9. Chloe

CHLOE

“ E rik Eriksson. That must have been interesting growing up.” I smile as I pour the hot water for our tea. Erik, Rune’s father, is the sweetest man I’ve ever met.

“Oh, a real bundle of rabbits.” His booming laughter is magnetic and contagious. “It wasn’t awful. There were a few kids who tried to bully, but our community is outstanding, and it was shut down fast.”

“I know Viking tradition was to give sons a surname with their father's name included, but when did it stop for your family, do you know?” Everything Erik has been telling me about their ancestry will be included in my article, as well as he and Rune and the land they live on, all documented with photos.

“Around 400 years ago, maybe. There are several Eriks in the family, as you can imagine, but I think they finally got tired of changing the names. Creating accurate lineage is hard when everyone has different last names.” We take a sip of tea, the warm liquid thawing my frozen toes.

“Did you grow up ever kinda living under Erik the Red’s name? Was there pressure to be ruthless like him?”

Rune walks in, shaking off his boots and coat before coming to stand behind me, kissing the side of my neck. I can’t help blushing; I’m not used to public displays of affection. But I’m not opposed to it.

Chuckling, Erik grins at his son. “Not me, no,” he finally answers. “My grandfather, however, had a reputation like the man. He was angry and bitter, with a temper to match the fire in his red hair. He certainly lived up to the name.”

I reach across the table to place my hand over his, offering silent comfort when I see the shadows in the older man’s eyes. He gives me a slight smile and a nod before shaking it off. “Let me show you one of the pelts that has been handed down for generations!”

At his boisterous change of subject, I sit back into Rune’s chest and glance up at my Viking lover. He shakes his head and encourages me to follow Erik to see his prized possession. Waddles follows behind me, having never left my side for long since the moment I picked him up this afternoon.

As we enter a room off the kitchen–a home office–there are two ancient or vintage cloaks encased in a large glass protector. “Wow! Those are stunning.” I’m particularly drawn to the white one with streaks of light brown throughout. The thick hood looks like it would keep a person warm, with a long drape hooked closed through the torso of the body.

“These are over a thousand years old,” Erik explains. “They’ve been kept preserved since the wearers of them perished.”

“They belonged to Erik the Red?” I’m utterly amazed.

“And his wife. They’ve been handed down to the first son of each generation once they found their bride.” His eyes sparkle as he looks between us. I’m certain I’m crimson once again.

“Is that so?” I tease him.

“It is, but I don’t want to just give them to the two of you, I want you to wear them as your own. Bring the heritage back to the family. Teach of the Vikings and not only the pillaging and criminality of their lives, but the love, exploring natures, and desires to discover as much as they could with their earthly time.”

He’s so passionate about it that I can only nod my agreement. It doesn’t matter that Rune and I are just learning about each other; Erik obviously sees what we feel and predicts where we’re heading.

“I don’t think I could ever wear something so valuable,” I whisper. The beauty of the cloak is alluring, but the origins are daunting. I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen to it.

Rune snorts behind me and moves in front of us to open the case and pull the garment out. “Rune!” Shouting his name causes the infuriating man to grin like a loon.

“I’m just showing you. It’s been kept in excellent shape. You can wear it.” He drapes it around my shoulders, pulling up the hood and clipping it in place.

Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I can almost imagine what it was like in the Viking era. Picture the woman who wore this very coat to keep warm and shelter her children on hunts or working around their dwellings.

“Looks perfect.” I open my eyes to find Rune staring down at me, wearing the other cloak, with heat in his eyes and a possessive craving that makes me squirm. “Thanks for dinner, Pops; we’re headed up north to see the northern lights. Chloe hasn’t seen them like this.”

After packing us up with freshly brewed coffee in a warm thermos, we begin the long drive to this magical spot that Rune swears is perfect for our viewing pleasure.

“Put this on,” Rune requests as he stops behind a cluster of trees leading up a hill.

Giving him the side eye, I ask skeptically, “Why? You plan on leaving me on the side of the road or something?” I laugh, taking the cotton strip of fabric from his hand.

“Not likely. Tie you to a bed, though.” My eyes widen until he offers a wink while waiting for me to tie the blindfold.

“Has some merit.” Once my eyes are covered, he squeezes my hand, and I feel the truck moving again. “Is it much farther?” I ask, distracting myself from my own impatience.

“Just over the hill.” The amusement in Rune’s tone is sexy. I like a man who can have fun. It’s only a couple of minutes worth of driving before we’re parked, and he shuts the truck off. “Stay here for just a moment, and don’t peek.”

There are a few minutes of the vehicle jostling before my door opens, and Rune takes my hands, helping me out. I hear Waddles in the back seat, where he’d been napping, as he moves around.

We walk a few steps before I’m turned by the shoulder. “Lifting you up” is the only warning I get before Rune grabs my hips and lifts me to sit on what I believe is the tailgate of his truck. “Coming up next to you, then we’ll scoot back.”

It takes some configuring on my part, but I’m finally settled between his legs as we rest on a pile of cushions with thick blankets over our laps.

“Close your eyes.” His whisper in my ear is seductive. I do as I’m told and feel the blindfold fall away. “Open.” His lips brush across my sensitive flesh.

“Holy crap!” We’re parked on the bank of an enormous lake located at the bottom of a mountain. The lights are so bright that I can see clearly across to where a herd of reindeer is foraging in the cluster of trees.

Their colors themselves are a beautiful kaleidoscope of multiple shades of green, purple, and pink. The stars sprinkled around for miles only add to the wonder.

I’ve observed them at home, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I could reach out and brush my fingers through their chromatic display like paint.

“Beautiful,” Rune says, and when I glance back at him, I see his eyes on me. “Could have this view for the rest of my life.” As chilly as it is, his kind words keep me warm.

“Me, too,” I whisper, leaning up for a kiss. It’s slow and sensual, a build-up of what I’m sure is to come. We spend hours on the lake's edge, talking about our pasts, what we’ve been doing in the present, our hopeful future, and everything in between.

Rune opens up more about his ancestry and tells me stories that have been passed down for hundreds of years. We pick out bits and pieces that feel as if they’d be more accurate than others–like how unbelievable it is that Erik the Red rode a whale across the Labrador Sea once his son Leif had built a settlement in Newfoundland. But we certainly believe he kept a family of Arctic foxes for hunting.

As we lay in the truck bed, watching the sky, I begin writing the article in my head. I know where I want to gather pictures from and what I want to include, and the more I create in my mind, the more excited I am to introduce the world to the Eriksson family.