by Tami Dee
Now, hurrying after Jora, she wished with all her heart that her ancestress' betrayal had not taken her sisters-in-law's husbands away from them. They wept when they talked about them, yet all in all, they were coping with their grief better than Kat knew she ever could. Perhaps, Kat reflected, it was because losing loved ones to war was simply a part of life in this time.
Soon Jora's soft, skilled hands gently closed over Kat's as she guided the wool through the wheel.
"Do not be sad, child," she said. "Things will work out." Jora's words were spoken with a quiet conviction that Kat wanted nothing more than to believe.
Kat nodded. She knew that if she were Leif's wife, in truth, and not his slave, without the daunting task her grandmother had set before her, she would be the happiest woman in the world, her world and Leif's.
Oh Leif. Where are you?
*****
The next morning dawned sunny but cold. With her arms full of the family's laundry, Kat hurried across the frosted yard to the fresh water river, her heart was heavy with the knowledge that she would soon be forced to flee the family she had come to think of as her own.
She nodded to Yngvarr as she passed him and he gave his wordless consent for her to leave his sight. She felt guilty that he trusted her, especially on a morning when thoughts of escape were foremost on her mind. The new slave master seemed to be a fair man. Katla wondered, for the hundredth time, what would happen to Cavan when Leif returned home.
If Leif returned home.
When she saw Cavan standing at the threshold of the slaves' quarters watching her, his massive arms folded across his chest, an involuntary shiver slipped through her. She knew that he would finish what he had started the first chance he got. She prayed he wouldn't get a chance.
As she busied herself with the laundry, she put Cavan out of her mind. At last done, Kat sighed and gave the apron she was washing one more squeeze to get the excess water out. She was no closer to a plan of escape than she had been when she started. The sparkling clear blue water of the spring ran so cold today that her fingertips were numb. Leaning back on her heels, she rubbed the small of her aching back.
Kat heard a twig snap behind her. Assuming it was another slave, she hurriedly gathered the wet clothes into her arms and rose, prepared to make a quick exit only to see Cavan, his thin lips pulled into a sneer, not ten feet away from her. To her horror a whip that looked suspiciously like Boddi's, was coiled in his hand. How had he gotten out of the slave hut without being seen?
As if reading her mind, the slit of his mouth turned up at one corner; even from this distance she could see the hatred pouring from his eyes.
The sound of the thin, razor sharp leather hissing through the air was the only warning she had before the strap wound itself around her neck, the leather biting into her flesh, tightening steadily despite her frantic efforts to pull it away.
She thought she heard laughter though the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.
Jerking the whip once, he pitched her forward. Wet clothes went flying out of her arms and she landed onto the hard earth with a thud that knocked the breath from her lungs. She tasted dirt. Stars swam before her pain-filled eyes as his whip continued to tighten around her throat until her lungs seemed about to explode.
Somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, she acknowledged that there were two warriors standing next to Cavan. Each giant watching stood in silence, their faces expressionless.
Consciousness played hide and seek with her, darkness and light battled for dominance.
Suddenly the band around her neck loosened. Gasping for air, she struggled to focus her eyes.
Cavan stood like an avenging demon above her. Kneeling beside her, he unwound the leather strap from her neck and grasped her hair in a painful grip, forcing her head back until their eyes met and held.
Katla felt warmth spring from the cuts in her skin and trickle down her neck. The hated collar became slick with the blood seeping underneath it.
Blood. Her blood was spilling out.
"Is this the one?" The giant standing to her right demanded.
"Aye, Haera, this is she," Cavan replied. "Can't you tell? She has hair is as dark as a raven's wing and her eyes are the color of a restless sea. This is the one your jarl has sent you to retrieve."
Poetry? From Cavan?
Haera grasped her arm and jerked her to him. She looked around in desperation, hoping, praying, to see someone from Leif's fortress. Leif would be a welcome sight about now. The main hall and two rectangular buildings that housed the slaves and the kitchen were devoid of people. In fact, there wasn't a soul to be seen.
"No one will come for you, wench," Cavan sneered. "Have you become so content in the master's house that you forget the other slaves hate you?"
"Where is the infant?" Haera demanded, shaking her.
She looked at him, her mind a blank. Did they mean the child she carried in her womb?
"What infant?" she managed to ask, her voice straining against the knot of fear lodged in her throat.
"I told you she had no infant when Jarl Leif brought her here," Cavan said. "I have seen every inch of her body and she shows no signs of having birthed a babe."
Haera gave him a narrow eyed glare. "You had better be telling the truth, Cavan," he warned. "If Jarl Scipio finds you lied to us regarding the child he will have Varfri disembowel you and strangle you with your own innards."
Scipio
"I have no reason to lie," Cavan said, flushed, indignant. "Do not forget your promise to me when your raiding party returns. I am to be spared as payment for assisting you."
Kat was close to fainting. Only fear of not knowing what would happen to her if she were unconscious stopped her from doing so.
Oh, where was Balmung or Nabboddr?
