“You saw my brother?” Skårde’s pulse raced with a surge of adrenaline.
“I did indeed. He seems to be well cared for, with a woman attendant inside the apartment with him. There are two armed guards stationed in the hallwayoutside the door and two more at the base of the stairwell. The nursemaid was playing a board game with Sweyn—perhapsHnefatafl—and the boy was laughing and enjoying himself.” Haldor drank from his mug of mead and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I spotted a platter of food on the table. And two beds in opposite corners along the back wall. One for the boy and the other for the woman, I presume. He is being treated more like a pampered royal guest than a prisoner.” Haldor took another long pull of mead and set the goblet down. “The window is small—too narrow for even a child. But large enough to accommodate a bird.” A sly grin spread across his bearded face.
“When we arrive in Paris,” he continued, glancing at Gunni and Viggo to include them as he spoke, “we’ll dock along the riverbank ofla Rive Droite, and have the crew ofRan’s Ramunload the bales of wool and set up a tent on the fairground to display our wares as Frisian merchants at theFoire de Saint-Denis. While they assemble our market stall, the four of us and six armored knights will purchase a wooden cart at the dock and unload four barrels of mead from our ship, which we will deliver to the service entrance of the royal palace. We’ll cross thePont-au-Change—the bridge leading from the Right Bank of the Seine ontol’ Île de la Cité—the island in the middle of the river where the royal palace is located. Thanks to Hugh Capet, we have the official documents which will gain us admittance into thePalais de la Cité.”
Richard summoned a servant to refill the mugs of mead. “Hugh will meet you and sign for the delivery, as if he ordered the mead for theFoire de Saint-Denis. He’ll show you the pathway which connects the main building of the palace to the north tower where the boy is being held. You and your knights—with your armor and weapons concealed under cloaks—will swiftly and silently take out the guards at the base of the stairwell and the pair posted at the entrance to Sweyn’s room.”
Haldor Falk leaned forward across the table, a shrewd glint in his dark brown eyes as he spoke to Ylva, sitting at the table beside Skårde. “We’ll need an elegant cloak and hat for both the nursemaid and the boy, so that they can disguise as nobles attending the fair. Have your servants gather the items, with a brooch for the lady and afeathered cap for Sweyn.” He turned toward Viggo, who sat at his side with Gunni. “In Paris, we’ll bring the clothing in a bag when we enter the royal palace. Once we’re inside Sweyn’s room, he and his nursemaid can quickly don the hats and cloaks.”
The Duke of Normandy directed his attention to Skårde. “Whisk them down the stairwell of the north tower, out the service entrance, and across thePont au Changeto the right bank of the Seine and theFoire de Saint-Denis. You and your knights can assume the role of the noblewoman’s personal guards as you escort her and her young son to the fair.” A broad grin stretched across Richard’s blond bearded face.
With the details of the daring rescue falling perfectly into place, Skårde’s pulse pounded in his ears. As he squeezed Ylva’s hand under the table, his right leg bounced with nervous energy upon the balls of his booted foot.
“Lead them to our stall at the fair, and have the nursemaid and Sweyn slip into the tent. They can remove the disguise and act as if they are Frisian wool merchants like us. Carry a few supplies down to the ship, board quickly, and hide them below deck in the cargo hold. Sail up the Seine, past the port of Le Havre. And east, back toChâreaufort.”
“I want to come with you.” Ylva’s beautiful eyes were wide with worry, imploring Skårde with her intense, insistent gaze.
“No, you must stay here where it’s safe. In Paris, we might encounter unexpected guards at the royal palace, a disturbance at the dock, even an attack on the Seine or at sea. If you’re with me, I’ll be distracted, concerned for your welfare. And I need to concentrate on freeing Sweyn.” Skårde gripped her hands and kissed her knuckles, willing her to understand.
She exhaled with displeasure but nodded in grim acceptance. “Of course you’re right. I’ll stay here with Gyda, Úlvhild, and Maeve. We still have wounded warriors who need healing.”
Relief flooded through him. “We’ll bring Sweyn here to you. And then prepare for the siege of Fécamp.” He lifted her chin and held her reluctant, unwilling gaze. “Remember your promise to me, Ylva. If we shouldfall at Fécamp, you must bring Sweyn to his mother Tova. At the Trelleborg castle, on the Danish island of Zealand. I told my father to send her there becauseHeiðabýris no longer safe.” He kissed her knuckles again, tightly gripping both of her trembling hands. “I’m counting on you to return the heir of Denmark and Norway to his mother the queen. Promise me, wife.”
