Rescuing Kadlin Page 6
He reached around her, cupped her buttocks and took over guiding their movements, lifting Kadlin until the head of his rod nearly escaped her then forcefully driving her downward. She gave herself over to him, and in relinquishing her power, she found release. Kadlin dug her fingers into his back and muffled her cries of ecstasy by pressing her mouth to his neck. Bjorn growled at the moment of his own satisfaction then crushed her against his hard body as his seed spurted into her. He loosened his hold, but did not let go of Kadlin.
They remained joined, and he rocked her on his lap then kissed her tenderly. Kadlin’s body felt heavy and limp, and she was completely contented when he laid her back on the bed and carefully arranged the linens and furs over her, then brought her a cup of water. He slid in beside her and stretched out on his back, lacing his fingers behind his head.
“We should sleep now,” he said. “Tomorrow, we will strike out for the farm to transfer the deed and retrieve our son. It will be a long trip there and back. We will need our strength.” Kadlin nodded then curled up against his side, resting her cheek on his chest, and drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat.
Chapter Six
The trip to their land and back had taken its toll. Bjorn’s body was sore, and his mind was weary. They had returned to the estate late the night before, and Arn had been waiting up for them. The fatigue had shown on his face when he explained what would occur at dawn. The blacksmith, Kani, had sharpened his blade and would use it to execute the traitors immediately after their crime and sentence had been officially proclaimed. Bjorn was sickened by the thought but knew it was what the law required.
Bjorn had sipped mead while Arn told them that Ginna’s father had arrived several days before, and the old chieftain was been so weakened by the journey that he was staying in the home of a healer near the meeting hall.
“What is he like?” Bjorn had asked. Arn’s brow furrowed.
“You have met him, son. Do you not remember him from the handfasting of Rowyn and Ginna?”
Bjorn shook his head. No, he did not remember. There were many things from his former life that he could not recall. Since the night he’d taken Grima’s potion, odd bits of memories bubbled up from the depths, but he still felt as if he were missing entire years.
Bjorn’s racing thoughts had kept him awake. He could tell by Kadlin’s breathing that she too had found sleep impossible. It was still dark when they woke that morning, and it felt as though they had just lain down their heads when it was time to rise. He longed for the comfort of his bed and his wife’s arms, but there was one more thing to be done before he could rest.
Bjorn and Kadlin had left Hjortr in Beatrice’s care and now rode with Arn in silence to the meeting hall before sunrise. Even a month ago, Bjorn could not have imagined the strange events that would reunite him with his father and find him presiding over the execution of his brother and sister-in-law.
The three arrived at the meeting hall just before dawn and hitched their horses to the post near the entrance. A crowd had gathered in the torch-lit dooryard, and Bjorn could feel the anger and anticipation surging from them. An outdoor riser had been constructed, and Arn’s chair flanked by two others had been set atop it. Bjorn and Kadlin took their places at the jarl’s sides. Directly in front of the platform was a great oak stump where his would-be assassins would meet their fate.
When the sun broke the horizon, a horn sounded followed by the slow, steady beat of a drum. The doors to the hall swung outward, and Rowyn and Ginna were led into the yard by four large men. Kani, the blacksmith, followed with a long, double-bladed axe resting on one broad shoulder. Behind the executioner, a frail, birdlike man tottered between two women. When he lifted his face toward the dais, Bjorn and Kadlin both leapt to their feet.
The rush of memories so overwhelmed Bjorn that he thought his skull would shatter. In an instant, he recalled every detail of his brother’s handfasting ceremony—the smile on Rowyn’s face, the smirk on Ginna’s, and the greedy sneer on her father’s. It was the same sneer that the old jarl had worn when he’d sent Bjorn on voyages and errands in the years the Viking had been in his service. It was the same sneer he had worn when Kadlin had begged him for Bjorn’s release then turned over her precious family heirloom to win it.
“Son, what is the matter?” Arn asked.
The procession had reached the edge of the riser, and Bjorn’s former master looked up at him. There was no smile on the old man’s face. “Hello, Viking. Hello, Kadlin, daughter of Olav the shipbuilder,” he croaked.
“Bjorn?” Arn whispered.
Bjorn turned to his father. “This is the man who kept me in his service for seven years, all the while knowing who I truly was. I’ve no doubt that he conspired with Ginna and Rowyn to get me out of the way so his daughter could have a titled husband.” Bjorn glanced at his sister-in-law’s face and saw what seemed to be genuine shock.
Arn’s expression turned quickly from confusion to comprehension then rage. “Is this so?”
Bjorn glared at the old jarl.
He nodded his wrinkled head. “It is so, Arn.”
“Why didn’t you kill me when you discovered that Rowyn had failed to do just that?” Bjorn asked.
The man shrugged his narrow shoulders. “You were under the protection of the witch. If any harm had come to you, questions would have been asked, but it is unlikely that she would have waited for answers before divining them herself and meting out her own unique punishment. I thought it best to gain from you what I could.”
“Father?” Ginna cried.
He turned and looked up at her. “I could not tell you, my dear. I could not tell anyone that Arn’s firstborn lived. I feared that if he saw you—if he even knew I had a daughter—his memory would return and all would be lost. When you came to visit, I sent him off on raids or errands, just so your paths would never cross.”
Arn took a step toward the edge of the dais and glared down at him. “How dare you come here when you know what your penalty must be?”
“There is no longer a secret to be kept, and my daughter wished to say goodbye. I am an old man, Arn. I am not long for this world, and I hoped that I could make amends and perhaps find some peace in the next.”
“Amends?” Arn thundered. “After all you’ve done, after all you’ve stolen from us, what could you possibly offer to make up for your wickedness?”
