Table of Contents
Title Page
Rescuing Kadlin Copyright © 2013 Gabrielle Holly Edited by Jason Huffman and CJ Slate
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
About the Author
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Rescuing Kadlin
By Gabrielle Holly
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Rescuing Kadlin
Copyright © 2013 Gabrielle Holly
Edited by Jason Huffman and CJ Slate
Cover Art by Les Byerley
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-651-6
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: April 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To T.J., for his boundless patience and support.
Chapter One
Kadlin woke with a start. The first soft rays of morning light were creeping into the room, and Bjorn was beside her, thrashing and crying out in his sleep. The nightmares were growing more frequent. They’d had to move young Hjortr to the front of the house with the others. He was sharing a pallet with Agata and Finnr’s son, Bassi. The boys were only three months apart in age and seemed happy with the arrangement, but Kadlin wished her little family could be in the same room. Bjorn’s terrors kept the child up at night, and once the big Viking had begun to walk in his sleep, it wasn’t safe to have the four-year-old in their chamber.
Bjorn was striking out at some unseen tormentor, and Kadlin leapt from the pallet a moment before his arm crashed down where her head had lain. She watched his handsome face contort and tried to make out the muddled words that spewed out of him. When his movements slowed, she knelt beside him on the furs and whispered his name, but he didn’t respond. She repeated herself more loudly, then reached out and brushed the copper-colored braids from his forehead. His eyes flew open, and he grabbed her wrist then flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath his big body. He balled his other hand into a fist and drew it back as if to strike.
“Bjorn, stop! It’s me!” she cried.
He seemed to stare right through her, and Kadlin knew he was not yet awake. “Husband, please,” she whimpered. His green eyes were wide with horror, and she watched as he seemed to come slowly to his senses. He loosened his grip on her wrist and looked down at her, then glanced at his fisted hand as if it belonged to another man’s body.
Opening his fingers, he reached out to touch her face, and Kadlin couldn’t stop herself from cringing. Regret crashed over her when she saw the pain her reaction had caused him. He flopped onto his back and slung his thick forearm across his eyes, but Kadlin pulled it away and covered his face with kisses, only to find his cheeks and forehead slick with sweat.
She poured mead from a pitcher on the small side table and offered him a drink before quenching her own thirst. “Hush, Bjorn. All is well now.”
“I could have—“
Kadlin set down the cup then cradled his face. “But you didn’t. Won’t you please tell me what torments your dreams so?”
He shook his head, and the beads in his long braids clattered. “Always the same. There is a mirror, and I see myself in it, but it is not truly me. I feel something lurking behind me, and I know I am in danger, but I cannot defend myself. And then all is black.” Wrapping his arms around her naked body, he crushed her to his bare chest. “I am so sorry, my love.”
Kadlin could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath her cheek. The same dream had been haunting him for months, and his reaction to it had grown ever more frightening. She couldn’t imagine what horror could cause her powerful man such worry, and she longed to find an answer to this omen and ease his suffering. Gods, please guide me. I love him so.
When she kissed the giant’s pounding chest, he released his grip and began stroking her back. She moved her mouth over his taut skin and felt his nipple pucker under her lips. He traced the rise of her backside then kneaded the flesh. Straddling his muscular thigh, she ground against him, and he moved his hand lower until his fingertips grazed the wet divide of her nether lips. When she pressed against his touch, trying to force him to probe inside, she felt his rod grow and stiffen against her hip.
“Always so impatient, my little imp,” he growled in her ear.
A shiver ran over Kadlin’s body at the sound of her pet name. When he called her “imp”, their play always left her weak and spent. Her mind wandered back to the first time he’d taken her this way. He’d lashed her to the trunk of a willow tree and delivered to her such exquisite pleasure and pain that she’d had to beg him for rest.
If there was a blessing to his awful night terrors, it was that they always seemed to stir in him the need to assert his strength, and Kadlin was only too willing to be conquered by her big Viking. She trusted him with her life—giving over her body and soul to this magnificent man was her honor and her desire.
Because the game was more exciting when the prize was hard-won, she pushed off of his chest and moved as though she intended to flee from their bed. He caught her arm and jerked her back against the furs.
“Oh, no you don’t, imp.” She giggled as she fought against his hold, confident that she was no match for his strength and even more glad for it. She struck out at him with hands and feet, and he subdued her by sitting on her thighs and catching her wrists in one massive hand.
“So that’s the game you’re playing at,” he growled.
Kadlin struggled just enough to heighten the illusion as he reached for the shearling restraints that always dangled from the bedposts and secured them around her wrists and ankles until she was spread out for his pleasure.
He knelt between her knees, and she raised her head to look at his huge manhood. It was so engorged that it nearly brushed his taut belly. The sight of it caused her pulse to race. He reached up to touch the outline of her lips, and she pulled his finger into her mouth and sucked hard at it. She could feel the coolness of her saliva as he traced a path down her chin and throat, then over her heart.
