know I donât.â
âThen marry Baldr. He has promised to care for you and the child.â
âNay, Father. He is a cruel man. He frightens me.â
The anger completely left him then to be replaced by something that was even worse. Pity. He cupped her face with both hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. âI would do anything to spare you from this pain. If he were here now, I would kill Gunnar myself for leaving you to face this alone. It only proves that I was right about him.â Taking a deep breath, he ploughed ahead. âYou will be married now. You have no choice.â
She trembled as a deep, wrenching sob struggled to find purchase in her throat. Her fatherâs words hinted at a truth she had tried so hard to deny. Gunnar must have known that a child was possible. He must have known that she loved him. He must have known how his leaving would destroy her. But she had to make a choice for her child now. âIâll marry Dagan, but not Baldr.â Dagan was a childhood friend she had known almost as long as Gunnar. He was kind and good, a fine warrior who planned to leave for the Saxon lands before winter. Though the thought of marrying anyone except Gunnar tore out her heart, if she would marry anyone else it would be Dagan. He would understand that she needed time before...before she could truly be a wife to him. The very thought of it caused another tear to leak down her cheek.
âDagan?â Her father looked pensive and then nodded. âHeâs from a strong family. He will agree to this?â
âAye,â she whispered. Dagan had hinted at the idea of marriage before and she had turned him down gently.
Her father nodded. âBefore the next moon you will be married.â
Two years later
Gunnar squinted into the grey dawn and tried to make out the figure he was sure he had seen just over the ridge. It had been a quick movement, but too large for a small animal. Though the signs of spring were all aroundâthe frost losing its grip on the earth, the small white flowers peeking out of the dead foliage on the forest floorâit was too early in the season for the larger animals to be out. It must have been a Saxon. The smell of their unwashed bodies wafted across the distance.
It was time for battle. Absently, his fingers reached into his tunic to stroke the lock of silvery-blonde hair he kept tied on a leather thong around his neck. It had become a habit before battle, one that he couldnât break, even though he had determined to stop thinking of her. More than once, heâd found himself doing it and resolved to cast the lock into the nearest fire, but he never could bring himself to do it. As paltry as it was, the memento was his only link to Kadlinâthe only link he would ever have. Stroking it never failed to make him remember how good it had felt to become a part of her that night, to claim her and make her his. Or how her scent, like sunshine mixed with wildflowers, had stayed on his skin for days afterward; and how in summer, when the afternoon sun shone through the clouds after a rain, it reminded him of her scent and would never fail to arouse him.
One night would never be enough with her, nor would a lifetime. He could touch her every day for the rest of his life and it would never be enough. She was the only light able to penetrate the coldness inside him. Heâd willingly warm himself for an eternity in her light.
He wanted her. By the gods, he wanted her with him more than heâd ever wanted anything in his life. Her absence left a gaping wound inside that no one could see and it festered worse every day. But she wasnât meant to be his.
Leaving her after taking her body, after hearing the sweet words sheâd whispered in his ear, had been the hardest thing that heâd ever done. Heâd lain with many women, but heâd never experienced the overwhelming wave of possessiveness that had overcome him when heâd risen to dress and looked down at her. With his seed glistening on the tender flesh of her inner thighs, heâd felt as if heâd branded her, marked her as his in a primal ritual as old as man. It had taken every ounce of will he possessed to walk away.
Heâd only been able to do it because heâd convinced himself that leaving was best for her. She deserved a life where she would be surrounded by those she loved. She was meant to be a jarlâs wife, not the wife of an unwanted bastard. Not the wife of someone incapable of loving and protecting her as she deserved. It was only that memory of how he had failed in the past that had given him strength to ignore the darkness within him that urged him to take her away with him, to leave her to her peaceful life without him.
When his ship had set sail, heâd known that he was entering some of the darkest days of his life. The years away from her had been black; he had no reason to believe that the ones ahead of him would be any better.
The soft crunch of dry twigs alerted Gunnar to his friendâs presence behind him just before Magnus spoke. âWhat do you see?â
Gunnar opened his eyes and tried to shake thoughts of Kadlin away. If he wanted to live, he couldnât afford distractions. That was the very reason he needed to get rid of that bloody lock of hair; it was a distraction. Nodding to the small break in the trees, he spoke softly. âI saw a Saxon. Just there.â They were both silent, waiting for another movement. After a few minutes, they were rewarded as the figure of a man darted across the opening.
Magnus grumbled in disgust. âThey should come fight us like men instead of hiding in the trees.â
âThey already tried that and realised they couldnât win,â Gunnar muttered as he scanned the treeline, looking for more. Earlier in the week, he and his men had come across a ragtag group of Saxon men. There had been a fight, and when it had become apparent that his men were the stronger warriors, the Saxons had scattered. His men had found some of them, but the rest had escaped and had regrouped and followed them. He didnât like their cowardice in hiding and his blood pumped furiously at the thought of crushing them. âThey wonât approach. Theyâre waiting. Weâll have to root them out.â
Magnus nodded his agreement. âThere are at least two score. If they met with others, there could be more.â
âIâll take some men and ride in behind them. Drive them out into the open.â
âWhy not wait them out? We can handle them.â
Gunnar shook his head, the need to fight outweighing his patience. âNay, weâll fight them now.â He turned to go back to camp. They needed to strike fast.
âWait, brother,â Magnus said as he put a hand on his arm. âLet us wait. We donât know how many men are hiding. We donât need to fight now.â He paused and when Gunnar seemed unmoved by his logic, he added, âIt could be suicide.â
âI know,â Gunnar replied and kept walking the path back to camp. It could be suicide, but not in the way Magnus suspected. Heâd never risk the lives of his men. He intended to go alone, to figure out what they were dealing with before leading his men in. Heâd gained a reputation for recklessness, but every chance heâd ever taken had paid off. It was why the men under his command had quadrupled in size. They wanted the treasures and accolades those fighting beneath his command had accumulated over the years.
The truth was that he no longer cared if he lived or died. He could have stopped fighting. Eirik had offered him numerous opportunities to take over command posts. He could have become a jarl in this new land in his own right by now, commanding the battle from afar at times. And while that idea had originally held some allure, it had come too late. Heâd learned that Kadlin was married to someone else now.
The night he had come face to face with her husband was the night he realised that some part of him had still held out hope. It wasnât until that moment that he knew he had lost her for ever. And nothing seemed to matter any more. That