Page 19 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)

Wedding Feast

“You look beautiful! Bodo won’t be able to take his eyes off you.” Elfi wove the sweet violets and wild thyme blossoms into the two delicate braids which joined at the back of Sif’s dark, shiny tresses. The floral fragrance and hint of spice from the wildflowers wafted on the saline breeze through the open window. At the sound of waves crashing against the white chalk cliffs, Elfi remembered Njord’s powerful body pounding into hers in the waterfall cave of the Mermaid Cove. A delicious thrill washed over her at the thought of going there with him again tomorrow. Smiling to herself, she directed her attention back to Sif’s glorious mane. Unlike most thralls whose locks were kept shorn, Sif’s dark brown hair—like Elfi’s—tumbled to her narrow waist.

“Thank you for allowing me to wear this amethyst necklace. It’s the same color as my gown. I absolutely love it.” Sif ran long, appreciative fingers over the dark purple glittering gems.

“And the silver embroidery that you did around the neckline will sparkle like stars in the firelight.” Elfi leaned forward to hug Sif’s shoulders.

Sif, her pretty face alight with delight, rose from the seat at the vanity table. “Now, it’s your turn. I’ll weave these bluebells into your braids. The fragrance is wonderful!”

Elfi admired Sif’s work as she observed her reflection in the polished silver mirror. Blue wildflowers were artfully woven into her long, light brown hair. The emerald, turquoise, and lapis lazuli gems in the necklace that Njord had given her glittered at her throat in the slanted rays of the setting sun. And, suspended beneath the three tiers of teardrop shaped beads, the Nordic runes and dark blue gems of the trollkors talisman glistened with galdr magic.

As if summoned by her thoughts of him, Njord appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened with awe and admiration as he took in her deep blue gown, the necklace he had given her as a bridal gift, and the trollkors talisman with sparkling lapis lazuli gems. “My siren with the sea goddess eyes…” he strode across the room and swept her into his arms, planting a glorious kiss on her smiling lips.

Elfi laughed with joy, reveling in his ardent, amorous attention. When she withdrew from Njord’s embrace, she noticed Sif’s crestfallen face.

“Bodo isn’t with you?” Sif looked beyond Njord into the hallway, searching in vain for the stonecutter she so desperately hoped to see.

“He wasn’t in his cottage.” Regret tinged Njord’s apologetic tone. “But perhaps he will join us later…for the feast.” He smiled brightly to lift Sif’s despondent spirit.

Vilde must have overheard, for she came into the room and spoke softly to her daughter. “Lady Oda would like us to arrange fresh flowers for Jarl Rikard’s table.” She took Sif’s hand and gently led her toward the exit door. Vilde inclined her head to Elfi and Njord. “We’ll see you tonight in the Great Hall.”

After the two thralls had left, Elfi gazed expectantly at Njord. “I truly hope Bodo does come to the feast. Sif will be heartbroken if he does not.”

Uncertainty dimmed Njord’s bright blue eyes. “He did not arrive with the other úlfhéenar. Nor did I see him in the crowd gathered in the meadow for the mass wedding.” Njord offered an arm to Elfi, who linked her elbow through his. “Let’s hope he appears later, for Sif’s sake. But, truth be told, I sincerely doubt that he will.”

Njord and Elfi exited the castle, crossing the wildflower strewn meadow to join the hundreds of guests who had gathered under the canopy of beech trees near the cliff overlooking the Narrow Sea. As the setting sun reflected off the white chalk cliffs and the white capped waves far below, the golden glow bathed the wedding crowd with divine light, like a blessing from the Nordic gods.

Elfi spotted the blue woad painted face of the volva úlvhild near the goei— the pagan priest who would perform the Viking wedding ceremony for the ten couples assembled inside an altar consisting of smooth stones which encircled a contained fire. Clad in a white robe for purity and connection to the gods, the goei wore an elaborate headdress of elk antlers interwoven with sacred mistletoe, vervain, and branches of rowan, yew, and ash. As úlvhild thumped her long wooden staff upon the leafy ground, the moonstone within the hilt of her wand was as luminous as the white chalk cliffs gilded by the golden sun. Chanting a vardlokkur to summon beneficial spirits and the protection of the benevolent gods, úlvhild’s velvety voice floated on the briny breeze and rustled through the leafy trees.

