Every night since she’d first invited him to her bed, she and Skårde had feasted in the castle Great Hall, danced under the stars, and made love in her soft feather bed. And every morning, like today, they’d rocked with the rhythm of the waves against the cliff.
Ylva stretched and purred like a satisfied cat, grateful for respite from the flurried, frantic activity of the past several days.
As planned, Harald had set sail for Denmark at the end of June. He and his royal Viking fleet would be arriving inHeiðabýrnext week. Since Skårde’s grandmother had decided to remain atChâteaufort,Petroc had arranged for Gyda and Dagny to have their own private quarters near the solar down the hall. Richard and Gunnor had returned on horseback to Rouen. After an absence of nearly three months—the long voyage to fetch Ylva, the elaborate preparations and negotiations with Harald for the royal wedding and Viking alliance, the continued celebrations and relentless revelry—he was anxious to resume his administrative duties as Duke of Normandy and Count of Rouen.
Úlvhild had opted to remain in the village ofChâteaufortso that she could continue Ylva’s training in the use ofgaldrmagic. In September, after their very firstHaustblót—the autumn harvest celebration of the fall equinox—Ylva and Skårde would bring thevölvaback home when they visited Richard and Gunnor in Rouen.
Ylva looked forward to spending the summer with Úlvhild. And she was thrilled at the opportunity to visit the thriving trade center of Rouen with its Viking emporium on the Seine River leading into Paris. But that was still several weeks away.
Now, as she watched Skårde rise from the bed and stretch his arms high overhead, Ylva admired the glorious expanse of glistening muscles, golden skin, and gilded hair. When he turned toward her, Ylva’s breath hitched.
Sunlight danced like wildfire on the thunderbolt across his maimed, magnificent chest.
After weeks of toiling in the hot summer sun—building huts in the village, tending cattle and crops, fortifying the castle and the port—Skårde’s skin glowed like deep, burnished copper. In stark contrast with the bronze expanse of his broad chest. the silvery fleshof the jagged scar—outlined in a striking black tattoo—shone like Thor’s hammerMjölnirin the bright morning sun.
He caught her admiring his godlike body and bent down to kiss her while she exalted in the afterglow of their passion and the sensual bliss of silk caressing her skin.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of servants.
Quickly, before he dressed and answered the door, Ylva rose up onto her knees and kissed the jagged scar. “Whenever you touch me, energy from this thunderbolt courses right through me. When I first saw this scar on your chest in the waterfall cave of Saint-Suliac, I knew that Divona had revealed my future. And that you were my fated mate.” She kissed the tattoo again and nuzzled the dense blond hair on his sculpted chest. “I love this scar.” Ylva gazed up into his intense blue eyes, turbulent as the Narrow Sea. “And I love you.”
He pulled her to a stand in front of him, encircling her in his sinewy arms. His smooth, soft lips brushed hers. “I love you too, my Viking Wolf. I’m glad that you’re mine.”
Another rap sounded upon the door, with Norhild’s strained voice calling from the hall. “My lady… I have rosewater and herbal soap for you to wash. Shall I dress you and braid your hair?”
Skårde nodded at Ylva, kissed her forehead, and stepped back, releasing her from his embrace. He hollered to Norhild. “Just a moment. I’ll be right there.” He plopped down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his hose as he spoke to Ylva, who slipped a chemise over her head. “I won’t see you until tonight. I’ll be working all day at the mouth of the river. We’re finishing the reinforcements at the port to protect our ships.” He stood, retrieved a pair of folded breeches from the nearby chair and pulled them on, tying the drawstring at the waist. “I’m applying many of the same defensive structures we had atHeiðabýr—huge pilings for vessels to dock, palisades with sharpened points to prevent enemy ships from entering our harbor, watchtowers with lookout points for a garrison of knights. And a fire beacon—to signal an impending attack. We’re even constructing a retractable barrier—with chains, winches, and pulleys. In a few days, it will all be ready.Châteaufortwill be well defended. By the towering white chalk cliffs…and our manmade defenses at the port.”
He strode across the room and opened the door for Norhild to enter.
Averting her eyes at the sight of Skårde’s bronzed, naked torso, the blushing servant entered the room and set a tray with a pitcher of water and a basin, a bar of scented herbal soap, and a linen cloth for washing on top of Ylva’s bedside table.
“Good day, Norhild. It’s such a beautiful morning!” Skårde winked at Ylva and went through the antechamber into his own room. A few moments later, as Ylva was washing with the sweet smelling soap, he came back into her chamber, clad in a clean white linen shirt. He strapped theLjósálfarsword Lugh had given him at the wedding, belting the embellished sheath at his waist. The emerald inDuradrakk’shilt glittered in the golden sun. “Will you be training with Úlvhild today?”
Ylva rinsed the soap from her face and dried it with the lined cloth. “Yes, after the midday meal. But this morning, your grandmother is giving me more lessons on how to be a properchatelaine,”she groaned with a grin. “I’m grateful we have Petroc and Ingolf to supervise the servants and manage the castle. I can’t imagine doing it all on my own.” She set down the drying cloth and turned toward him. “After that, I’m going to the waterfall cave.”
“With six armed guards to protect you, as always. I don’t want you going anywhere alone.” Skårde’s serious tone and fierce scowl brooked no argument.
Ylva sighed in reluctant resignation. It had been like this every day for past three weeks. Although she resented the constant presence of her personal guards and the loss of freedom she’d enjoyed in Saint-Suliac, Ylva understood that Skårde’s protectiveness of her was a sign of his love. “I know. But I always insist they remain outside and guard the entrance to the cave. To allow me the privacy to worship Divona.” Her gaze met his. “And of course, Rán.”
He flashed her a dazzling grin, enormously pleased that she had accepted his Norse Goddess of the Sea. His warrior eyes blazed like blue fire as he adjusted hisLjósálfarsword.
Norhild stepped aside so Skårde could kiss his wife goodbye.
He whispered softly in Ylva’s ear so only she could hear. “I’ll be thinking of your luscious body all day long. I cannot wait until tonight.”
A sizzling current surged through her when his lips nuzzled the back of her neck.
Shivering and quivering, she watched him go. And then sat down, limbs shaking, for Norhild to braid her long blonde hair.
“Lord Skårde is quite smitten with you. It’s obvious for anyone to see.” Nimble fingers plaited slender braids along either side of Ylva’s smiling face. “And you, my lady, are equally besotted with him.” Norhild’s soft brown eyes twinkled as she secured the ends of the thin braids with silky ribbon and fetched a dark blue gown from the chest at the foot of the bed.
Ylva raised her arms up over her head, slipping them through the long, flowing sleeves of the dress while Norhild pulled the garment down over her body. The attentive maidservant helped Ylva don a light overdress, belting it to cinch her waist. As a finishing touch, Norhild placed a simple silver coronet atop the long blonde hair braided with blue ribbon.
“Lovely! Now Eydis and I will escort you to the private solar where Lady Gyda is waiting. We’ll serve you strawberries and cream, porridge with cinnamon and honey, and freshly churned butter for the warm barley bread.” Norhild smiled brightly as Eydis arrived to accompany Ylva downstairs to the sunlit room.
After a delectable meal—and another seemingly endless hour of instruction by Skårde’s well-meaning grandmother detailing more of Ylva’s duties as Lady ofChåteaufortand Countess of thePays de Caux—she was desperate to escape the confines of the castle and head to the waterfall cave.
Accompanied by her six armed personal guards, Ylva crossed the meadow filled with fragrant wildflowers toward the narrow path that led from the top of the cliff to the pebbled shore far below.
