by Mariah Stone
She turned to face Kolbjorn.
Steam rushed out of his mouth and nose in a fast, unsteady rhythm. His hazel eyes were serious. He looked like he wanted to say something but held himself back.
Rachel had to go, there was no way she could stay now. And even if her mother was fine, Rachel did not belong here, not in this time.
Not with him.
Or did she?
Rachel swallowed. Looking at Kolbjorn, big and gorgeous and kind, her heart started to bleed. She’d fallen for him, so deeply she wasn’t sure there was a bottom.
But no. She couldn’t wait another minute, not with so many Vikings staring at her, their axes and swords sharp, their faces mistrustful.
And she couldn’t stay another minute because with every moment that passed, it was harder and harder to leave him, the whirlwind of pain in her gut turning faster and consuming more and more of her.
Rachel leaned into Kolbjorn, her lips finding his, planting a last desperate kiss on him despite everyone looking. He answered, his arms wrapping around her, squeezing her against him in a bone-crushing hug.
“I love you,” she whispered, wetting his ear with her tears.
Then without meeting his eyes, she pushed herself off him, and he let her go. She turned to the rock, putting her hands on its rough surface, sinking them in snow, the ice burning her hands.
And as the feeling of spinning began, pulling her in, she turned to see Kolbjorn for the last time. The world began disappearing, until all she could see were his eyes, just like that first time they had met, eternity connecting them even as darkness began taking everything around her.
And then there was nothing.
Chapter Sixteen
Chicago, December 24, 2018
Christmas tree lights sparkled in the darkness of the evening in Rachel’s backyard. Rachel, Mom and James sat around a makeshift campfire roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, their highly unusual but fun Christmas Eve dinner.
A feeling of gratitude spilled in Rachel’s chest as she glanced at her mom’s healthy blush and James’s concentrated face. All thanks to Kolbjorn.
“Mom, do you want more tea?” Rachel reached out for the thermos that stood by her camping chair.
“No, Rachel, I’m okay.” Kendra pulled the edge of the quilt that covered her closer to her chest. She’d gained weight and color had come back to her face. Her eyes were shining again, and last week she’d even insisted on having her hair dyed red—Rachel had done if for her, just like before.
“Are you cold?” Rachel leaned forward, about to go grab another blanket or help her mom get up to go inside.
“I’m great. Making a campfire, cooking hot dogs and s’mores for Christmas, was such a great idea, honey.”
James removed the stick with steaming hot dogs from the fire and placed them on the plate in his lap.
“Who wants another one?”
“Me!” Kendra said, and Rachel frowned.
“Should you have so many hot dogs?”
Her mother only waved her hand and took the bun from James’s hands. “I’m having a blast,” she said through a mouthful. “I feel like I’m whole and well again. I think tomorrow will be the day I go into my smithy.”
“That’s great, Mom!” James said, biting into a hot dog.
Rachel smiled. Maybe Mom was ready to start working, just a little bit. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” played from James’s smartphone speaker in the background. Rachel took a deep breath, calm filling her. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of roasted hot dogs, woodsmoke, and red wine.
The scent that would always remind her of the man she’d never see again. The man she craved more than her next breath.
Kolbjorn.
A bit over three months had passed since the surgery, three months of hope, of worry, and of the anguish that had planted its roots in Rachel’s heart the day she’d left Kolbjorn. Every day since then, Rachel had been torn between the joy of seeing her mother recovering well and the loss of leaving the man she loved behind. She often found herself staring into space, thinking of Kolbjorn, feeling that something significant was lacking in her life, that she had lost a part of her soul somewhere along the way.
And she knew exactly where.
In ninth century, Norway.
Now, Mom was fine—the kidney was working. James who had always been skilled with IT had graduated from school early and would start a new job in January as a junior web developer while doing an online college degree. Even though Rachel had insisted he should apply to do a full-time degree and just study, he’d said that he was grown enough to earn money, and that she was not the only one who wanted to support the family. That it was time he gave back.
Rachel respected his decision, even though she did not agree. But she knew she did not need to babysit him any longer. He’d be all right.
“I’m going to bed,” James said.
“Code word, ‘girlfriend video-chat,’ ” Rachel teased with a smile.
James blushed. He stood up, kissed Mom on the cheek and tousled Rachel’s hair on the way to the house.
“You are still such a kid,” Rachel called after him, straightening her hair.
After he left, Rachel felt her mom’s eyes on her. “What?”
“Do you have someone to video-chat with?”
Rachel’s cheeks burned. How could Mom be so intuitive?
“No,” she said.
It was true, technically. It would be impossible to video-chat with Kolbjorn. But Rachel knew what Mom meant.
“But I do have someone I care about.”
“I knew those blank stares on the verge of tears meant something. Who is he? Is he the one who connected you with the anonymous philanthropist who paid for the surgery?”
Rachel felt unwelcome tears burning her eyes. “He helped. Yes.”
“Well, where is he? Can I meet him?”
How was she supposed to answer that? “I don’t think so, Mom.”
“Tell me about him.”
