy
Viking calls her back in time with a very special prayer.
In Time for Christmas, is
available as a stand-alone e-book on
Amazon Kindle or in the Christmas Wishes anthology
from Highland Press.
Excerpt...
Winter Solstice 830 AD;
the Trondelag, Norway
Gunnar stared, slack-jawed, at
the slight form sprawled on the floor near the hearth.
“I tell you, my lord, she didn’t
come with the others. No one saw her until this morn.” Jon’s
voice was crisp and eager. He never ran short of words, and
this occasion was no exception. “It’s the prayer. You made
the prayer in the chapel yestereve, did you not?”
“Aye.” He’d felt a fool,
kneeling before the Christian altar, whispering his prayer
over that ill-famed box, but done it he had. “But, I did not
ask for a wench. Comely as she is, what use have I for a
wench? She’ll only cause trouble. Mayhap she kept to the
shadows or spent the eve in someone’s bed furs?” Gunnar
reasoned the Christian God would have better things to do
than send him a wench…even one with a creamy complexion and
fine sable curls about her head.
Jon tugged at his tunic,
unrelenting. “What did you pray for?”
“I prayed for good fortune…for
the farmstead.”
“Well, then. She must be tied to
the farmstead’s future. Mayhap she’s a wealthy princess from
a far land…or a healer.”
Gunnar well understood why the
boy would hope for a healer. All the way across the sea, Jon
had warned him of the wrath of God, and they’d returned from
the summer raids to find the farmstead beset by illness.
Gunnar’s parents and sister had already died and his older
brother soon followed, leaving Gunnar to care for the land
and its people. That had been only the start of the bad luck
that had ended with him giving heed to the boy’s admonitions
to appease the Christian One God.
“More likely she is one of lady
Asa’s servants.”
“She’s far too fine to be a
servant, my Lord.”
Jon had a point. He’d never seen
a woman with skin so flawless—and her hands, clutched at the
top of the blanket, showed no sign of calluses.
Eric, Gunnar’s right-hand man,
came to stand beside him. “If you do not want her—”
“No! She’s a gift from God for
my Lord Gunnar.”
Only a hand laid protectively on
Jon’s shoulder saved him from Eric’s ill humor. Gunnar gave
the boy his best disapproving look—modeled after the one his
father had often used on him.
“I beg your forgiveness, Lord
Eric.” Wisely, the boy kept his eyes low.
The woman on the ground, roused by Jon’s outburst, pushed
into a sitting position and blinked sleep laden eyes. It was
then Gunnar saw the tiny chain about her neck and the small
silver cross that hung from it—an indisputable symbol of the
Christian Savior.
“I’ll be damned. She is a gift
from God.”
