Rescuing Kadlin Read online

  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.”

  Bjorn's hands balled into fists, and his face darken with anger. “What assurance do I have that you will hold up your end of the bargain?”

  Ginna’s laughter bounced off the walls. “None, Leif. You have no assurances. But, if you do not do as I say, you can be sure that your little reindeer herder will die.”

  * * * *

  The pain woke her. Kadlin’s throat and head ached, and it took her a moment to remember that she’d cried herself to sleep the night before. The look of anguish and rage on Bjorn’s face haunted her. When he’d passed by her and Ginna, he had stared at the tall blonde for a long moment.

  “If any harm comes to her, I will die seeking my revenge.”

  Ginna had tightened her grip on Kadlin’s hair and pressed the blade harder against her throat. When Kadlin had instinctively raised her arms to protect herself, Ginna shifted again, and Bjorn looked panicked.

  “You must do as she says. Do not fight back, Kadlin. Be patient, my love. All will be well.”

  In the confines of her luxurious prison, Kadlin could only imagine what Bjorn must be thinking now and wished she could tell him that all was indeed well. Ginna had not harmed her, but instead had locked her in a large room on the side of the house that overlooked the sea. She sat up in the massive bed and looked around the chamber. It was stuffed with unusual art and furnishings. There were so many wonderful things to look at, she didn’t know where to rest her eyes. She took in the carved chests and chairs and the many things that seemed only for decoration. Some of the furnishings were clearly made by Viking craftsman, but many looked odd, and she supposed they’d been taken in raids of foreign lands. Heavy cloths with the threads woven into beautiful pictures hung on the walls. There were gleaming candlesticks encrusted with jewels and little tables intricately inlaid with tiny squares of wood and bone.

  Everything about this place seemed wrong. Even going to the toilet confused her. Kadlin used the slop pot as the house slave had shown her the night before then washed at the basin. Her stomach rumbled, and she crossed to the small table, took huge gulps straight from the water pitcher then tore off a hunk of stale bread and ate quickly. A cloth hung above the table, and Kadlin studied the image of a lion with the head and wings of an eagle. She was wondering what kind of god this was when the chamber door swung inward, and the slave entered with a fresh tray of food and laid it on the table. The wan girl kept her gaze on the floor as she moved toward the slop pot.

/>   “What is your name, girl?” Kadlin asked. The slave’s eyes widened, and she toyed nervously with the keys hanging from her belt. She appeared to struggle with what to do.

  “Please answer me. All is well,” Kadlin soothed.

  “I am Beatrice,” she said with a thick accent.

  “Where are you from, Beatrice?” Kadlin asked softly.

  “The land of England,” she answered, and Kadlin could hear the pain in the girl’s voice.

  “I don’t know it. Is it far from here?”

  The slave’s brown eyes glistened, and she nodded. “Very far, my lady.”

  Kadlin reached out and touched the girl’s thin arm. “You may call me Kadlin.” Again the servant nodded, but she didn’t dare utter her charge’s given name.

  “When will the master return, Beatrice?” The girl glanced at the open door before responding in a whisper. “Tomorrow morning, my lady. Tonight, he will hear petitions at the thing, and then they will feast.”

  There were more questions to be asked, but the girl was clearly afraid. She collected the pot and hurried to leave. This frail young thing was Kadlin’s only human contact in her beautiful prison, and her allegiance could be valuable. She pulled a tooled silver bead from her own braid and strung it on a hank of hair near the nape of the girl’s neck.

  “Beatrice, please do not fear me. I too am a captive in a strange place. I am grateful for your kindness.”

  The slave continued to stare at the floor, but nodded. “Thank you… Kadlin.”

  “Kadlin? Would you be so familiar with our guest when you were ordered not to speak to her at all, Beatrice?” The two turned to find Ginna standing in the doorway. She stormed over to the slave and slapped her cheek. The slop pot sloshed, soaking the front of Beatrice’s dress. “You seem to have forgotten your place, girl. Perhaps some fresh air will clear your head. Go to the stream and fetch some berries for my breakfast. I shall deal with you when you return. Now, leave us,” she said. What little color had been in the girl’s cheeks drained away, and she hurried from the chamber.

  Kadlin stared up at Ginna. “So, I am your guest now? It is strange then that I feel more like a prisoner,” she said.

  Ginna held out her arm and gestured to the things in the room. “A prisoner, sister-in-law? Your ingratitude wounds me. You could be languishing in chains with the other barn animals, and yet I have chosen to attend to your comfort in the most lovely of places.”

  Kadlin smirked. “So as your guest, I am free to go?”

  “Not quite yet. When I am sure that Leif—oh, I am sorry, Bjorn—has returned to whatever hovel you left behind, then you will be released.”

  Hearing their home referred to as a ‘hovel’ flamed Kadlin’s hatred for her captor. She willed herself to stay calm but felt her anger rise and was sure that her cheeks must be flushed with it. “I wish to speak with the master, Jarl Arn, when he returns.”

  Ginna laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Arn will never even know you were here. You will remain in this room—quietly—until it is time for you to leave. I will keep the chamber door locked, so you don’t go wandering the halls making a nuisance of yourself. If you try to contact Arn, or make yourself known in any way, everything you love will be burned, and the ashes scattered to the wind. Do you understand, dear sister?”

  Tears stung the corners of Kadlin’s eyes, and she fought to keep them at bay. She wanted to lunge at the beautiful snake, claw out her eyes and choke the life from her body. But, in the end, she simply nodded.

