Rescuing Kadlin (3 page)

“I am sorry, Grima,” he said.

“Ach, don’t be a fool, you big bear. It was not you who tried to throttle the life from me. It was that damned brother of yours. When you see him next, be sure to kick him in the balls on my behalf,” she said then winked up at him.

“Gladly,” he replied, then looked out over the limits of his neat farmstead. His house was sturdy and comfortable. The fields were fertile. The paddocks were full of fat livestock, and the stream teemed with trout. He had built a wonderful home for himself, his family and the others. He wondered for a moment if he should push aside the things he had learned last night and simply thank the gods for all that he had. The morning breeze blew his hair against his cheek. He reached up to move the braids back in place, and his fingertips found a polished amber bead. Kadlin wore its mate in her own hair, and he remembered the moment he’d given it to her, and as he had done so many times over the years, he thought about the events that had brought them together.

If he had not placed himself in service to the old jarl, he would never have been forced to retrieve the woman who had been offered up to satisfy her uncle’s gambling debt. She was headstrong and willful and caused him nothing but consternation as he dragged her through the countryside. Then she had tried to escape. He had punished her by spanking her beautiful round backside. The act had filled him with such lust that he had been overcome. That she was likewise affected convinced him that she was meant to be his… always.

They had made love for the first time under the soaring pine trees, and afterward, he had pulled a smooth glass bead from his braid and strung it into her hair. In accepting the token, she had accepted him, and they were bound together. When they had returned to the farm, Grima had presided over a handfasting that sealed their intent. The other six who lived and worked with them had borne witness to the ceremony. They had been loyal friends, and Bjorn wondered how the journey he was about to undertake might change things.

Bjorn fingered the bead then followed the braid upward to the place it started—just above his right ear. He touched the long, thick scar on his scalp, and his anticipation turned to anger. The newly-found memory of Rowyn shoving him under the willow tree loomed up in his mind. Bjorn’s hands had been bound behind his back, and he’d lost his balance and fallen to the ground. His last clear memory was of the vicious smirk on his brother’s face as he hefted the club over his head and brought it down on Bjorn’s skull. Bjorn wondered why Rowyn had bothered to untie him before leaving him for dead. Perhaps he’d had a moment of mercy and wanted Bjorn to have his hands free when he entered Valhalla. More likely, Rowyn was afraid for his own soul and wished the gods to take pity on him when his own time came.

The Viking tamped down his rage and tried to focus on his goal. It would do him no good to let emotions get the best of him. There was too much to be won—and lost. As the others gathered around him and offered well wishes, he concentrated on being a gracious master. He would rely on them to watch over the farmstead, and more importantly, keep Kadlin and Hjortr safe in his absence. The thought had barely formed when his young son burst from the house and ran to his father’s side.

“I’ve something for you, Father,” he said in his sweet little voice. Bjorn held out his hand, and Hjortr dropped a tiny clay figure into his palm. “It is Odin. He will watch over you in your travels.” Bjorn bent and kissed the boy on the top of his head.

“Thank you, son. I will keep it with me and think of you every day.”

The child wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, and the Viking stood and pulled him to his chest.

“Now, I am counting on you to make sure that the chickens are fed. You must feed your dog, Floki, too, and see that he doesn’t chase the sheep too much.” Hjortr nodded then nestled against his father’s neck. Bjorn could feel the boy’s tears on his skin. “And you will watch over your mother. You must do as she says, and if she seems sad, you should give her kisses and tell her all is well.”

Bjorn kissed his son again and set him on the ground. “Where is your mother, boy? Has she decided to sleep late?”

“I have not slept late, husband.” Bjorn turned toward the sound of Kadlin’s voice and saw her leading her pony into the dooryard. It was laden for a journey. His wife had traded her proper Viking apron dress for the garb of the Reindeer People. She wore a deep blue tunic with a beaded belt, trousers and leather shoes that curled at the toes. She’d been wearing the same clothes when he’d first met her and seeing her dressed this way made his blood boil.

“Are you going somewhere, wife?” he asked, struggling to keep his anger in check.

“
We
are going somewhere, husband,” she answered, jutting out her sweet little chin.

