Rising up onto one elbow, Ylva kissed his jagged thunderbolt scar. “Nor have I,” she whispered, twirling the dark blond hair which stretched across his brawny chest. She raised her right hand to display her dazzling ring. “Úlvhild said emeralds enhance fertility.” Ylva glanced at the glittering stone, then gazed into Skårde’s intense eyes as he lay beneath her. “She foresaw that I’m destined to conceive your son.” With a tender fingertip, Ylva caressed the scarred skin of his cheek above the beard braided with emeralds and silver beads which glimmered in the moonlight. She kissed his irresistible lips. “A son who will forge a dynasty to rule for a thousand years.”
He grasped her hand and traced his thumb over the ring before brushing reverent lips over the glittering green gem. “I sensed a pulsation from this stone—like the beat of my heart.” A fierce, feral grin stretched across his savage face. “And the throbbing of my loins as I yearned for you.”
Ylva reveled in the lust, longing, and love reflected in his ravenous gaze. “I felt that, too. A rhythmic throbbing between my thighs. An empty ache that you finally filled.” She leaned down to kiss him, her long hair falling over his chest and shoulders. “Perhaps we did conceive a son tonight.” Ylva smiled and lifted the lunula from the bed. “I’ll tie this to the bedpost. So Freyja will bless my fertile womb.”
Skårde snarled with a seductive snicker and pulled her back down on the bed. “Let’s increase our chances and do it again. And make love in the morning, too.”
Heart full, spirit soaring, Ylva welcomed him into her willing body.
Divona had answered her prayers.
At long last, Ylva was loved.
Chapter 16
Abduction
King Lothaire of West Francia gazed out the window of his mountaintop castle of Lâon, staring at the dense forest encirclingla Montagne Couronnéelike a lush, verdant crown.Beneath the royal blue draperies adorned with the golden fleur-de-lys emblem of the Frankish monarchy,an elaborately engraved silver pitcher of fine Frankish wine and three goblets with filigree handles inlaid with gold sat atop the gleaming wooden table. As Lothaire anxiously awaited the arrival of the Frankish Count Alberic of Soissons and the Frisian Count Badelbert of Embda—the two men he’d entrusted to abduct Harald Bluetooth’s young son and legitimate heir—he gripped the ornately carved walnut back of his gilded throne. His heart lurched at the anticipated knock on the elegant door.
His indispensable, punctilious valet Ragno appeared in the doorway. “Your Majesty, the two counts have arrived and are waiting in the vestibule.”
“Escort them to me.” Lothaire seated himself upon the velvet tufted throne and adjusted his gem-encrusted crown and ermine-lined cloak. He assumed a magnificent, regal pose as Ragno escorted the Count of Soissons and the Count of Embda into the throne room. The richly attired nobles bowed gallantly before the Frankish king.
“Please be seated, gentlemen.” Lothaire gestured to the pair of tufted chairs awaiting Alberic and Badelbert on the opposite side of the table. He dismissed his royal guards with a toss of his head and watched Ragno pour and servethe rich red wine. When the royal valet exited the throne room and closed the door behind him, Lothaire demanded a report. “Alberic, enlighten me. Do you have the boy?”
The dark eyes of the Count of Soissons glinted with glee and greed. “We do indeed, Your Majesty. He is safely ensconced in private quarters within the north tower of your royal palace onl’ Île de la Citéin Paris. The female servant who attends him resides in the adjacent room. She, the two domestics who bring food from the castle kitchens, and the royal knights who guard the door have been told the boy is your bastard son whose identity and location within the tower must be kept hidden. They have been sworn to secrecy and understand that their lives hang in the balance.”
Lothaire was enormously pleased at the success of their mission and the ingenious choice of location to imprison Bluetooth’s heir in Lothaire’s royal palace in Paris. Not only was the fortress surrounded by defense towers, ramparts, and a protective enceinte exterior wall, but since Paris was also situated on the island ofl’ Île de la Citéin the heart of the Seine River, the palace could only be accessible by boat. He turned to Badelbert, the Count of Embda whose port of Dorestad had recently been ransacked by the Dragon of Denmark, bastard son of the Danish king. “And the attack onHeiðabýr?” he inquired, referring to the Danish port where the pair had abducted Bluetooth’s legitimate heir.