“Only this,” he said and opened the pouch that hung from his belt. He pulled out a bundle of silk and folded back the fabric. Bjorn recognized the circle of gold as soon as the sun hit the tourmalines, pearls, amethysts and sapphires. He snatched the crown and passed it to Kadlin. She ran her fingers over the jewels then looked up at him with shining eyes.
Bjorn turned back to the old jarl. “You have only returned what you have stolen. The gods might show you mercy, but we will not.”
The man nodded then looked up at Arn. “As your peer, I ask that you take me first so that I will not have to witness my daughter’s execution.”
Arn scoffed. “My peer? You are not my peer. Your request is denied. You have taken first one son from me and now another. You will be executed this day, and you will be last.”
The jarl did not resist when he was led with his daughter and son-in-law to the great oak stump. He looked on as the axe came down first on Rowyn’s neck then Ginna’s. And, at the moment the old man’s head was severed from his body, Bjorn felt as if a yoke had been lifted from his own shoulders.
Epilogue
The trees had turned the color of flames, and the fallen leaves crunched under Hjortr’s feet as he and Floki chased through the labyrinth. Kadlin sat in a patch of sunlight, pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and smiled at the sound of her son’s laughter and the dog’s happy barks. Her son would be tall and strong like his father, and one day he would be the lord of this estate.
Beatrice sat beside her mistress, mending a hole in Hjortr’s trousers. “That dog is getting fat,” she said.
&nbs
p; Kadlin laughed. “It is no wonder, given the feasts you prepare for him.” Beatrice widened her eyes in feigned innocence, and Kadlin waved her finger. “I’ve seen the dishes you sneak to him. He’ll not be able to so much as waddle soon.”
Kadlin winked at the girl who had once saved her life and now helped watch over her son. She was grateful that the gods had brought her such a loyal employee and friend.
It was suddenly quiet, and the women looked up. Floki had stopped barking and was staring at the trailhead at the edge of the lawn. His pointed ears perked forward then he took off running into the tree line, and when he reemerged, he was leading a group of horses and riders. Kadlin rose and turned to Beatrice. “Please find Bjorn, and tell him our guests have arrived.”
Hjortr was near the middle of the maze, and he ran the twisting path toward the exit, clearly afraid that taking a shortcut over the mounded earth would anger the gods. Agata and her husband rode up first, with little Bassi sharing his father’s saddle. Finnr halted his mount and set young Bassi on the ground. The boy headed for the mouth of the maze and followed it inward until the two friends met and wrestled each other to the ground.
Kadlin ran out to meet Bassi’s parents, along with Marget, Drengr, Gudrior, Rafn, and Grima. The visitors dismounted, and by the time they had exchanged greetings, Bjorn had joined them.
That night, they all gathered around the grand table, laughed and feasted. The men gave Bjorn and Arn the news of the harvest while Hjortr and Bassi ran through the house with Floki barking at their heels.
Grima lit her pipe and looked around the lavish dining hall. “You have done well for yourself, Viking,” she said to Bjorn. He only nodded, but Kadlin thought she could detect the pride on his face. “And the dreams?” the old witch asked.
“They have gone, Grima. It seems that Mara has found someone else to torment.”
The seer reached across the table and patted his hand. “Well, you surely have earned some peace, you big bear.”
When supper had ended, the guests were shown to their beds, and the boys were tucked into Hjortr’s room. In their chamber, Bjorn and Kadlin washed and slid naked under the furs. Bjorn rolled on his side, propped himself up on one elbow and smiled down at Kadlin. She studied his handsome face, and her skin warmed when he leaned in to kiss her mouth before pressing his lips to her neck. He climbed atop her, and she sighed at the comforting weight of his big body.
He kneaded her breast with one hand and explored her sex with the other, opening her with his long fingers. When she was wet and ready for him, he pressed into her and languidly pumped his hips. Her excitement gathered slowly, and when her moment came, he covered her mouth with his and swallowed her passionate cries. The release was long and luxurious and left her feeling completely sated.
Bjorn often loved her this way now, quietly coaxing her body and soul to glorious heights. Sometimes their play was still rough and flavored with the pleasure-pain that left them both panting. Whenever and however they came together, Kadlin was always left satisfied and loving him more than when they had started.
Kadlin’s insides still quivered as she spread her legs wide for him, moaning with each deep stroke.
His breath quickened, and he dropped his cheek against hers before whispering, “I love you.” When she sensed he was nearing completion, she kissed the side of his neck then sucked hard at the sensitive flesh. It was his undoing, and she held on to him as he emptied himself inside of her.
They lay quietly for a while before she reached up and drew one of his coppery braids through her fingers. “Will you never wear the hair and clothing of a proper nobleman, husband?”
He laughed and shook his head, rattling the beads that decorated his plaits. “Never. Are you disappointed?”
Kadlin smiled. “I could never be disappointed with you, my love. No matter where the fates take us, I will always be content as long as you are with me.”
Rolling over on his back, he pulled her on top of him and touched the tiny scar at her temple. “It is healing well,” he said.
She traced the scar on his scalp then pressed her palm over his heart. "And you, husband? Are you healing well?”
Bjorn shook his head and laid his hand over hers. “No, wife, I am healed, and I am free, and it is you who has rescued me.”
About the Author
Gabrielle Holly lives in the Midwest with her husband and two enormous, world-class-shedding dogs. She has worked as a freelance journalist, newspaper humor columnist, magazine editor, stand-up comic and morning radio show host. She has a short attention span and enjoys reading, cooking, crafting, hunting for antiques, attending live theater, spending time outdoors, watching movies, and coercing her husband into being her “research assistant." Gabrielle loves to hear from her readers and can be found at www.gabrielleholly.com
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