Elfi panicked, her heart fluttering in her chest.Can he see me in the window?
“Your bath is ready, milady. Come, this way.” Vilde, the patient, gentle thrall and wet nurse who had cared for Elfi since birth, led her into the adjacent antechamber where a large, steaming tub awaited in front of the crackling hearth. The sweet floral fragrance of lavender filled the warm, misty air.
Vilde’s young adult daughter Sif—a loyal, lifelong servant ofle Château Blanc,like her devoted mother—helped Elfi out of her soiled dress and into the scented bath. “I feel much safer now that the Danish army has arrived to defend Étretat.” She lathered Elfi’s hair and rinsed out the suds with a small bucket she fetched from the floor at her feet. “I’m grateful that Jarl Rikard sent for them. They’ll fortify the castle, rebuild the damaged wall, and defend us against the Franks. We’ll even have men to work the fields, harvest the crops, and prepare for the Nordic Yule. Odin, Thor, and Freyja be praised!”
While the warm water relaxed her aching muscles, and the heady scent of lavender soothed her frazzled nerves, an engulfing wave of guilt flooded Elfi as she thought of her father languishing in a dank, dark dungeon. Of her brother Dag and the innocent victims who had died defending Étretat. Of the bloodied, battered soldiers moaning and suffering on pallets strewnacross the Great Hall ofle Château Blanc.
Anger and anguish gripped her grieving heart.
I, too, am grateful that Jarl Rikard summoned the Danish jarl and his powerful Viking army. Through them, I will free my father and avenge my brother. Save this castle and the city of Étretat. And, Odin willing, defeat the despicable Count of Soissons.
Sif held out a comfortable robe of soft white linen. “Let me wrap you in this while I dry your hair.”
Elfi rose from the tub and stepped onto the gleaming hardwood floor, following the two thralls who were more like family than slaves back into her private chamber to sit at a carved table near the bed. The tangy brine of the sea floated through the open window on the salty summer breeze.
As her two servants rubbed, massaged, combed, and plaited her hair into elaborate, intricate braids, Elfi sat, stone faced and stoic, mentally preparing to meet her betrothed.
He wears wolfskin, like the savage Úlfhéðnar warriors of legendary Norse lore. And he is even more massive than Jarl Rikard. Goddess Freyja, give me strength!
Suppressing a shudder of dread at the thought of wedding a wolf spirit warrior, Elfi glanced nervously at the silver circlet laid upon her small bedside table. Thekransen—a slender headpiece which symbolized a Viking woman’s maidenhood—had once belonged to Dúva. The Nordic mother Elfi had never known. The lovingmóðirwho had died when her infant daughter was born.
According to Norse tradition, Elfi would remove thekransenon her wedding day. And save it for a future daughter of her own.
Revulsion shivered down her spine as she envisioned the enormous Viking claiming her untouched body. Elfi had never even been kissed before—Dag had always kept his fellow warriors away from his precious little sister.
Tears welled up as images of his fiercely protective face swam before her adoring eyes.
I will avenge you,Dag. I will marry the Danish brute to free Faðir and save le Château Blanc. And one day, I—Viking shieldmaiden of Étretat, the warrior sister you trained with a sword—will kill the bloody bastard who took you from me.
I will slay the craven coward, Alberic of Soissons.
Sif helped her stand and step into a grey woolen gown. She secured the silver circletatop Elfi’s bare head just as Oda entered the room and nodded, beaming with approval.
“Much better. Now, go down to the shore and greet your betrothed.”
****
From the oceanfront cliff upon whichle Château Blanchad been built, the grassy hill sloped at a steep, steady incline down to the flat, sandy beach two hundred feet below. Elfi descended the path, escorted by two of her father’s castle guards.
When she arrived upon the shore, a beaming Richard—accompanied by a buoyant Bjarke and the bearded brute in white wolfskin that she had seen from her bedroom window—strode briskly across the sand to greet her. “Lady Elfi of Étretat, may I present your betrothed, Njörd Ívarrsson. The Danish jarl of Ribe.”
Elfi shivered as the mammoth Viking took her hand and lowered his massive head, brushing bristled lips across her sensitive skin while the lupine eyes of the wolfskin observed her with a lurid, otherworldly glow.
Gilded by the golden sun, Njörd’s thick chestnut hair gleamed, radiating the salty scent of the sea. “I am honored to meet you, Elfi of Étretat.” A current flowed up Elfi’s arm at his unsettling touch.
“Ribe is a vital Viking trade center on the western shores of the North Sea,” Richard continued, oblivious to Elfi’s distress. “Njörd is known throughout Denmark asWolf of the Nordic Seas.” The deep timbre of Jarl Rikard’s voice magnified the menace of the name. And the thick white fur and haunting eyes of the monstrous wolfskin further intensified her unease.
Njörd rose to his full, toweringheight—still clutching Elfi’s trembling hand.
She looked up into his deep blue eyes, caught in the maelstrom of his mesmerizing gaze. An inexplicable, immutable bond linked her soul to the Wolf of the Nordic Seas. Mouth parched, heart racing, Elfi’s unsteady legs shook under her grey woolen gown.
“On behalf of Harald Bluetooth, King of Norway and Denmark,” Njörd boomed, his thunderous voice crashing over her like tumultuous waves against the craggy cliff, “I offer a formidable Viking army of a thousand valiant warriors.” He swept a majestic, wolfskin-clad arm across the horde of men hauling the flat-bottom dragon ships up onto the shore. “And a fearsome fleet ofdrakkarandskeidwarships to defendle Château Blanc.”Gallantly folding his white lupine cloak across his expansive, armored chest, he bent at the waist, honoring Elfi with a reverent bow.“A regal bride price for your prized hand in marriage. A royal gift from my magnanimous king to bless our Yuletide wedding.”
While Elfi stood speechless, overwhelmed by the size, sight, and scent of her betrothed, Njörd bellowed to the boisterous, busy army who worked efficiently and tirelessly to secure the Danish fleet. “Vikings of Denmark!”
A collective hush settled over the shore where gentle waves of the Narrow Sea lapped at the soft white sand.
“Pay homage to my betrothed.Châtelaineofle Château Blanc. Lady Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir. Heiress of Étretat.”
