Kadlin pulled open the purse hanging from her belt and drew out a soiled cloth. She unwrapped it and lovingly removed the small crown. As she’d done a thousand times since she was a child, she ran her fingers over the smooth gold interior and swept her thumb across the dozens of gems set on the surface. She lifted the coronet over her head for all to see then turned to face the jarl. She held the treasure under his nose and turned it so the light danced off of the tourmalines, pearls, amethysts, and sapphires.
The jarl’s mouth dropped open, and he looked up at Kadlin. He held out his hands, palms up, as if asking permission. She handed him the crown and took a step backward. There was shuffling in the hall as everyone leaned in to see the treasure.
The jarl nodded to the men surrounding Bjorn, and they stepped away from him. “Feed and water her pony and stable it for the night. At first light, you will ready her mount and his, as well. I need two men to gather a dozen of my finest sheep from the pasture and drive them to Bjorn’s land.”
He turned to Kadlin and smiled. “You, my dear, are a much better gambler than your uncle.”
* * * *
The street was lit by the torches the entourage carried as they all paraded from the great hall to the jarl’s home. Kadlin walked behind Bjorn and the jarl and strained to hear their hushed conversation. As she watched her man’s confident stride, her heart swelled. She had done it! She had won their freedom. They’d been invited to spend the night as the jarl’s guests, and in the morning, she and Bjorn would ride off to begin their life together.
The jarl’s house was by far the grandest in the village. A fire blazed in the huge open hearth at the center of the great room. The Viking and the jarl immediately took their places at one of the long tables and fell into earnest discussion. Kadlin presumed they were working out the transfer of property, and she moved to take a seat next to Bjorn but was headed off by a short, stout woman with a broad face and ruddy cheeks.
“I’ll show you to your bed, dear,” the woman said, wrapping a fleshy hand around Kadlin’s wrist.
“But, I—”
Kadlin was struck silent when Bjorn glared up at her. Her stomach lurched, and she tried to read his expression. He turned away without bidding her goodnight, and she let herself be led to a sleeping cupboard at the rear of the house. She lay back on the soft furs, her body bone-weary, but her mind spinning to make sense of Bjorn’s reaction.
If only I could touch him.
Concentrating on the popping fire and the murmur of the men’s voices, Kadlin tried to ignore the aching need that consumed her.
Come to bed, Bjorn. Come lie with me.
When the benches finally scraped back from the table, Kadlin’s body tingled with anticipation. At sound of the Viking’s heavy footfalls coming near, Kadlin grew wet. She couldn’t wait to have his hands and mouth on her and to feel him deep inside her. She knew she would have to work hard to keep quiet once their bodies met.
When he stood beside the bed, she shifted toward the wall to make room for him then rolled on her side to watch him settle. He stretched out on his back beside her, and in the dim light, she saw him lace his fingers behind his head and stare up at the ceiling. Her gaze traced the strong, sharp angles of his profile.
So handsome.
The thick muscles of his bent arms bulged.
So powerful.
His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, and she longed to explore the hard valleys and sculpted ridges of his torso. She squirmed at the building tension that bundled between her legs.
When he made no move to touch her, she reached out and laid her palm on the tight, warm skin of his chest. He pulled one of his hands from behind his head and laid it over hers. Hot juices flowed from her the instant his fingers made contact. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, and she licked her lips to prepare to meet his.
He lay perfectly still for a long moment, and she felt she would burst from anticipation. At last, he slid his fingers over the back of her hand and grasped her wrist. He firmly laid her arm against the side of her body, released his hold on her then turned onto his side with his back to her.
Kadlin was immobilized by grief. She swept her gaze over his broad back, silently begging him to roll over and love her. Finally, she turned toward the wall and buried her face into the furs so he would not hear her weep.
Chapter Five
The sound of the surf receded as they rode away from the coast. At noon, they stopped at a small spring to rest and water the horses. Bjorn passed her a cloth bundle and took one for himself. The jarl’s housemaid had prepared them each a cold lunch of bread, berries and dried venison, which they ate in silence. Bjorn had not spoken to her after she’d won their freedom. She’d spent a restless night lying beside him in the jarl’s house, close enough to sense his body heat but feeling a world apart.
