Page 4 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)

Fortifying étretat

After Richard the Fearless sent the messenger to Alberic, the Frankish Count of Soissons, Elfi anxiously awaited the arrival of her intended betrothed and his Viking fleet from Denmark. She was profoundly grateful that Sk?rde the Scourge— the Count of the Pays de Caux once known as the Dragon of Denmark who was now married to Jarl Rikard’s daughter Ylva — had arrived from Chateaufort in nearby Dieppe with an impressive army of two hundred Viking warriors and Norman knights. Along with Jarl Rikard ’s men from Fécamp, the warriors from Chateaufort were now residing in tents, longhouses, and huts at le Chateau Blanc to help fortify the castle and restore the decimated city of étretat.

Hundreds of men in the village had perished during the battle against the invading Franks, leaving behind homeless widows and hungry children. The enceinte defensive barrier which sheltered the walled section of the city had been heavily damaged, and several portions of the outer curtain wall protecting the castle had also been destroyed. The attack by the ruthless Count of Soissons had been both demoralizing and devastating.

But now that reinforcements from Count Sk?rde and Duke Richard had arrived, stone masons were repairing the surrounding wall which encircled le Chateau Blanc . Woodcutters chopped timber, roofers thatched huts, and while some carpenters repaired or replaced damaged homes in the village, others constructed new longhouses and huts near the castle to provide lodging for the expected Danish army of Elfi’s anticipated betrothed.

Elfi was thankful that Harald Bluetooth’s Viking soldiers would help fortify the castle, rebuild the city, and defend étretat. She was also hopeful that the Danish warriors would provide husbands for the countless widows who now struggled to maintain households and feed fatherless children. Since so many men had perished in the recent Frankish attack, more were desperately needed to raise families, harvest the autumn crop, tend livestock, and operate vacant, useless merchant shops.

Oda—who had managed the castle for years after the death of her son Thorfinn’s wife and Elfi’s mother Dúva—took care of domestic duties within le Chateau Blanc , such as the supervision of servants, the preparation and serving of meals, the cooking, cleaning, and storing of supplies. Although Elfi knew her father, the lofty Count of étretat, would not want his noble daughter performing lowly tasks like a thrall, she nevertheless worked alongside the women of the village, weaving willow baskets, combing, cleaning, and spinning wool, harvesting beechnuts and acorns, and tying sheaves of wheat in the fields for threshing and milling into grain.

This afternoon, as she labored with a scythe, back bent in the fields of wheat, a sentinel shouted from the watchtower overlooking the cliff. “ Drakkar ships in the harbor. Twenty vessels!”

Elfi dashed to the edge of the bluff where the square sails and fearsome dragon prows of the Danish Viking ships approached the sheltered harbor of étretat.

Jarl Rikard , upon hearing the shout, halted repair work of the damaged curtain wall. He hollered commands to a few of his men from Fécamp, who dashed across the castle bailey, headed toward the area of the cliff where a steep, grassy path led to the sandy beach far below.

Count Sk?rde, working alongside the castle carpenters who were building wooden huts for new lodging, looked out at the arriving drakkar ships, then rushed toward Richard near the curtain wall.

Bjarke, who had been working on the stone wall as well, wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his tunic. He joined Richard, Varg, and Sk?rde, the four men striding briskly across the heathered meadow to Elfi’s side.

“We’ll go down to the shore and greet the Danish jarl,” Richard informed Elfi. “We’ll help the men secure and unload their ships…bring supplies up to the castle and stock the storehouses.” He surveyed the assemblage of Viking longhouses and huts on the outskirts of the castle grounds. “Since there aren’t enough accommodations to house all of the Danes, we’ll set up tents for temporary lodging. With their additional manpower, we’ll be able to quickly finish the new construction near the castle—and build additional homes in the village.”

Elfi gazed out at the Narrow Sea, overwhelmed by the number of warriors she and Oda would need to feed. She glanced down at her grimy gown and muddy hands. “I cannot greet my intended husband and his Danish army in this condition, dressed like a filthy peasant. I’ll bathe quickly, don a clean dress, and come down to the shore to join you.”

Richard hollered as he, Bjarke, Sk?rde, and Varg raced toward the edge of the cliff.. “Tell your grandmother that the Danes have arrived. Prepare a welcoming feast!”

She watched them descend the beaten path which led from the plateau at the top of the cliff to the smooth white sand two hundred feet below, lost in thought as she mentally prepared the menu. Beef, boar, fresh fish, and fowl. Vegetables…apples and berries for tarts. Plenty of mead and ale. We’ll set up banquet tables in the Great Hall. The celebration can spill out onto the castle grounds. A bonfire… musicians for dancing… skalds to entertain the guests.

A group of giddy women gathered around, interrupting Elfi’s calculations. As they gaped at the sleek ships sliding up onto the beach and the hundreds of Viking warriors swarming the shore, Elfi heard relief, joy, and hope in the exuberant voices of several young widows whose small children tugged at their worn, stained skirts.

“Odin be praised! Warriors to defend the castle!”

