“A tall, wooden catapult that hurls heavy projectiles which can destroy walls or towers. We can launch boulders, fire barrels, burning tar—even quicklime, made from the chalk in our limestone cliffs—to take out defenders along the castle wall.” He turned toward Björn, the First Knight ofChâteaufortand leader of the warriors who would defend the castle when Skårde, Haldor Falk, and Harald joined Richard in the siege of Fécamp. “Has Geoffroy sent his men from Anjou?”
Björn gulped his mead and nodded. “They have been positioned east of the castle, to cut off freshwater sources to the Franks. We’ve surrounded theRivière Valmont,l’ Étang deColletière, andla Source Saint-Léger.They now have no supply of fresh drinking water.”
Richard’s commanding voice resonated through the room. “We’ve also blocked all the main roads, so that Lothaire cannot reinforce his army atFécamp. There have already been several skirmishes which have been squelched—with the Franks defeated and their weapons confiscated to fortify our own positions.”
“Have the knights from Aquitaine arrived from the south?” Skårde furrowed his brows in contemplation as he turned toward Richard.
“Not yet. But a messenger informed us last week that William Towhead’s reinforcements would reach us within days. They might have arrived as we speak.” Richard downed his mead and summoned a servant for more. “We are waiting for word that your father’s ships have been sighted from the east. When his fleet arrives, we’ll send a messenger ship to greet him and coordinate our attack.” He glanced at Haldor. “Will you sail with Skårde?”
Haldor’s dark, predatory eyes glistened in the firelight. “I will indeed. And summon a winged storm to attack from the sky.”
Skårde grasped Ylva’s hand and firmly pressed his lips against her fingers, fixing her with a compelling gaze. “I will leave the Frisian ship and the crew ofRan’s Ramhere atChâteaufort—for you to take Sweyn and Helga home in the event we do not return from the battle of Fécamp.” With a meaningful glance at Björn, the Dragon of Normandy commanded his First Knight. “Björn and four hundred knights will defend you and the castle while I am gone. And escort you and Sweyn to Denmark if I do not return.”
Björn fisted his chest as he stared at Skårde. Fierce fealty blazed in his loyal, steadfast gaze. “I pledge my sword, my honor, and my life. Your command shall be done.”
Petroc appeared in the doorway, the urgency of his message clearly written across his eager face. “Pardon the interruption, Duke Richard and Count Skårde. A message has just arrived from William Towhead’s army. They are in position south of Fécamp and await your orders to attack.” He paused before delivering the rest of his momentous announcement. “My lords, the sentinel has spotted two fire beacons burning at Le Tréport. Harald Bluetooth’s fleet will pass byChåteaufortin two days.” With a humble bow of his silver head, the polished steward retreated from the room.
Richard rose to his feet and raised his goblet of mead. “To victory at Fécamp. Or the glory of Valhalla!”
Amid shouts of “Skál!” as everyone drank to the impending battle against the Franks, Ylva shuddered and sipped her mead.
She prayed the Viking alliance would prevail.
Chapter 34
Preparing for Battle
Ylva gripped Skårde tightly with arms and legs as he rhythmically pummeled into her. While the inexorable waves crashed against the white chalk cliffs below the castle, she rode the mounting crest of pleasure, the increasing tension unbearable until at last she shattered—like stars splattered across the sky—clenching him inside and out as he arrowed into her and filled her with his seed. Her body clamped his, the contractions of her climax drawing his essence into hers from within while she held him tautly with her limbs from without, unable and unwilling to let him go.
Finally, when his body slipped from hers and he laid down at her shaking side, he kissed her softly and held her gaze. In the depths of his dark blue eyes she glimpsed the same sorrow that squeezed her throat in a suffocating vice that made it nearly impossible to breathe. “I must go. Gods willing, I shall return. But if I do not, set sail for Denmark right away. Before the seas are too icy and King Lothaire decides to attackChâteaufort.”He rose to his feet, fetched his hose and linen undertunic, and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. “If I fall but Richard survives, I want him to arrange a quick marriage for you. As Countess of thePays de Caux, you must continue to rule after I am gone. We cannot allow the Franks to conquerChâteaufortor permit Lothaire to drive the Vikings from Normandy. You must remarry to retain our castle and help Richard rule.”
Ylva could not even begin to contemplate such a future. She shook her head and refused to meet Skårde’s imploring, insistent eyes.
“Promise me, Ylva.” With a bent finger, he gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Promise me, my Viking Wolf.”
She swallowed a lump of grief and finally found her quavering voice. “I promise that I will rule as Countess of thePays de Caux.And if my father forces me to marry another… know this, Skårde Haraldsson. My Celtic Viking heart will always belong toyou.” She rose up onto her knees, walked nude upon them across the bed, and straddled his lap. “Dragon of Denmark,” she whispered into his open mouth as she wrapped her arms behind his blond head. “Dragon of Normandy.” She shared his shallow breath, tracing his bearded lips with the tip of her tongue. “Dragon ofChâteaufort.”She cupped his chin within her hands, lowered her face upon his, and swallowed his soft lips into her own.
He laid her back down upon the bed and leaned over her, his long hair tumbling over tensed shoulders. His braided beard bristled her cheek as he nuzzled her neck and showered her face with fervent kisses. “Odin’s eye, I want you. But Imustgo down to the solar, coordinate with Richard, and prepare to depart.” He stood back up and stared down at her. Love, lust, and longing blazed like blue fire in his ravenous eyes. Inhaling deeply, he backed away. And began to don his chain mail armor.
Ylva slipped from the bed and retrieved the emerald talisman from the side table. She stared at the trio of runes, remembering how she’d usedFreyja’s Whisperto etch them with her blood as she imbued them withgaldrmagic.
Tiwaz,for Tyr, the Norse God of War, to grant his strength to Skårde.Algiz, to ward off evil and protect him from harm, andEihwaz,the tree of life connecting the physical and spiritual realms, for Skårde to summon the Nordic gods to aid him in his time of need.
She walked up behind him and kissed his broad shoulders.
When he turned around, she reached up and tied the black leather cords of the talisman behind his thick neck. She smoothed it over his chest and tucked itbeneath his linen undertunic. “Wear this amulet at all times to give you strength and protection in battle. And remember to call upon the gods for assistance when you need them.” She traced his jagged scar, now hidden under the linen tunic. “May Thor infuse you with the same thunder which blazes across your rugged chest.” Ylva kissed his torso and stepped back, steeling herself for his imminent departure. She looked up at him, willing him to see all the love which surely burned in her fiery eyes. “I will pray at the waterfall cave every day. Come back to me, Skårde. I love you.”
Dragonfiresizzled in his scorching gaze. “And I will love you—and only you—until the day I die.” His eyes held hers as he donned his chain mail armor and strapped on hisLjósálfarsword. The deep green emerald inDuradrakk’ssilver hilt danced with otherworldly verdant fire. In the leather scabbard, a trio of gems glittered in the early morning light.
Moonstone, like Luna’sLjósálfarpendant.
Starstone, like Lugh’s enchanted brooch.
And emerald, for Skårde’s heraldic color as the Dragon of Normandy.
Protective power pulsed from the trinity of stones.
Ylva scrambled from the bed, quickly dressed in a dark green gown, and ran an antler comb through her long blonde hair. Eydis and Norhild would have insisted on braiding it in an elaborate coiffure with a silver coronet, but she didn’t want to wait for her attendants. She needed to go to the solar with Skårde. This morning marked the final conference with the war council prior to their imminent departure. She had to stay with him until he boarded the dragon ship and sailed away. Sorrow constricted her throat, making it difficult to breathe.
