Maidensong by Mia Marlowe

when her body had betrayed her, opening to him, tumbling into him as gently as a stream into the fjord, and she responded to his kiss. She burned with the shame of it.
      “You spoke of a proper time for all things last night,” she said grimly. “The time for us ended before it began. When my father died.”
      He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and spoke no more as they continued to ascend the steep trail into the thick forest. Soon Rika heard the resounding thwacks of axes on trunks and the rasping thrum of the long two-man saws. Before she could see them, she smelled the dying trees, perfuming the air with the pungent aroma of the heart of pine.
      They broke through the dense woods into a clearing, where men and teams of horses strained to uproot the broad stumps left by the woodsmen. Sweat darkened the chests of the horses as they bent to the will of their equally sweaty masters.
      Bjorn slid off his horse and put a shoulder to one of the more stubborn stumps. The thick muscles in his biceps bulged with effort, as he grunted beside the other workers.
      “Get up, now!” he bellowed as the whole crew of men and equines strained together. The long, snaking roots finally released their hold on the earth and wrenched free, pointing skyward in surrender . A cheer went up from the gang of workers.
      Bjorn vaulted up onto his horse’s glossy back with the sturdy grace of a born horseman and chirruped to the gelding to walk on. He glanced sideways at Rika, but she riveted her gaze away, determined not to let him catch her paying any attention to him. She scanned the field instead.
      “You said Ketil was here.” She lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
      “He’ll be working with an ax someplace. He told me this morning he likes to chop wood,” Bjorn said as he looked for Ketil at the far end of the field. “He’s a strong one, your brother. I asked Surt to watch out for him, but he said Ketil seems to know his way around a blade with a handle.”
      “That he does. Ketil will chop up a tree just for the pleasure of stacking up cordwood.” It irritated her that Ketil should be talking to Bjorn. It was one thing for her to spar with their captor. Especially since she had no choice in the matter and the wit to be wary of him, but Ketil wouldn’t know a grass snake from an adder. Her gentle brother always accepted everyone at face value. He’d be easy prey for someone like Bjorn, who could turn anything Ketil might say to his own advantage.
      “ There he is.” Bjorn pointed at the young man in the distance, who was flailing at a towering pine. He nudged his horse into a trot and Rika followed.
      When they were near enough, Rika cupped her mouth and cried out Ketil’s name.
      He stopped chopping and looked around. His sweat ing face broke into a wide grin when he saw Rika. He buried the ax head in the trunk he was working on and lumbered toward her.
      A brisk wind whipped across the open field and caught the treetops, sending them swaying back and forth. Ketil’s tree shuddered and cracked and, in a sickening surrender, slowly started to come down.
      “Run, Ketil. Run!” Rika screamed.
      Ketil glanced over his shoulder, but instead of run ning to the side to avoid the falling timber, he kept running straight as a plumb line in the same direction the tree was toppling. Rika’s throat constricted as panic rippled over her. Ketil would never clear the treetop in time.
      Bjorn dug his heels into the gelding’s flanks, bolting into a gallop. He closed the distance between him and Ketil in only a few heartbeats. Rika watched, hand clasped over her mouth, as Bjorn leaped from the back of his mount and plowed into Ketil, shoving him aside just as the giant trunk came crashing down.
      Rika gasped as Ketil rolled to safety. But the jarl’s brother disappeared under a solid avalanche of boughs and needles.
     
     

Chapter 8
     
     
     
      Men swarmed