“Men to help with the harvest and rebuild the village!”

“Husbands for widows with hungry mouths to feed!”

“And empty beds to warm!”

Elfi shouted over the ebullient chatter. “The Danes will be ravenous. We must prepare a feast! Gather baskets of these vegetables,” she said, pointing to the rows of carrots, peas, pumpkins, and beans. “Take them quickly into the castle kitchens. I must hurry — to bathe and dress properly to greet the new Viking jarl. Thank you all — see you tonight in the Great Hall!” With a wave goodbye, she ran across the castle bailey, through the enormous wooden entrance doors which servants opened at her rapid approach.

Keys to cupboards and storehouses jingling at her waist, a startled Oda jumped when Elfi burst into the entry hall.

Gasping and winded, Elfi bent forward to clutch her knees and catch her breath. “The Danes have arrived. We must prepare a feast!”

Oda scoffed at Elfi’s appalling appearance. “For the love of Freyja! You’re filthy! Quickly—up to your chamber. I’ll send thralls with hot water for your bath. As chatelaine of le Chateau Blanc , you must be appropriately attired to greet our guests. And meet your intended betrothed!”

Elfi scurried up the stairs, dashed down the hall, and disappeared into her room. While servants bustled about, fetching soap, scented oils, a drying cloth and antler comb for her hair, she peered out the window, wondering if she might catch a glimpse of the intriguing Danish jarl.

At the base of the cliff, where the grassy plain sloped down to the shore far below, an enormous Viking, clad in a white wolfskin over glistening chain mail armor, disembarked from a magnificent dragon ship beached upon the smooth sand. He was undoubtedly the Viking chieftain, for his men bowed their heads and parted as he passed through the milling throng .

Jarl Rikard hailed the ominously lupine Danish jarl in amiable greeting. Elfi gasped at the size of her hulking future husband, for he was half a head taller and considerably bulkier than the towering, brawny duke.

When the Dane pushed back the wolf head portion of his cloak and removed his chain mail coif to clasp Richard’s outstretched hand, a wild, untamed mane of long, dark hair tumbled over the white fur draped across his armored shoulders. His heavy beard was braided, and the glistening hilt of his sheathed sword glinted in the golden sun. With a wolfish grin, he scanned the surroundings, looking up from the beach to the castle perched atop the craggy cliff.

Elfi panicked, her heart fluttering in her chest. Can he see me in the window?

“Your bath is ready, milady. Come, this way.” Vilde, the patient, gentle thrall and wet nurse who had cared for Elfi since birth, led her into the adjacent antechamber where a large, steaming tub awaited in front of the crackling hearth. The sweet floral fragrance of lavender filled the warm, misty air.

Vilde’s young adult daughter Sif—a loyal, lifelong servant of le Chateau Blanc, like her devoted mother — helped Elfi out of her soiled dress and into the scented bath. “I feel much safer now that the Danish army has arrived to defend étretat.” She lathered Elfi’s hair and rinsed out the suds with a small bucket she fetched from the floor at her feet. “I’m grateful that Jarl Rikard sent for them. They’ll fortify the castle, rebuild the damaged wall, and defend us against the Franks. We’ll even have men to work the fields, harvest the crops, and prepare for the Nordic Yule. Odin, Thor, and Freyja be praised!”

While the warm water relaxed her aching muscles, and the heady scent of lavender soothed her frazzled nerves, an engulfing wave of guilt flooded Elfi as she thought of her father languishing in a dank, dark dungeon. Of her brother Dag and the innocent victims who had died defending étretat. Of the bloodied, battered soldiers moaning and suffering on pallets strewn across the Great Hall of le Chateau Blanc .

Anger and anguish gripped her grieving heart.

I, too, am grateful that Jarl Rikard summoned the Danish jarl and his powerful Viking army. Through them, I will free my father and avenge my brother. Save this castle and the city of étretat. And, Odin willing, defeat the despicable Count of Soissons.

Sif held out a comfortable robe of soft white linen. “Let me wrap you in this while I dry your hair.”

Elfi rose from the tub and stepped onto the gleaming hardwood floor, following the two thralls who were more like family than slaves back into her private chamber to sit at a carved table near the bed. The tangy brine of the sea floated through the open window on the salty summer breeze.

As her two servants rubbed, massaged, combed, and plaited her hair into elaborate, intricate braids, Elfi sat, stone faced and stoic, mentally preparing to meet her betrothed.

He wears wolfskin, like the savage úlfhéenar warriors of legendary Norse lore. And he is even more massive than Jarl Rikard. Goddess Freyja, give me strength!

Suppressing a shudder of dread at the thought of wedding a wolf spirit warrior, Elfi glanced nervously at the silver circlet laid upon her small bedside table. The kransen —a slender headpiece which symbolized a Viking woman’s maidenhood—had once belonged to Dúva. The Nordic mother Elfi had never known. The loving móeir who had died when her infant daughter was born.

According to Norse tradition, Elfi would remove the kransen on her wedding day. And save it for a future daughter of her own.