Bjorn looked at her pony and discovered that it had been outfitted exactly as his horse had been. She’d had help from the others, and their betrayal fueled his anger. He turned to face the three couples, and they dropped their gazes to the ground under his stare. Agata wrapped her arm around Hjortr’s shoulders and led him back to the house. The others quickly followed.

“Back to the hearth, Kadlin,” the Viking demanded. She answered him with an unwavering stare. He stomped across the dooryard until he was looming over her. “I forbid it!” he thundered.

Kadlin looked up at him and tilted her pretty head to one side. “Do you remember your promise, husband? On this very spot, you swore to love me and to honor me, to protect me and to share all that is yours. Our handfasting was not some silly rite. It was a solemn joining of the two of us as one under the witness of the gods. Just as you pledged yourself to me, I gave myself over to you. Your journey is mine, Bjorn, and we will take it together.”

Bjorn dropped his head forward and closed his eyes. “Please, wife. Please do not ask this of me. Who will care for the boy and…”

“Agata will care for Hjortr until we return.”

He opened his eyes and stared down at his beautiful woman. “And if I can’t protect you as I swore to the gods?”

Her face softened as she reached up and cupped his jaw. “You will, my love. I have given myself to you because you are worthy of that gift. I willingly hand over to you my heart and my life. Without you, I am lost. I understand that you must accept this quest, and you must understand that I have to be a part of it, just as you are the greater part of me.”

* * * *

They had ridden for four days, and Kadlin’s body ached. By turns, the hot summer sun beat down on them and the cool forest air sent chills over her skin. As they neared their destination, they kept off of the main thoroughfares, opting instead to travel on narrow, wooded paths. Bjorn said that he could not risk being recognized once they’d entered Jarl Arn’s realm.

Countless times, she bit back the urge to ask her husband to stop and rest for a while. It was not her place to set the itinerary. She had insisted on accompanying him, and she was well aware that he would have preferred she had stayed behind at the farm. She had leveraged his faith to persuade him to allow her to come along, and she hoped the gods wouldn’t frown upon her because of it.

Her husband, it seemed, was impervious to the toils of the journey. He was up at dawn and pushed his horse forward until dusk. When they finally made camp, Bjorn barely had time to start a fire before darkness engulfed them. Sometimes they would hunt on the trail, but more often than not they would nourish themselves with dried meats and stale bread. The mead had run out on the third day, and they were careful to fill the skins at every source of fresh water. As they made camp near a stream on the fourth night, Kadlin wondered if they would ever reach the land Grima had made him see in his dreams. In fact, she wondered if the dreamland existed at all.

Chapter Three

It was dusk on the sixth day when they arrived at the estate. The house was grander than any Kadlin had ever imagined. The peak of the roof stood taller than five men, and great carved dragons’ heads flanked the huge double doors. Torches had been lit outside the entryway, and in the gardens, but the place seemed deserted.

“This is yours?” she whispered. Bjorn stared at the building. “No, wife, this is ours.”

They hitched the horses to a pine tree at the edge of the deep yard, and Kadlin studied the intricate labyrinth at its center. A couple was just completing their walk through the maze of mounded earth. They embraced and kissed before the tall, thin man—with white-blond hair and skin so pale that it shone in the twilight—hurried to his horse and rode off.

The woman waved to him then turned toward the house. She began to sing, and the crystal clear lilt of her voice filled the night. The visitors stopped and watched her. She was so tall that Kadlin thought she would be able to look Bjorn in the eye if the two stood toe to toe. Kadlin ducked behind her husband but craned around his side to watch the lovely creature. Even in the dim light, her beauty was apparent. Long, light hair fell in loose waves that almost reached the backs of her knees. She moved with a grace that reminded Kadlin of a feather caught on the wind. Her gown left her arms and breastbone bare and swirled about with such lightness that Kadlin longed to touch the mysterious fabric. Perhaps it felt as luxurious as it appeared because the woman stopped walking and twisted her slender hips, so the skirt swished against her legs.

She must have sensed she was being watched because she suddenly stood still and looked in their direction, bending at the waist as if to make out the figures in the darkness.

