With clever kennings and eloquentheiti,Egil extolled the virtues of Dag’s skilled Elven swordGaladir,imbued with the otherworldly power of theLjósálfarLugh who crafted it and the divine blessings of the Nordic gods. He depicted Dag’s prowess and dauntless courage in defeating the enemy and dying in triumph, his valiant soul carried by Valkyries to Odin’s glory in Valhalla.
Elfi was overwhelmed with emotion as she listened to Egil’s lyrical accolade for her beloved brother. But when the skald recited the refrain—the distinguishing characteristic of adrápapoem of tribute—and the flutist’s plaintive melody began, the ethereal notes of the instrument that Dag himself had played filled Elfi’s empty spirit with the replenishing music of her brother’s loving soul.
When Egil finished, the impassioned crowd roared in unanimous approval.
Jarl Rikard arose from the table, lifting his ducal arms to silence the raucous crowd. From the gleam in his glistening eyes, he had been as moved as Elfi by Egil’s incomparable skaldic verse. Richard’s vivid voice echoed through the trees.
“Tonight, we feast in Thorfinn’s castle and pray for his safe return.” Richard inclined his head respectfully to the esteemed guest of honor, a proud grin stretching across his bearded, weathered face. “We also welcome the Danish Jarl, Njörd Ívarsson, Wolf of the Nordic Seas. And the valorous Viking warriors who have come to fortify Étretat.”
Amidst thunderous applause, the Duke of Normandy directed his regal attention to the trio of skalds standing under the canopy of an enormous oak, near the stump where they had enthralled the captive crowd. “Hrafn, Stig, and Egil—each of you has exceptional talent, composing unparalleled poetic verse of praise. But this evening, for his resounding tribute of Jarl Thorfinn’sfallen son, I shall honor the sublime skald Egil.”
Richard pushed aside his red velvet cloak to reveal the wide silver bands engraved with Nordic runes which encircled his massive arms. Of inestimable value, the jarl’s arm rings represented his sovereignty as Duke of Normandy and his sworn oath to protect the Norman people. Upholding the Viking tradition ofbragarfull,Richard removed one of his ducal armbands and bestowed the rare silver gift to the awestruck skald.“Accept this ring as a token of my appreciation and admiration for the inimitableDrápa of Dag.”
While Egil marveled at the priceless ducal gift protectively cradled in the palms of his appreciative hands,Jarl Rikard raised his goblet of mead, prompting everyone to follow his commanding lead. “To the safe return of Lord Thorfinn! To the Danish army of Jarl Njörd! To the poetic genius of skalds! And to the heroicDrápa of Dag!”
Exuberant cheers and jubilant shouts of “Skál!”echoed across the Narrow Sea as musicians resumed their lively tunes. The trio of skalds joined Jarl Rikard, Count Skårde, and Oda, while Bjarke, Áki, and Varg found widows who wanted to dance.
Njörd led Elfi away from the head table, toward a more private area of the clearing at the edge of the forest. He pulled her into his arms, swirling her to the sway of the music. “TheDrápa of Dagwas a glowing tribute to your brother. I wish I could have met him.”
Elfi smiled sadly and stared into the fire. “Dag was not only my brother, but also my closest friend.” Tears blurred her vision as she looked up at Njörd, surprised to find his intimidating size oddly soothing. “Although my father always treated me like a pampered princess, Dag trained me to be skilled with a sword.” Memories flowed over her, like the secret waterfall she and Dag had found in a hidden cave. “Every day, we would spar in the clearing near the sacred grove of fir trees—the burial ground of our fallen warriors. He even gave me my sword,Shadowbane— the one that had been his before Jarl Rikard honored him withGaladir.”She dashed the tears away from her cheek and exhaled in exasperation. “But now, since Dag’s death, no one will trainwith me. Not even Bjarke, who was his best friend. No one dares to defy my overly protective father. And no one would risk harming the Heiress of Étretat.” She stopped dancing and pulled away from Njörd, angry at the injustice of being born a woman. “Myfaðirinsists that women have no place in battle and that I have no need to wield a weapon. My ability is waning from lack of use. Although I still do my dailydance with the sword—the routine of lunges, thrusts, and parries that Dag taught me—it is not enough to keep my skills sharp.” Cheeks flaming with frustration and fury, Elfi glared up at Njörd. “I vow to avenge my brother’s death. I will reclaimGaladirso that Dag can be honorably buried with hisLjósálfarsword in the sacred grove. I will slay the Frankish bastard who took his life and stole his priceless blade. I will kill the bloody Count of Soissons!”
The steely eyes of a seasoned Viking warlord fixed her with a resolute stare. “I will spar with you, Elfi. Hone your skills with a sword. Teach you to hurl a dagger. And fire flaming arrows.” Njörd grasped her hands and drew her close, his mesmerizing gaze never leaving hers. “Once we are wed, you will rule as my equal.ChâtelaineofChâteau Blancand Countess of Étretat. You will defend our castle—and thePays de Caux—as a warrior wife at my proud side.”