When they’d finished eating, Bjorn snatched up their food bundles and walked back to the horses. He was shoving the cloths into a saddle pouch when Kadlin reached out and touched the tan skin above his leather bracer.
“Bjorn, please speak to me.”
He wheeled around to face her and looked as if he were struggling to maintain his composure. “Mount your pony. I want to be home before sunset.”
Kadlin tightened her grip. “Why are you so angry?”
He jerked his arm away. “I told you not to come!”
“I
had
to. Grima said you would not survive the voyage. She saw it.”
“Ha! Grima! Yet another headstrong fool. I am plagued by willful women!”
Stung by his coldness, Kadlin felt her pain turn to anger. She planted her fists on her hips. “What does it matter? All is well now. We are both free and—”
Bjorn grabbed her by the upper arms and shook her roughly. “You stupid imp! Did you not see the way he looked at you? Didn’t you hear the vile things he said? What if he had not accepted your bauble? What if he had taken you from me?”
Kadlin winced, and he released her. She dropped her gaze to the ground. “But he didn’t. I was only—”
“You disobeyed me! Yet
again
!” he roared.
* * * *
They rode west in strained silence. Kadlin reined her pony so that he trotted slightly behind Bjorn’s right hip. She stole glances at his stern profile. The Viking sat tall and rigid on his mount. He stared straight ahead but seemed to look at nothing. Tall spruce loomed up on either side of them, and the trail began to rise.
When they reached to top of the hill, Bjorn halted his horse and his shoulders seemed to relax. Kadlin pulled her pony up beside him and followed his gaze. They stood at the rim of a lush, green vale. Steep hills formed the sides of a roughly round bowl of land. The bottom was flat with a wide stream winding through the far edge. An expansive farmstead was laid out below with crops in neat rows, a long sod-roofed house and half dozen outbuildings. Hogs wallowed in a round paddock while goats and cows browsed near the outer edges of the farm. A dog barked, and two men looked up from their work between the crop rows. They stood and waved at Bjorn. He returned their greeting, and Kadlin saw a wide smile overtake his face.
A large, jet-black dog bounded up the hill, barking madly and wagging his curved plume of a tail. Bjorn swung smoothly from his horse and crouched a moment before the exuberant bundle of fur bowled him over and covered his face with slobber.
“Floki, you mangy cur! Off of me now, stupid beast!” Bjorn scolded, though his laughter gave away his delight. The Viking wrestled with his pet and scratched roughly at the long, shiny fur. He grasped the thick mane of hair just below the dog’s pointed ears and dragged its snout to within an inch of his own face. “Did you keep all in order while I was away?”
Floki barked as if confirming that he’d been doing his job.
Bjorn stood, knocked the dirt from his trousers and remounted his horse.
Floki turned to Kadlin as if noticing her for the first time then bounded to her side. He sniffed at her ankle before leading the way back down the hill. The two men from the field, and one other, met Bjorn at the bottom of the trail. He climbed down from his horse, and the four exchanged greetings and sound back-slaps. While the workers gave concise reports about the state of the farm, three women emerged from the longhouse and joined the group. They were dressed alike with long linen shifts over which they wore brightly-dyed aprons, the shoulder straps fastened with heavy broaches. Around their waists were leather belts hung with pouches, keys, knives and other implements that clattered when they walked.
Kadlin remained on her pony, watching the reunion and awaiting introductions.
When Bjorn offered none, one of the women, a lanky blonde, took the initiative. “I am Agata, wife of Finnr,” she said nodding to the nearest man. “The dark-haired one is Marget, wife of the tall one, Drengr. And the freckled one is Gudrior, wife of Rafn.”
Kadlin answered with only her name, not sure how else to identify herself. Bjorn offered no clarification, so Agata turned to him. “Will you bathe before supper?” He nodded. Agata then turned to the dark-haired woman. “Marget, bake another loaf for supper.”
“No,” Bjorn said. “Not just another loaf. Prepare a feast.” He finally acknowledged Kadlin with a nod in her direction. “And find her something to clean wear. There will be a wedding tonight.”