Tell her about Kolbjorn. Where did she even begin? “He’s drop-dead gorgeous. And strong. And so stubborn.” She chuckled, wiping her tears. “And he has the biggest heart. I never met anyone like him, and I never will again. We had this connection. Like, earth-stopping, star-shooting, heart-stabbing connection. And without him, you wouldn’t be here.”
Rachel wouldn’t be here either, but she did not tell this to her mother. Mom looked at her with tenderness and smiled.
“I never had anything like that with your dad,” Kendra said.
Rachel straightened. “What?”
“I loved him, but nothing like you describe. That man sounds really special, Rach. Why can’t you be together?”
Rachel opened her mouth to answer—because she needed to be here, in this time, to make sure her mother was fine, to make sure they had money, to take care of James... But looking at Mom smiling, eating hot dogs, and planning to work tomorrow, Rachel wasn’t sure anymore if the family really needed her so much. James was going to work and study. Everything looked like Mom would finally be fine.
But what about Rachel, would she be?
“We can’t be together because—”
But the only reason that came to mind was that Rachel did not have the spindle anymore.
When she had come back with the necklace, the spindle had been gone. And no matter how hard Rachel looked, it was not there.
“Because of me?” Kendra said. “Sweetie, I’m fine. You’ve done everything—everything—for me, and more. You can live a little.”
Rachel choked out a happy laugh.
“Mom, you do not stand in the way of my happiness. It’s a bit more complicated.”
“What’s complicated?”
“I—I don’t have a way to find him.”
“Ah. But if you did?”
Rachel thought about it. If she had the spindle, what would she do? Would she really go back in time to Kolbjorn, abandon her family, the c
onveniences of modern life, the luxurious security of the society she lived in? And what about Jarl Bjorn, who had wanted her dead?
And surprisingly easily, an answer bubbled up in her heart.
“Yes,” she said. “In a heartbeat.”
Mom smiled. “Then you should find a way.”
“But what if it would require me to never see you or James again? What if it would mean I won’t even be able to talk to you?”
Mom frowned. “What? Why?”
“I can’t explain. But what if? Would you still want me to go and find that man?”
Mom leaned over and took Rachel’s hands in hers. Mom’s palms were warm, and they enveloped Rachel’s and made her feel better.
“Sweetheart, when I made your father leave—”
“What?”
Kendra sighed. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve never told you this because I didn’t want you to hope for something that would never happen. I made him leave. He became involved in organized crime, and I could not have him around you anymore. I made him leave, and when you assumed he’d abandoned you, I never corrected you because I didn’t want you to look for him. I wanted to protect you and James. I felt terrible. It broke my heart that you started hating your dad, but that was better than risking your life.”
“He didn’t choose to leave. You made him?”
The realization hit Rachel like a train. Her mind raced, recalling all the times she’d cried over him, all the times she’d promised herself not to care about anyone anymore, all the times she’d wondered why her father had decided he no longer wanted the three of them. And how she was terrified of letting new people in because she might lose them one day. Most of all, she’d been afraid of letting Kolbjorn into her heart. But he hadn’t abandoned her. He’d chosen her.
“Yes,” Mom said. “I did not want you to be in danger because of him, and I didn’t want you to learn about crime.”
Too late for that, Rachel thought, guilt hanging in her chest like a rock.
“So there was no abandonment,” Rachel said out loud. “It was protection.”
“It was, honey.”
Rachel thought that she needed to be angry with her mother—why hadn’t she told her this before? But Rachel had never told her what she’d done and how far she’d gone to save her life.
She did not need to fear loving anymore. Something inside of her healed. And it felt like all was right in the world, except for one thing.
No amount of modern conveniences or the closeness of her family—no matter how much she loved them—made up for the fact that Rachel’s life would never be complete without the man who owned her heart and soul.
And even though the chance of finding a way back to him was microscopic, she had to take it.
Her mission had been fulfilled here. She could go.
She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t try to see if her happiness lay more than a thousand years in the past, with a Viking.
“You’re right, Mom,” Rachel said, jumping to her feet. “I do need to find him.”
“Where? In Tajikistan?”
Rachel laughed. “Something like that. Would you still want me to do it? Knowing that I’d be happy with him, but you won’t see me anymore?”
“Can you guarantee that he is not a criminal?”
“I guarantee,” Rachel said, smiling. A criminal Kolbjorn was not—not for a Viking, anyway. With bitterness, Rachel thought of the irony…that she was the criminal. She hoped her mom would never learn the truth about how her operation was funded. And yet, Rachel would do it all over again if she had to.
Kendra’s eyes filled with tears. “I understand,” she said, nodding. “I still would, honey. When you are a mother, it’s really hard to let your children go. But you are so grown up. You were a mother to me for the past six years. And you saved my life. I’ll miss you every second, Rachel, but you do need to live your own life. You can’t live it for me. You need to live it for you.”
Rachel grasped her mother in a tight hug. “Mom, I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. And I’ll wait for you every day of my life, but knowing that you are happy and well is all I need.”
