Buskeland, Norway, five years later

Kolbjorn looked over his mead hall, which swarmed with people. Eruptions of laughter, drunken stories, the friendly and unfriendly banter of men who had drunk too much rang around it. The giant, dim room was warm and smelled like a feast: fermented honey, roasted meat, cooked vegetables.

He, as always, had a clear head—clear of alcohol, anyway.

But it was pleasantly full with thoughts of his family, who were near him. His wife sat by his great chair, the auburn-haired witch from the future who had brought him more happiness than he could ever grasp, ever take in. Her hand hung from the chair arm as did his, and they touched ever so slightly, barely noticeable to anyone, the connection of their skin slight but the invisible connection of their souls unbreakable.

His two-year-old son, Bjorn, slept in their bedchamber, lulled by the hum of the feast. He had Kolbjorn’s brown hair, but Kolbjorn did not think of his son as a cur. He did not think like that about himself anymore, either.

Kolbjorn was the son of the jarl and always had been, whether he had the official name or not. It was in his blood.

And it was in his son’s and the second child that Rachel was carrying.

King Eirik sat on Kolbjorn’s other side with a pretty servant girl on his lap, his eyes glossy. He had just renewed the alliance that he had taken away after Jarl Bjorn died. Rubies glistened on the golden Mjölnir pendant around his neck, the most masterful jewelry Kolbjorn had ever seen.

When the king’s eyes had fallen on the pendant, he had not moved for a moment. “Did Thor himself make it?”

“No. My wife,” Kolbjorn had said, pride puffing his chest.

Rachel had hidden a smile with a slight bow of her head, the sign of modesty and respect. Rachel had crafted the pendant specially for the king himself, as a gift and to ensure his alliance with Kolbjorn.

A movement caught his eyes, and he saw three people approaching through the mead benches—a woman, a man, and a child. Kolbjorn’s guards shifted, as well as every warrior in the hall, ready to protect their jarl, his wife, and King Eirik at any sign of a wrong move, but Kolbjorn made a slight gesture with his hand, and the men relaxed a little, still wary.

The man coming towards Kolbjorn looked familiar. In the weathered face, he recognized Ebbe.

Kolbjorn exchanged a glance with Rachel. She was clearly as surprised as he was.

“Ebbe Bjornsson,” Kolbjorn said. “What brings you here?”

Ebbe bowed slightly. “This is my wife, Liv, and my daughter, Aslaug.”

Kolbjorn nodded in acknowledgment. Seeing his half-brother brought a feeling of sadness at the memory of their father, who was not among them anymore, and the memory of his brothers’ betrayal.

“What did you come for, Ebbe? We did not part as the best of friends.”

“No. We did not. And I regret it.”

Kolbjorn felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. “You regret it?”

“I do. I have always been drawn into Alfarr’s plans, always a follower. But ever since I married and started my own family, I realized that I no longer want to follow another man’s lead, especially not a man like Alfarr. I must decide how to raise my daughter, and I do not want her to become like Alfarr. Like me.”

Rachel leaned towards Kolbjorn and whispered with a smile, “I am sure it’s Liv’s doing. She must be a good woman.”

“Are you coming to make peace?” Kolbjorn asked, still not quite believing that his brother would do that.

“I am,” he said with a bow. “And I have come to beg your protection. Alfarr has angered the neighboring chieftain. His warriors killed Alfarr, and now they are coming for us, to destroy our farm.”

Kolbjorn felt a small stab of pain at the news of Alfarr’s death, even though he was not surprised, and part of him felt that his brother likely deserved what he’d gotten.

“We are just farmers,” Ebbe continued. “Not warriors. I cannot protect my family on my own. I am asking for your help.”

Kolbjorn glanced at the king, who eyed the whole conversation with great interest. Undoubtedly, he realized who Ebbe was. Kolbjorn looked at Rachel, and she gave him a small nod. They were both thinking the same. Family was family. Kolbjorn would not allow this little girl to grow up without a mother and a father. He did not hold a grudge against Ebbe, did not feel the need for revenge against him, like many others would. His father had recognized Kolbjorn and valued him more than his legitimate sons.

Kolbjorn had won a long time ago.

“I will help you,” he said, and gratitude flooded Ebbe’s and Liv’s faces. “I will send twenty warriors. That should be enough?”

“Yes. Yes. Thank you, brother.”

It was the first time that Ebbe had called Kolbjorn that, and a smile touched his lips as the forgotten desire to have a brother returned. “Join the feast. Eat. Drink. Stay.”

Ebbe’s eyes burned. “You are not a mongrel, Kolbjorn, and never have been, no matter what Alfarr said.” Ebbe’s voice was low, but Kolbjorn heard him, and his eyes prickled. “You are the wolf,” his brother finished, bowing again before finding a seat with his wife and daughter.

When Kolbjorn looked at Rachel, she gave him a small signal—the special way she rubbed her cheek—that they had agreed on, to find a place for just the two of them. He wanted to go to the bedchamber with her, but she led him out of the mead hall. “I want some fresh air.”

They excused themselves before the king and went outside. The warm summer evening was quiet. It smelled like the sea and lilacs.

Without pause, Rachel led Kolbjorn up the hill towards the sacred grove, and a chill ran across his skin.

“Where are you going? You are not going back to your time, are you?”

She laughed, and the sound of it always made something melt inside him.

“No, silly. Like I told you countless times, I’m not going anywhere. You are stuck with me forever.”

“Thank the gods,” he said with a relieved sigh.

“It’s just quiet in the grove because people are afraid of going near it after they saw me disappear. And I want a peaceful moment alone with you. Bjorn is sleeping, and I don’t want to listen to people getting drunk on the other side of that thin wall while we are doing what I have in mind.”

He liked where this was going. “And what is that?”

They passed by Kolbjorn’s old house, the place where they had first seen each other. The moment that had changed their lives.

She did not say anything, just looked at him and wiggled her eyebrows. It always made him laugh.

“I am pregnant, I am horny, and I want you.”

“Happy to oblige, wife.”

When they arrived at the clearing, Kolbjorn laid his fur cloak on the ground. His heart sung as he planted a kiss on her lips, the first of many in what he hoped would be a long night.

“You know what I just realized?” Rachel asked as he began kissing her graceful neck, inhaling the sweet scent of apples that always made him feel more alive.

“What?” he murmured against her skin.

“The Necklace of Northern Lights… It brought us together. Through time. It saved my mother. It connected us. Without it, we would not be here. It’s the jewel of time.”

Kolbjorn leaned back slightly to look at her, to see her translucent skin, silvery in the darkness, the dark ruby undertone of her auburn hair, the pearls of her teeth.

“No,” he said. “It’s not the necklace. It’s you.”

Rachel smiled a shy little smile.

He cupped her jaw. “You are my jewel of time.”

Thank you for reading THE JEWEL OF TIME! I hope you enjoyed Kolbjorn and Rachel’s story.

The Norn spins the fates of another couple again in THE MARRIAGE OF TIME. Sign up on to get notified when the book is out (around April 2019)!

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Thank you!

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