While Elfi stood with Njord among the throng, clutching his reassuring hand, four white-robed assistants each led a goat to be sacrificed to the gods. Retrieving a sacred knife belted at his waist, the goei sliced the throats of each animal, one by one, while his acolytes collected the sacrificial blood in silver vessels inscribed with Nordic runes. The pagan priest dipped a twig from a sacred ash tree into the blood, splattering it upon the couples to be wed, invoking the blessing of the gods.

His rich, resonant voice carried across the windswept glen. “By the blood of this offering, I seek the favor of Thor to give you strength. I ask Freyr to grant you fertility, and the Allfather Odin to guide you with divine wisdom. May your union be as strong as the oak, as fruitful as the fields in spring, and as enduring as the roots of Yggdrasil." With majestic ceremony, the goei bound the hands of each couple with long leather cords, joining them in the traditional handfasting ceremony. “As I bind your hands, so I bind your future together, in joy and sorrow, in prosperity and struggle. May you walk side by side, forever entwined, with the blessed protection of the gods." He poured the remaining blood from each of the four silver vessels into the altar fire, symbolizing the consumption of the sacrifice by the gods and the completion of the Viking wedding ceremony.

Jarl Rikard , acting as host in Lord Thorfinn’s absence, bellowed above the cheering crowd. “And now, we feast! To the Great Hall of Chateau Blanc !”

****

Along both sides of the enormous chamber — elaborately decorated with fragrant wreaths of rosemary, lavender, and grapevines — wedding guests settled at tables laden with aromatic platters of roasted meats, steaming seafood, fresh vegetables, and frumenty pottage seasoned with cinnamon and spice. Beeswax candles emitted a sweet scent from polished brass candleholders upon the wooden tables, and the clean aroma of pine wafted from burning torches in metal sconces amidst the tapestries upon the carved oak walls. In a corner of the room near the massive hearth where a festive fire crackled, musicians played lively music on lyres, lutes, and flutes. At the far end of the Great Hall, beneath the glorious banner of Jarl Rikard—with its duo of golden lions rampart on a background of solid red—the Viking Duke of Normandy sat at the head table, situated upon a wooden dais, in an intricately carved oak chair which served as an informal throne. At his side, a beaming Oda chatted gaily with Count Sk?rde, Bjarke, and Varg, while servants escorted Elfi and Njord to the reserved pair of chairs on Jarl Rikard’s other side. As Elfi gratefully accepted a chalice of mead, she spotted Sif and Vilde serving the table where the wolfskin-clad úlfhéenar dined with Njord’s Danish warriors from Ribe. Bodo was conspicuously absent, but the blond brute áki was boisterously laughing, trying to pull a visibly harried Sif onto his lap. Fortunately, she managed to dodge the Dane and disappeared through the servants’ entrance into the adjacent castle kitchens.

“Bodo is not here, and áki can’t keep his hands off Sif.” Elfi sipped her mead and groaned quietly to Njord. “I hope she can avoid him for the rest of the night.”

Njord washed down a mouthful of salted boar with a gulp from his engraved silver chalice. “Soon, everyone will head outdoors, to dance around the bonfire. Odin willing, áki will find a pretty widow and leave Sif alone.”

While wedding guests finished the feast with sumptuous fresh fruit and delectable desserts, such as tartes aux mirabelles wild plum tarts, honey cakes flavored with cinnamon, ginger, and cloves, and custard cream pastries made from the rich, plentiful milk of abundant Norman cows, the castle skald Egil—who had previously delighted his audience with the inimitable Drápa of Dag in tribute to Elfi’s fallen brother—entertained the throng with a captivating rendition of the Volsung Saga of Sigurd the Dragonslayer and the Valkyrie Brynhildr. Accompanied by a duo of musicians playing alternating patterns of harp and flute, the skald’s intense, engaging performance portrayed all the romance, mystery, and tragedy of the epic Norse legend.

When Egil completed his stellar skaldic presentation, castle musicians resumed playing festive tunes. While some guests remained in the Great Hall to enjoy the revelry and continue to eat, others filtered out of the castle to dance under the moonlight.

“Come, let’s slip outside. I long for the fresh scent of the sea.” Njord rose from the table, took Elfi’s hand, and guided her down the stairs at the end of the wooden dais. They wove through the jubilant throng, crossing the rush-strewn floor of the Great Hall, out the enormous oaken doors into the dark, velvety night.

