Harper George - One Night With The Viking

The worst of it was that Kadlin would see him like this. He was lamed and deformed and she would witness it all. There would be no peace in believing that she would never know of his weakness. There was no hope that she would only hear of his good and heroic deeds and imagine him as the warrior that she had known. His weakness, once seen, couldn’t be unseen by her eyes. It was why they were lit with a false light; she was trying to hide her disgust. He couldn’t blame her for it.

‘There is no recovery for me. I’ll be broken like Harald. Unfit to wield a sword.’ Unfit to call myself a man. Now Kadlin—the one person who had always refused to see the bad in him—would be forced to see how useless and unworthy of her he really was. Perhaps being sent to her was his one last punishment. He’d get to watch any tenderness she felt towards him slowly leave her eyes to be replaced with pity. He refused to submit to that.

‘Leave me.’

She rose to her full height, but hesitated to go. ‘I’ll bring you some food. You need it to recover.’

He shook his head and then grimaced from the pain. ‘Send it with Vidar, if he’s still here.’

* * *

‘Mama!’ Her son toddled into the house, a smooth river rock held out in his small, chubby hand. ‘Treasure!’

Kadlin scooped him up and exclaimed over the treasure he had found. ‘It’s beautiful. We can add it to the collection.’ She set him down so he could go put it in the basket holding the other rocks he had found and deemed suitable for his collection. She smiled as he gave the alcove a quick glance and a wide berth as he went past it. She’d added a heavy blanket as a curtain as soon as Gunnar had been settled inside, so the child had only heard the strange noises coming from it. It was no wonder he was frightened.

‘Thank you, Ingrid.’ She turned and smiled at Harald’s daughter who had followed her son inside. ‘Could I get you something to eat?’

‘No, thank you, ma’am. I need to be getting home.’ With a nod, the girl left.

‘Come, Avalt, let me feed you.’

The boy was too busy admiring his collection to pay her any attention, until Vidar emerged from the alcove. He stopped playing and looked up, waiting until Vidar met his gaze before running to his mother. She laughed softly and scooped him up, cuddling him close as he intently watched Vidar’s approach. He’d been excited to have a man in the house and had generally welcomed Vidar with the enthusiasm of a young child fascinated with someone new. But the fact that he had emerged from the mysterious alcove had set the toddler on edge.

‘Can we not give him more of the laced mead?’ Vidar scowled as he set the empty bowl on the hearth. ‘He’s as irritable as a bear.’

Kadlin stifled a sigh of relief that Gunnar had drunk it all. She’d been worried that he would deny himself nourishment or that his stomach would rebel against the contents, since he’d apparently had nothing in weeks except for the mead concoction.

When she didn’t answer immediately, Vidar brushed past her with an accusatory look. ‘The Saxon witch sent plenty, enough to last for many more weeks. His leg pains him and his head is unbearable.’

‘Nay, he’s had enough. His head wound has healed. I believe it pains him now only because his body has grown to crave the mead. Once he’s gone without it a few days, that will improve. Besides, did you see him?’ Though his shoulders were still broad, Gunnar had lost the heft that came from fighting and his ribs shone through his skin. Even his face showed how gaunt he was; his cheeks had hollowed a bit and dark circles surrounded his eyes. ‘He’s wasting away. He won’t eat unless we wean him from the mead and he needs the nourishment more than he needs the relief from the pain.’ Though the groans from his pain still echoed in her ears and they tore at her. As much as she had tried to harden her heart against him in the years since his abandonment, she couldn’t bear the image of him in pain.

‘It’s cruel. He needs relief from his pain. Nourishment or not, he’ll never walk again. He’ll never carry a sword or stand a ship. Let him have his solace from the pain. What does the rest of it matter?’ It appeared that he had more to say, but he stopped when she rounded on him.

‘What does it matter? That is your brother lying in there. Are you saying that his life isn’t worth anything without that leg to support him? Are you saying that we should leave him to his mindless solace instead of trying to heal him?’

‘You heard Harald just as I did. Gunnar will not use that leg again. You know him as well as I do, or even better, I’d wager.’ He indicated the baby in her arms with his dark, flaming hair so like his father’s.

Kadlin stifled a gasp of surprise. She’d known that her son resembled his father, but she hadn’t realised exactly how much until she had seen Gunnar again. Apparently, the resemblance was visible to those who had a reason to suspect.

Vidar had the presence of mind to seem chastised and lowered his tone. ‘You know that he wouldn’t want to live with that leg.’

She couldn’t deny the truth of those words. The despair Gunnar had felt upon seeing the injury was imprinted on her mind for ever. He would think it was a weakness, an unbearable flaw that wasn’t to be overcome. ‘That choice isn’t his to make. Eirik sent him to my care, so I will see that he recovers. I hope to make him see that his life can still be good.’

Vidar grunted and walked to the front door, but stopped to turn to her. ‘You haven’t a chance, but I wish you luck. I’m going to see if Ingrid needs an escort home.’ He grinned and walked out.

‘Vidar!’ She waited until he’d popped his head back in before lowering her voice. ‘Please don’t tell anyone your suspicions.’ It was widely assumed that her son’s father was her late husband. No one except her parents knew that it was Gunnar.

Vidar looked towards Avalt and nodded. ‘I won’t say a word.’ Then he left, running to catch up to Ingrid.

Kadlin hugged her child tighter and buried her face in his curls. Vidar was right. She knew in her bones that his words weren’t just those of a young warrior unable to imagine life with an injury like Gunnar’s. His feelings were those shared by almost every man that she knew. An injury that left one lame was an injury that should result in death. Was she selfish to want Gunnar’s recovery even if he himself didn’t? She didn’t know, but she did know that it wasn’t in her power to grant him that alternative. He would

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