Surely they would realize that she had been gone for too long and send someone to search for her.
Cavan pulled a knife from the folds of his vest. Kat's eyes widened as she recognized Nabboddr's blade. Cavan tossed it easily to Varfri, who took hold of her other arm. Next Cavan tossed him Nabboddr's brooch, his favorite, the one that he used to decorate his tunic.
Momentarily forgetting her position in this drama, Kat turned to Cavan. "How did you get Nabboddr's knife and brooch?" she demanded. "You can't give them away. They belong to him."
She thought of Nabboddr's handsome, aged face when he realized his prized possessions were missing. Even at his worst, he treasured the knife and brooch, clinging to them like a lifeline.
Cavan laughed the sound cutting harshly through the cool crisp air. "I didn't take them," he said. "You did. In making your escape, you stole his knife and brooch, likely to bribe someone into taking you across the ocean." He shook his head in mock sympathy. "I shudder to think what the family will do to you should you attempt to escape your escorts and return here. The penalty for theft is death you know."
Kat felt the blood drain from her face. Her head swam. This could not be happening.
"When Nabboddr is found with his helpless head smashed in," Cavan continued pleasantly. "Jarl Leif and his brothers will hunt you down from here to the ends of the earth if need be. It will be a great entertainment to watch them take turns torturing you before meting out the just death sentence you should have received when Jarl Leif first found you. He will feel quite the fool for having not slain you when he had the chance, and I for one, will enjoy watching his dishonor."
"If you've hurt Nabboddr I'll kill you!" she cried, struggling against the hands that restrained her.
Cavan was demented. But his plan was flawless. Leif and his brothers would hunt her down and Kat had no doubt that Cavan had other slaves at the ready to describe his version of her escape to Balmung.
Oh God, the family would think that her friendship with the helpless old man had all been pretence, a ploy to gain their trust only to then betray them.
Nabboddr would be in no position to tell them the truth. He only recognized her half the tim
e, despite that she spent most every waking moment in his company.
Worst of all, Leif would hate her. He would never believe that she hadn't done what she was being accused of doing. Never.
Tears ran in a stream down her cheeks. Cavan gave her a look of victory and disgust.
"Come now," he taunted. "You cannot tell me that you have not thought about escaping, of leaving this place?"
Yes, she had thought about escaping, in fact she was thinking of that very thing when he and the twin giants attacked her. Her cheeks burned hot. Cavan saw and laughed.
"Get her out of my sight," he told them.
Without a moment's pause, Varfri threw her over his broad shoulder. The impact of her stomach against the rock solid shoulder knocked the breath from her and caused her to fear for her early pregnancy.
If all this was to end the way Cavan predicted, and she had no doubt that it would, she at least wanted Leif to have their child to love. Kat didn't delude herself, she would be able to buy some time by telling him of the baby, but, after all was said and done, he would kill her for her treachery.
The two giants' steps were wide and sure as they trudged tirelessly onward. Where they were going she had no idea. She only knew that she felt ill with fear.
She had planned to escape Leif, to steal the pendant from his neck as he slept within her arms and run away. She had planned to betray him, but never to hurt anyone else while she did so. Guilt swamped her.
Nabboddr had been hurt. Was he still alive? If he were, the family would tell him the lies that the slaves would tell Balmung, and the old man whose companion she had become would believe that she had hurt him.
She would never hurt Nabboddr. He was helpless and she had grown to care for him just as she had grown to care for all of Leif's family. And they seemed to care for her, even going so far as to wonder out loud how Leif could take back his decree that she was a slave and claim her as the wife of his heart. The memory warmed Kat. She had said nothing to his family about her and Leif's declaration of love for one another, but his mother and sisters had guessed, according to them, the first day she and Leif arrived back into his time and he ordered his mother to care for her in his alcove. Apparently, he had never invited a woman share his bed furs before.
But those feelings would change as soon as her accusers told their lies about her.
She had understood, when she plotted her escape, that if she went, she would loose their trust. But now that she had, in fact, lost it through none of her own doing, she was seared with sadness and regret. She wondered if the same feelings would be assaulting her if indeed she were leaving of her own accord.
She was frightened, yes, but she saw things clearly now for what they were. She would have been filled with regret if she had left on her own.
And just as it was now, there would be no turning back for her.
Suddenly the strong scent of sea air that roused her and she heard the crash of waves. Varfri dropped her to the pebbled shore.
Clutching her stomach as if to protect the child that was budding there, Kat saw a longboat in the cove and warriors lining the beach.
Was Scipio abroad the vessel, waiting for her?
Where is the infant? Varfri had asked Cavan. Scipio was searching for the child, but why?
To love it and raise it as Katla had wished for when she plotted the travesty of her wedding morning? Or did he have a darker reason for searching for the child?
You must save the infant or all will be lost.
A shadow descended upon her. Slowly she craned her neck back, narrowing her eyes against the glare outlining the giant standing above her.