As lively melodies of flutes, lutes, and lyres floated into the starlit sky, newly wedded couples danced around the bonfire and patrons gathered around tables under the canopy of giant oaks. Across the heathered meadow, far from the dancing couples, Viking warriors engaged in mock battles with axes, shields, and swords.

Njord led Elfi to the same spot under the enormous beech tree where they had danced during the welcoming feast when he had first arrived in étretat. He pulled her against his broad chest, wrapped his arms behind her back, and swooped down to claim her lips in a greedy, possessive kiss. “Mmm,” he murmured into her open mouth. “You taste divine.”

Elfi melted against him, grateful for his rugged warmth against the chilly September night. In the background behind them, peals of laughter rang across the clearing as the newlyweds followed Viking tradition and leapt over the bonfire flames.

Sif was serving mead to a table of guests, and once again, áki was pestering her with amorous advances and unwanted attention. Just as she was about to walk over to the table and ask Sif to fetch her cloak—as a ruse to get her away from the Danish beast— Elfi spotted a furious Bodo storming across the grassy glen. To her utter astonishment, he was not limping in the least.

“Look, there’s Bodo…” she spluttered to Njord, indicating with a nod the angry stonecutter who was headed straight toward áki. “And he’s not limping!”

Njord spun around to see, his jaw dropping open in surprise. He quickly recovered when he realized that he needed to intervene before a fight broke out at the wedding feast. Hollering to úlf, the leader of the wolf warriors imbibing mead at a nearby table, Njord shouted, “Stop Bodo! I’ll get áki!”

Bodo shoved the bearded blond Dane, pushing áki back against a table, knocking over mugs and sloshing mead onto the guests. “Leave her alone. She’s with me!”

Just as áki reached for his dagger, Njord grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, pulling him away from Bodo. “Stand down,” he ordered áki in the commanding, resolute tone of the Danish Jarl of Ribe.

As úlf restrained Bodo by wrapping steely arms around the stonecutter’s neck and chest, áki jerked his arm away from Njord, rolling his thick neck to contain his seething anger. Like an enraged bull, he snorted, his florid face enflamed with furor. “You side with them against your own men. You’re a Count of Normandy now. One of the úlfhéenar . You’re no longer the Wolf of the Nordic Seas. Loki’s balls, you’re not even a Dane!” áki spat at Njord’s feet, spun on his heels, and stormed off, away from castle.

úlf slowly released Bodo, who brushed himself off, as Jarl Rikard rose to his feet and raised his mug of mead. In an attempt to restore order and resume revelry, he bellowed with a hearty, bearded grin. “To the newly married couples! May the gods bless this glorious Viking wedding! Skál!”

At the Duke of Normandy’s gesture, the musicians began to play once again, and Richard the Fearless hollered above the melodic din. “Let the dancing begin!”

Reassured that the fight had been averted, wedding guests flocked to the clearing around the roaring bonfire. As waves crashed against the white chalk cliffs, sending salty spray into the starry night sky, Danish warriors found Norman widows willing to dance under the light of the waxing moon.

Bodo was obviously still rattled and ready for battle. “I should have challenged him to fight me. We could have formed the square--and settled this tonight.”

“Not at a wedding feast.” Njord gripped Bodo’s shoulder, urging him to cast aside his anger and return to the celebration. “Besides, I can’t have either of you wounding or killing each other. I need him in charge of my Danish army to defend the castle when you and I sail to ísland.” He looked pointedly at Bodo’s normally maimed foot, which now appeared completely healed. “You’re not limping. What happened?”

Bodo flashed an intriguing ring set with a dark green stone that was nearly black, a large splotch of deep red in the center. The eerie gem was encased with prongs which resembled claws in a murky band of shadowy silver, inscribed with a trio of Nordic runes etched in blood. “It’s a bloodstone,” he remarked proudly, “with exceptional powers of healing.” Bodo traced the trio of Nordic runes with the tip of his calloused finger. “These are imbued with galdr magic—and etched in blood, for the divine protection of the gods.” Honor and gratitude illuminated his bristled, beaming face. “I bought it from óttarr Skov. He obtained it from a Rus trader in Novgorod.” Bodo, still seething with anger, patted the dagger sheathed at his waist. “I should have used the Ljósálfar blade that Geralt made me in ísland. To kill that bloody bastard áki.”

Sif’s voice was soothing and soft. “I’m glad you didn’t. This is a wedding celebration.” She implored Bodo with large. pleading eyes. “Would you like to dance?”

