“Thank you both for the extraordinary wedding gifts. Skårde and I are honored and truly grateful.” Ylva bowed before Luna and Lugh, who smiled and said goodbye to Richard and Gunnor, Harald and Gyda, Úlvhild, and the guests at the table of honor. With a swish of silk and a flash of light, they followed their escorts out the castle door.
“I’m going outside to cast my runes for more of the newly wedded couples. I’ll predict their future…earn a few coins.” Úlvhild met Ylva’s gaze. “Tomorrow, we practice again. After the midday meal, in my cottage.”
Ylva nodded in agreement. “I’m anxious to learn morevardlokkurchants and thegaldrmagic of healing.” She wanted to kiss thevölva’scheek, but didn’t dare. Perhaps in time, she might. She watched while a pair of castle servants escorted Úlvhild from the Great Hall.
Richard boomed above the clamorous din. “A magnificentLjósálfarsword, like mine.” He inclined his head toward Skårde’s new bladeDuradrakk, patting his own weapon strapped to his hip. “Enjoy the rest of the evening,” he shouted to Ylva and Skårde. “I plan to dance with my beautiful wife.” Red robes rustling, he led ajubilant Gunnor down the steps of the dais and out onto the festive floor.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Your grandmother has promised me a dance.” Harald chuckled and gripped Skårde’s shoulder, then turned to his new daughter-in-law. “Good night, lovely Ylva. Congratulations on yourLjósálfargift ofnen glir.The perfect wedding present for a Celtic healer.” He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. “You make my son happy. It gladdens my heart to see him smile. You’re the perfect bride for him. And I’m pleased to call youdóttir.”Dark eyes glistening in the candlelight, Harald smiled, then led Gyda—who had kissed both Skårde and Ylva goodnight—from the royal table to the center of the dance floor.
“I think we can slip out of the castle now. Come, wife. Let’s go dance in the moonlight.” Taking her hand—and sending a thunderbolt surging through her body—Skårde led Ylva from the castle, out into the starry night.
Chapter 15
Moonglow and Starlight
A blanket of twinkling stars wrapped the night sky. Moonlight flickered on the flowing river which emptied into the Narrow Sea. In the distance, beyond the edge of the wildflower-strewn meadow, white waves crashed against the craggy cliffs, spraying tangy mist and frothy foam high into the cool, salty air. The sweet floral fragrance of sea lavender, wild thyme, and mallow blossoms mingled with the crisp, green scent of beech, ash, and fir trees in the dense forest surrounding the castle. Lively notes from flutes, lutes, horns, and harps thrummed with the rhythm of drums and the movement of wild, carefree dance. Smoke from the crackling bonfire stung her eyes as, hand-in-hand, Ylva wove with Skårde through the jubilant throng.
When they reached a small clearing at the edge of the woods, far from the madding crowd, Skårde pulled her close and swayed her to the cadence of the music.
A current coursed through her, like the raging river which roared toward the sea.
“At long last, I can hold you. I’ve been wanting to—all night long.” His radiant smile dazzled her and starlight sparkled in his eyes. “I can’t believe Luna and Lugh came to our wedding feast. I’ve never seen aLjósálfarbefore. And the gifts they brought! I can’t wait to wield this Light Elven blade.” Skårde gestured toDuradrakk, the emerald in its hilt ablaze with verdant fire. Skårde’s deep, throatychuckle reverberated into Ylva’s bones.
“And I’m most grateful for my gift ofnen glir. With theLjósálfarsong of water, I’ll be able to heal with Divona’s sacred springs.” Ylva smiled and subtly inhaled Skårde’s earthy, heady scent. A sublime, seductive blend of wood, leather, fresh sweat, and pine. Primal and raw, it beckoned to her.
As music wafted on the summer wind, and the perfume of lavender permeated the air, Ylva’s senses reeled and her mind raced as she swirled in Skårde’s arms.
He carved a wooden statue of Divona for me. He knew I had to abandon my shrine in Saint-Suliac. So he helped me create a new one. He found the waterfall cave. Collected scallop shells with me. Gave me precious gems and silver, engraved with runes. Taught me about Rán, the Norse Goddess of the Sea.
Dark blond hair peeked from the green tunic at the base of his throat. Swaying to the music, swooning from the mead and the magic of moonglow, Ylva succumbed to the irresistible urge to nuzzle her nose in the thick tuft. She wanted to run her fingertips over the thunderbolt tattoo which streaked across his broad chest. And trace it with her tongue.
I never thought I would marry. Never imagined a man would want me. In my village, they taunted me with insults. Made me ashamed of my Viking blood. But Skårde is different. He shares my Norse heritage. Like me, he was abandoned by his royal Viking father. Forced to leave everything behind and forge a new future in Normandy.
For the first time in my life, I feel welcome. Like the people here in the White Chalk Cliffs, I’m a blend of Nordic and Celtic roots. With Skårde, I feel wanted. Respected. Even treasured. At first, I dreaded this arranged marriage. Hated my father for abandoning me, then using me for political gain. But fate has entwined me with Skårde. And now, I’m grateful that he is mine.
“You’re quiet. And pensive.” He suckled the side of her neck, making her knees weaken as he murmured in her ear. “Thinking about me, I hope.” Longing lingered in his questioning gaze.
Impulsively and instinctively, she kissed the tuft of blond hair beneath her nose, filling her lungs with his sultry scent and savoring the sweet salty taste of his skin.
He groaned, tightening his embrace around her back, swooping down to swallow her lips. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the outline of her mouth, then plunged in to explore and probe.
Ylva melted in his arms and moaned into his mouth. The emerald in her ring pulsed with the same rhythm that throbbed between her thighs.
Four Viking warriors armed with swords and shields hollered for Skårde to join them. “Dragon of Denmark! Come show us yourLjósálfarblade. The mock battles are about to begin!”
To Ylva’s astonishment, he refused. “Not tonight, Gunni. I’m dancing with my beautiful bride.” Skårde’s arms encircled her in a tight, possessive grip, his chin tucked protectively over her shoulder.
The shock on their stunned faces augmented Ylva’s delight. With a shake of his head and a mutter of disbelief under his breath, the tall, red-haired and red-bearded Gunni led his disgruntled companions away.
He chose me over them. My warrior husband—who lives for battle—would rather dance with me. No one has ever put me first before. I feel wanted. Valued. And loved.
She caressed his thick blond locks, kissed his braided hair, and whispered in his ear. “Skårde…please come with me to bed.”
His head jerked up from her shoulder, a ravenous hunger on his ragged face. “Nothing would please me more.” His hoarse voice was guttural and gruff.
Grasping her hand, Skårde led her briskly past the enthralled group where Úlvhild interpreted her cast runes. Past the cheering crowd gathered around the jugglers andjongleurs.Past the throng of warriors dancing in wild abandon with their new Norman wives.
Through the solid oak entrance doors carved with the image of a massive dragon, Skårde and Ylva entered the festive castle. In the expansive foyer, seated at inconspicuous tables along the wall of the Great Hall, the seneschal Petroc, the steward Ingolf, and several off-duty knights finally had theopportunity to enjoy the wedding feast. Spotting the lord and lady of the castle, Petroc promptly rose to his feet and hastened to greet them.