Revulsion shivered down her spine as she envisioned the enormous Viking claiming her untouched body. Elfi had never even been kissed before — Dag had always kept his fellow warriors away from his precious little sister.

Tears welled up as images of his fiercely protective face swam before her adoring eyes.

I will avenge you, Dag. I will marry the Danish brute to free Faeir and save le Chateau Blanc. And one day, I—Viking shield maiden of étretat, the warrior sister you trained with a sword—will kill the bloody bastard who took you from me.

I will slay the craven coward, Alberic of Soissons.

Sif helped her stand and step into a grey woolen gown. She secured the silver circlet atop Elfi’s bare head just as Oda entered the room and nodded, beaming with approval.

“Much better. Now, go down to the shore and greet your betrothed.”

****

From the oceanfront cliff upon which le Chateau Blanc had been built, the grassy hill sloped at a steep, steady incline down to the flat, sandy beach two hundred feet below. Elfi descended the path, escorted by two of her father’s castle guards.

When she arrived upon the shore, a beaming Richard — accompanied by a buoyant Bjarke and the bearded brute in white wolfskin that she had seen from her bedroom window — strode briskly across the sand to greet her. “Lady Elfi of étretat, may I present your betrothed, Njord ívarrsson. The Danish jarl of Ribe.”

Elfi shivered as the mammoth Viking took her hand and lowered his massive head, brushing bristled lips across her sensitive skin while the lupine eyes of the wolfskin observed her with a lurid, otherworldly glow.

Gilded by the golden sun, Njord’s thick chestnut hair gleamed, radiating the salty scent of the sea. “I am honored to meet you, Elfi of étretat.” A current flowed up Elfi’s arm at his unsettling touch.

“Ribe is a vital Viking trade center on the western shores of the North Sea,” Richard continued, oblivious to Elfi’s distress. “Njord is known throughout Denmark as Wolf of the Nordic Seas .” The deep timbre of Jarl Rikard’s voice magnified the menace of the name. And the thick white fur and haunting eyes of the monstrous wolfskin further intensified her unease.

Njord rose to his full, towering height — still clutching Elfi’s trembling hand.

She looked up into his deep blue eyes, caught in the maelstrom of his mesmerizing gaze. An inexplicable, immutable bond linked her soul to the Wolf of the Nordic Seas. Mouth parched, heart racing, Elfi’s unsteady legs shook under her grey woolen gown.

“On behalf of Harald Bluetooth, King of Norway and Denmark,” Njord boomed, his thunderous voice crashing over her like tumultuous waves against the craggy cliff, “I offer a formidable Viking army of a thousand valiant warriors.” He swept a majestic, wolfskin-clad arm across the horde of men hauling the flat-bottom dragon ships up onto the shore. “And a fearsome fleet of drakkar and skeid warships to defend le Chateau Blanc.” Gallantly folding his white lupine cloak across his expansive, armored chest, he bent at the waist, honoring Elfi with a reverent bow. “ A regal bride price for your prized hand in marriage. A royal gift from my magnanimous king to bless our Yuletide wedding.”

While Elfi stood speechless, overwhelmed by the size, sight, and scent of her betrothed, Njord bellowed to the boisterous, busy army who worked efficiently and tirelessly to secure the Danish fleet. “Vikings of Denmark!”

A collective hush settled over the shore where gentle waves of the Narrow Sea lapped at the soft white sand.

“Pay homage to my betrothed. Chatelaine of le Chateau Blanc . Lady Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir. Heiress of étretat.”

Hundreds of humble heads bowed before her, fixing her with fascinated, curious stares.

Elfi inhaled deeply to regain her composure. Shoulders back, standing tall, she greeted the men who would fortify the castle, salvage the autumn harvest, and protect the Pays de Caux . “I bid you all welcome and thank you for coming to our aid. Le Chateau Blanc will be well defended against future attacks by the Frankish Count of Soissons!”

Frapping their axes and swords against shields, the Viking Danes roared in riotous, enthusiastic applause .

When the din subsided, Njord shouted, “Back to work! Secure the ships and unload supplies!” At their jarl’s bellowing command, the men resumed their flurry of activity, wading out into the rolling waves of the sheltered inlet, hauling dragon ships up onto the shore.

Elfi forced an uneasy smile. “My grandmother Oda and I invite you and your men to join us this evening for a welcoming feast in the Great Hall.” She bowed her head and stepped back from the bulking brute, rattled by the imposing size, intoxicating scent, and intimidating wolfskin armor of her betrothed. To Richard, Sk?rde, Bjarke, and Varg—the latter two having strolled over to join them — she said, “I’ll return to the castle now and prepare for the feast. Fareu vel. See you soon.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Elfi. I look forward to your lovely company this evening.” Njord’s lupine grin sent another otherworldly chill rippling up Elfi’s spine.

With a nod to her guards, Elfi ducked her chin and turned away to disguise her distress. She stumbled across the beach and trudged up the path to the castle at the top of the cliff.

Shaken to the core by the savage allure of the Wolf of the Nordic Seas.