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EPILOGUE

On a day when the sun was warm and the breeze light, six weddings took place on the clifftop above Skálavík, looking down upon the sparkling waters of the fjord.

The brides wore open-sided gowns of golden silk embroidered with the meadow flowers of their new home and circlets upon each fair head, twined with wild roses for passion and daisies for fertility—though it appeared a good number needed no assistance in that matter.

The men were garbed just as finely—thanks to Eldberg’s generosity—in tunics of finespun ochre wool adorned with thistles on the yoke to symbolize their tenacity. The love of a good woman had softened their jarl, some said—though with a new design of ink patterned upon his cheeks and war braids on either side of his face, beaded with amethyst, Hedda believed he’d never looked more dangerous or more enticing.

The handfasting was made with lengths of ivy to bind each couple strong, though these brides required no help in that regard. Their men were bound without need of rope or chains, for the ties of devotion were strongest of all.

That wasn’t to say a length of something soft upon wrists and ankles wouldn’t ever find its way into the bedchambers of our lovers. For what woman would deny herself the chance to be worshipped so utterly, obliged to deliciously submit as her man had his way?

Perhaps, on occasion, the men allowed their good ladies the same command, for all prudent men knew a woman must have her dominion.

Vows made, the brides ran laughing down the hill to the wedding hall with their grooms chasing behind, and much kissing there was as each was caught.

Eldberg made a great show of presenting Hedda with his sword, and she gave him her hunting dagger in exchange. With it, he cut his palm and hers, intermingling the destiny of Skálavík’s men and the women they were proud to call wife.

Tribute was also paid to those who’d failed to return—the ten oarsmen whose families grieved and who Eldberg had sworn would want for nothing.

The gods had surely spun the mist and stormy sea that caused the shipwreck, but ‘twas the sacrifice of those poor, drowned men that brought about the love-matches on the island and the saving of H?y’s women.

The feasting lasted long into the night, and the drinking horns were raised in more toasts than any could number. Amidst such happiness, even the deepest rivalries were mended and loyalties pledged once more. These grooms had shared adventures no other could understand, and such brotherhood was worthy of preserving.

When, at last, Astrid and J?rgen retired, with the wedding kitten he’d given her curled at their feet, she fell into a contented dream. She was a child again, running to her father, then lifted aloft, carried safe. Waking, the arms about her were those of J?rgen, and her own pulled him into her embrace.

Beneath the furs of other beds, each bride and groom slept entwined, safe in the protection of their love.

‘Twas a good feeling to be wed.

For there were no secrets between those whose hearts were open. All things were seen, even when words went unspoken.