As his hand neared the center of her breast, the nipple puckered. Bjorn grazed the hardened bead, and it was as though it were connected to her sex by an invisible thread. He rolled it between his finger and thumb—gently at first—teasing her until she cried out in frustration but when he finally pinched hard, she arched into him and felt the warm wetness of her lust gather in her secret folds.
The Viking tightened his grip then twisted the pink flesh, and the balance of pleasure and pain was exquisite. When she thought she could take no more, he released the aching peak and bent to slurp it into his mouth, alternately sucking and swirling his tongue until her entire focus was on that tiny spot. Then his hand was between her legs, and he squeezed hard at the soft mound. With one finger, he followed the slick divide with a feather-light touch. Kadlin raised her hips, trying to force him to delve inside,
but he only pulled his hand away, leaving her groaning with need.
Raising his head, he smiled down at her. “Oh, poor little imp, is that sweet sheath aching for my touch?”
“Please, Bjorn,” she panted.
He slid down her body, leaving a trail of kisses behind until his head was between her thighs. “I can smell your want, my love, and it makes my mouth water.” His breath ruffled her curls, and again, she lifted herself toward him. He pressed his lips at the top of her crease, and each time she tried to push against him, he moved with her—always maintaining contact but never giving her relief. Finally, she forced herself to be still and was rewarded by the press of his tongue against her cresting pearl.
“Ah,” she sighed.
Tickling the inside of her thighs with his fingertips, he lapped softly at the throbbing nub, driving her mad with want. Kadlin bit her lip, concentrating on keeping her hips motionless.
“Good girl,” he whispered, and the vibration of his deep voice fueled her lust. She had pleased him with her submission, so he thanked her by sucking the little jewel between his lips and plunging a thick finger into her. Kadlin’s release was immediate, causing her to cry out his name.
Even as she bucked against him, he slurped hard at her most sensitive place and stuffed another finger inside of her. Waves of pleasure shook her body, but she was not allowed to step back from the cliff. Bjorn continued to tease the enlivened flesh until she whimpered. Kadlin struggled not to say, “Stop.” In their years together, her lover had taught her that she could endure more pleasure and pain than she thought possible.
Testing her limits, and trusting him to know them, had strengthened their bond. The word was poised on her tongue when he slowed his ministrations long enough for her to catch her breath. Then, she felt herself climbing again. This time she did not hold back, but gave her passion free rein, moving her hips in a wanton dance. When she was at the brink, he moved until he was kneeling between her thighs. She looked down and saw him grasp his hardness then rub the engorged tip over her wet entrance.
He circled the rosy head over her still-throbbing pearl until she begged him, “Please take me, husband.”
Without further coaxing, Bjorn positioned himself on his target and rammed into her. Kadlin gasped as his thickness stretched her wide. He plunged into her four times more then rose up, reached behind himself and unbound her ankles. Pushing her knees up, he thrust wildly, and the sound of their bodies slapping together rung out in the chamber. With her arms still outstretched, Kadlin grasped the leather ties that bound her wrists to the bedposts and braced herself against his powerful advances. The energy gathered at the place they were joined, and each stroke brought her closer to the brink.
She grunted in time with his movements until her moment came, and she cried out, “Yes! Yes! Oh, gods, yes!”
Her insides quivered and clamped down around him. He threw back his head and let out a feral snarl. She felt him swell within her before his rod jerked and knew he had reached completion.
He covered her face with sweet kisses, released her hands from their bonds then slumped against her. She stroked his back and listened as his breathing became deep and even. This time when he slept, he was peaceful and still.
* * * *
Kadlin’s sweet voice, weakened by fear, had pulled him out of the nightmare. Husband, please. He had stopped himself before bringing his fist down, but the damage had already been done. The horror in Kadlin’s eyes had hurt Bjorn more than his phantom attacker ever could. Bjorn’s throat ached, and his mouth was dry. He supposed he had been crying out in his sleep again. Kadlin said she could never make out his words, and he could not remember them. He had covered his face, ashamed that he had no control over this curse. It was a foolish thought.
If Mara chose to run through a man’s sleeping mind, no mortal could stop her. Knowing what the demon was capable of was little comfort. Bjorn groped for answers through the fragments of nightmare that bubbled up from the depths.
The dreams always began with him standing before a mirror. The blurry reflection was him, and yet, it was not. The image rippled as if he were staring at himself in a pool of water. He seemed smaller somehow, and his features were finer. The man that stared back from the glass was dressed in clothing much grander than any Bjorn owned. The beads and braids that he so proudly wore were gone, and his hair was pulled back tightly and gathered neatly at the nape of his neck. But it was the expression on his face that frightened him most. The wild-eyed sneer was full of desperation and hatred. What was this part of his being that haunted his sleep? By day, he was filled with gratitude for all that he had. His land was rich, and his livestock fertile. His woman was strong and beautiful, and he trusted her with his life. They had a clever, healthy son and loyal friends to work beside them. He thanked the gods every day for his many blessings. And yet, at night, he became another man—a man plagued with doubt and anger.
