He envisioned the long limbs and slender torso of the golden goddess he’d glimpsed upon her grey horse. Despite the chill from the brisk pool and the early summer breeze, his body stirred at the sublime, sensual image of Ylva.
I’ll wed her, bed her, and get her with child. Establish the new Viking settlements in the Pays de Caux. Form the alliance with Normandy. Then leave her to rule with her father the Duke. While the Dragon of Demark returns to the seas.
Skårde’s focus shifted to his attendants as they wrapped him in a drying cloth of soft linen, led him across the clearing, and hustled him into a room inside the castle where his elaborate wedding attire awaited.
A silver armband, adorned with engravings of the Viking runeIngwaz,now encircled both of Skårde’s enormous biceps. Around his thick neck, an intricately carved pendant of Thor’s hammer was suspended from a silver torque inlaid with gold filigree and black amber dragons. His tunic wasvivid blue velvet, lovingly embroidered with silver thread by Gyda, his black woolen leggings finely woven on her whalebone loom. The dense, wiry fur of a great grey wolf wrapped his elk hide leather boots. And—in honor of his Breton bride—a full-length cloak of white ermine, heraldry of Ylva’s native land, draped across Skårde’s broad shoulders and down his massive back.
“Your father has sent for you, my lord. King Harald and Richard the Fearless are ready to begin the ceremony.” The thrall Kofri handed Skårde the prized Frankish sword with the enormous sapphire in its hilt, which he sheathed in the jeweled scabbard belted at his waist.
With a deep intake of breath, Skårde summoned his strength as a fearless Viking warlord and ventured forth to face his Breton bride.
But behind the intrepid façade of the Dragon of Denmark and the Count of thePays de Cauxwas the gnawing apprehension and grim acceptance of a doomed, condemned man.
Chapter 8
A Captive Bride
Ylva stared out the pair of windows of her private bedroom on the upper floor ofChâteaufort—the Viking fortress originally built by her great-grandfather Rollo and reinforced by her ducal father—which would soon belong to her. She gazed beyond the dense forest of leafy beech trees surrounding the castle to the rapid flowing river which emptied into the Narrow Sea at the base of the towering white chalk cliff.
She marveled at the luxury of the castle, with windows made of glass brought back from Viking expeditions to the distant Mediterranean Sea. Tapestries, woven with silver and golden threads, adorned the massive stone walls. The pinewood floors gleamed with sweet-smelling beeswax polish—so vastly different from the rush-covered bare earth of her small, humble cottage. Mauve velvet draperies enclosed her elegant bed, and the walnut table and pair of matching chairs were richly carved and expertly crafted.
My betrothed made this furniture as part of my mundr—the bride price he and Harald Bluetooth paid to my father as part of Viking wedding traditions. Gyda says he’s an expert woodcarver and craftsman.Ylva ran appreciative fingers over the intricately carved wood.Skårde’s skill is evident in the magnificent carving of this fine bridal gift.
But no gift can compensate for my inconceivable loss as I’m forced to surrendermy inheritance, my freedom, and my body.
A knock at the door interrupted her disturbing thoughts. Dagny—the kind servant who had joined Gyda in welcoming Ylva and preparing her for the rituals involved in a Viking wedding—peered into the room, her face alight with a warm smile. “We’ve come to bathe you and braid your hair. Your wedding gown is ready, and Gyda has a special gift for you.”
The plump woman bustled into the room, displaying the dress of billowy blue silk that Ylva would soon wear to the ceremony. Behind her was Skårde’s white-haired grandmother, whose kind eyes twinkled above soft, crinkled cheeks as she followed Dagny through the door and deposited a parcel wrapped in soft white linen upon the walnut table.
As Ylva watched in wariness and wonder, Gyda unwrapped a thin, delicate coronet of intricately carved silver. “This is called akransen. Young Viking girls wear them in their unbound hair as a symbol of maidenhood. Akransenis given to a young girl by her mother, who removed it on her own wedding day and saved it for her daughter. This one was mine.” Gyda placed the silver headpiece into Ylva’s trembling hands. “I saved it for my daughter’s wedding day. But my beautiful Katla caught the eye of the Danish king Harald Bluetooth, who took her as a concubine rather than a wife.” Remorse and regret tinged her velvety voice. “There was no wedding for my daughter, who died giving birth to Skårde. I kept thiskransento give to my grandson’s future bride.” Unshed tears welled in Gyda’s expressive eyes. She kissed Ylva on both cheeks and caressed the silver circlet clutched in her upturned palms. “You must now save this for your daughter. If indeed, the Goddess Freyja blesses you with one of your own.”
Ylva smiled sadly at the wizened, loving woman who had welcomed her from the first day she’d arrived in Normandy.
She remembered how terrified she’d been at the sight of her future husband—a beastly brute who was taller, bulkier, and even more heavily scarred than her ruthless Viking father. Ylva had been grateful for Gyda’s gentle guidance as she adjusted to her new surroundings. Gradually, over the past four weeks of Gyda’s constant support and endless patience, Ylva had come to realize that, just likeher mother Lova and both of her grandmothers, she had no freedom to plan her own future. Ylva, like her three female ancestors, was forced into an unwanted marriage as a captive Viking bride.
But, unlike her predecessors, Ylva would inherit a castle.
Marry the son of a king.
And rule as Countess of the vastPays de Caux.
Gyda stroked Ylva’s hair, the gentle touch redirecting her divergent attention. “On a Viking bride’s wedding day, her mother removes the young woman’skransenand replaces it with an heirloom crown.” She flashed a grin at Dagny, who stood beside the canopied bed, next to the magnificent blue silk wedding gown.
At Gyda’s nod, Dagny reached under the voluminous fabric to fetch a slender, intricately carved silver crown, adorned with glittering gems. The smiling servant carefully handed the coronet to her mistress.
Gyda placed the sparkling circlet on the table in front of Ylva.
Amidst silver peaks and dips resembling waves of water, brilliant blue gems were encased in swirls and scrolls. An alternating pattern of Nordic runes and flowing ripples was engraved around the base. “Skårde had this crown made especially for you.” Gyda indicated the brilliant azure gems. “These gemstones are called turquoise. They come from Persia—a land in the Far East where Vikings trade with the Byzantine empire. Since you worship the Celtic Goddess of Sacred Springs, Skårde selected these rare blue gems to honor you and your divine element of water.”
Ylva recognized the runes which were engraved in the silver crown.
Laguz. The Nordic rune for water. The symbol Gyda chose to represent me. The rune now inscribed in the wedding tattoo inside my left wrist.
Gyda lifted the crown and traced the runes with her fingertip. “He commissioned the royal silversmith to craft this for you to wear during the ceremony. Engraved with the same Nordic runes as your wedding tattoo.Laguz—for your worship of the Goddess Divona and your affinity for herhealing waters.” Gyda brushed a lock of long blonde hair from Ylva’s cheek, her eyes alight with love. “And now, you have an heirloom to pass on to your future daughter with Skårde.”
Ylva was speechless at the generosity and warm welcome from the Vikings she had loathed and feared. Instead of treating her like chattel, as she’d expected, Skårde and his Danish family were revering her like a queen. “Thank you,” she stammered, her voice quavering with emotion and gratitude. “Thekransenand silver crown are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”
“Andthisis your wedding gown. Turquoise blue, like the waters of your Celtic Goddess.” Dagny’s exuberant face beamed with pride as she displayed the elegant dress she had carefully laid upon the bed. “Gyda and I made it for you—with silk, imported from Persia. Just like the gemstones in your bridal crown.”
