Delivering Kadlin (2 page)

Certainly, the price he paid now would be worth a future of freedom.

Twice, the Viking had tried to earn his way by sailing under the jarl’s crest, but he was no seaman. His legs had never grown accustomed to the pitch and roll of the ship and his stomach had fared even worse. But all the stumbling and retching he’d endured at sea might be better than his current charge.

Bjorn glanced over his shoulder at Kadlin. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. He thought delivering this troublesome bundle was surely his most daunting payment yet. She was like a little imp, keeping him constantly on guard for her next bit of mischief. To be fair, the jarl should give him not only the stream but the mountains beyond it too for suffering this nightmare. Her horse was wound as tight its rider, and its skittish prancing caused woman’s big breasts to bounce with each step. Bjorn found it hard to look away. She didn’t wear the modest apron dresses of Viking women. In the summer her kind—the Reindeer People—shucked their layers of skins and furs in favor of woven tunics dyed deep blue and belts ornamented with neat rows of beadwork. Men and women alike wore trousers and leather shoes that curled at the toes. Her clothes seemed as if they were made for someone much larger, and the open neck hung too low. With her wrists bound in front, her arms had pressed her breasts together and he’d been enchanted by the long, tight valley of cream-colored skin that peeked out from the divide in the fabric. His penis jerked, and he chuckled.
The old jarl won’t know what to do with all that succulent flesh.
Surely, the jarl would have more use for the horse than the woman.

He was sorry that he’d had to bind her hands earlier, but she’d left him no choice. When they’d readied to leave her uncle’s home, she’d come at Bjorn with her fingers hooked as if intent on clawing out his eyes. He recalled the feel of her struggling against him when he’d bound her, and his rod stiffened further. The Viking bit down on his tongue until his eyes watered. He was to deliver the woman untouched.
Pity, I would know exactly what to do with her.

****

The fire had died down, and the Viking was snoring softly, his hand still wrapped around the empty wineskin. He’d flung off his blanket, and he lay bare-chested under the moonlit sky. Kadlin’s attention to his carved body was broken by the pain in her own. Her back ached and her thighs felt bruised from the long, brutal ride.

She didn’t know what to make of the Viking’s description of her husband-to-be, the jarl. He was old, so old in fact that Bjorn believed she’d be a widow before three winters had passed. And if she wasn’t? What if the jarl merely grew older and feebler? With no children to care for him, surely the duties would fall to his new bride. She had seen the old ones at the end. Their bodies folded in on themselves, and every step seemed to pain them. Sometimes, half of their body died, leaving one side of the face drooping and one arm hanging dead and limp with a useless clawed hand dangling from the end.

Kadlin stared up through the frame of the treetops at the stars shining from the black velvet sky. The pinpoints of light blurred as the tears filled her eyes. She’d been betrayed by her uncle and, she suspected, to no small degree her aunt, who’d never bothered to hide her dislike for her sister’s only child.

Kadlin had come to them as a young woman, unaccustomed to the wandering ways of her late mother’s people. They followed the reindeer herds, and whole families slept together in hide tents. She hadn’t realized how much solitude had meant to her until it had been stripped away. She longed for the privacy of her old sleeping cupboard and the stability of the strong frame cottage that had been built around it. Kadlin’s father had been a shipbuilder and her mother had seemed perfectly adapted to a more leisurely life than the one she had left behind. But Kadlin had never known anything different, and she had struggled to bend to her adopted family’s routine.

Learning how to scrape hides, sew clothing, and artfully stitch beads had come slowly to Kadlin and her gaunt, birdlike aunt had expressed her displeasure from the very beginning. Even while Kadlin had still mourned her father, her aunt was loudly muttering about the unfair burden of being stuck with an extra mouth to feed. But her aunt and uncle had plenty to share. For all of his faults, her uncle was a skilled hunter and trapper. They never wanted for meat and there were always enough pelts to trade.

