He reached up and pushed a long blonde wisp which had escaped her braid back into place. A weary grin stretched across his bearded face. “The emerald talisman saved my life.” He grasped her hand and fervently kissed it, overcome with emotion as he relived the intensity of combat. “We were losing the battle. An enemy sword had struck my helmet, and my head was spinning. I saw Viggo and Gunni fall. Another savage blow sliced through my armor and split my side, and a third strike dropped me to my knees. In that instant, when I knew I would die—for the Frank had raised his blade to sever my head—I thought of you. And remembered the amulet imbued with your blood.”Dragonfireblazed in his intense blue eyes, transfixing her with a penetrating stare. “I called upon the gods, like you said. Tyr gave me his strength, Thor’s thunder sparked from my sword. And Odin blessed us with victory.” He pulled her down onto his uninjured side and smothered her hair with breathless kisses. “I saw your face…longed for your touch…couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you.” He rocked her in his strong, sinewy arms. “Your love saved my life.”
She suckled his neck under the braided beard, nuzzling the blond tuft at the base of his throat as she inhaled his scent deep into her lungs.
I always despised my Viking heritage and Nordic roots. They were a stigma of shame and hatred. But now, I fiercely love my Viking husband. And my Nordic magic saved his life.
Ylva lifted her head from his chest and smiled down at the man she loved. She longed to feel him inside her, to reunite their bodies and souls. But that would have to wait until he’d healed. Rising to her feet, she bent down to kiss him, whispering into his open mouth. “You must rest. I will come back later.Sváfa vel, ást mín.Sleep well, my love.” She tucked the covers around him, kissed his relaxed forehead, and quietly slipped out the door.
The castle was in a flurry of activity, preparing for the evening feast. A messenger had ridden from Fécamp to inform them that Richard was sailing with Harald, so that he would also be atChâteaufortto celebrate their victory over the Franks and the triumph of the Viking alliance. Ylva was thrilled that Skårde would reunite his father and brother. And that she would celebrate with her own father.
The Vikingfaðirshe had finally forgiven. The prodigal father she had always loved.
****
Lothaire gripped his sapphire chalice and swallowed the gulp of exquisite Frankish wine as his royal valet Ragno escorted the harried messenger into the antechamber where he now sat upon his gilded throne. Visibly distraught, the spy from the village of Fécamp removed his woolen cap and bowed before the powerful King of West Francia.
“Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that Fécamp has been lost. Richard the Fearless has reclaimed his castle. There are no survivors.” Legs shaking, voice stammering, he shifted nervously and fixed his eyes on his booted feet.
Lothaire stared in shock and disbelief, as stark horror descended upon him.
“Badelbert was defeated? How is this possible? I sent numerous reinforcements. Armored knights, supplies, and weapons!” Spittle flew from his frothy mouth.
The messenger stammered his reluctant response. “They were intercepted, my king. Richard had allies. Conan, Duke of Brittany. Geoffroi, Count of Anjou. And William Towhead, Duke of Aquitaine. Each sent armies to reinforce Fécamp.” He wrung his hat with trembling hands. “Harald Bluetooth did not attackChâteaufort, Your Highness. He and his bastard—the Dragon of Normandy—allied with Richard. And attacked Fécamp from the sea. But there was another assault, my king. Thousands of birds swarmed the skies and swooped down to attack the defenders along the battlements and in the towers. Pecking out eyes with beaks and talons…our men were blinded by the birds. And succumbed to an insurmountable, three-pronged Viking assault. By land, sea, and air.” He exhaled with audible despair. “Richard’s banner flies from the highest tower in the keep, where Badelbert once held his Frankish court.”
Lothaire hurled his sapphire chalice, slamming it against the stone hearth. The sharp, metallic clang resonated with an icy echo in the empty room. “Get out. Be grateful that I have spared your wretched life.”
As the messenger scrambled from the glacial room, Lothaire bolted to his feet and stormed across the antechamber to the window overlookingla Montagne Couronnée.
The forested mountaintop where his magnificent castle perched like a royal crown.
He gripped the wooden table, seething with impotent fury.
Once again, the damnable alliance between Richard the Fearless and Harald Bluetooth had triumphed against him. But now, with Bluetooth’s bastard in a position of power, Lothaire faced a trinity of Viking rulers defending the dukedom of Normandy. A Viking trident which had impaled his Frankish army and pierced thePays de Caux.
Bluetooth would pay for this betrayal. Lothaire would aid his covetous cousin Otto the Red andinvade the most lucrative seaport in Denmark. Under the combined might of the Holy Roman Empire and the kingdom of West Francia,Heiðabýrwould fall to the Franks.
And Lothaire would crush the traitorous Danish king.
As for Richard the Fearless and Skårde the Scourge, he would exact revenge on them as well. Although the battle of Fécamp had resulted in a devastating loss, Lothaire had managed to claim a Norman castle and—albeit briefly—establish a Frankish colony in thePays de Caux. He was determined to drive the Vikings from Normandy and reattach the fertile farmlands and towering white chalk cliffs to the kingdom of West Francia.
Lothaire withdrew from the shelf of his private walnut cabinet the strange silver coin with shadowy swirls and sinister scrolls. As he examined the ominous markings and blackened runes, the words of the Dark Elvenblacksmith Guldur floated like smoke from hisDökkálfarforge.
“Should you ever need an exceedingly rare royal favor, present this enchanted coin to me in the Sapphire Chalice Tavern.”
He squeezed the coin and grinned. Guldur would soon return from the Faroe Islands. Lothaire would visit him at the Sapphire Chalice Tavern in Dorestad, present the enchanted coin, and request the exceedingly rare royal favor.
For Guldur and theDökkálfarDark Elves to aid in his unerring, implacable quest.
To drive the Viking heathens from Normandy.
And reclaim Richard’s dukedom for the West Frankish crown.
Chapter 38
Victory Celebration
An enormous green and silver banner with his coat of arms as the Dragon of Normandy was proudly and prominently displayed over the oaken entrance doors leading into the vast Great Hall. Branches of oak, beech, fir, and ash decorated the doorways inside the vast chamber where the jubilant melodies of harps, flutes, and lyres entertained the exuberant guests. Tapestries woven with metallic threads glistened in the flickering light of candles in metal sconces along the high wooden walls. The crisp, clean scent of pine blended with the clove and cinnamon spice of mulled wine. Trestle tables, lavishly set with silver goblets, plates, and spoons, were topped with luxurious dark green woolen tablecloths and lined with silver silk runners, evoking his heraldic colors. As servants scurried about with platters of sumptuous food and pitchers of golden mead, the tantalizing aromas of roasted meats, herbs, and pastries permeated the festive air.
From his seat at the table of honor, Skårde observed the hundreds of Norman knights, Viking warriors, and elegant ladies who had gathered to celebrate the Viking victory at Fécamp. Although the stitches in his side ached and throbbed, his spirit soared. Not only had he aided Richard the Fearless and saved the Falcon, he had reunited his brother and father. In Harald’s eyes, Skårde had finally seen the profound pride and paternal love that he had been seeking his entire life. Now, as he and Sweynflanked their royal father upon the elevated dais with Richard, Haldor Falk, Úlvhild, Gyda, Gunni, Maeve, and Ylva, his healing heart overflowed with gratitude.
