Wrapped in Njörd’s fierce embrace, the wolfskin cloak encircling them both, Elfi nuzzled the dark hair at the base of his throat. She deeply inhaled his alluring scent, her essence inexorably entwined with his.My betrothed. My mentor. My mate. We belong together. I feel it in the very depths of my soul.
He swooped down to plant warm, soft lips upon hers, parting them with a possessive, probing tongue.
She moaned into his mouth and melted in his arms. Waves of liquid warmth flooded her, engulfing her in irresistible desire.
He stepped back, shook his dark mane like a stallion, and blew a forceful breath through his bearded lips. With a regretful smile, he said softly, “Come, I’ll take you back to the castle. It’s getting late.”
Taking her hand, he led Elfi across the pebbled beach, back to the path leading up to the grassy meadow at the top of the cliff. He walked her through the fragrant wildflowers, to the enormous oak entrance door where two castle guards nodded in acknowledgment upon recognizing Njörd.
The pair stepped back to grant them privacy, yet still kept watch under the starry night sky.
“I train with the knights first thing in the morning, so I’ll meet you in the castle foyer after our drills.” He pulled Elfi close,crossed his arms behind the small of her back, and kissed the top of her head. The wolfskin fur bristled against her skin, raising tingles at the touch. “You and I will ride into town to see Úlvhild. Then come back here to practice in the sacred grove.” He grinned, leaning down to kiss her goodnight. “See you tomorrow,elska minn. Sleep well. And dream of me, as I will of you.”
When Njörd turned away, Elfi watched him stride across the castle courtyard toward the longhouse which Jarl Rikard had converted into a royal hall for Njörd and his men. Her heart fluttered wildly with eager anticipation of tomorrow’s events. She slipped inside the castle, where a smiling Sif appeared to escort her up the stairs.
Inside Elfi’s private chambers, as Sif unbraided her mistress’ hair, the young thrall who was like a sister—for Sif’s mother Vilde had been Elfi’s wet nurse—voiced her barely contained enthusiasm. “Bodo kissed me again tonight,” Sif whispered with breathless excitement. “Oh, Elfi, I can’t wait for the wedding celebration this Frigg’s Day! He promised to sit at a table where I will be serving mead… And dance with me—as best he can with his injured foot.” She wrapped a slender arm around Elfi’s shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “He told me tonight that he’s raided and traded in distant lands, and that he would give me as much silver as I needed to purchase my freedom. That is, of course, if your father Lord Thorfinn agrees.” Sif crossed her hands over the bodice of her gown and swirled in utter delight. “I hope Bodo asks for my hand!”
Elfi stood and hugged Sif close. “I’m sure he will. Just think—one of these Frigg’s Days, the wedding celebration will include your own.”
“I pray that Freyja will make it so.” Sif helped Elfi into a soft cotton shift for sleeping, tucked her into bed, and blew out the candle. “Goodnight,Elfi. Now you and I can dream about our wolves.”
As Elfi gazed out her window at the full moon, she relived Njörd’s passionate embrace. And—as he had bidden— dreamt of the Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Chapter 14
Revelations and Runes
Áki choked on his mouthful of porridge, but managed to recover with a gulp of ale. He wiped his blond beard with the back of his hand and spluttered, “Loki’s balls! No wonder you’re such a bloody beast in battle. You’re one of theÚlfhéðnar!”
Njörd grinned at the Viking he’d grown up with in the village of Bjørgvin in Norway. The warrior he’d trained with from the age of seven winters, when he’d been sent to foster with the fisherman Kálf. Áki was the closest friend Njörd had ever had.
“I met them last night inla Forêt du Loup—the Wolf Forest—southeast of the castle,” he said to Áki between a bite of porridge and a gulp of ale. “You know the stonecutter with the maimed foot? The one they callBodo le Boîteux? He’s one of them, too. And he knew my father. Brökk Sigurdsson. Leader of theÚlfhéðnarfor King Harald in Norway.” Njörd downed the rest of his ale, anxious to train this morning with Úlf. Although Áki had always been a worthy opponent, Úlf—as leader of theÚlfhéðnar—would be the greatest challenger Njörd had ever faced. As a man in the castle courtyard—with shield, axe, and sword. And as a wolf, tonight inla Forêt du Loup, when Njörd trained again with the warrior wolves of theÚlfhéðnar.
“Bodo and Njáll—the tall warrior with long black hair and beard—were with my father Brökk when he died in battle. They promised him they would keep his Dwarven sword hidden from theDökkálfarwho are desperate to find it. Bodo and Njáll are going to takeme to reclaim my father’s blade—so that I can fulfill a prophecy. We’ll set sail as soon as Lord Thorfinn returns.” Njörd finished hisdagmálmorning meal of porridge, barley bread,wild strawberries, andskyr.