She looked into a pair of cold blue eyes. And she knew, she knew, that she was looking into the face of Katla's lover. Scipio. A man that, come to think of it, her ancestor had also deceived with her lies.
For the first time that day Kat's body cooperated with her mind and she fainted.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cavan heard the hiss of the whip before its bite licked his back. He was stretched out on the whipping post, his wrists and ankles bound apart.
He smiled. Any pain he suffered paled in comparison to the chaos that surrounded him at this moment. The weak marks of the whip would fade, reduced to nothing but a distant memory when they had Katla strapped in his place, taking the punishment that was being dealt to him.
And more. His plan had worked flawlessly.
The punishment he was undergoing now was for the minor infraction of letting the villagers within the fortress and taking coin to allow them to watch Katla work. None in the family truly cared that he had failed to protect Katla from Boddi's whip. Not now.
As soon as the ten lashes were dealt out, he would volunteer to take up arms and assist in chasing down the runaway slave.
Katla.
The old jarl had survived his head injury, mores the pity.
Cavan had hoped he would die of his injuries. He hated the old man just as he hated all the family. For years Cavan had pretended fidelity to them. For years he had worked to earn their trust and respect, all the while looking for opportunities to turn them against one another. But the bonds of this family were tight and they always worked past the obstacles he secretly set before them.
But this time his plan to hurt them had been nothing short of brilliant. No need to turn them against one another. Nay, they were all pained and made a fool of by one slip of a girl. Katla.
Not once, but twice. And each time it was thanks to him.
Cavan refused to stop smiling, despite the pain. The spectators surrounding him murmured nervously. He didn't care. His mind was far removed from his punishment, far removed from the onlookers. His thoughts were only on his accomplishments.
Cavan watched Katla brushing her long dark tresses and hard lust curled in his belly -- lust for the power she could bring him, the pain and trouble she could cause on his behalf.
He stepped into sight and was gratified to hear her gasp, watch her pale. He had slipped away unseen that fateful night in Iceland, and then approached Katla the next morning.
"My, you are glowing, my lady." Sarcasm laced his comments. "I am sure Jarl Leif will be interested to see the blush of a woman with child upon your face."
She did not speak, only stared at him with wide eyes.
"It is obvious you are devoted to Scipio. A dilemma, my lady." He slid her a shrewd look. "One to which I have a solution."
Her trembling lip pulled between small white teeth, her eyes never left his.
"Follow your father's command to marry Leif and do exactly what I say. If you do not err, you may yet assure that you and Scipio can have a long life together."
Cavan only wished he could have been on the deck of the ship when the little fool had executed his plan perfectly. To see the animosity that Leif and Scipio had felt for one another since childhood come to a climax, with Leif coming out the loser, would have been worth everything he had endured to this moment.
Still, it had been just as sweet to learn of the aftermath of his devious plan, an aftermath he had not counted on. His spies kept him informed of the bizarre behavior of Scipio after he learned that Katla had lied to him regarding the raid on Leif. Cavan had laughed long and loud when he had learned how Rollo had punished Scipio for being fool enough to carry out her orders without checking their authenticity with him first.
It was no wonder that Scipio had been moved to slay the entire family at his first opportunity, a punishment that was beyond cruel, all but killing him, not to mention shaming him in front of the entire village. Cavan imagined he would have reacted much the same way if it were he that had suffered such a harsh punishment.
Jarl Leif's barked orders carried over the hiss of the whip, drawing Cavan's gleeful attention.
*****
Leif's anger became a scalding fury as the minutes ticked by, until he shook with rage and bitter disappointment. He would hunt her down and kill her if it was the last thing he did.
"I want every spare warrior ready to leave within the hour," he commanded.
She had betrayed him! During his absence she wormed her way into his family's affections and then turned against them.
He should not be shocked, he thought a wry twist on his lips. After all, she had the blood of her ancestor in her veins. A heartless wench, a liar, she had made a fool of him in front of his people, just as her ancestress had.
His eyes blazed as the sound of the whip sang through the air. His most loyal loysing was enduring the sting of the whip because of her.
Cavan had been brought to his father's fortress when they were both but five years old. Cavan had been captured and secured as a slave when his village in Ireland fell under the raid Leif's father led.
Cavan had grown strong and developed an attachment for the family early on. Through the years he had proved his loyalty many times. And although he had been set free three years ago, he was still dependant upon his former owner, continuing to perform his duties. As a consequence, he had been the logical choice as slave master and, until this incident, there had never been a problem.
Leif had no idea what had come over Cavan that morning, allowing the villagers to run rampant in his fortress and attack Katla. When Leif had first learned of the attack he had been furious, striking out against Cavan like a berserker.
If his brothers had not pulled him off, he would have killed the man with his bare hands.
Now however, Leif chided himself a fool. He had rushed home against hazardous seas to get back to her, driven by the thought of holding her close at night, of speaking secret things under the cover of darkness. How he had ached to love her innocent body and hopefully plant his seed deep within her womb.