She regarded him with the calm, regal demeanor and commanding gaze of the Countess of thePays de Caux“I promise, husband. You have my word.”
****
That night, as moonlight cast an incandescent glow over their nude bodies, Ylva clutched Skårde with four tightly woven limbs, pulling him deeper inside, drawing his very essence into hers. Legs wrapped around his thrusting hips, arms tightly gripping his muscled back, she clenched him inside and out, holding him as if she would never let him go. Higher and higher they rode the peaking crest, until they crashed together, like waves against the white chalk cliffs.
Panting with exertion, he lay down at her side and pulled her over his thundering heart. “Odin’s eye, I will miss you.” He kissed her tousled hair.
Entwined in his arms, Ylva caressed the jagged outline of his scar and nuzzled the dense blond hair on his chest. She deeply inhaled his salty, scintillating scent. “You must wear the enchanted emerald talisman I made for you. Under your tunic, when you go to Paris. And under your chain mail armor, for the battle at Fécamp.” She suckled his neck and kissed his shoulders, tracing the thunderbolt tattoo with the tip of her tongue.
He moaned with pleasure. “I will. And you must keep this for me.” Skårde removed the ornate dragon ring from his finger and wrapped it inside her palm. “It will attract too much attention. Something I must definitely avoid.”
Ylva rose from the mattress and lifted the lid of the elaborate wooden coffer on the floor at the foot of the bed where she kept her personal belongings. Withdrawing a black velvet pouch, she placed Skårde’s ring into the drawstring bag, tucking it securely at the bottom of the trunk with her other jewelry items, underneath her fine silk gowns. She crawled back into bed beside him.
Enveloped in his strong, sinewy arms, she felt his limbs twitch as he drifted off to sleep. But Ylva watched the moon rise in the starry night sky and listened to the thunderous roar of the Narrow Sea. And prayed once again for Skårde’s safe return.
In the morning, they made love again to the squawks of sea gulls and the scent of the sea. Knowing that this might be their last time together, urgency fueled their passion. As Ylva succumbed to the irresistible throes of pleasure, she glimpsed the lunula—the Viking fertility symbol which Gyda had given her as a wedding gift—tied to the bedpost near her head. When Skårde shuddered in climax and filled her with his seed, she prayed she would conceive his son.
A while later, they broke their fast in the solar and shared a passionate embrace on the quay near the ship. Ylva watched as Skårde, Haldor Falk, Gunni, Viggo, and their knights boardedRan’s Ram.
Standing on the grassy riverbank with Úlvhild and Maeve—who had come up to the castle from the village—she chanted avardlokkurto invoke the protective spirits and incur the gods’ blessings as the Frisian ship sailed to Paris.
The men at the gates cranked the winch and hoisted the chain boom out of the brackish water. Casting off the mooring lines which secured the vessel to the dock, the crew maneuvered out of the harbor with wooden oars and hoisted the sail to catch the westerly wind. Blinking back tears, Ylva chanted, the clear, crystalline notes floating on the breeze as the Frisian shipping vessel headed out of the inlet and into the Narrow Sea.
****
“We’ll dock here, directly on the riverbank, and secure the vessel to the mooring. With the prow facing downstream and the ship alongside the shore, it will be easier to unload supplies and make for a quick departure.” Bavo, the captain, maneuveredRan’s Ramparallel to the right bank of the Seine.
While Viggo presented the required documents to the customs officials and fair organizers, the crew began unloading supplies and setting up the stall for them to pose as wool merchants selling their wares atla Foire de Saint-Denis. Skårde and Haldor Falk obtained a wooden cart to transport the four barrels of mead taken from the storage cellar ofChâteaufort. Members of the crew helped them unload the barrels from the ship and settle them into the hand-held wagon. Once the mead was secure, Skårde, Gunni, Viggo, Haldor, and six knights maneuvered the draught cart up the riverbank, across thePont au Changebridge tol’ Île de la Cité, through the meandering medieval streets of Paris to the delivery gates of the royal palace.
Le Palais de la Cité.
Skårde presented the delivery documents to the castle servants, who sent word to Hugh Capet that his barrels of mead had arrived.
A few minutes later, a distinguished nobleman of average height with shoulder-length dark brown hair and brown eyes, clad in a green velvet cloak over his brown tunic, greeted them in the castle courtyard, flanked by guards and servants. One of the attendants made the formal introduction. “May I present Hugh Capet, Count of Paris.”
