Rescuing Kadlin Read online

  The girl shook her head and inched farther away, and Bjorn hoped he would be able to get across the stream and catch her before she screamed and alerted the others at the house. His mind reeled for a solution. “Wait!” he cried. “I can prove I am who I say I am. You work in the house, yes?” She nodded. “And have you ever cleaned the large guest chamber?” She stared back at him. “In that chamber there is a little table inlaid with rare woods and ivory.”

  The girl hugged herself. “Anyone who has been in that room would have seen that table. Perhaps you were a guest of the jarl, or a thief,” she said. Bjorn could hear the doubt in her voice.

  “If you have ever cleaned that table, you will know that there is a small mark on the edge. From a distance, it looks like a scratch, but if you look closely, you can see that it is in the shape of… a man’s penis.” The girl narrowed her eyes, and he continued, “Rowyn dared me to carve it when we were just little boys.”

  For a long moment, the girl said nothing, then a smile tugged up the corners of her mouth. “I have seen it, my lord, and I believe you are who you say you are. And the lady Kadlin?”

  “She is my wife, and she is in danger. If you work under Ginna then you know what she is capable of. I need to rescue Kadlin from that monster. Her life depends on it.” Bjorn waded into the stream and crossed to the girl’s side. She did not pull away when he laid his hands on her bony shoulders. “Will you help us?”

  She dipped her head. “If you promise to take me away from my mistress, I will help you in any way that I can.”

  Relief washed over him, and he crushed the thin girl against his chest. “I swear it.”

  Chapter Four

  A stout, elderly woman brought the evening meal, and Kadlin wondered what had become of Beatrice. She hoped that the girl’s punishment hadn’t been too harsh. A merciful mistress would have deemed the humiliation of being splashed with piss to have been penalty enough. But then, no one would mistake Ginna for merciful.

  Kadlin ate her stew and bread then washed and stood at the window. The belly of the sun was resting on the surface of the sea, and Kadlin watched as it slid into the water. She stayed at the window until the stars came out and the green waves of light played across the sky. When she was a small girl, her father had told her that the Northern Lights were the archway marking the entrance to the bridge that separated the world of man from the world of the gods.

  After her father had died, she imagined him crossing the fiery span and stepping into Valhalla. Then she’d been sent to live with her aunt and uncle. The reindeer people knew nothing of her gods. Their gods resided in the animals and trees and even the rocks. Shaman banged on drumheads covered with symbols of the ones they worshipped. The people would chant until the shaman fell into a trance and brought back messages from the spirit world. Their ceremonies had frightened and confused her. It was just another way Kadlin didn’t fit in with her adopted clan. Among them, she had been lost and alone in every way imaginable. Then Bjorn had come to drag her away and deliver her to a stranger as payment for her uncle’s gambling debt. She had been enraged at her plight, but, before they’d completed that journey, her captor had become her lover.

  Kadlin closed her eyes and tried to imagine the big Viking’s arms around her. She had never felt more safe or loved than when she was with him. She reached up and found the tiny pouch that hung from a cord around her neck. Grima had given her the protection amulet so long ago. Kadlin kneaded the leather, now smooth and shiny from years of wear, praying silently to the gods. Please keep him safe and bring him back to me. I love him so.

  Rattling at the lock broke Kadlin’s concentration. The candles had burned low, and she squinted in the dim light. The heavy door swung slowly inward, and Beatrice slipped inside the room then re-secured the lock from the inside. The tiny girl held one finger to her lips then tiptoed to the far side of the room and crouched behind a large, carved chest. Kadlin moved to speak to her, but Beatrice waved her away.

  “She will be coming soon to check on you before she locks the door for the night. You must pretend that nothing is amiss until she has left,” the girl whispered then inclined her head toward the table.

  Confused, Kadlin crossed the room then sat down. She glanced at the chest, but Beatrice had made herself small and couldn’t be seen. Kadlin traced the inlaid tabletop with her fingertip and waited. She was about to give in and ask Beatrice for an explanation when she heard noise from the hallway.

  Kadlin rose when Ginna entered. “Please sit down, dear. Make yourself comfortable. We have much to talk about.” Kadlin sunk back in her chair, and Ginna sat opposite her. The peaceful expression on Ginna’s face infuriated Kadlin, but she concentrated on keeping herself calm. It was all she could do not to recoil when the blonde reached out and touched her hand. “Tell me, sister, what is your home like?”

  Kadlin shrugged. “It’s nothing really. As you said, it’s just a hovel. We own nothing of value. We farm a small, rocky plot of land for my husband’s lord,” she lied.

  Ginna pursed her lips. “Pity. I was hoping to make your stay worth my while. But then I’m not surprised. Anyone could see that you live simply. And do you and Leif have children?”