Kadlin suspected her aunt’s complaints had more to do with Kadlin herself. The woman had insisted that Kadlin keep her curls tamed in tight, matronly braids, claiming it was to keep the hair out of the food. And, not long before the Viking had come to fetch her, Kadlin’s aunt had taken to cruelly pinching her below her waist and hissing that Kadlin, “Ate like a cow with hips that were beginning to show it.” Kadlin knew that men didn’t think she looked like a cow and, indeed, often appraised the lush curve of her hips with a feral hunger in their eyes. And the single ones were always more than happy to sneak away with her for a few secret moments. She suspected that her aunt had noticed and that just stoked her hatred.

Kadlin winced when she remembered the ugly smirk on her aunt’s face the morning the Viking had come to collect her. She’d leaned in and hissed in Kadlin’s ear, “It’s a good thing the old jarl didn’t demand a virgin. He let us off easy.”

A sudden, sickening insight burst into Kadlin’s mind, and she sat bolt upright. She knew that her aunt kept a cache of coins and jewels hidden among the furs she slept on. Kadlin had seen it herself. One night she had woken and spied her aunt sitting beside the fire admiring her shiny stash. No doubt she’d amassed her collection slowly over the years, skimming a bauble here and there from the payments her husband earned by trading with the Vikings. Perhaps, she dreamt of finding a more comfortable life as her sister had. A tiny portion of that treasure would surely have been enough to satisfy her husband’s debt. Clearly, her aunt had seized the opportunity to be rid of her “unfair burden.” Kadlin supposed the pony had been a far greater loss to the bitter old hag.

Even if Kadlin could escape her fate, she wouldn’t be able to go back to her home, such as it was. She felt like a boat without anchor or sail. She couldn’t go backward, and she loathed going forward. Despair crashed over her and settled like a millstone on her chest.

The Viking snorted and rolled on his side. Kadlin hugged her knees to her chest and bowed her head, as if making herself small would rein in her galloping thoughts. She looked up to the heavens again and prayed to Freya, or whichever goddess was aware of this insignificant little piece of chattel huddled in a forest clearing. Each breath seemed a struggle as the reality of her future constricted her breast.

The rim of the great sky bowl began to glow with the first hint of dawn. The birds would stir soon, singing their morning song, and the Viking would wake and they would continue this awful trek. They would complete the last leg of the journey that would bring her to her dismal future.

Over Kadlin’s shoulder, the horses huffed quietly in their sleep. They would rouse soon as well.

A shuffling sound at the edge of the clearing drew her attention. She turned and saw an enormous, snow-white buck staring at her. She held her breath, waiting for the beautiful beast to startle and crash back into the forest. Instead, the deer bowed its head as if moving to graze, but his shiny black eyes remained fixed on Kadlin. Perched upon one great antler was a huge black raven, and Kadlin immediately recognized the omen.

“Freya,” Kadlin whispered. The raven spread out its wings.

Kadlin stared in rapt attention. The goddess
had
been watching over her. The stag stepped into the clearing and walked the perimeter stopping at the head of the trail that had brought them in. The raven turned on the antlers to face Kadlin and opened its wings again.

Kadlin rose, not bothering to look back at the sleeping Viking. She was bolstered by the courage that came from having the goddess lead her. She quietly approached the horses, calmly this time, and Bjorn’s horse did not startle. He leaned his broad forehead into Kadlin’s hand when she reached up to stroke him. She untied the two horses and mounted the Viking’s then walked the them slowly up the trail, following behind the stag. The great animal turned onto a hidden path, and Kadlin followed. The raven cawed, spread its wings then flew off. The sky lightened, and the birds began to sing. Kadlin tapped her heels against the horse’s sides.

She brought Bjorn’s big mount to a trot. She didn’t dare go much faster without a saddle. Her cantankerous pony trotted to her right, occasionally tossing his head against the lead. The stag suddenly charged into the underbrush, leaving Kadlin alone on the narrowing path.

Her body tensed. She didn’t know where she was going or what she would do when she got there—wherever “there” was. How would she eat? What would she drink? She had been heading away from the stream.

Kadlin squeezed her thighs against her mount and straightened her spine. The big horse must have felt her demeanor change because he began to toss his head. It seemed the birds were now trilling from every branch. Bjorn would have woken by now and found her gone, and she had barely covered any ground. She knew he couldn’t outrun a horse, but she’d feel much better if she put some distance between her and the Viking.

