One Night With The Viking. Harper George St.
he tried to stop it, the memory of that night came back sharp and crisp. The meeting had happened during the first snowstorm of his first winter here. New arrivals from home had only recently joined them so the hall was crowded. Somehow, through the din of multiple conversations and revelry happening around him, her name came to him.
Kadlin.
It took his eyes only moments to identify the one who had spoken it. A man on the other side of the fire had been regaling anyone who would listen about the beauty of his new wife. Gunnarâs heart had stopped for one endless moment when the newcomer described her long blonde hair. Before heâd even realised what he was doing, Gunnar had found himself standing in front of the fool who had only smiled up at him.
âYou have married, Kadlin, eldest child of Jarl Leif?â
The fool had barely managed to offer an acknowledgement before slumping to the floor, knocked cold by Gunnarâs fist. Heâd wanted the man to stand and fight him. Blood had pumped through his body, urging him to kill the man for daring to lay any claim to her, but he turned and left the hall instead.
The vision of her with someone else only made the pain in his chest so great that it escaped in a cry of rage that echoed in the sudden silence of the hall. No one was brave enough to approach him. Even Magnus and Eirik only hung back, waiting to see if any of the manâs friends were foolish enough to chase him. Not one of them did. Though he was looking for a fight, he couldnât blame them. He must have looked like a madman. He was a madman.
Any flickering hope heâd carried within him that he might one day claim her had died out that night. Heâd been a fool to let it persist as long as it had. There was nothing left of him. Death was the only cure for the excruciating pain. Heâd let out one last bellow of rage and then hung his head as the snow fell around him, collecting on his hair and shoulders. His father had been right. A warrior is all that he was ever meant to be. So a warrior he would be. From that moment onward, his entire life became the fight and nothing else mattered. He had pushed Kadlin from his mind as much as he could and waited for death to claim him.
It hadnât helped that he knew losing her had been his own fault, somehow. Gritting his teeth to stifle the cry of rage that the memory brought with it, he rammed his left fist into the base of a fir tree and watched the bark splinter beneath the impact. He cradled the hand against his chest and threw his head back to take a deep breath as he savoured the momentary numbness before the pain exploded in his hand. The tree was a poor substitute for the crunch of bone a Saxon nose would have providedâhe knew he should have waited for the upcoming battle to vent his angerâbut the pressure in his chest had been too great to carry into a fight. There was an aching relief to be found as the pain shifted from his chest to his hand. Blowing out through the pain and then sucking in a deep, wrenching breath, he made his way to his men and forced Kadlin out of his mind.
Motioning a boy over to wrap his hand, he gathered them all to go over the plan for battle. In moments, he was mounted, leading the small group to their location behind the Saxons. He knew the forests in this land so well now that he rode on instinct, knowing the best place to attack, knowing exactly where they would be hidden even if he didnât know how many there were.
The scream came from nowhere and then it was all around him at once. The Saxons had been circling them, preparing an ambush. His horse, though well trained, reared in surprise just as a spear broke free from the trees. It landed in the beastâs chest, making him scream in pain and lose his balance. Gunnar was unable to jump free as the horse fell backwards. Pain exploded in his legs and head when they landed, then everything went numb and quiet. A strange peace crept over him as he watched the Saxons flood out of the forest to surround his own men. He smiled because he knew that they had given themselves away prematurely and Magnus would surely crush them with his larger group of warriors.
Blackness pulled at him, but it didnât take his smile. It might not have happened with a sword in his hand or a sword in his belly, but he was dying in battle, a welcomed relief. He closed his eyes and waited for Odin to greet him.
* * *
Light flashed behind his eyelids and sent shards of pain shattering through his skull. Or it should have been pain, like every other time heâd awakened to pain so sharp that it had sent him hurtling back into unconsciousness. Instead, it was darts of light that roused him enough to open his eyes and it took an extraordinary effort to accomplish that minor task. Almost too much effort, as the need for slumber pulled him under again. But the sensation of falling was enough to make him finally open them. The light that had teased him before had disappeared to a hazy golden crest on the horizon. It was dawn or perhaps dusk and he was floating in the sky, which was absurd.
Gunnar turned his head to the left and then the right and realised that it wasnât him that was floating, but everything else around him. The horizon wobbled as if the world itself had shifted. A manâs head drifted into his line of vision and then moved out again. Soon, more heads followed, but none that he recognised. These werenât his men.
The realisation brought with it the awareness that he was on a ship. Only it wasnât his ship, because these werenât his men. His gaze travelled over the vessel, trying to identify it, but he was having trouble keeping his gaze steady to look for markings. There was no figurehead on the prow.
âWhere are we going?â he called to the man nearest him. He hardly recognised his own voice and it was delayed when it came to his ears.
âUp the coast, Brother.â Eirik knelt beside him, his face looking solemn and grim in the morning light. It must be morning if they were setting sail.
Gunnar jerked, not expecting to see anyone appear so close before him. Brother. The word rang around in his head and he had trouble holding on to it. âBrother,â he whispered the word as if heâd never heard it before. As it found purchase, he was able to capture it on his tongue. âYou are my brother.â
âWe havenât been good brothers, not in a long time. I regret that.â
Gunnar smiled, though he couldnât understand his compulsion to respond in that way. Perhaps it was because his body was finally numb from the endless pain that had gnawed at him, though he had no memory of what had caused the pain. He felt heavy and weightless all at the same time. He raised his hand and, after an attempt or two, it landed on his brotherâs shoulder. âAye, Brother. But thereâs not much comfort in regret. What use is it?â The soft leather of a well-worn tunic met his fingers, not the chainmail of battle. He thought it curious Eirik wouldnât arm himself properly for battle and he meant to comment on it, but another figure heâd not noticed before materialised at his side. âVidar, little brother. You are a man now. Do you go to this fight with us?â
Vidar glanced at Eirik before shrugging. âI go, but Eirik is staying.â
The unfamiliar smile stayed on Gunnarâs face and he couldnât make it leave no matter how he tried to summon a scowl. He struggled to keep his eyes open as that strange heaviness tried to claim him. His head drooped and he noticed that his legs were covered in furs. Did they think heâd go to battle like a woman, wrapped in blankets and furs? His legs wouldnât obey his command to kick them off so he yanked at the coverings. And then he stared because one leg was wrapped tight in rags and appeared twice as big as the other. But that didnât seem possible, so he considered the fact that the appendages werenât his legs at all but something foreign from his body entirely.
Eirik grabbed his hand, drawing Gunnarâs attention back to him. âI thought youâd like this back.â
Gunnar frowned down at the lock of hair Eirik had placed in his palm. He immediately recognised it as Kadlinâs, but wondered how it had become separated from his tunic. A feeling of unease sat heavy in his stomach. âHow did you get this?â
Eirik was quiet for a moment, drawing Gunnarâs wavering attention back to him. Only then did his brother raise his troubled eyes from the blonde lock.