  “No,” Kadlin said. To her this was not a lie. She and Bjorn had a son.

  Ginna’s mouth tugged into an affected frown. “How sad for you. Of course, if I learn that you are not telling me the truth…” She paused and smiled. “Well, let us hope that is not the case.”

  “Or?” Kadlin challenged.

  Ginna’s smile turned into a sneer, and she leaned across the table. “Or, I will gut you in front of that pathetic husband of yours, lop of his head and leave your bodies to feed the ravens.”

  Kadlin crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned back. “Really? I thought you were going to burn us up and scatter our ashes to the winds.”

  Ginna moved so quickly that Kadlin didn’t have time to shield herself before the tall woman landed a mighty slap on her face. The taste of blood filled her mouth, and she considered swallowing it but in the end spat the crimson-tinged saliva onto Ginna’s sky-blue gown.

  Ginna shot up from her chair and stared in horror at the splatters of red on her bodice.

  “You pig!” she thundered, and this time when she landed her blow, it was with a closed fist. The impact sent Kadlin toppling off her chair. She felt as if her temple had been splintered, and before she could reach up to rub the ache, Ginna was upon her with her long, thin fingers encircling Kadlin’s neck. Twice she dashed Kadlin’s head against the floor, and the world was beginning to go black when a loud crack echoed off the walls and the stench of piss filled her nostrils. Ginna slumped forward, and Kadlin kicked and scrabbled to get out from under her motionless body.

  Kadlin’s left eye had already swollen shut, and her right was watering fiercely, but she could still make out the little slave looming over them, clutching the handle of the shattered slop pot.

  * * * *

  Beatrice tossed the pottery shard aside then ran to the door, yanked it open and peered into the hallway before quickly locking it again. “Well, that did not go as planned,” she said. The girl dropped to her knees, rolled Ginna onto her back and put her ear close to the unconscious woman’s lips. “She breathes. We must work quickly.” She untied Ginna’s belt and tossed it to Kadlin. “Bind her wrists before she wakes up.”

  Kadlin unstrung the keys and other implements that hung from the band of leather then tightly bound the woman’s hands in front of her. She had just secured the final knot when Ginna began to moan. Beatrice reached down and tore a strip of fabric from the hem of the silky gown then slipped it between her mistress’ teeth and tied it tightly behind her head. Ginna’s eyes flew open, and she began to struggle, trying to yell against her gag. Beatrice grasped the woman’s hair and pulled her to her feet.

  “You seem to have forgotten your place, mistress,” she hissed. “Now sit down, and keep quiet,” she said, shoving Ginna back on the be
d.

  The girl grabbed a lit candle and handed the heavy gold candlestick to Kadlin “If she moves or makes a sound, use this.” Kadlin stood guard while Beatrice carried the light to the window. She moved it slowly from side to side five times, counting aloud with each pass, before setting it on the sill. The flame guttered in the breeze. Kadlin blinked her right eye to keep both slave and mistress in focus and ran her tongue along the ragged cut inside her cheek. She touched her left temple, and her fingertips came away bloody.

  The shock of the past few moments was beginning to seep into her consciousness, but she tamped it down, sensing that the adventure had only just begun. Her head throbbed, and she was aware of every wave crashing on the shore outside the window. She wished she could let go of her weapon and hold her hands over her ears to shut out the noise. Then she heard something else mixed with the sound of water against rocks. It was the huff and snort of horses, and the crunch of hooves on gravel. She looked back to the window and saw Beatrice blow out the candle and set it aside. The low opening was suddenly filled with the huge, silky head of Bjorn’s mount. Kadlin’s legs felt weak, and hope fell over her like a warm blanket. A cry of relief escaped her lips when the horse was pushed aside and her husband looked in at her. Bjorn’s face clouded when he caught sight of Kadlin and Ginna.

  The once-timid slave seemed possessed when she stared down at Bjorn and asked confidently, “How many horses have you?”

  “Three,” he answered.

  The servant pulled her mistress to her feet. “Then someone will have to ride double. There has been a change of plans.”

  Bjorn helped Kadlin out of the window first and pulled her to him. She winced as her battered face pressed against his hard chest. “What has she done to you, my love?” he whispered.

  “We will worry about that later, husband.”

  Bjorn reached into the window and yanked Ginna through. He goaded her to a horse that Kadlin did not recognize then hefted her, belly down, across its shoulders. Beatrice hopped to the ground of her own accord and swung easily into the saddle behind her mistress. Bjorn tossed her the reins.

  “Can you manage her?” he asked. Beatrice just smirked and nodded.