  The tall one inclined her head and smiled sweetly. “Very good.” She glanced at the tray that Beatrice had delivered. “And now, you should have your breakfast. Your happiness is my reward, and it is clear that eating brings you great joy.”

  Kadlin stared at Ginna’s back as she glided from the chamber and shut the heavy door behind her. She winced when she heard the key rattle in the lock, and the tears that had been threatening began to flow as Kadlin crossed to the window. The room overlooked the sea, and her vision was so blurred that it was hard to tell where the gray water ended and the cloudy sky began. It would be easy enough to slip out of the window, but Kadlin was held in the room by something much stronger than chains. If she were to attempt escape, she would not know which way to run, and if—when—she was captured, the consequences would be more than she could bear.

  There was no doubt that Ginna would make good on her promise to destroy everything that Kadlin loved. The ties that bound her to this place were invisible but unbreakable. Hopelessness washed over her, and she reached into her hair and found the amber bead at the tip of one braid. She rolled the smooth glass between her finger and thumb, remembering the day Bjorn had given it to her and claimed her for his own. Where are you, my love?

  * * * *

  Bjorn’s head buzzed as if bees were banging against the inside of his skull. Without a fire to keep him warm, sleep had come hard, but he couldn’t risk being discovered within the confines of the estate. Though he’d huddled beneath his cloak and the horses’ blankets, he’d shivered throughout the night. When brief moments of sleep found him, he dreamed. Images of Kadlin and Hjortr laughing as they chased through the yard were shattered by the sight of flames devouring their home. He had forced himself awake, but the dream lingered. Staring up at the night sky, Bjorn had watched the northern lights. His father had told him that the glowing curtains of green and blue were flashes from the armor of the Valkyries. Odin’s winged shield maidens chose which warriors lived and which died, and of the dead who among them would enter Valhalla. Bjorn prayed that they would look upon him favorably if he were forced to go to battle to keep what was his.

  The sun warmed him as Bjorn sat by the stream and ate his meager breakfast of berries and dried venison. He and Rowyn had played here as boys. They had tromped through the forest—fighting mock battles with swords made of branches—and hid in the rooms of the house, spying on guests. But that was before they understood the weight of their family legacy. When they were children, they were simply older and younger brother—not successor and second-born. He had been called Leif then, and his name meant heir.

  Along with his future title, he was also promised Ginna, the daughter of a nearby chieftain. She had spent a week at Arn’s estate, getting to know her potential future family and home. Bjorn recalled the way she had walked through every room, studying each treasure as if taking inventory. It was clear within hours of her arrival that she was more interested in improving her status than in finding a mate. And yet, Bjorn had been a young, lusty man then and she a beautiful, ambitious young woman. Ginna had been so eager to be the wife of a jarl that she had teased him to the point of distraction. The first night, she had sat across the dining table from him—licking her lips, blinking her eyes and stroking the side of her breast until he thought he would explode with need. They had waited until her chaperone was asleep then slipped away to the stables. But when he had pulled her lithe body against him, she had protested that he held her too hard. She’d complained that his kisses were too deep. And when he’d finally been allowed to enter her, she had only laid back on the hay and stared over his shoulder until he’d finished. In the end, he thought his own hand would have given him more satisfaction.

  Though the match would have been politically beneficial, the prospect of spending the rest of his days with the cold, calculating beauty had been unthinkable. Ginna had flown into a rage when he had rejected her, spewing out curses before packing her things and returning to her father’s home. But she was back within a fortnight, proclaiming that it was really Rowyn she loved after all. The second born was only too happy to be the second choice and fell madly in love with Ginna. She had complete sway over the younger brother, and it had become the original heir’s undoing. Bjorn wondered how his life would have been different if he had only agreed to the arranged union. Certainly he would not now be thought dead by most.

  The night before, he had thought of going to the meeting place where the thing was being
held and revealing himself to his father. He quickly quashed the idea when he remembered the smirk on Ginna’s face as she held her dagger to his wife’s throat. That viper would stop at nothing to feed her greed. He had no doubt that Kadlin’s life depended on the decisions he made now.

  Bjorn walked to the water’s edge and knelt on the mossy bank. He drank from the narrow stream then rinsed his mouth and spat. The lilting sound of a woman’s voice floated from the opposite shore. He sat back on his heels and saw her a moment before she noticed him. The frail girl was gathering berries in a silver bowl while singing in a foreign tongue. When she saw him, she dropped the bowl, and fat, purple fruit rolled across the ground. She jerked her head from side-to-side as if trying to decide whether to scream or run. If she’d come from his father’s house, either choice would be disastrous.

  Bjorn stood slowly and held up his palms. “Please, don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

  The girl hugged herself but did not flee.

  “Have you come from the house of the Jarl Arn?” he asked, careful to keep his voice calm. She nodded. “And have you seen a woman with dark hair, dressed in the blue tunic of the reindeer people?” Bjorn’s voice quavered, and he thought she must have heard the desperation in his voice because she let her arms relax at her side and nodded again.

  “How do you know the lady Kadlin?” she asked.

  At the sound of his wife’s name so lovingly uttered, Bjorn pulled in a deep breath. “She is well then?”

  “Yes. She is well.” The girl tilted her head as if studying Bjorn’s face. “You could be Lord Rowyn’s twin.”

  “I am his older brother.”

  The girl took a step back and shook her head. “The jarl has only one son. I have heard that his firstborn died many years ago.” She took another step back.

  Bjorn could see the fear on her face and knew he should proceed carefully, but the words spilled out of him.

  “Please, don’t run away. I am… Leif, first son of Arn and his heir. My brother’s wife, Ginna conspired to have me killed so she could have this estate for her own.”