Bodo’s ire disappeared at her gentle touch when Sif stroked his bearded cheek. Delight and desire gleamed in his dark brown gaze as he caught her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. “With pleasure. Come, my lady .”

“No one has ever called me that before.” Sif swooned on unsteady feet. The amethysts at the base of her slender throat sparkled in the moonlight. She whispered to Elfi as Bodo led her away. “See you later. Enjoy the evening. I certainly shall.”

Njord swept Elfi into his arms, swaying to the rhythm of the lutes and lyres. “I’m glad Bodo came to the feast. Thank the gods úlf and I averted the fight.” Warm lips nuzzled the side of her neck. “I’ll have to keep them apart, with áki training the Danish army. And Bodo working with the stonecutters reinforcing the castle walls.” Apprehension clouded Njord’s pensive gaze. “At least until after your father’s release. And we return from ísland.”

Elfi rose up on her toes and kissed his irresistible lips. “Let’s forget about them for now. And focus on each other.”

Njord snarled and leaned her back in his arms, swooping down to plunder her lips.

Elfi’s knees buckled under her deep blue gown, but he held her tight. And swirled her under the stars.

Later in the evening, the crowd dwindled, with many couples disappearing into the castle or off into the night. While Bodo waited under a nearby tree, Sif motioned to speak privately with Elfi, excitement alighting her pretty face.

Elfi stopped dancing and withdrew from Njord’s embrace. “I’ll be right back.” She crossed the grassy meadow, curious to hear what Sif had to say.

“With your permission, I’d like to go with Bodo to his cottage.” Sif whispered breathlessly, her eyes aflame. “He’ll escort me back to the castle at dawn. We’ll come in through the tunnel from the cave in the sacred grove. I’ll knock three times on the hidden door, so you’ll know it’s me.” She peered over Elfi’s shoulder at Njord, who had walked over to join Bodo and was now staring intently at the two women. “You could even sneak Njord up to your chambers. My moeir and your amma have already retired. When Bodo and I return in the morning, I can slip into your room, and Njord can slip out. And exit the castle with Bodo through the tunnel to the sacred grove.” Sif’s beseeching face was alight with anticipation. “Elfi…we could spend the whole night with our wolves!”

Exhilaration and a surge of desire flooded Elfi’s veins at the thought of a delicious night with Njord. She glanced at her alluring betrothed. No wonder he’s smiling. Bodo must have told him everything. And Njord is as eager as I am for a glorious night together. Elfi squeezed Sif’s hands and nodded, her pulse racing and her blood roaring. “A wonderful idea. Let’s do it!”

They scooted across the meadow to join their awaiting men. Hunger blazed in Njord’s fierce gaze, and hesitant hope lingered on Bodo’s bearded face. When Sif ran to him, he shuddered in visible relief, grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping his brown wolfskin cloak around Sif’s shoulders, he growled as he whisked her away. “See you at dawn.”

Elfi took hold of Njord’s hand, leading him toward the double entrance doors which opened into the castle. As they wove through the wedding guests still regaling around the bonfire, she spotted úlf dancing with a young widow name Azeline, whose lovely face was flushed with sheer delight and gleeful exertion.

Elfi and Njord crossed the grassy glen, past the table where Jarl Rikard was amorously enthralled with a pretty servant squirming on his lap. The lusty Duke of Normandy had sired several illegitimate children, including Ylva, the wife of Count Sk?rde, the burly Dane who was seated at his side, deeply engaged in conversation with the tall wolf warrior, Njáll. The former Dragon of Denmark—now known as the Dragon of Normandy—ceased his discussion with the dark-haired úlfhéeinn and held Elfi’s gaze as she and Njord passed by. In Sk?rde’s deep blue eyes—so very much like Njord’s—she glimpsed understanding and recognition of her need to be with the man she loved. The Count of the Pays de Caux smiled knowingly, inclined his head to acknowledge Njord, then resumed his conversation with Njáll, who grinned conspiratorially at them both.

When they finally reached the double oaken doors, where a duo of armored knights steadfastly stood guard, Elfi whisked Njord into the castle, across the vast foyer where servants were cleaning up after the feast, and up the stone stairs, to her private chambers at the end of the dimly lit hall.