* * * *
The sun had dipped low in the west when Kadlin and Agata walked naked into the sauna. Bjorn was already inside, sitting on a low bench, scrubbing his bare skin with a boar-bristle brush. He glanced up as the tall blonde grabbed another brush and began cleansing Kadlin from head to toe.
Kadlin held out her arms and displayed herself to the Viking. When Agata had rubbed clean every inch, she gathered up a bundle of birch branches and slapped them against Kadlin’s skin. The slight sting was deliciously invigorating, but much less so than the heat in Bjorn’s stare. She concentrated on keeping her face expressionless, but need pulsed between her legs when a hungry smile tugged up his lips.
There will be a wedding tonight.
Agata reached outside the door and hauled in a bucket of cold water. She dipped in a chamois and rinsed off Kadlin’s tingling skin. Agata passed the cloth to Kadlin so she could wash between her legs. Kadlin looked up and found the Viking staring at her.
“Leave us please,” he said quietly to Agata.
When they were alone, Bjorn patted the bench next to him, and Kadlin sat. He stood in front of her, and she watched his manhood stiffen. She reached out to touch him, but he caught her by the wrist. “Not so fast, my impatient imp,” he said.
He picked up the bucket in one hand and tilted back her head with the other. He poured cool water over her hair and leaned in to rub it clean. His hard shaft pressed against her breast, and she moaned in frustration. He laughed then poured more water over her head. “Soon, my love. Soon.”
“After the
wedding
?” she asked.
“Yes, after the wedding.”
“And if I refuse?” she teased.
He set the bucket on the bench and knelt down in front of her. “Would you disobey me again?”
She stroked his hair. “No, never again.”
* * * *
The four women gathered in Bjorn’s chamber at the rear of the longhouse. The room was neatly kept and outfitted with small tables, benches and stools. The wide bed was set on a low frame with carved poles at each corner, and the pallet covered with layers of plush furs. A door to the outside was propped open to let in the breeze.
Marget laid a basketful of field flowers on a table near the door and settled in on a hide-covered stool. The others combed the tangles from Kadlin’s damp hair, and as they plaited small hanks into braids, her mind flitted back to the amber bead she’d left in Grima’s cottage. Agata and Gudrior rubbed scented oils over her skin, and Kadlin gave herself over to their ministrations, comfortable in her nakedness even among these strangers.
Marget wove the flower stems into a crown. “Have you lain with him yet?” she asked.
Kadlin answered with a raised eyebrow and a wicked smile.
Gudrior giggled. “It’s a wonder you can sit then.”
Agata swatted at her freckled friend, and Gudrior shrugged, “You know it’s true! Not an animal in that barnyard can boast such a piece.”
“Aye,” said Marget. “The first time I saw him step from the sauna, I thought an eel had latched itself to him! Thank the gods that we all sleep at the front of the house so we won’t be able to hear her yelp!”
The women laughed and Kadlin basked in the warmth of their easy friendship.
“Arms up,” Agata said and slipped a soft, purple linen shift over Kadlin’s head. An apron dyed deep blue followed. Agata fastened the shoulder straps to the front with two heavy brooches.
Gudrior dangled beautiful chains between the pins. On one necklace hung a gleaming silver Thor’s hammer. “There,” she said, “Now you are a proper Viking woman.”
Marget placed the crown of flowers on Kadlin’s head then carefully arranged her hair over her shoulders before kissing her on the cheek. “Lovely.”
The other women offered their kisses and compliments then led Kadlin to the mirror. The sight of herself dressed for her wedding in foreign clothes and surrounded by strangers overwhelmed her. Only a month ago, she could not have dreamed of this moment.
The sound of panpipes broke her from her reverie.
“It’s time,” whispered Agata.
* * * *
A ring of torches surrounded the dooryard, and Bjorn stood at the center, facing the setting sun. He wore trousers and a loose tunic the color of cream. A purple cloak, the same shade as Kadlin’s shift was spread over his broad shoulders and fastened at the throat with a heavy chain suspended between two large brooches. His thick forearms were covered with tooled leather bracers and tall fur boots were laced up to his knees. His sword hung from his hip. Long, thin braids were arranged in his wavy red hair and adorned with coins and beads.