“Rowyn, is that you back so soon? Who’s with you, and what is that you’re wearing? Have you been drinking again, dear husband?”

Bjorn slowly guided Kadlin until she was hidden behind his big frame.

“Hello, Ginna,” he answered.

The woman straightened and covered her mouth with her palm. After a long moment, she dropped her hand to her side. “Is it a ghost I see?” she asked, and Kadlin could hear the tremor in her voice.

“Not a ghost, sister-in-law, but it would be better for you if it were.”

The woman backed up until she was stopped by a thick carved pillar marking the entrance to the house. “Leif? It cannot be. You are dead. I saw it with my own…”

“With your own what, Ginna—your own eyes?—the eyes that looked upon me all those years ago and begged me to take you as my wife?"

The words cut into Kadlin. This woman was called
Ginna
—
the deceiver, the enchantress
. Kadlin thought the name suited her. She stepped out from behind her husband to get a better look at the one who had wanted Bjorn then had conspired to kill him.

Ginna stared at her. “What’s this? Your slave, Leif?”

“She is my wife,” he answered.

Ginna scoffed then looked Kadlin up and down. “You’ve taken a reindeer herder as your wife? Do you live in a hide tent, too?”

Bjorn did not answer the insult. “Take me to my father.”

Ginna folded her hands in front of her. “Arn is not here. He is presiding over the
thing
.” Kadlin had heard of Viking
things
, regular meetings where the men of a realm gathered to discuss business and have their grievances heard before the chieftain. She wondered if Arn was a more gracious jarl than the one she had saved her husband from.

“We will wait,” Bjorn said and strode to the house. Kadlin followed, and when Ginna refused to move from her path, she nudged the lanky woman hard with her shoulder.

Bjorn pulled open the massive double doors and stepped inside. Kadlin’s mouth fell open when she saw the interior of her husband’s birthplace. The entry hall was three times as tall as any room she’d ever seen, and every wall was ornamented with carved wood plaques depicting raids and voyages. An image of a great ship with the snarling dragon figurehead spanned one side. The beast’s eye was set with a faceted green tourmaline the size of a man’s fist, and it glinted in the light of the torches that were set in the huge iron holders fastened to the walls.

Kadlin’s awe was slowly replaced with anger. This grand place belonged to Bjorn, and it had been stolen from him. Beneath her indignation was a gnawing fear. The ones that had tried to take these riches for themselves would surely not hand them over willingly. The thought had barely crossed her mind when she felt herself yanked backward by the hair. Kadlin yelped, but before she could reach up to loosen the unseen grip, the unmistakable cold hardness of a blade was pressed to her throat.

Bjorn wheeled around at the sound of Kadlin’s cry, and his face contorted in a mixture of rage and fear.

“Release her, Ginna!” he demanded then unsheathed his sword and moved toward the women.

Ginna tugged Kadlin’s hair, further baring her neck to the knife. “Drop your weapon and step back, Leif, or I will spill this sow’s guts on the floor. I swear it.”

The hatred in Ginna’s voice left no doubt as to her resolve and an icy ball of fear settled in Kadlin’s belly. Her mind was filled with dizzying images of their home and their son.

“Bjorn, please,” she pleaded.

“Bjorn? Is that the name you’ve taken?” Ginna said above Kadlin’s head. Then the woman lowered her lips to Kadlin’s ear and whispered, “
Leif
was the name I called out when he made love to me. He told me he’d never tasted the likes of my body as he worshiped my long limbs and slim waist. Ah well, little sow, I guess even the livestock look attractive when the shepherd has no other outlet for his lust.”

Kadlin began to tremble, and her mouth went dry. With her head pulled painfully back, she struggled to meet Bjorn’s stare and pleaded with her eyes. Finally, he opened his hand, and his sword clattered against the stone floor.

“What do you want from me, Ginna?”

“I want you to leave and—”

“I will not leave without her,” he snarled.

“Oh, but you shall, Leif. You will go back where you came from, and she will stay with me until I am sure you have gone. In a week’s time, I will have her delivered to you, but you must never return here. If you do, everything you own will be burned to the ground, and everyone you love will burn with it. You know that I have the means to make it so.”