She grabbed a burning torch from a wall sconce and used it to light the beeswax candle on her bedside table, returning it to the metal holder in the hall and locking the entrance door behind her as she came back into the room. While Njord removed his wolfskin cloak and unstrapped the weapons at his waist, Elfi strode across the pinewood floor and locked the door to the antechamber which connected to the private quarters where her amma and Vilde were sleeping. When she returned to Njord’s side, he pulled her into his arms and leaned down to kiss her as his awkward fingers unlaced the fitted bodice of the gown behind her back.

He groaned into her open mouth. “I can’t wait to remove this dress.” When at last he’d succeeded, the gown slipped down over her shoulders into a puddle of dark blue linen at her feet.

Elfi removed the three-tiered necklace and trollkors talisman, setting them both upon her carved oak table, while Njord quickly shed his embroidered tunic, woolen breeches, linen hose, and leather boots to stand magnificently naked, his god-like body aglow in the moonlight from the open window overlooking the Narrow Sea.

She ran adoring fingers through the dark hair across his muscled chest, admiring the intricate designs inked upon his sculpted shoulders and trailing down his muscled arms, where the fierce face of a tattooed wolf watched her every move. Elfi nuzzled her nose in the glorious thatch below his braided beard, deeply inhaling the scent of her mate which called to her soul like the sea.

Warm, eager lips suckled her neck and then her breasts, sending waves of want flooding the flesh between her taut, trembling thighs.

He laid her upon the soft feather bed, his lips and tongue trailing down her shivering skin until he reached the sensitive folds which ached for his skilled touch. As Njord lapped her tender flesh, seeming to drink her very essence and savor her taste, he murmured, the reverberations rippling into her core, “Odin’s eye, Elfi. This is the nectar of the gods!”

He climbed over her, positioning himself between her legs and nudging her knees apart with powerful thighs. Njord plunged into her, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. With relentless, rocking rhythm, he pounded into her, the tension in her loins mounting and curling like the crest of a powerful wave. When he slammed into her depths in explosive release, waves of pleasure engulfed her, like the ocean inundating the white chalk cliffs.

They spent the entire night wrapped in each other’s limbs, their bodies entwined like the threads of fate woven together by the three Norns. When dawn came, with the expected knock upon the hidden door, Elfi donned her gown as Njord strapped his sword at his waist, preparing to depart.

He pulled her against his chest and kissed her softly. “Let’s do this again next week, on Frigg’s Day, after the wedding feast. It will be our final night together before Lugh brings the wolf weapons to the waterfall cave.”

Elfi nodded, exhilarated at the thought, as she lifted the tapestry which concealed the hidden door to the tunnel. “I’m sure Sif and Bodo will agree.” She unlatched and opened the wooden door, and a smiling Sif slipped into the dimly lit room.

Bodo, holding a lit torch, grinned at his lupine brother. “Enjoy the evening? ”

A rumble of deep laughter rolled from Njord. “Immensely. In fact, I just suggested to Elfi that we do this again next week, after the wedding feast. It will be our last night together before Lugh takes her to the ?le de Sein.” He draped the white wolfskin cloak over his shoulders and secured the leather cords under his chin.

“Nothing would please me more.” Bodo lowered his bearded lips to gallantly kiss Sif’s hand. “I bid you good day, my lady.” He grinned wolfishly. “I’ll see you soon in the Great Hall, for dagmál .”

As Sif slipped to Elfi’s side, Njord stepped down onto the first stair and turned to say goodbye. “See you in the sacred grove for our dance with swords. And our swim in the Mermaid Cove.” His dazzling smile flooded her with wondrous waves of warmth.

Elfi watched the two úlfhéenar disappear down the stairwell. Her heart soaring like a swan in flight, she latched the hidden door, concealed it with the tapestry, and faced an exhilarated Sif.

“Oh, Elfi, I can’t wait for your faeir ’s return! I pray that he grants me my freedom. Because Bodo has asked for my hand!” Sif threw her arms around Elfi’s neck, swaying with sheer delight.

“He will, I’m sure of it. And even if he doesn’t…I will. When I become Countess of étretat.” Elfi kissed Sif’s cheek and whispered, “Now, please help me dress and braid my hair. Because my amma will awaken very soon.”

Elfi unlocked the door connecting to the antechamber and returned to sit upon the chair at her bedside table.

Sif, unable to contain herself, squealed with unbridled joy, then hummed as she deftly plaited Elfi’s long light brown hair.