The rare gems that Skårde had obtained from a Byzantine merchant in the trade center of Constantinople on the eastern shores of the Caspian Sea.
“These beads have been drilled through the center, Jarl Skårde. I’ll braid them into your beard and display the colors of your new coat of arms.” Kofri placed the tray on the table and groomed Skårde’s thick beard with an antler comb. While the thrall deftly braided the wiry strands of dark blond hair with the silver beads and emerald gems, Skårde reflected upon the emblem he had chosen to represent him as Lord ofChâteaufortand Count of the Pays de Caux.
A silver castle defended by a dark green dragon, with the overlapping weapons of Thor’s invincible hammer and a magnificent silver sword. Skårde had selected the nameDragon of Normandyfor his new coat of arms, representinga blend of his Viking heritage as the Dragon of Denmark who now defended the castle ofChâteaufortand the alabaster coast of Normandy.
Kofri’s voice interrupted Skårde’s thoughts. “The emerald gems and silver beads will sparkle in the firelight, sure to catch Lady Ylva’s eye.” Satisfaction reflected in the thrall’s proud smile. He collected the empty tray which had contained the beads, Skårde’s soiled clothing, the unworn clean tunic and breeches, and the used linen drying cloth. “Enjoy yourself this evening, my lord. I look forward to the competition of skalds.” With a respectful bow, the dutiful thrall retreated from the bathhouse through the exit door.
“Shall I accompany you to Lady Ylva’s chambers, Lord Skårde? I know your grandmother Gyda and her servant Dagny were helping her to dress for tonight’s feast. I saw them with the servants Eydis and Norhild before I came here to join you.”
“Thank you, Jofroi, but that will not be necessary. I’ll fetch my fetching bride myself.” Skårde exited the bathhouse at the edge of the forest and headed across the wildflower strewn meadow toward the imposing stone fortress, a smile stretching across his braided, bearded face. He chuckled softly at the surprising realization.
Being banished to Normandy was actually a blessing in disguise.
****
As he neared the castle, Skårde observed several servants setting up tables under the canopy of enormous beech trees while others prepared kindling for a bonfire in the clearing near the cliff. Musicians were tuning their instruments, and performers in costume practiced a routine.
I’m looking forward to tonight’s events, too. Perhaps, after a night of dancing, music, and mead, Ylva will finally invite me to her bed.
He stifled another sudden surge of lust and trotted up the stone steps, through the massive double oak entrance doors, and into the clifftop castle.
Inside thechâteau, attendants were bustling about, scrambling to finish the last-minute decorations as guests began to file into the Great Hall for another night of feasting in the continued celebration ofSkårde and Ylva’s royal wedding. As he crossed the vast foyer and climbed the stairwell, the delicious aroma of roasted meats and sumptuous seafood made his mouth water and his ravenous stomach growl.
Skårde’s smiling grandmother greeted him in the hallway near Ylva’s chambers. “How handsome you are in that magnificent shade of green! And the emeralds and silver beads in your beard sparkle in the sunlight.” With a gnarled hand, she reached up behind his head, pulling him down so that she could bestow a maternal kiss on his whiskered cheek. “Ylva is ready, too. I can’t wait for you to see her!”
Slanted rays of the setting sun sliced through the open window. A saline summer breeze wafted into the cheerful room where the thralls Dagny, Eydis, and Norhild stood in obvious anticipation of his arrival. Their eyes twinkled with pride as they parted to reveal his beautiful bride.
The sight of Ylva took his breath away.
She was draped like a goddess in a dark green gown, a shimmery silver tunic belted at her slender waist. Long blonde waves cascaded to the curve of her hips, tiny braids woven with ribbons of dark green silk threaded with silver on either side of her oval face. A silver circlet engraved with Nordic runes and embellished with dark green emeralds glittered atop her golden hair.
Gilded in the glowing sun, as she had been the very first time he’d seen her, she again embodied the Nordic Goddess Sól.
But this time, she was wrapped in the silver and green hues of his new heraldic colors as the Dragon of Normandy.
Mouth agape, he stood in speechless admiration of his beguiling bride.
Ylva flashed him a smile as dazzling as the glittering emeralds in her silver coronet.
Skårde recovered enough sense to stammer, “You are breathtaking.” He gently grasped her hand, lowering his head to kiss her soft skin.
The large pear-shaped emerald in her silver ring inexplicably beckoned, seeming to pulsewith every beat of his heart. And when his lips touched the dark green stone, the rhythmic throbbing shot straight to his loins.
His knees nearly buckled with the impact.
Odin’s eye, I want her!
He suppressed the overwhelming urge to send his grandmother and the three servants scurrying out of the room so that he could ravish his ravishing bride. Instead, he rose to a shaky stand and smiled down at Ylva. Just as he was about to offer her the crook of his elbow to escort her downstairs, Richard’s booming voice bellowed from behind.
“The guests are seated, the food is ready, and the music has begun!” Blond hair and beard braided like his own, the Duke of Normandy—bedecked in a red silk cloak and sporting magnificent silver armbands and an intricately engraved silver brooch—majestically swept into the room. He beamed at Ylva. Eyes aglow with paternal pride, he bent to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “You look beautiful,dóttir.The magnificent chatelaine ofChâteaufort.”
A grinning Richard turned to Skårde. “Harald, Úlvhild, and Gunnor are waiting for us in the foyer downstairs. We’ll join them and enter the Great Hall together.” Eager anticipation danced in his ducal gaze. “There are two special guests at the table of honor that I’m anxious for you to meet.” He shot an impish grin at Ylva. “They each have a wedding gift to present to the bride and groom.” With a chivalrous bow before Skårde’s bemused grandmother,Jarl Rikardgallantly presented her his arm.“Allow me to escort you to the king.”
Crinkled cheeks blushing like the rosy hue of her shimmering gown, Gyda hooked her elbow inside Richard’s. Her lyrical laughter was the trill of a twinkling bell.
Skårde offered Ylva his arm and led his exquisite wife out the door.
They descended the stone stairs behind Richard and Gyda, crossing the vast foyer as they headed toward the Great Hall where Harald, Gunnor, and Úlvhild waited in the vestibule near the entrance doors. Lively, jubilant music and the tantalizing aromas of a sumptuous feast permeated the festive air.