  Kadlin let her husband help her onto her pony before he climbed onto his own horse. She did not ask him where they were going. Wherever he led, she would follow.

  * * * *

  They rode in silence for an hour before the trail opened onto a huge clearing with a long hall built atop a mound of earth. Light glowed in the windows, and the smell of wood smoke and roasting meat spilled into the night. They hitched the horses to the trees ringing the meeting place, and the four continued on foot—Bjorn and Kadlin hand-in-hand with Beatrice steering Ginna by the hair.

  Bjorn paused outside the huge doors, his hand resting on the thick wrought iron handle, and his broad chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath.

  “Are you ready, wife?” he asked. She answered with a nod.

  When he yanked open the door, the sound of music and laughter tumbled over them. Kadlin was transported to a time, so long ago, when she’d visited another jarl in another hall to plead for her man’s freedom. She prayed that this meeting would go, as well.

  The scene inside was of a celebration in full force. The revelers looked well-sated, and their sweat-slick, ruddy faces showed that they had been enjoying food and drink for hours. Cackling women, some with their breasts bared, ground lustily on the laps of drunken men. The tables were littered with overturned goblets and platters overflowing with bones and crusts of bread.

  At the far end of the hall was a raised dais with a smiling, broad-shouldered man lounging on a huge throne and looking out on the festivities. Behind him was a carved plaque depicting an eagle with wings outspread. Arn—the eagle. Beside him in a smaller chair sat a man who looked so like Bjorn that it caused Kadlin to rub at her uninjured eye. He was smaller, and his red hair was pulled back tightly in a neat tail, but otherwise, he looked the same—square jaw, full lips, beautiful green eyes. So this is Rowyn. She felt a stab of anger when she remembered what he had done and why they were there.

  Bjorn advanced up the long, center aisle, shouldering past the people that crowded the space. A drunken man—with a long beard divided into three neat braids—staggered up to Bjorn and clasped him on the shoulder.

  “Lord Rowyn, your father surely knows how to…” The man stopped and skittered backward, his mouth dropping open. “It cannot be,” he muttered.

  Others seemed to take notice, and the words ‘ghost’ and ‘impossible’ were uttered beneath the fray. The crowd began to part, and the lyre and flute music stopped. Rowyn looked out over the crowd and appeared as if he were about to demand the musicians resume playing when he caught sight of the visitors. His face went white as snow, and he struggled to his feet. Arn glanced at his younger son then followed his gaze. The chieftain stood, a full head taller than Rowyn. The hall fell silent, and Kadlin could feel the stares of a hundred people boring into them.

  Bjorn squeezed her fingers then drew in a deep breath. “Hello, Father, am I too late to have my petition heard?”

  Arn leapt from the dais and ran to his son then reached out and touched his face as if trying to convince himself that he was not seeing a ghost. Kadlin let go of Bjorn’s hand and stepped back to witness the impossible reunion.

  Arn’s eyes were glistening as he asked, “Is it truly you, Leif? Have my prayers finally been answered?”

  “It is me, Father,” Bjorn said quietly.

  Arn dragged his son’s face down to his own and covered it with kisses before pulling him into an embrace. When Bjorn closed his eyes and buried his face in the jarl’s neck, Kadlin felt as though her love for him would steal her breath away. The old man’s shoulders shook with sobs, and Kadlin’s own tears flowed.

  She was near enough to hear her husband whisper, “All is well now, Father. All is well now.”

  The revelers cleared the way for reunited father and son as the two walked to the dais with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Kadlin turned her attention back to the stage and found that Rowyn had disappeared. A feeling of dread came over Kadlin as she stood on tiptoe, craning to see over the crowd, but her brother-in-law was nowhere to be found. Standing on the stage next to his father, Bjorn seemed not to notice or care that his brother was missing. Arn’s grin was broad as he swept his gaze over the room, but when his expression suddenly changed, Kadlin turned to see the source of his consternation. At the rear of the hall, Beatrice held the wife of the heir-apparent by her long, blonde tresses.

  “What is this?” Arn thundered.

  The girl who had just yesterday cowered at the sight of her mistress now confidently pushed her captive forward. Beatrice strode to the base of the dais and dipped her head in a deferential bow.

  “My lord, I am but a servant. I defer to Lord Leif to explain.”

  “Son?” Arn asked.

  Bjorn glanced at his father and smiled, though Kadlin felt as if his expression was heavy with regret. He turned and looked out over the assembled crowd, his gaze resting momentarily on Kadlin. She watched in fascination as her husband’s demeanor changed. He was neither a farmer nor an indentured serf. In this moment, he was a leader of men, and her heart swelled with pride. She hung on his every word, and she sensed the others did, as well.

  “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.”