Elfi searched the scarred, savage face of her betrothed. Loyalty and sincerity blazed in his steadfast gaze. In the profound depths of his dark blue eyes, she—the girl who had grown up swimming in the secret coves and inlets of the Narrow Sea, whose immense love for the ocean had earned her the nickname “Mermaid of Étretat” — felt an inexplicable, innate bond with the intriguing Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Like Dag, he sees the fire in my heart which fuels my sword. In his aquatic gaze, I feel the irresistible call of the sea. Njörd is a fierce lupine warrior who will train and teach me. And awaken in me a passion I have never known.
Her voice quavered as she responded to his uplifting promise and unsettling presence. “There is no greater gift you could offer me. I’ll be forevergrateful if you train me. And teach me to wield the weapons which I do not yet know.” Excitement and adrenaline surging at the prospect of practicing weaponry again, Elfi impulsively stood on her tiptoes and kissed Njörd’s bearded cheek. The stroke of dark stubble and the scent of the sea inundated her senses and stirred her soul. Shaken, she stepped back to calm her ragged breath. She looked up at him expectantly, elated with anticipation. “When can we begin?”
He flashed her a wolfish grin. “Soon, my impatient bride. Very soon.” He glanced around at the dying fire and dwindling crowd, watching as several couples headed toward the village together. He chuckled softly. “Many of my warriors are quite taken with your widows. I suspect we’ll have weddings each week on Frigg’s Day,” he remarked, referring to Friday, the traditional day for Viking marriages. “Like our own. On the Nordic Yule.” Delight danced in his dark lupine eyes as he lowered his lips to softly brush hers.
A wave of longing washed over Elfi, drenching her with unexpected desire.
“Come, let’s rejoin the others. It’s time to say goodnight.” Njörd took hold of her trembling hand and led a shaken Elfi back to the table of honor, where her grandmother chatted amicably with Jarl Rikardand Count Skårde.
Oda looked up and smiled at their approach.
“As much as I hate to give her back,” Njörd quipped with a disarming grin, “I must return my betrothed to heramma.” He inclined his head to Oda, then fisted his chest in respectful salute to Richard, the Duke of Normandy,and Skårde, the Count of thePays de Caux. “Thank you for honoring us with a welcoming feast fit for the gods. And for the longhouse you converted into a royal hall for my top-ranking men and me. Tomorrow, I’ll show you some of the architectural advancements I discovered during trading expeditions to the Byzantine Empire. We can greatly improve the defense ofle Château Blancby adding a few strategic fortifications along the battlements and ramparts of the outer curtain wall. I’ll explain everything, after we break our fast.For now, I bid you all goodnight.” He turned toward Elfi and bent to kiss her hand. “Until tomorrow, Lady Elfi of Étretat.”
She watched him stride away, long dark hair tumbling in thick waves down his broad back, woolen breeches and leather boots outlining his rugged, muscular legs.My sparring partner. My weapons trainer. My future husband.Another shiver rippled up Elfi’s spine.
Later, after thralls had brought the carved chest with Njörd’s bridal gift of blue silk up to her chamber, Elfi removed the exquisite necklace he had insisted she wear tonight. As she laid it upon the black velvet inside the silver case, the turquoise, lapis lazuli, and emerald gems glistened in the slivers of moonlight slicing through the open window.
This once belonged to a Persian princess. Njörd knew at once that it was meant for his future bride. And now, it is mine. Freyja, forgive my foolish pride, but I love it. It has all the mystery of the Nordic Seas. Like Njörd himself.
Sif came up behind her and whispered with awe. “It’s so beautiful…you will be a breathtaking Viking bride.”
Elfi beamed at the gentle thrall who was more like a sister than servant. She closed the silver case and tucked the necklace back inside the wooden chest with the blue silk which would soon be transformed into the wedding dress she would wear for her Yuletide marriage to Njörd Ívarrsson. Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Sif unbraided the long, slender plaits which graced each side of Elfi’s face. Breathless with anticipation, the pretty young thrall excitedly shared a confidence. “I met someone tonight at the feast. His name is Bodo, and he’s a newcomer in the village. He’s a stone cutter who has come to rebuild the damaged wall around the castle.” She helped Elfi out of her grey woolen gown and into a cotton shift for sleeping. Sif’s mouth curled up into a sweet, shy smile. “I danced with him tonight, and he kissed me. I know, as a slave, I’m not free to marry without your father’s permission. But I can still hope and dream.” Her expressive brown eyes twinkled with delight. “Do youthink it’s possible to fall in love so quickly?”
Elfi hugged Sif tight, rocking her back and forth with unabashed joy. “I’m so happy for you! And yes, I do believe it’s possible to fall in love so quickly.” She gazed up at the glowing moon, remembering her own seductive dance and exhilarating kiss with the enigmatic Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Perhaps, sweet Sif, you are not the only one.
Chapter 6
Wolf of the Nordic Seas
