Rescuing Kadlin (6 page)

“Many years ago—seven, I think—I packed my belongings and set sail with my dear brother, Rowyn. As some of you know, I am many things, but a sailor is not one of them.” A murmur of knowing chuckles filled the hall. “We had been at sea for less than two days when my belly protested, and I was leaning over the side of the ship, heaving my guts into the ocean. In my weakest moment, I was set upon. With the timbers of the boat still digging into my ribs, my hands were yanked behind me and bound. My brother ordered a change in course, and we sailed not west, but back east and made land many miles south of here. I was driven by foot through a strange forest until we arrived beneath the boughs of a great weeping willow tree. The last thing I remember was the look on my brother’s face as he raised a club over his head and…”

A gasp rose up from the crowd as Rowyn leapt onto the dais with his dagger drawn. His eyes were wild with panic as he advanced on Bjorn. The ring of dozens of swords being unsheathed sounded in the hall, and the armed men rushed the stage. A smaller group drew their weapons and surrounded Ginna and Beatrice. Rowyn’s gaze swept over the blades pointing at him then he dropped his dagger. Several men ran from the crowd and restrained him. Two others dragged Ginna onto the dais beside Rowyn.

“Father, please,” he begged, “You do not understand. I had no choice.”

Arn shook his head. “There is always a choice, Rowyn.”

Chapter Five

“The penalty for treason is death.” Arn’s voice rang out in the hall. Rowyn’s head fell forward, and his knees buckled. The men guarding him shuffled under his weight. Ginna straightened her spine, stuck out her chin and glared at Bjorn. Kadlin fought the urge to rush the dais and slap the woman across the face.

When Rowyn finally looked up, Kadlin could see that his face was streaked with tears. She glanced back at Arn, and her heart ached for the pain in his expression.

“Rowyn, the law is clear as to your sentence, but it also affords you the right to choose your executioner and the method.”

“Whoever is the most adept, and whichever way is the quickest,” Rowyn said in a near whisper.

Arn nodded. “Beheading by the blacksmith Kani, if he accepts the burden.” The jarl looked out over the crowd, and the man with the tri-braided beard shouldered his way to the front of the hall then bowed at Arn’s feet.

“I accept, my lord.”

“And what of you, Ginna? What death do you choose?” Arn asked.

Ginna’s gaze dropped to the floor before she looked up at the chieftain.

“I will leave that to you, my lord. I only ask that you grant me one final mercy.”

“You are in no position to ask favors, woman, but I will hear your request,” Arn said.

“I ask that you allow me to say goodbye to my father as it is not likely I shall see him in the next life.”

Arn rubbed his jaw as if considering her proposal. “You may not travel to your father’s lands, but I will stay your execution until he can be brought back here. It is only right that he hear the charges against you and bear witness to the punishment.”

Ginna shook her head. “But my lord, he is old and frail and would not survive such a journey.”

Bjorn’s brow furrowed, and he stared off into the distance as if trying to work out a riddle. He squinted as if onto an answer when Arn said, “Whether he survives it or not will be the determination of the gods. I have made my decision. Now, who will volunteer to fetch the traitor’s father?” Bjorn startled at the sound of his father’s voice, and Kadlin wondered what he had been thinking.

“I will go,” came a voice from the crowd and all turned to see the tall, thin blond shoulder his way to the front of the dais and bow. Kadlin recognized him as the man she’d seen in the labyrinth with Ginna on the evening she and Bjorn had arrived. Arn narrowed his eyes at the man, and Kadlin wondered if the jarl knew the connection between his daughter-in-law and this volunteer. Finally, he nodded.

“Then you should get your rest. You will ride at dawn, and you’d best travel quickly. The sentence will be carried out at sunrise on the eighth day.” He turned back to Rowyn. “I would use that time wisely. You have precious few hours to make your peace with the gods and beg from them as much mercy as I have shown you and your accomplice.”

“But father…” Rowyn began.

“Never call me that again!” Arn thundered. “You lost that right many years ago. I have only one son. You are dead to me already.” Arn jerked his head to the side, and his gaze followed Rowyn and Ginna as they were led from the hall. When they were out of sight, the jarl pulled back his shoulders, and Kadlin wondered how he was able to keep his emotions in check. Everything he had believed true had been overturned in the past hour. She could not imagine the turmoil he must feel at finding one son only to lose another and thought she could see the pain on his face.

