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.
Finnr stood in the shadows with his panpipe and played the last note of his song as Kadlin reached her groom. The others gathered around them, and she was unsure of what to do next. Bjorn looked beyond her shoulder and smiled, and the three other couples stepped backward. Kadlin turned and followed their gaze then stared open-mouthed as Grima entered the circle.
The old witch reached out to Kadlin, fished a thin braid from above her ear and slid an amber glass bead onto the end. “I wouldn’t have been able to see the nuptials if you hadn’t left this behind,” she said with a wink.
Kadlin gathered Grima into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you,” she whispered.
Grima patted Kadlin between the shoulder blades then extricated herself from the embrace.
“You’ll need these,” Grima said, passing a large braided gold band to Kadlin and its smaller mate to Bjorn.
“Your sword, Viking,” she said.
Bjorn withdrew his sword from its scabbard and held it in his left hand with its tip pointed to the ground between him and Kadlin. He balanced the ring on the end of hilt and focused his gaze on his bride.
“Bjorn, do you swear to love and honor this woman, to share with her all that is now yours and to protect her always?” Grima asked.
“I swear it,” Bjorn said and tipped the sword handle to Kadlin. She lifted the ring with her right hand and slid it on the heart finger of her left.
Bjorn held the sword upright again. He nodded at Kadlin. She took the hilt in her left hand and balanced his wedding band on the end.
“Kadlin, do you swear to love and honor this man, share with him all that is now yours and turn yourself over to his protection always?” Grima said.
“I swear it,” she said and carefully tipped the sword to him.
Bjorn slid the band on his left he
art finger then wrapped his hand over hers. Grima grasped them at the wrists and slowly pushed downward until the tip of the sword disappeared into the soil. She drew a strip of cloth from her pouch and wrapped it loosely around the couple’s hands, capturing the sword handle inside. Each of the witnesses stepped up in turn and repeated the rite until they’d created a colorful nest of ribbon.
Grima stepped back to Bjorn and Kadlin and touched the bundle. “With this handfasting you are bound to one another. The friends that have gathered here offer these strips of tightly woven threads as their promise to uphold, honor and support your commitment to each other.”
Grima began unwinding the ribbons. “But, even as you are bound by your own vows and the good intentions of these witnesses, you must remember that your union is only as strong as your love for one another, the fullness of which lies ever secret in your own heart.”
When the last of the bindings had been removed, Bjorn’s hand remained over Kadlin’s, and she thought she would never be able to fully express the love she felt for him.
Grima stepped back and lifted her hands to the sky. “Odin, guide them. Thor, keep them safe. Freya, fan their love and bless them with children.”
She touched their shoulders. “Bjorn, sheathe your sword, and kiss your bride. Now, we celebrate!”
Kadlin was barely aware of the cheers from the others. The center of her universe was the place where her husband’s lips met hers.
* * * *
The torches had burned low, and the full moon had climbed high above the revelers. A bonfire had been built over the spot where Bjorn and Kadlin had promised themselves to one another. All had eaten their fill, and the wine cups were kept full. Grima had retired to a pallet in the longhouse, and the others had dragged Bjorn’s great armchair into the yard. Bjorn held court with Kadlin cradled in his lap while they watched the celebration. The women had sung sweet love songs, and Finnr had played his panpipes throughout the evening, stopping only to swig mead. As the night wore on, the men took over the singing and the lyrics became bawdier.
Bjorn’s arm was around Kadlin’s back and he stroked the side of her breast with his thumb. The men began singing about storming the castle with a battering ram.
“And he rammed at the door and he rammed at the door and the whole castle shook when he rammed at the door.”
They raised their voices and cups when they sang, “rammed.”
Bjorn joined in and jerked his hips with the words. Kadlin felt him harden against her thigh, and her sex tingled and grew wet.
When the song ended, the drunken guests lost themselves in laughter. The men grabbed their wives, kissed them hard and groped them without shame.
Bjorn squeezed Kadlin to his chest and whispered in her ear, “Will you come to my bed now, wife?”
She answered with a hard kiss. The Viking stood and led her into the house without saying goodnight to the others. Grima was snoring loudly from her pallet by the door, and the sound nearly drowned out the laughter from the dooryard.
By the time they reached the master chamber, Kadlin was only aware of the pounding of her heart. Bjorn closed the heavy door, and Kadlin looked over the room. It glowed from the flames of a dozen small lamps. The sweet scent of herbs and flowers filled the air. Aromatic bundles were scattered about, and the tall bedposts were hung with garland.
Bjorn removed his cape then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his hard body. He kissed her tenderly then stood back and lifted the crown of flowers from her head and tossed it on a stool. He followed the long braid behind her and rolled the amber glass bead between his fingers.
“Let me look at you,” he said, sitting back on the bed. With shaking hands, Kadlin opened the brooches and let the apron fall to the floor. Her shift followed, and she stood naked before him. Her skin tingled as his gaze swept over her. The look of adoration on his handsome face warmed her. She crossed to him and stood between his knees then unlaced his bracers and boots and dropped them beside the bed. She pulled off his tunic then he stood and stepped out of his trousers.
