Njörd chuckled. “No, thank you. I’m looking for Elfi. Where is she?”
Panic flared in Sif’s desperate eyes. She glanced around the kitchen, as if seeking a means of escape.
Njörd remembered that Elfi had said her father Thorfinn was against the idea of women wielding weapons. Sif obviously wanted to protect her mistress’ secret. Njörd suspected that Elfi was in the sacred grove right now, doing her ritual dance with the sword.
My rebellious shieldmaiden warrior.
“You can trust me, Sif.” He approached her slowly, like a frightened colt, trying to soothe the frantic thrall with his calm, gentle tone. “Elfi told me how she practices the routine that Dag taught her. And how her father would disapprove. She’s in the sacred grove, isn’t she?” He smiled reassuringly, but fear still froze her stricken face.
Sif searched the depths of his eyes. She must have seen the honesty and loyalty he was trying to convey, for she looked at the floor and nodded guiltily. “She goes there every morning, while Lady Oda is busy with the servants. But she’ll be back soon, Jarl Njörd.”
“Please tell me how to find the sacred grove. Is it west of the castle?”
“Yes, it is,” she said, wiping her hands on a linen cloth. She hesitated—as if contemplating a decision—then exhaled, her mind obviously made up. “There is something important I must show you. Please wait here for just a moment. I’ll be right back.” She scooted across the kitchen and spoke quietly to several otherthralls who were also preparing food. Njörd recognized one of the older women as Oda’s personal thrall, Vilde.
Sif returned quickly to his side. “Please come with me, Jarl Njörd.”
She led him from the busy kitchen, through the wide foyer, to the stone stairwell in the corner of the vestibule. “Since you’ll soon be lord of this castle and Count of Étretat, there is something you should be aware of,” she said, as the two of them climbed up the stone steps. “There is an escape passage which leads from the upper floor of the castle to a secret tunnel burrowed into the cliff.”
At the top of the stairs, they arrived at a landing where torches in wall sconces and a small window at the end of the hall lit the dim corridor. As he followed Sif’s lead, Njörd glimpsed heavy wooden doors on either side of the long, dark passageway.
“These rooms are Lord Thorfinn’s,” Sif explained, nodding to the two enormous chambers they passed on the left. She gestured to another pair of heavy oak entrance doors on the right. “Those are for Lady Oda and her personal thrall—my mother Vilde. The two chambers on the left at the end of the hall once belonged to Lord Dag, but Jarl Rikard and Count Skårde are each staying in one now. And these…” she said, as they passed an antechamber entrance and arrived at the elegantly carved, massive wooden door at the far end of the hall on the right, “…are Lady Elfi’s.”
With a key attached to a belted chain at her waist, she unlocked the heavy oak door and led Njörd into a large chamber where banked embers glowed in a stone fireplace on the right. A wooden canopied bed enclosed in rich red velvet stood against the tapestried wall on the left, and a carved oak table with two matching chairs were arranged in the nearby corner. On the north facing wall, an open window looked out over the craggy cliff, down onto the sheltered cove far below. The salty scent of the sea floated in on the briny breeze.
I remember seeing Elfi in this window. The day our ships arrived. When Istood on the beach and looked up at the castle.
“I sleep in the antechamber right next to Lady Elfi’s room,” Sif explained, pointing to a small door in the corner of the room near the window. “So I’m available if she needs me during the night.” Her dark eyes shone with loyalty and love. “But what I wanted to show you, Jarl Njörd, is this.”
Sif lifted the long, embroidered tapestry on the wall near the canopied bed to reveal a concealed door with an unlatched heavy metal bolt. “This is the hidden stairwell that leads to the bottom of the keep. It’s unlocked, so Lady Elfi can come back into the castle.” She opened the door and pointed into the descending darkness. “At the base of the stairs, there’s a heavy door that opens into a tunnel. It leads away from the castle—and empties into a cave in the forest. That’s where Lady Elfi will be. Near Lord Dag’s burial mound in the sacred grove.”
She glanced into the hall outside Elfi’s chamber. “You’ll need a torch,” she said, fetching one from a wall sconce and returning to his side. She leaned through the hidden door, illuminating the dark passageway with the burning torch. “This secret stairwell was designed for the lord’s family to escape, should the castle come under siege. But Lord Thorfinn refused to use it either time when the Count of Soissons attacked. Instead, he locked Lady Elfi and her grandmother in the tower. And fought the Frankish army with Lord Dag at his side. Although he didn’t want to flee the castle, that decision took the life of his only son. And now, Lord Thorfinn is a prisoner of the ruthless Count of Soissons.”
Sif shook her head, visibly casting aside her sorrow. She inhaled deeply and looked up at Njörd, a nostalgic glow illuminating her pretty face. “When they were children, Lady Elfi and Lord Dag used this secret passage to escape to the woods every day. He shared his skills with her. Trained her to wield his sword.” She flashed him a heartwarming, heartbreaking smile. “I’m glad that you’ve agreed to train her. She misses her brother so very much. Practicing weaponry with you will help her overcome the grief of his loss.” Sif’s limpid eyes glistened in the morning sunlight shining through the window as she handed himthe lit torch. “Follow the tunnel to the cave in the forest. That’s where Lady Elfi will be. Good day, my lord.” With a slight curtsey and a humble dip of her dark head, she slipped out the bedroom door.
Clutching the torch, Njörd descended the hidden stairwell, arriving on the earthen floor at the bottom of the keep. He opened the unlatched door and entered the dark tunnel where the rich, fecund aroma of dark loam and the pine scent of the forest blended with the salty tang of the nearby sea. As he followed the sinuous path leading away from the castle, the rhythmic pounding of thunderous waves crashed against the craggy cliff far below.
A glimmer of light up ahead illuminated the gloom, increasing in intensity until he came to the mouth of a cave which opened into the forest. An extinguished torch stood in the leafy earth near the cavern exit. Njörd doused his flame in the dirt, grateful for the flint in his pouch which he would need to rekindle the fire, and placed his torch next to Elfi’s.
Through the cave opening, he glimpsed the sacred grove of tall, dense trees enclosing a grassy area where an alignment of stones marked a burial ground. And there—in the clearing at the edge of the forest—was Elfi.
The sight of her took his breath away.
Clad in snug brown breeches and fitted leather armor, her long hair plaited into a thick braid which touched the top of her curved hips, she swirled, spun, and sliced with her sword.
Njörd hovered in the shadows at the mouth of the cave, watching her limber form move with the lithe grace of a lynx. Rosy cheeks flushed from exertion, full lips pursed in concentration, her sinewy muscles flexed with lissome agility and sleek strength.
Enchanted and entranced, he stood in awe before his betrothed. A valorous shieldmaiden of Viking legend and lore.
She stopped abruptly, having spotted him just inside the cave. Elation litup her beautiful face. “You kept your promise.”
He walked out of the cave and strode across the clearing to join her. In the distance, through the dense foliage of beech, ash, and fir trees in the sacred grove, Njörd glimpsed the curved shoreline and towering white chalk cliffs enclosing the secluded inlet below.
Breath heaving, skin glistening, Elfi swiped the arm of her linen tunic across her sweaty brow and sheathed her sword in the leather scabbard at her narrow waist.
He grinned down at her. “I’m impressed. Dag taught you well.”
“Will you spar with me? I’d like to show you my skill.” She implored him with beseeching eyes.
