Delivering Kadlin (4 page)

He stood suddenly, and she flailed in the water until her feet found the sandy bottom. The Viking stared at the shore, and she followed his gaze. Her pony stood with his head down, drinking from the stream.

* * * *

They sat naked on their blankets and ate their fill of succulent roasted rabbit while their hair dried in the afternoon sun. They rinsed the savory juices from their hands and mouths then dressed.

The Viking motioned for her to sit between his knees with her back to him, and he smoothed her hair with a carved-bone comb. He took great care arranging it down her back and around her shoulders. He gathered up a hank from above her ear and twisted it into a thin braid. He pulled one of the beads from his own hair and strung it onto her plait.

“You are mine,” he whispered then kissed the top of her head.

“Where shall I go?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Where shall I go while I wait for you?”

He remained silent so she turned and looked up at him. He opened his arms, and she climbed into his lap.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Couldn’t I stay at your farm? I could work and—”

He shook his head. “When you first see my land—our home—it will be with me by your side.”

“Then perhaps, I could stay in the jarl’s house—as his servant, not his wife. I can clean and sew—”

Bjorn caught her chin in one big hand and pinned her with his stare. “No! He must never lay eyes on you. He may be too old to take you to his bed, but he loves beautiful things. He finances dangerous voyages to search out gemstones. He thinks nothing of sending men to their deaths if it might win him a tiny pearl or amethyst or sapphire. You would be just another jewel to him. I won’t let him take you from me, Kadlin.”

This was the first time he’d spoken her name, and it added weight to his warning.

“Do you understand?” he asked. She jerked her chin from his grasp and nodded.

“Then where will I go?” she muttered.

“I might know of a place. We’ll ride in the morning.”

Chapter Three

They followed the river until just before noon then stopped to eat, water the horses and fill the skins. Bjorn warned her that the next leg of the journey would be much more difficult. They would travel through a dense, ancient forest filled with narrow, horse-hobbling trails and predators at every turn.

“You must stay close to me and be alert, Kadlin.”

His warning prodded at her already raw nerves. It was clear that the Viking would do what he could to protect her, but he would be leaving her soon. She had no idea where they were going or what would await her when they arrived. Bjorn had only said it was the home of an old friend that might be willing to do a favor and keep Kadlin until Bjorn returned from his voyage. “You will have to earn your keep,” he’d added. Kadlin had said that that was understood.

The air was hot, humid and still, and Kadlin’s clothes clung to her skin. Across the river, dark storm clouds had begun to gather over the tops of the trees.
With the air as heavy as it is, any storm will be violent.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, a rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. Kadlin shrugged forward at the sound. The pony tossed his head, and Kadlin stroked his neck and shushed him.

“The storm is not feeding his fear. You are,” said Bjorn.

“What does that mean?” Kadlin snapped.

“Your worry is traveling down the reins. Be strong and confident. Don’t react to the thunder. He is following your lead, so lead him, woman!”

Kadlin bit back her response because she knew he was right. Anyone who’d been around animals knew that, but she was embarrassed to be caught in her deficiency. She didn’t want Bjorn to think she was some foolish girl.

The terrain had turned swamp-like, and they had to ride out farther from the riverbank to find solid ground. Kadlin concentrated on an air of confidence even as the storm gathered. The Viking had shed his tunic, and she followed behind him, watching his muscles move beneath his smooth skin. He’d unsheathed his sword and was using it to push back the tall cattails that grew between the shore and the trail.

He stopped and tapped the top of a tall stone with the blade.

Kadlin rode up beside him and leaned in to look at the marker. She read the inscription aloud, “‘‘In memory of Astrid, daughter of Arne and Hilda, a most skilled and clever girl.’ Did you know her, Bjorn?” The Viking shook his head. “Never heard of her. The stone just shows where to turn.” He led his horse away from the monument and headed for the tree line.

Directly across from the memorial was a narrow gap in the trees. The mouth of the trail was grown over with grasses, but once they stepped under the shadowy canopy, the path became clear and it was wide enough for the two horses to walk abreast. It was much cooler here, but the chill that ran over Kadlin’s skin was not from the temperature.