The crowd shuffled nervously, and Arn turned to the musicians. “Play on! The rest of you, drink your fill. We have much to celebrate. Our beloved Leif has returned to us.” Arn wrapped his arm around his firstborn’s waist, and a great cheer filled the space.

Bjorn searched the crowd, and when his gaze fell upon Kadlin, he smiled and held out his hand. She made her way through the revelers and onto the dais. He hugged her and kissed her bruised face.

“Father, this is my wife, Kadlin, daughter of Olav the shipbuilder, mother of your grandson, Hjortr.”

A broad smile deepened Arn’s wrinkles. “A grandson,” he whispered then pulled Kadlin into a warm embrace. When he released her, he cocked his head to one side and studied her. “You look like a warrior fresh from the battle, dear daughter. I cannot wait to hear your triumphant tale. Let us return to the house, tend to your wounds and get you something to eat.”

Kadlin smiled up at him and nodded. It had been so long since someone had called her daughter that she felt as if her heart would burst from her chest.

* * * *

The chamber was even grander than the one Kadlin had been held in. It had been Rowyn and Ginna’s room, and it befitted the heir-apparent. While she washed, three housemaids bustled about, emptying the chests of the former tenants’ clothing and setting the bed with new linens and furs. They worked quietly, casting the occasional glance in Kadlin’s direction. When she smiled and nodded back to them, they nervously averted their eyes and went back to work.

The plump woman who had brought her meal earlier that night came in with a tray and set it on the table near Kadlin.

“May I tend to your wounds, my lady?” she asked. Kadlin nodded, and the woman dipped her stubby finger into a bowlful of thick, brown mush. She touched the poultice to Kadlin’s temple. “I am afraid there will be a scar, my lady. This should make it smaller.”

Once the cut beside her eye had been treated, the woman handed Kadlin a cup and held out an empty basin with her other hand. “It is saltwater with healing herbs, my lady. The girl said that you’ve a cut in your mouth, as well. Rinse with this and spit it out. It will sting for a moment, but you’ll heal faster for it.” Kadlin took the cup and followed the woman’s instructions. She winced at the bite of the medicine and was grateful when the pain began to subside. She spat into the basin and handed the cup back.

“What is your name?”

“I am Erna, the head keeper of the house.”

Kadlin reached out and touched the woman’s fleshy forearm. “Well, Erna, your rinse has made my mouth feel much better. Thank you for your kindness. Please call me Kadlin.”

The woman startled as if she’d been slapped. “I—that is—you are very welcome, Lady Kadlin.” Erna turned to the women who were straightening the room and widened her eyes. They smiled and shrugged in response. Kadlin wondered if they’d ever heard a kind word from their former mistress.

Erna pulled back her shoulders and looked about the room. “Quickly now, girls, Lady Kadlin and Lord Leif will want a fresh place to lay down their heads once they’ve had their supper.”

Beatrice combed the snarls from Kadlin’s damp hair, careful to avoid the puffy bruises that covered the left side of her face. She worked neat braids into the long tresses then held out a handful of beads, waiting patiently while Kadlin strung them onto her fresh plaits.

“May I help you dress, my lady?” she asked with a deferential bow.

Kadlin caught up the girl’s thin wrist. “Beatrice, you must call me Kadlin.” She looked at their reflection in the mirror and saw the uncertainty in the girl’s face. “What is it?”

Beatrice met her gaze in the glass. “You are the lady of the estate now. Will you keep me on? I am a hard worker and… I have nowhere else to go.”

Kadlin turned the idea over in her mind—
the lady of the estate.
She supposed the girl was correct. They couldn’t go back to the farm now. Bjorn—
Leif
—would succeed his father. He had responsibilities here, and she would follow him. Kadlin smiled up at Beatrice. She would be dead if not for this little one’s bravery.

“You are not my slave. If you choose to stay on with us, it will be as a free woman and we will pay you a fair wage for fair work. Are we understood?”

The girl nodded, and tears spilled down her thin face.