Kadlin took a step backward and appraised her magnificent man. The lamplight etched dark shadows in the valleys between his muscles, and she traced each line with her gaze. The trail of hair extending down from his flat navel shone the colors of bronze and copper in the flickering light. It fanned out and was thickest between his sculpted thighs. His erection rose from the curls, and Kadlin’s juices flowed when she remembered how it filled her so completely.
When he made no move to touch her, she reached out to him and stroked his face as if committing each nuance to memory. She caressed his jaw line, then his neck, the rise of his thick shoulders and down his hard arms. She moved her hands to his chest, and when she brushed over his nipples, he closed his eyes. His belly was tight and divided into symmetrical rows of muscle. She traced each furrow before finally taking his hardness in her hands.
He groaned then bent to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lay back on the bed, pulling her down on top of him. His hands roamed over her back while his tongue probed her mouth. She drew up her legs until she straddled him and moved her hips so that she could feel the underside of his shaft sliding over her slick, hardened bud. He kneaded her round backside then rolled over, pinning her beneath him. While he teased her wet opening with his erection, the Viking lifted his upper body and stared down at her. Kadlin slid her hands down his back and grasped his hard buttocks.
“Love me, Bjorn,” she whispered.
He pulled back his hips and positioned the thick head over her opening. “I do love you, Kadlin,” he said and then pushed forward.
He filled her slowly, stretching her inner walls as he advanced. When his pelvis was pressed fully against hers, he rocked side to side, massaging her sensitive pearl between them.
Kadlin rolled her head against the furs. “Ah. More. Please, more,” she begged.
He drew back his hips, and she yanked him into her again. Each stroke was ecstasy. Hooking his arms behind her knees, he spread her legs wide, and the tempo of his thrusts increased. Heat rushed into her sex, and she felt herself racing towards completion.
He lowered his head and sucked hard at one nipple, and that was her undoing. She cried out at the exquisite balance of pleasure and pain, and her hot sheath clamped down around him. Releasing her nipple, he crushed his mouth on hers and growled against her bruised lips as his seed spurted into her.
He lay atop her while his breathing slowed then he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She nestled against him with her cheek on his chest and drifted off to the sound of his beating heart.
* * * *
When Kadlin woke, most of the lamps had burned out and their bedchamber was nearly dark. She stroked the Viking’s chest, and he flexed his arm, pulling her close.
“Was that coronet the only thing you had from your family?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How long did you carry it with you?”
“For a very long time. After my father died, I kept it with me always, hidden from everyone.”
“I am sorry then that you had to give it away.”
Kadlin propped herself up on her elbow. “I didn’t give it away. I traded it for our freedom.”
Bjorn brushed his knuckles along the line of her jaw. “Still, I am sorry. I have no recollection of my family—nothing before Grima found me under the tree. At least, you had something to remember your past by, and now—because of me—that’s gone.”
Kadlin pulled herself up his body and kissed him tenderly. “Oh, Bjorn, don’t you understand? I, too, was reborn under that willow. My life before you was only loss and loneliness. You have delivered me.”
Epilogue
The first weak light of dawn was seeping over the frost-dusted fields, and Kadlin stood in the doorway looking out over the sleepy farm. The animals would wake soon, and they’d have to be tended to, but this time was hers alone.
She brushed the hair bac
k from her face then followed the braid down to the tiny amber bead. Despite the chill air, a cozy warmth spread over her body. Trailing her hand over her breastbone, she twisted the tiny protection amulet that hung around her neck and offered up a silent prayer of thanks for Grima. She swept her hand down her body and rested her palm against the growing swell of her belly.
Out in the barley field, a herd of deer was browsing for the tiny grains that had escaped the harvest. At the center of the group was a snow-white buck. The ghostlike animal raised his head and looked in her direction. When their eyes met, the child inside of Kadlin stirred, and she smiled. His name will be Hjortr—the stag, Kadlin thought.
She was so intent on the beautiful buck in the field, that she didn’t hear Bjorn rise from the pallet. He wrapped a thick arm around her, pulled her into his body and kissed her neck. He bent to rest his chin on her shoulder, and she leaned into his warm cheek. Bjorn laid his hand on top of Kadlin’s, and their tiny one fluttered in her womb.
“Your stag is back,” Bjorn whispered, and she knew that he too watched the herd. Kadlin nodded.
He rubbed his hand over her belly. “If it is a boy, we should call him Hjortr.”
Kadlin turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That is a good idea, husband.”
Bjorn crushed his mouth against hers, and when he pulled away, his eyes were blazing. “Come back to bed, wife.”
Adoration and desire washed over Kadlin as the big Viking led her by the hand to the fur-covered pallet.
Gods watch over us. I love him so.
About the Author
Gabrielle Holly lives in the Midwest with her husband and two enormous, world-class-shedding dogs. She has worked as a freelance journalist, magazine editor, newspaper humor columnist, stand-up comic and morning radio show host. She has a short attention span and enjoys reading, cooking, crafting, hunting for antiques, attending live theater, spending time outdoors, watching movies, and coercing her husband into being her “research assistant."
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