The forest quickly grew denser and darker, and her head jerked at every noise from the underbrush. Her pony’s ears pricked up, and she focused on relaxing her body and mind. She stayed close to Bjorn and stole glances up at him sitting confidently on his tall mount. She noticed that he barely moved his head, but his eyes never stopped searching their surroundings. Rain pattered on the leaves overhead, but few drops made it through to the riders. Soon, it stopped altogether. The thunder moved away from them, and Kadlin began to relax.

“Where are we—”

Bjorn held up his hand to stop Kadlin’s question. His eyes were focused on a spot in the trees ahead. Her body tensed again, and her heart pounded in her throat. The Viking reached forward and slowly retrieved his bow and an arrow from the saddle. His horse stood as still as a statue while Bjorn raised his weapon and pointed it at the edge of the forest to his right.

Kadlin held her breath, waiting to see what beast would emerge from the shadows. She heard the creak of the wood when the Viking pulled back the string against his thick antler thumb ring.

The moment the deer stepped onto the path, Bjorn loosed his arrow. It flew straight into the doe’s heart, and she crumpled to the ground. Bjorn slid from his horse and tossed the reins to Kadlin. She watched as he gutted the deer, rolled it over to drain then hauled it back to his mount. The horse didn’t stir while the Viking draped the carcass over its shoulders.

“This should smooth the way with your host,” he said, swinging back up on his horse.

Kadlin wondered about their destination even as the path widened and the underbrush gave way to more purposeful plantings. Fruit bushes heavy with berries larger than she’d ever seen lined the sides of the trail.

The horses stepped into a large clearing. The trees had been cut back to allow the sun to shine on a lush vegetable garden. The neat rows ran up to a tiny cottage, its window boxes overflowing with herbs.

“Who lives here?” Kadlin asked.

“Someone who can help,” he answered.

The door of the cottage opened, and a tall, thin woman emerged. As she stepped into the sunlight, Kadlin realized that she was quite old. Her brown hair was streaked with silver and fell in a thick braid down her back to her calves. She stood erect and moved lithely, which had given her the illusion of youth.

The woman nodded at the travelers as if not at all surprised by their appearance in the forest. She had a large knife in her hand, and though no malice showed on the old woman’s face, Kadlin felt a knot of alarm gather in her belly.

“I’ve been expecting you, Viking,” the old woman said. She nodded towards a low wooden trough near a stone well. “The water is fresh.”

While the horses drank, Bjorn hauled up the bucket from the well and filled the dipping gourd. Kadlin sipped the icy water and watched the old woman turn her back on them and walk around the side of the cottage. Bjorn gathered the doe by the feet and followed. Kadlin trailed behind. The old woman laid the knife on a long wooden table then turned to set a caldron over the fire burning in an outdoor hearth.

She looked at Kadlin. “Are you his woman?” she asked.

“She is,” said Bjorn.

“I was asking her, Viking. Well, are you his woman?”

Kadlin didn’t pause. “I am. My name is Kadlin.”

The old woman nodded. “And I am Grima.”

Bjorn bent over the doe and without turning to look at him, the old woman spoke, “Mind the hide, Viking. I have use for it.”

Bjorn worked carefully separating the deer’s skin from its flesh. The woman took the skin from Bjorn and laid it over a long, smooth log on the ground, fur side down. Kadlin shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

The old woman reached into a large pouch tied onto the belt at her waist and pulled out a flint. She passed it to Kadlin. “Scrape it clean, girl. My knees are not what they used to be. I can get to the ground just fine. It’s getting back up that’s becoming a challenge. It’s a good thing I don’t run with those Christians, eh, Viking?”

Bjorn chuckled then severed the deer’s head with a smooth swipe of his blade. He brought down the knife again and split the skull down the center then carried halves to the caldron, which now bubbled over the fire. With his small dagger, he pried out the brains and plopped them into the boiling water.