* * * *

The house servants had done their best to piece together an outfit for Kadlin. Even if Ginna’s fine gowns had fit her, she could not have brought herself to wear one. In the end, they had settled on a simple tunic and apron dress borrowed from one of the staff. They had adorned it with jewelry that had belonged to Arn’s late wife and decorated Kadlin’s hair with a wreath of wildflowers. She looked at her reflection and couldn’t help but laugh. The left side of her face was bruised, and her eye swollen shut. The poultice over the cut at her temple had dried and looked like a puffy, brown caterpillar. She thought her injuries nicely matched the purple lavender in her hair and wondered if this estate had ever seen a lady of her likes.

On their way to the dining hall, Kadlin took in the artwork that hung on the walls. Many of the pieces were from foreign lands and were created in materials ranging from wool to bronze, but most of them featured majestic birds. No doubt they’d been chosen for the lord of the manor, Arn—
the eagle.

The savory aroma of roasted meat wafted down the corridor, and Kadlin’s stomach groaned. The hour was closer to breakfast than to dinner, and she was grateful for the late-night efforts of whichever cook had worked to prepare their meal. A long sideboard was mounded with food, but Kadlin’s mouth was so raw she thought she might settle for the broth and soft vegetables of the stew.

Arn sat at the head of the table, and Bjorn was at the place to his right. The two men were huddled in conversation, and it was Bjorn who saw her first. A smile crossed over his handsome face as he rose to embrace her.

“Come, sit next to me, wife.”

Arn grabbed her wrist. “No, son, I shall enjoy my daughter-in-law’s company beside me.” Bjorn’s brow wrinkled, and he looked as if he were about to protest, but Kadlin intervened.

“Perhaps your father wishes to look upon the half of my face that appears like a lady rather than the one that is more like a warrior.” Arn let out a hearty laugh, and the sound of it warmed Kadlin. She smiled up at him and took her place across from her husband.

The men feasted on mutton and roasted vegetables, heavy brown bread and sweet honey cakes, while Kadlin picked at the softest things. Their cups were kept full, and warmth spread through Kadlin’s body as the mead worked its magic. Her aches began to fade and wanton thoughts flitted through her mind. When they’d finished their meal, bowls of water were set before them, and while Kadlin washed the grease from her fingers, she glanced across the table. Bjorn winked at her, and the corner of his mouth jerked up in the familiar grin that left no doubt as to his intent. A tingle gathered between Kadlin’s thighs, and she felt a lusty blush creep across her chest and face.

Kadlin could think of nothing but being alone with her handsome Viking, but the two men had much to discuss. She sat patiently and listened while they went over the details of their future at the estate. Her husband’s title as heir would have to be restored in a public forum, but Arn assured him that it was just a formality. It was agreed that the ceremony would include an official change of name. Her husband would now be known as
Bjorn who was Leif
. Kadlin was relieved that she would not have to call him by another name. After the installation ceremonies, Bjorn would share many duties with his father. The first would be to preside over the execution of the traitors.

When their business had been concluded and the table cleared, Arn sat back and said, “What shall we do tomorrow, dear ones? Perhaps a tour of the estate?”

Kadlin reached out and touched her father-in-law’s arm. “I should like to see my son.”

Arn covered her hand with his own. “That, daughter, is a wish I can understand.”

* * * *

It was decided that Ginna and Rowyn’s execution would be delayed for another week to allow Bjorn and Kadlin time to return to the farm, attend to the transfer of ownership then bring Hjortr back to meet his grandfather. They would ride in the morning, and their journey back would be much more comfortable than the one there had been. They would be able to travel in the open, along good, wide roads and would be accompanied by six of Arn’s men, who would protect them and help carry back whatever they wished.

Once back at the farm, Bjorn would divide his majority share among the other three couples, and in exchange, they would repay him with a small profit over each of the next ten years. The thought of leaving the home she’d grown to love and starting a new life in a strange place worried Kadlin but excited her, as well. She was most concerned about her husband giving up what he had worked so hard to build.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Bjorn?” she asked as they walked back to their chamber.

He squeezed her hand. “It is my duty, Kadlin. But, yes, it is also what I want.”

“I will miss them—the others,” Kadlin mused.