The brush closed in, and she had to let out the rope that was attached to her pony so he could follow behind. The twittering of the birds reached a crescendo, and the sharp sounds made Kadlin’s skin prickle.

A birdsong like none she’d ever heard cut through the din. Three staccato chirps followed by a drawn-out note caused her to tilt her head. Her mount did the same then stopped dead on the path. Kadlin goaded him with her heels, but the horse wouldn’t move. He stood as if waiting and listening. The song was repeated, and this time the horse wheeled around on the narrow path, his step stuttering as his hooves came down in the thick brush.

“No,” Kadlin cried, struggling with the reins and her pony’s lead.

The two horses were now face-to-face, and Kadlin felt her panic rise.

Again, three short chirps followed by a long note. The Viking’s horse whinnied and shouldered past the smaller pony, sending it skittering off the path. The lead was jerked from her hand, and Kadlin watched helplessly as her pony crashed through the forest straight in the direction of his home paddock.

Kadlin gripped the big horse’s halter with both hands and pulled back, pleading with the beast to stop. The animal would not be dissuaded. He trotted back up the path, his gait steadily increasing. Kadlin tensed her aching thighs but knew that if the horse moved any faster she wouldn’t be able to cling to his bare back. Her mount turned sharply onto the main trail, and she began sliding to one side. The trees seemed to rush by, and when the four-note birdsong rang out again, the horse broke into a full gallop, throwing Kadlin off. She thanked Freya when she landed in a thick growth of ferns. She rolled up on to all fours and watched helplessly as the Viking’s horse thundered away from her and toward what she now realized was his master’s whistle.

* * * *

The moment Kadlin heard the hoof beats returning, she considered diving off of the trail and hiding in the underbrush until the Viking gave up and let her go free to live or die, prosper or starve. But she knew he wouldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t stop until he found her, and she was certain he could do so with little effort. He was at home in the forest and could track any animal with ease. Locating a clumsy girl would be easy.

Instead of running, she stood in the center of the path and did her best to look strong and proud, when she felt only weak and dejected. The Viking’s eyes were ablaze when he caught up to her. His anger showed on his face and in the way he held his body. She was terrified. Even if she hadn’t committed to standing her ground, she would have been unable to flee. She was pinned in place by his glare. His hair was wild from sleep, and he wore only his trousers. His feet and chest were bare.

Bjorn rode up to her side but did not dismount.

“Where’s the pony?” he demanded.

“Headed home,” she spat out.

“You spoiled, little imp! Gods! The jarl will be displeased.”

“Curse the jarl! And curse you too, Viking!”

He reached down, grabbed her upper arm and yanked her belly-first across his lap. Her arms hung down one side of the horse’s neck and her legs down the other as if she were a doe taken down in the hunt. Kadlin’s legs flailed as she tried to reposition herself. Bjorn flattened his palm on her back making it clear that she was not to move.

“Do not kick my horse,” he muttered.

Kadlin could only stare at the ground passing by as they turned around and headed back. She hoped the slow progress would give the Viking a chance to calm down, but when they’d reached camp and were standing face-to-face, it was clear that was not the case.

Chapter Two

He loomed over her, his hands clenching and opening, his jaw tensing and relaxing as he seemed to fight to gain control over his temper. Kadlin jutted out her chin and held his stare though she was quaking inside. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose then spoke slowly and quietly, taking obvious effort not to shout at her. “You’ve no more sense than a kid goat. Do you have any idea—”

“It’s just a stupid pony!” she interrupted.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Do you think I’m angry about the damned
pony
?” he roared. “You could have been killed! You’re lucky you weren’t killed when you were thrown. And there are wolves and bears in those woods that would love to feast on a plump little morsel like you.”

Kadlin thought she heard his rage tempered with genuine concern. For the first time, she felt as if he saw her as something more than a debt marker. His charge was to make sure that no harm came to her, and she had no doubt that he would sooner die than fail. Though she had been terrified during her short-lived escape attempt, the moment he’d found her—as furious as he’d obviously been—she had known she was safe. His strength was her shield. The realization softened her.