Kadlin knelt beside the skin and dragged the sharp stone over the surface, gathering the bits of flesh and fat in a pile near her knee. She worked quickly and carefully, having scraped many hides. When she finished, she folded the skin in on itself and carried it to the large timber frame she’d noticed at the edge of the clearing. Bjorn joined her, and while the brain boiled into tanning fluid, he made small slits around the edge of the hide and helped her stretch it in the frame with long leather cords.

“Come lift the pot, Viking,” the woman called.

Bjorn pulled the caldron from the hearth, using a scrap of leather to keep from burning his hands, set it down in front of the stretcher then returned to the butchering table. The woman wordlessly passed Kadlin a hand mop fashioned from a stick with rags tied to one end. Kadlin soaked the mop in the brain and water mixture and rubbed it into the hide. She knew that the liquid, and the smoking to follow, would make the skin soft and pliable.

Grima took a slab of meat from Bjorn and set it over the fire to roast. The two worked in silent harmony, and Kadlin wondered at their connection.

* * * *

The three dined at a rough-hewn table in the shadow of the cottage. After they had eaten their fill of roasted venison and root vegetables, Bjorn stood and held out his hand. Kadlin laid her fingers in his and let him lead her from the yard onto a narrow, winding path into the forest.

They walked wordlessly for nearly a half hour before the dense foliage opened onto a huge, perfectly round clearing. At the center of the circle was an enormous weeping willow, its wispy branches creating a verdant skirt that brushed the ground. Bjorn drew back the curtain of leaves and led Kadlin inside.

She gasped at the size of the secret room. The living walls soared high above their heads and gave the space an eerie green glow. Close to the ground, the massive trunk split off into three arms, creating a rough throne.

“This is where Grima found me,” Bjorn said. “I was near death, wounded in a battle I can’t remember. I don’t know who I was fighting for or what I was fighting against.”

A thousand questions sprang to Kadlin’s mind, but she held her tongue and listened.

“She made a litter of birch branches and had her old horse drag me back to the cottage. Every step jolted me, and I roared at the pain. Grima said I sounded like a bear in a beehive, and so she gave me my name. All summer, she fed me and tended to my wounds. When I was strong enough, I worked to repay my debt. In the fall, I tilled a new garden plot, cared for her animals, stocked her woodpile, re-thatched the roof and kept meat on her table. I stayed through the winter, and in those long nights, I dreamed of having my own home with fertile fields and strong livestock. In the spring, I struck out to find the place I’d conjured in my mind. The land that was destined to be mine is only a half-day’s ride from Grima’s cottage, but it was owned by the jarl. I placed myself in his service in exchange for my dream. Until I have paid him his due, the land will not be fully mine. I possess nothing but my horse and what we can carry.”

Kadlin squeezed his big hand. The questions she had tamped down came rushing out of her, “What of your life before you came here? Where are you from? Who are your people? Who are
you
?”

Bjorn guided her fingers into his hair above his right ear. She felt a long, thick scar on his scalp. “There was no life before I came here. Who I was and where I came from bled out of me and fed the roots of this tree. I was reborn here.”

Kadlin swept her hand down the side of his face and traced his square jaw. She brushed her thumb across his lower lip, and she saw his eyes flash. He gathered up a length of her hair and yanked her head back. When she opened her mouth in surprise, he covered it with his own. His tongue plunged against hers, and she whimpered in anticipation.

He pulled away and glared down at her. “I have labored for years to earn my land, but there is nothing I want more than you, imp. I wish to possess you.”

“You do, Bjorn.”

He wound her hair more tightly in his fist, and she was immobilized. “I want to care for you, and I want you to trust me in all things. I want you to give yourself over to me completely.”

Kadlin trembled. Her face and throat flushed. Her nipples and sex tingled. “I am yours, Viking.” She reached out to touch his face, and he let loose her hair and stepped backward.

“Bare yourself to me,” he said quietly.

Kadlin hesitated.

“Do as you’re told,” he growled.

She ignored the command in his voice, sensing that the game would be much more interesting if she did not immediately comply. The Viking’s eyes narrowed, but she thought she saw one corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“What are you playing at, imp? You will do as you’re told or the flesh of your sweet, round backside shall pay the price.”