Scent Of Roses Part 43

He chuckled. "As I recall, those articles stirred up a hornet's nest, as well."

Krista bit back a smile, knowing it was true. "Even so, I think our efforts are helping." She rounded the desk to look over his shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"I'm going over some tenth-century Icelandic tables that calculate the sun's midday height for each week of the year. They're remarkably accurate. Earlier I was reviewing a translation of the Heimskringla text."

The text was written in Old Norse, Krista saw, the language spoken in the Scandinavian settlements from the years around 800 until the last known Viking settlers disappeared from Greenland in early 1500. Her father even spoke the long-dead language.

She thought of the hours she had spent as a child in his study, listening to tales of the Vikings and even learning some of their language. They had practiced together, and because she wanted to please him, she worked hard to perfect her speaking skills. She was educated far beyond most women and along with her ideas of social reform, had, like her father, developed a certain fascination with Norse life and culture.

"You've a good deal of Viking blood in your veins," he would say when she bemoaned her height and the fact that most of the men of her acquaintance were shorter than she was. "Your mother could trace her family lineage back to the Danes. You should be proud of your heritage."

Mostly, she just wished her appearance weren't quite so different from other women.

Her father shuffled some of the papers on his desk, closed the book he had been reading and looked up at her. "I hear you and Coralee are going to the circus on Sunday."

She thought of the article Corrie planned to write on the Circus Leopold that had just arrived in town.

"Would you like to come with us?" she asked, surprised by his interest.

Her father chuckled. "Actually, I gave it some serious thought. I imagine you've heard about the main attraction. The man they call the Last Barbarian."

Krista laughed. "Yes, I gather he is part of the sideshow." Now she understood. "He is supposed to be a Viking." Anything Viking drew her father's interest. "They say he stands over seven feet tall and is covered head to foot with thick blond hair."

He smiled and shook his head. "It is all nonsense, of course, spouted to increase the size of the crowd. Still, it might be interesting. They say he is a terrifying brute, worth the price of admission just to get a glimpse of him in one of his towering rages. Undoubtedly some poor creature escaped from Bedlam. Mad as a hatter, I'll wager."

"Probably. But since you seem so interested, I promise I shall pay him a visit. He might make a good addition to Corrie's article."

Her father nodded. "In the meantime, try not to light a fire under the rest of London's male population."

Krista smiled. "I imagine my articles have just as many supporters as naysayers, Father. Perhaps even more."

"Perhaps. But most of them are in far less powerful positions."

That was true enough. It was men and women of the poor working cla.s.ses who wanted improved conditions, not the wealthy manufacturers who would have to pay for them.

Krista left her father's office feeling a little uneasy at the notion. How far would men in power go to silence a voice that stood up for city sanitation and improving the awful conditions suffered by the working cla.s.ses?

It didn't matter. Her course was set, and besides, the articles had increased the magazines' circulation by more than twenty percent. Though most men frowned on the notion that women wanted to be kept informed, it was becoming more and more clear that the female population wanted exactly that.

Heart to Heart would continue to move in that direction while also giving its readers the serialized fiction and society news they also enjoyed, which was Coralee's domain.

Which reminded Krista that on Sunday, she had agreed to accompany Corrie to the circus.

As she headed back downstairs to put the finishing touches on this week's edition, she found herself looking forward to the day she would spend with her friend.

Leif leaned back against the bars of his cage. In the distance, he could hear the odd, lyrical sounds of the machine that played music whenever the traveling company rolled into a village. The sun was out, warming him a little, but his cage was parked in a shady spot and an icy wind raised goose b.u.mps over his bare skin. The only garment he wore was a spotted animal skin just large enough to cover his rod and the rest of his man parts, and did nothing to warm him.

He looked out through the bars at the drizzle that had begun to dampen the earth around his cage. In the past few weeks, he had lost track of how long he had been confined. Again and again, he had attacked the men who guarded him, fought like a madman for his freedom, but shackled and chained as he was, he'd had no real chance to escape.

He reached down and plucked up a blade of straw from the damp mound covering the floor of his cage. He had wanted to see the world outside his homeland. He scoffed. He had seen any number of amazing things in this foreign land, seen animals unlike any he had known existed, seen houses dotting the countryside larger than his entire village back home. There were people of different colors, of every shape and size. If he was not locked in this cage, he would be fascinated by the sights and places in this new and strange world, but instead, he remained a prisoner, locked up and treated like an animal.

In the days since he had been taken captive, he had been laughed at, jeered at, stoned and beaten. The people thought he was mad and some days he believed it, too. Worse were the ones who pitied him. He had seen women cry at the cruelties he suffered. He did not want their pity, but it made him think that mayhap all of the people in this world were not like the ones who had stolen his freedom. Mayhap one day, he would find someone willing to help him. If only he could speak to them, make them understand.

He said a silent prayer to the G.o.ds, as he did each day, begging them to help him.

Mayhap one day they would. It might even be today.

Leif clung to the thought as the crowd began to form around his cage.

ISBN: 1-55254-489-3.

SCENT OF ROSES.

Coming Next Month.

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CROSS MY HEART by Carly Phillips, HQN.

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