“I’ll come with you. We leave in two weeks?” Áki popped a crust of bread in his mouth and drained his goblet.
“Nei,I need you to stay here with Jarl Rikard and Lord Thorfinn—once he has returned. You’re my second in command. I need you in charge of our Danish army—to defend the castle and Étretat, in case the Count of Soissons decides to attack again while we’re at sea.” Njörd rose from the table and strapped on his sword. He knew that Áki would be angry with what he was about to say, for the two of them had always trained together, but Njörd needed to spar with the alpha wolf of his new pack. “I’m off to train with Úlf,” he announced, avoiding Áki’s stunned expression. “As one of theÚlfhéðnar,I need to train with them every day from now on. You can spar with Bjarke, Varg, or Jarl Rikard’s best knight, Halvar. Mayhap even Skårde the Scourge, the former Dragon of Denmark.” Njörd adjusted his scabbard and armor, flashing a half-hearted smile at his speechless friend. “I’ll see you tonight,já?In the castle Great Hall, fornáttmál.” He clasped Áki on the shoulder and headed out the door. Guilt washed over him at the thought of abandoning his closest friend. But he would soon have to fight theDökkálfar. And Úlf, as leader of theÚlfhéðnar, was the essential trainer for that.
As he crossed the castle courtyard toward the training area, Njörd noticed Úlf and Njáll sparring with swords, Hrólf Redbeard battling Flóki with bearded axes, and Bodo dueling with a warrior he did not recognize—clad in distinctive armor that he had seen in the Far East on his travels to Constantinople.He must have been one of the thousand warriors who came with our fleet from Denmark. I’ll ask Bodo about him at training tonight in la Forêt du Loup.
Úlf excused himself from training with Njáll, who strode across the field to spar with Bjarke. The tall blond leader of theÚlfhéðnar,came to greet Njörd with a predatory, wolfish grin. “Come, son of Brökk. Let’s see if you’ve inherited your father’s strength and speed. He was the fiercest warrior I’ve ever known.”
Úlf lunged suddenly, and Njörd blocked the massive blow with his bossed shield, countering with a swift strike of the blunted sword used in practice sessions. Úlf’s weapon clashed violently against Njörd’s, who parried and swirled into a downward slice. The blond brute deftly evaded or blocked every single thrust, his reflexes even better than Njörd’s. Each blow that slammed against his shield reverberated into Njörd’s bones.
After an hour of grueling combat, Úlf grinned, stepped back, and sheathed his sword. “You are as fine a warrior as your father. I’ll be honored to fight in battle at your side.”
“As will I.” Njörd shook Úlf’s hand and sheathed his own sword with a proud, hearty grin. He gestured to the unfamiliar warrior across the grassy field. “Who is Bodo sparring with? I don’t recognize him. Do you?”
“Já, that’s Óttarr Skov. He was a Varangian warrior for the Byzantine empire. A mercenary who came from the Far East to Denmark. He sailed here with us on one of thedrakkarships sent by King Harald. He seems to have formed a bond with Bodo. This is the third or fourth time I’ve seen them sparring together. Skov will be a welcome ally in battle. The Varangians have a reputation for ferocity, brutality, and precision.” Úlf smirked and slapped Njörd on the shoulder. “Like us.” With a feral grin, he headed off toward the bathhouse with several other warriors who had completed the morning drills and would soon return to work, repairing fortifications on the damaged castle wall.
As Njörd crossed the training field to hail Jarl Rikard—who had just finished combat drills with Varg—he was both relieved and saddened to see Áki sparring with Halvar, leader of the Duke’s army from Fécamp.
They are well matched. Áki is an unparalleled Viking warrior and my second in command. Halvar is the highest-ranking and finest of Jarl Rikard’s Norman knights. A worthy sparringpartner to ease the sting of my betrayal.
Another staggering wave of guilt washed over him as Áki glared at Njörd from the field, daggers in his hurt, angry eyes. Regret and remorse stabbed like a knife as Áki blocked Havar’s blow and spun away, dismissing Njörd to concentrate on the skilled opponent who would henceforth be his new training partner.
Sighing in grim acceptance, Njörd continued across the field toward Jarl Rikard. He wanted to ask the Duke about Lugh, theLjósálfarLight Elfwho had crafted the swordGaladir. The Elven blade stolen by the Count of Soissons that Elfi was determined to reclaim for her brother’s honorable burial in the sacred grove.