“We created a diversion by staging a night skirmish in the northern end of the port. While the majority of the royal guards were sent to quell the disturbance, we quickly dispatched the remaining few who defended the boy in the royal longhouse. We drugged them, so there was no resistance when we removed the boy and his governess, leaving the sleeping queen behind. We brought the boy—Sweyn—and the nursemaid to an awaiting carriage and traveled by land rather than sea to avoid detection.” Badelbert gulped a few swallows of wine and set his silver goblet back down upon the table. He swiped his moustache with a bejeweled hand and flashed Alberic a wicked, conspiratorial grin. “Of course, we avoided Normandy altogether, traveling southwest through Flanders and Vermandois until we arrived in Paris. In the carriage along the way, we told Sweyn that his father had ordered us to take him to a distant castle for his safety,sinceHeiðabýrwas under attack. We reassured him and the woman that they would be well taken care until Bluetooth sent for them when the battle was over. In Paris, we paid a boatman to ferry us across the Seine. We settled Sweyn in the royal palace with the nursemaid to care for him and keep him entertained.”
“And away from the watchful eyes of my suspicious rival, Hugh Capet. The treacherous Count of Paris who poses the greatest threat to my West Frankish crown.” Lothaire downed the contents of his silver chalice, savoring the robust flavor of the rich red wine as much as the sweet, scintillating taste of success. “Has Bluetooth returned from Normandy?”
“Not yet, Sire. Our reports indicate that he was still in Dieppe,celebrating the wedding of his bastard son Skårde the Scourge—the Dragon of Denmark, now known as the Dragon of Normandy. Bluetooth is expected to depart at the end of June.” The Count of Soissons grasped his goblet, a smug grin stretching across his snide, sinister face. “Which means that the Danish king will soon discover that the poorly defended trade center ofHeiðabýrwas attacked in his absence—and his son Sweyn abducted—while he feasted like a fool atChâteaufort.”
Lothaire shared a good, hearty laugh with his two trusted counts.
Badelbert leaned forward in his chair, obviously eager to share delightful news. Anticipation and animation laced his nearly breathless voice. “We have acquired a most auspicious bit of information, my king.” He darted a knowing glance at Alberic of Soissons. “The new Danish warlord—a tempestuous chieftain named Anvarr Hrafnsson—despises Bluetooth’s bastard. The two have a long history of rivalry and animosity that we can use to our advantage. Hrafnsson lost to Skårde in a duel by combat and was subsequently sent by Bluetooth to the city of Aros as the new Danish jarl. Although the appointment was certainly a most prestigious position, it was nevertheless a banishment fromHeiðabýr.A painful, persistent thorn in Hrafnsson’s side and a degrading blow to his arrogant pride.If we can convince Hrafnsson thatHeiðabýris in danger of another imminentattack—perhaps by insinuating that Otto the Red is poised to conquer Denmark and expand his Holy Roman Empire—it will be the impetus we need for him to join us.”
Soissons, eager to share in the excitement and impress his king, hastened to add, “Hrafnsson will be eager to ally with you. With the perceived threat to Denmark by the Holy Roman Empire, he will see this as the opportunity to save his kingdom and regain the respect and admiration of his grateful king. He will be known as the hero who defended his kingdom—in the conspicuous absence of the Dragon of Denmark—to save Bluetooth’s legitimate heir. We can force Harald to break his Viking alliance with Richard the Fearless and ally with us. He will have no choice but to betray his bastard, Skårde the Scourge.”
Lothaire leaned back in his gilded throne, crossing regal arms over his fine silk tunic edged with white ermine fur. He was enormously pleased to have the power to crush his two worst enemies. He’d force Bluetooth to betray Richard the Fearless and enlist the Danish king’s aid in driving the Vikings from Normandy, enabling Lothaire to accomplish his lifelong mission.
To reattach the province of Normandy to his West Frankish crown.
“Send your spies toHeiðabýr.Report to me as soon as Bluetooth returns. In the meantime, gentlemen,” Lothaire said, raising his silver goblet in tribute. “Let us share this fine Frankish wine and toast to our continued success.”
Chapter 17
Sightings and Seiðr Magic
Ylva awoke to the squawks of gulls and gannets, the thunderous roar of rhythmic waves crashing against the white chalk cliff beneath the castle. The salty spray of the sea and the sweet floral fragrance of lavender wafted into the room on golden streams of morning sunlight. As she stretched languorously in the soft feather bed, an insistent hardness poked and prodded against her naked bottom.
Skårde pulled her back against him and caressed her breasts, tugging on her nipples and kissing the side of her neck until she parted her legs, achingly wet and whimpering for more. He entered her from behind, stroking and circling the small nub with the same relentless rhythm of his deep thrusts, the thundering of the surf echoing the pounding of her flesh. Like the cresting and curling of a powerful wave, the tension in her body mounted and crashed in furious release. She imagined Skårde’s seed spraying into her like the sea splattering against the craggy cliff.
“Mmm,” he murmured in her ear as he nibbled the lobe. “The best way to start the morning. May I always wake like this, with you nude and wrapped in my arms.”
Like every morning for the past three weeks,Ylva mused blissfully as she luxuriated in the smooth silken sheets,serenely content in Skårde’s sinewy arms.
