Behind Úlf. Between Hrolf and Fólki. In front of Bodo.
His position in theÚlfhéðnarpack.
****
Two hours later, after a successful hunt, the wolf warriors returned to the forested clearing and shifted back into human form, headingoff to their longhouse or huts in the village.
Njörd adjusted his white wolfskin cloak and glanced over at Bodo, who seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn and surly as he tightened the leather strap around his maimed foot. Tomorrow was Frigg’s Day, with another mass wedding celebration planned. Njörd was looking forward to the jubilant revelry. And the chance to dance with Elfi under the stars. He strode across the glade toward Bodo, hoping to cheer him up. “I’m looking forward to the wedding feast tomorrow night. Dancing under the moonlight. Lively music. Plenty of mead. Will you dance around the bonfire with Sif?”
Bodo grunted, stretching out his back as he rose to full height. “I’m not going. I can’t dance. And I’m sick of the pity in her eyes. She deserves a man who iswhole, not a cripple. Someone who can dance with her all night long. Like your friend Áki. He can’t keep his bloody hands off her.”
Njörd scoffed. “She doesn’t want Áki, she wantsyou. Even if you can’t dance, you can still hold her. Sway to the music. Kiss her in the moonlight.” Njörd gripped the brown fur-clad shoulders of his despondent, dejected mentor. “Thor’s thunder, don’t be a fool. Sif’s as smitten with you as you are with her. Don’t throw that away. Come to the wedding feast.”
Eyes like granite, jaw clenched tight, Bodo snarled, “Come on. Let’s go home.”
In sullen silence, under the mournful light of the waning moon, the two wolf warriors of theÚlfhéðnarwithdrew fromla Forêt du Loup.
****
While Elfi sat at the small vanity table in her chamber, Sif undid the braids and ran an antler comb through her mistress’ long brown hair. “I can’t wait for tomorrow night. Evelin and Linot—two of the thralls from the kitchen—promised to serve my tables so I can slip away to dance with Bodo.”
“Oh, Sif, I am so happy for you!” Elfi squeezed Sif’s hand. “I love dancing around the bonfire. When Njörd wraps his arms around me, I simply swoon.” Like the wings of a white gannettaking flight, her heart fluttered wildly at the exhilarating thought. “Now you can feel the same thrill with Bodo.”
Sif’s expressive brown eyes danced with delight. “I cannot wait!” With a hopeful smile and dreamy sigh, she set the antler comb down on the table and gestured to the lamellar armor carefully laid out upon a bench in the corner of Elfi’s chamber. “I’ve cleaned the leather and polished it with beeswax. Not only will it shine for tomorrow’s training session with Jarl Njörd, it has a sweet, subtle scent. Like honey.” A glimmer in her twinkling eyes and a teasing grin on her pretty face, Sif raised Elfi to her feet, unlaced and removed her mistress’ woolen gown, and eased her into a soft cotton chemise. She helped Elfi into bed and bent to kiss her cheek. “Sleep well.Bonne nuit.See you in the morning.”
After Sif had slipped into the small adjacent room where she slept with her mother Vilde, Elfi gazed out the window and watched the wispy clouds whisk across the full moon. Tomorrow, after thedance with swordsin the sacred grove, she and Njörd would go to the waterfall cave once again. The thought of his wondrous lips, wicked tongue, and glorious Viking body sent a flood of warmth straight to her loins. She smiled as an idea bloomed.
After making love with her wolf warrior, she would invite Njörd to swim in the secluded inlet. They could jump off the rocky ledge, through the waterfall, and plunge into the turquoise waters of the Mermaid Cove, like she and Dag always used to do.
And tomorrow night, under the starlit sky, she would dance with her beguiling betrothed.
Her fated mate, Njörd Ívarrsson,
Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Chapter 18
The Mermaid Cove
Elfi plopped down at the vanity table in her private chambers, spluttering with exertion and frustration. “Freyja be thanked, that’s finally over!” While Sif quickly plaited Elfi’s hair into a long, thick braid down her back, the Heiress of Étretat reflected on the flurry of ongoing activity unfolding throughoutle Château Blanc.
She’d spent the entire morning with her grandmother Oda, supervising the thralls and servants who were preparing sumptuous dishes for tonight’s feast, decorating the Great Hall, and setting up tables on the castle grounds for the weekly wedding celebration. Today was Friday— Frigg’s Day—when traditional Viking weddings were performed. Every week since Njörd and his warriors from Denmark had arrived in Étretat, Jarl Rikardand Count Skårde had organized mass weddings for the Danes who had come to Normandy seeking fertile farmlands and willing wives. And, because the recent attacks by the Count of Soissons and his Frankish army had left hundreds of widows in desperate need of husbands, each Frigg’s Day had seen between twenty and thirty couples joined in wedding ceremonies performed by agoði—a Norse priest who honored the pagan rituals of the Viking people of thePays de Caux.
“I polished your armor, so the leather is supple and smooth. And gleams in the sunlight.” Sif tied the ends of Elfi’s braid with a leather cord and strode across the room to fetch the lamellar armor, which she displayed with a proud smile before laying it on the bed. “First, the gambeson.” She helped Elfi don the paddedgarment worn under her leather armor. Not only did the linen absorb sweat and prevent chafing, the thick padding offered a cushion against blows from her opponent.Njörd.
Elfi’s heart raced at the thought of sparring with him. Not only had her skills greatly improved since Njörd had resumed her training, she positively thrilled at the challenge of combatting a wolf warrior of theÚlfhéðnar.
Sif securely tied the laces of the gambeson and helped Elfi into the lamellar armor, fastening the sturdy cowhide plates with strong leather cords.
“Dag had a skilled craftsman engrave runes into these plates.” Elfi ran appreciative hands over the intricately tooled leather. “Algiz,the elk,”she murmured, tracing the Nordic runefor protection and defense. “Tiwaz, symbol of the god Tyr, for courage and victory in battle. AndKenaz,the flame. For Odin’s wisdom, ferocity, and guidance.” Tears welled up in Elfi’s eyes at the memory of her beloved brother. He had been so proud to wear this fine Viking armor which was now hers. As she strapped her swordShadowbane—which had also belonged to Dag, beforeJarl Rikardcommissioned Lugh to craftGaladir—Elfi reflected how she would always be grateful to herbróðirfor her prowess with shield and sword. He had trained her to become a skilled Viking shieldmaiden.
A warrior worthy of Freyja’s Valkyries.
Elfi inhaled deeply to summon her strength and regain her resolve. When the Count of Soissons released her father and returnedGaladir, she would organize a triumphant celebration, a glorious feast, and a sacrifice to honor the Nordic gods. And above all, she would ensure that Dag’sLjósálfarblade was honorably buried with her valiant Viking brother in his commemorativehaugrof the sacred grove.
With a forceful exhale, she secured her sword and returned her thoughts to the present. As she envisioned the imminentdance of swordswith Njörd, vivid memories of their glorious afternoon in the waterfall cave flooded her with desire. Today, she would bringhim there again. The thought of his warm lips and skilled tongue. his majestic body, rippled with muscles and covered with dark hair… her loins ached with an empty hollow that only he could fill. Today, after making love, she would invite him to swim in the Narrow Sea that had joined them together.
In the Mermaid Cove of the waterfall cave.