It seemed he was always tired, yet afraid to sleep. Fearing that his fatigue would drive him mad, Bjorn had resorted to stealing away to make offerings to the dark goddess of dreams. The others who lived with them said nothing when he struck out into the forest with a lamb over his shoulder then returned hours later empty-handed. As master of the farm, it was his prerogative to do with the livestock as he saw fit, and he was sure they knew he was making sacrifices, but it was not theirs to ask who to or what for.
Of course, Kadlin understood Mara’s power, too, and she had borne the trials of Bjorn’s curse with unwavering grace. On this night, she had kissed his face and offered him wine then let him hold her while his stampeding heartbeat slowed. She’d given herself over to him completely, and in doing so, helped him find his balance.
They were both spent as the weak, predawn light gave the chamber an eerie glow. He stroked her soft skin and offered a silent prayer to the gods, Please, let no harm come to her. I love her so.
Chapter Two
Grima dined with them the first evening of every full moon. Kadlin was always glad to see her, but never more so than tonight. The old witch sat across the table from Bjorn, and she seemed to be studying the big Viking. Kadlin thought she must see the dark stains of fatigue beneath his eyes and the weary slump of his broad shoulders.
The others were clearing the dishes when Hjortr climbed up on the old witch’s lap and tugged on her long, gray braid.
“Have you brought me a present, Grima?”
She shook the pouch that hung at her waist. “I have, but you must earn it.” Hjortr pushed out his lower lip, and Grima poked at it with a bony finger. “Don’t pout, boy. It’s not becoming. Now, if you want your gift, you must tell me the story of your name and of your father’s name.”
The child crossed his arms defiantly over his chest and scowled. Kadlin glanced at her husband and saw the amusement on his face.
“Give the witch her due, son,” Bjorn said.
Grima shook her head. “No, Viking, it is alright. Perhaps the child does not know,” she teased.
“I do too know!” Hjortr shouted, and Grima winked at Kadlin over his head. The boy’s expression grew serious, and he set his fists on his hips. “I am Hjortr, son of Bjorn. I am named for the white stag that led my mother to my father. She was riding through the dark forest to bring the…” His forehead furrowed as he searched for the word. “To bring the old…”
“Jarl,” Bjorn coaxed.
“Yes, the jarl. She was riding through the dark forest to bring the old jarl…” He glanced up at his mother, and Kadlin mouthed jewels. “To bring the old jarl her crown of jewels to win Father’s freedom. The crown was beautiful, and though she loved it very much, she loved Father more,” Hjortr continued. “The journey was dangerous. It grew dark, and she became lost. She was afraid, and then the great white stag appeared and led her to safety.”
The four-year-old smiled triumphantly and held out his tiny hand. Grima slapped his palm.
“That is only half, boy,” she said. He sighed then continue
d his rote tale. “My father is called Bjorn, and you gave him his name, Grima. You found him under a weeping willow. He was injured and almost dead. You made a litter of little trees and had your old horse drag him to your cottage. The trail was rough, and at every bump, he would roar like a bear caught in a beehive, and so you called him ‘Bjorn’, the bear.”
The adults laughed and clapped. Hjortr beamed. Grima wrapped her bony arm around his shoulders and squeezed him.
“Well done, young Viking!” she said, then released him and reached into her leather pouch. “And now your reward.” Hjortr snatched the little clay figure from her hand. “Which is this, Grima?”
“That is Bragi, the god of poetry and eloquence. He is the son of Odin. If you pray to him, he will help you learn your words.”
“Bragi,” the boy repeated and climbed from her lap. Grima caught him by the wrist. “Not so fast, little one. I’ve one for your friend Bassi, as well. Tell him this is Forseti, the god of justice and…”
Hjortr grabbed the toy. “I shall keep both for myself.” Grima pried open his tiny fist and took the two idols. “You will share, or you will have none.”
Kadlin watched her son stare down the old woman. “Why should Bassi get a reward when I did all the work?”
“Three other families share your home and work together to keep food on your table, boy. Each one under this roof depends upon the other. Perhaps I should give both idols to Bassi and let him decide whether you will get one or not. Isn’t it better to share what is yours than to have it taken from you?”
“If anyone takes what is mine, I shall split his skull!” Hjortr said.
Bjorn slammed his fist on the table. “That is enough, son!” he thundered.
Hjortr’s lip quivered, and Kadlin could see his eyes grow shiny with tears.
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