Page 65 of Mastered By the Viking King

He whooped and jumped again.

A piercing crack sounded, like the stroke of a whip. Fear stabbed like a dagger into Tove’s heart. “Knud! Get off it.”

His grin dropped as he looked down. Then quick as a flash, he vanished, disappearing into the spot he’d stood, falling through the ice.

Tove screamed and raced toward him. “Knud!” A shot of bile rushed up her gullet, her legs weak, terror surging.

His tiny hand appeared, clawing at the edge of the hole he’d fallen into.

Tove slid onto her stomach, spreading her weight. “Knud! Knud! Take my hand.”

She finally reached the jagged hole in the ice, but he’d slipped below the surface once more. She plunged her hand into the frigid water, and felt around frantically. “Knud!”

How can this be happening?

She stared at the blackness, her eyes blurring in terror. Suddenly, she spotted a shadow. Was it his head?

She pushed closer until she was hanging over the lip precariously. Quickly, she plunged both arms into the cold water, up to her shoulders.

Her heart lurched when she felt something solid. It was him. She grasped his clothing and heaved, dragging him upward.

His small head appeared, then his face. His eyes were wide, mouth open and spluttering.

“Knud!”

She scooted back from the hole, still holding on tight to the boy, dragging him out of the water. The sound of another crack rang out. She hurried, for beneath her the ice was breaking and giving way. Her cloak was soaked and heavy.

Gathering her strength, she pushed the sopping child toward the lake’s edge. “Go,” she managed. “Get to the bank.”

Knud seemed to regain strength, and he pushed to his knees, crawling fast.

The last thing Tove saw before the lake swallowed her was her new son making it safely off the treacherous ice.

The deathly cold stole her breath, almost stopping her heart. It tore over her scalp, stabbing into her skin, piercing her lungs. She tried to kick to the surface, but her legs would barely work, her heavy clothing wrapped around her limbs like an anchor chain.

The light was diminishing, the hole in the ice above her slipping into the distance. Again, she flailed, but if anything, the movement seemed to drag her deeper.

She closed her eyes, her father’s face dancing before her. Lined by age, he was smiling, welcoming her to the afterlife. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so scared, knowing he was there waiting for her.

But then a bitter sadness twisted her guts. She was leaving Njal. Her one true love. She wouldn’t see him for a very long time. She hoped he’d live a good long life without her. How many sons would he sire with another queen? The pain of being torn from her king, from her love, was almost too much to bear, and she wished for death to come quickly, for the pain to stop.

Then she was being hauled upward by her cloak. Her body glided through the water, pulled by a steely grip, swiftly drawing her toward the daylight, and finally, into the blessed air. She gasped, reaching out, clutching at ice—and then wrapping her numb fingers around a thick arm.

“Tove!”

She coughed, spluttering cold water from her throat.

Njal?

“Tove! This way!” He was breathless.

Now she was being dragged roughly over the snowy ice, puddles and cracks surrounding her. She scrabbled for something to hold onto, still trying to clear her lungs of water.

“Mama! Mama!” Knud’s hysterical voice pierced her ears.

“Stay off the lake, Knud.”

In the name of Freya! It is Njal!

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