Rachel stayed a bit longer with her mom, enjoying her company, and thinking that she had just gotten the most precious gift for Christmas. She could go to Kolbjorn. If all went well, this would be her last Christmas with her family, probably ever, and she wanted to savor every moment.
After Mom and Rachel extinguished the fire and cleaned up, Rachel went to her room, a fluttering in her chest like a scarf on the wind. She looked around the room that had been her oasis her whole life—the lilac walls with posters of soccer stars; the door-post with the markings of her height as she was growing up; the desk with her dad’s old laptop, as thick and heavy as a briefcase. There were photo frames with pictures of the four of them camping together—one of the happiest days of Rachel’s childhood—before Dad had left and before Mom had become sick. Rachel should take them with her.
She sat on her bed, brushing her fingers across the silver quilt that her mom had sewn for her, with “Rachel” embroidered on it in gold, the letters just like the ones on her necklace. She might take it with her, too. Her heart squeezed in a dull ache at saying goodbye to her life.
Tears welled in her eyes, and yet a smile spread on her face at the thought of the future with Kolbjorn that awaited her…she hoped.
After a while, wiping her tears, she opened the laptop, which took at least five minutes to load, and began searching for places the Norns could be hiding in this day and age in Chicago.
Chapter Seventeen
Buskeland, Norway, December 24, 874 AD
“I t is a rare day that a man gets a new son.” Jarl Bjorn’s voice rang across his mead hall at the Jul festival.
The hum of the feast died away, and even the king who sat by his side was listening.
The day after Rachel had left, Father had realized that this was the first time Kolbjorn had tricked him. Kolbjorn remembered his father staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.
After having received three hundred sapphires, Eirik gladly became Father’s new official ally.
Jarl Bjorn continued, “And it’s even more rare when that son is a grown man. But only when the gods had a hand in it, is that son saga-worthy. Today is my lucky day, as Kolbjorn, whom many of you know as my bastard, will join the wolves of my clan and become part of this family.”
Kolbjorn had been feasting in the middle of the hall with Modolfr and his sword-brothers, listening half-heartedly to their banter, as all he could hear was the “I love you” said by the auburn-haired thief before she disappeared and took his heart with her.
He did not even register the meaning of his father’s words at first. Then he felt all eyes in the hall on him like probing fingers, and he looked around and finally understood—really understood—what the jarl had said.
The words he had been yearning to hear his whole life.
Kolbjorn jumped up, his face as stiff as a stone mask, his fists clenching. He opened his mouth to say the speech that he had rehearsed so many times in his head over the years.
But nothing came.
Finally, he could feel accepted, be part of the family, be loved by his father. But those things were not important anymore.
What was important was that he was true to himself.
The realization hit him harder than his father’s words.
All he’d needed all along was this inner strength, inner approval to live by his own rules. No one would be able to take it away from him. Not if he was a bastard, not if he was a jarl’s son, and not if he was a jarl himself.
And as long as he had that, he’d be all right.
Kolbjorn took too long to respond to Bjorn’s announcement, and his father’s face looked livid. The king watched him with amusement, and Ebbe looked as if he would spit venom if he could. He was probably angry for the two of them: his brother who was recovering at the healer’s
and himself.
Kolbjorn clambered out of the mead bench. He needed to respond—respectfully. Now that he did not need Father’s approval, he did not mind making him wait. He walked towards his father, his shoes rustling against the floor reeds. Then he stood right before him, their eyes locking.
The jarl was frowning, struggling to hide his anger. Kolbjorn noted with a strange satisfaction that now it was Bjorn who was waiting to see if his bastard would accept him as a father.
But Kolbjorn would. Of course he would. Doing otherwise would be the greatest insult to Jarl Bjorn, especially in front of the king.
“Father,” he said. “This is everything I have ever wanted.”
Kolbjorn’s voice came out not as stiff as it would have before, but smooth, a diplomat’s peace offering. The jarl’s face relaxed. He got up and stood in front of Kolbjorn, put his hands on his son’s shoulders and squeezed them tightly.
“You are not just Kolbjorn anymore. You are Kolbjorn Bjornsson!” he roared the last word, and the hall erupted in table hammering, roars and wolf’s howls.
And then he added softly, just for Kolbjorn to hear, “Kolbjorn Bjornsson. The next leader of the pack. My heir.”
Kolbjorn was still trying to get his head around everything that had happened as they began the winter deer hunt three days later.
It was a warm day, and sometimes bears would come out of their winter dens. As one did this day.
The beast was huge, and he stopped fifty feet or so away from them, sniffing the air, without any sign of aggression.
“The gods are smiling!” the king said to Jarl Bjorn. “I think a bear stew tonight and a bear fur cloak would do just fine. If you kill him, Bjorn, I will help you become a king by next Jul.”
Kolbjorn glanced, worried, at the drunken smile that spread on his father’s face.
“I think I would like that bear stew as well, Eirik. And being a king next year. Kolbjorn, Son, give me that spear.”
Kolbjorn did not move a finger.
“Father, is this wise? Let the beast go.”
“What? Kolbjorn, where did you lose your balls?”