Hundreds of humble heads bowed before her, fixing her with fascinated, curious stares.
Elfi inhaled deeply to regain her composure. Shoulders back, standing tall, she greeted the men who would fortify the castle, salvage the autumn harvest, and protect thePays de Caux. “I bid you all welcome and thank you for coming to our aid.Le Château Blancwill be well defended against future attacks by the Frankish Count of Soissons!”
Frapping their axes and swords against shields, the Viking Danes roared in riotous, enthusiastic applause.
When the din subsided, Njörd shouted, “Back to work! Secure the ships and unload supplies!” At their jarl’s bellowing command, the men resumed their flurry of activity, wading out into the rolling waves of the sheltered inlet, hauling dragon ships up onto the shore.
Elfi forced an uneasy smile. “My grandmother Oda and I invite you and your men to join us this evening for a welcoming feast in the Great Hall.” She bowed her head and stepped back from the bulking brute, rattled by the imposing size, intoxicating scent, and intimidating wolfskin armor of her betrothed. To Richard, Skårde, Bjarke, and Varg—the latter two having strolled over to join them—she said, “I’ll return to the castle now and prepare for the feast.Farðu vel.See you soon.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Elfi. I look forward to your lovely company this evening.” Njörd’s lupine grin sent another otherworldly chill rippling up Elfi’s spine.
With a nod to her guards, Elfi ducked her chin and turned away to disguise her distress. She stumbled across the beach and trudged up the path to the castle at the top of the cliff.
Shaken to the core by the savage allure of the Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Chapter 5
Welcoming Feast
Slanted rays of the setting sun filtered into the cavernous Great Hall from narrow slits in the high stone walls, glimmering upon silver platters of sumptuous fare arrayed upon linen covered tabletops. The delectable aroma of beef braised with garlic and onions, salted boar dripping with honey, roasted pheasant, quail, and duck mingled with the appetizing scents of frumenty porridge, fruit tarts, cinnamon, and spice.
Castle servants flitted between crowded tables of ravenous men, serving savory bread topped with sage, lugging enormous platters of steaming seafood, refilling endless goblets of golden mead.
Scattered throughout the Great Hall and spilling out onto the castle grounds, Danish warriors, Norman Vikings, and villagers alike gorged greedily on the decadent feast. When night fell, thralls cleared the tables, refilled mugs of mead, and lit a huge bonfire in the clearing on the castle grounds. Enlivened by lively melodies of lyres, lutes, and lurs, warriors and widows danced around the flickering flames, their lonely faces alight with joy, finding solace in a warm, welcoming embrace.
At the table of honor, seated betweenJarl Rikardand Njörd, Elfi sipped her mead, entranced in the painful past as an amorous couple swirled, twirled, and laughed around the fire.
Blurred, nostalgic images of Dag and his lost love Guri danced in front of her mournful, tearful eyes.
Four months ago—at theSigrblótfestival celebrating the fertility and plentiful bounty of spring—her beloved brother andhis beautiful betrothed had also swayed and spun in each other’s arms, in joyful anticipation of their upcoming summer solstice wedding and the Nordic festivities ofSólmánudur.
But Alberic of Soissons attackedle Château Blancand killed Dag, who died defending Étretat. The fiendish count had hurled a Dark Elven spear which had impaled her valiant brother, penetrating his chain mail armor and causing Dag’s deadly plummet from the crenellated battlements atop the castle ramparts.
Soissons had stolen Dag’s Light Elven swordGaladir.The priceless gift thatJarl Rikardhad bequeathed to him for saving the Duke’s life in a bloody battle against the Franks.
After the tribute honoring Dag’s death and burial—without the traditional Viking privilege of interment with his sacred sword—a devastated Guri and her bereaved family had moved west to the Viking settlement of Rouen.
Elfi had not seen Guri since.
Not only had she lost her sole sibling, but Elfi had also lost her closest friend. For she had loved Guri like the sister she’d never had.
Oda, seated next to Elfi on one side with Bjarke and Varg on the other, addressed Njörd, her courteous voice interrupting Elfi’s sorrowful reverie. “Wolf of the Nordic Seas,” Oda mused aloud, smiling brightly at the enormous Dane who, to Elfi’s profound relief, was not wearing his otherworldly white wolfskin cloak tonight. “Please tell us, Jarl Njörd, how did you acquire such an illustrious name?”
Casting his long, dark hair away from his bearded face with a toss of his head, Njörd grinned at Elfi’s grandmother. “I grew up swimming and fishing the fjords of Norway with my foster father, a fisherman in the seaport harbor of Bjørgvin. I was aptly named after the Viking God of the Sea,” he quipped with a wolfish grin and a wink at Elfi, “for I’ve spent my whole life on the ocean. As a lad, I sailed every day, hauling cargos of freshly caught salmon, halibut, and haddock.” He took a hearty gulp of mead and wiped hisbearded lips with the back of a scarred hand. His deep blue eyes sparkled in the firelight. “My foster father Kálf was also a seafarer, so I learned to saildrakkarandskeidlongships, like those in the fleet I have brought to thePays de Caux, as the wedding gift offered by my generous king.”
Count Skårde, seated beside Jarl Rikard, gulped his mead and wiped his blond beard with calloused fingers as he addressed Njörd. “I grew up in Norway, just like you. My foster father was a craftsman who taught me to be a woodcarver. I’ve carved a few of the dragon prows on thedrakkarships I brought fromChâteaufort. We’ve had similar upbringings, you and I.” He grinned and took another long pull of mead, friendship glinting in his blue eyes like sunlit waves on the Narrow Sea.
“Njörd has always worn his white wolfskin cloak to sail the Nordic Seas.” The Viking warrior named Áki—the tall, blond, bearded brute seated next to Njörd—grinned from ear to ear. “He’s pillaged wealthy Frisian ports, Frankish monasteries, and Christian churches. With all the gold, silver, and priceless jewels from his profitable raids, King Harald summoned him from Norway to Denmark, to establish a Viking trade center as the Danish Jarl of Ribe.” Admiration and respect resonated in the rich timbre of the Dane’s deep voice. “A seafaring marauder and incomparable warrior.Wolf of the Nordic Seas.”
Elfi was curious about the white wolfskin, but held her tongue as Njörd spoke again.
“I’ve voyaged down the Volga River from Novgorod, all the way south to the Caspian Sea. Traded with merchants from the Byzantine Empire in the capital city of Constantinople. Which is where I obtained the personal bridal gift which I would now like to present to Lady Elfi.” Njörd gestured to two male thralls who stood nearby, waiting alongside the castle wall. On the grassy ground between them was a large, ornately carved wooden chest. At their jarl’s signal, the men hoisted the trunk, carried it to the table, and placed it graciously at Elfi’s booted feet.
Her mouth dropped open. Stunned, she raised curious eyebrows and looked expectantly at Njörd. “Another bridal gift?But you’ve already offered an army of a thousand Viking warriors. And a fleet ofdrakkarships!”
“From my magnanimous king, to bless our Viking marriage.” Njörd nodded to the engraved wooden coffer. “This ismygift to you. Please, open it.” His lupine grin sent shivers down Elfi’s spine.
The heavy wooden lid, incised with intricate detail and inscribed with Nordic runes, opened by ornate brass hinges. Inside the trunk, voluminous folds of shimmery silk sparkled in the moonlight. Neither blue nor green, but an intriguing blend of both, the unique color captured all the essence of the cerulean sea. “It’s exquisite!” Elfi exclaimed in awe, lifting a corner of the exotic fabric for Oda to see.
