“Careful, lads—he’s anoaidinow. He might curse your balls off if you mock him!”
“Look what the wind dragged home. A bear in boots!”
“Is that really Skjöld, or did Haldor trade the boy for a berserker?”
When the good-natured mockery eventually subsided, Haldor introduced the captain and new crew members they’d taken on in Vågan. “You’ll want to know how we came by the second ship,Dragonfire. Hjálmarr here earned his place at the helm. I’ll tell you the tale tonight over mugs of mead. But first, there are old friends waiting. Let’s not keep them.” Leather armor with overlapping plates like wings of a falcon gleaming in the golden sun, Haldor led the procession from the rocky beach, up the stone stairs, with Skjöld close behind him.
When they reached the top of the cliff, theÚlfhéðnarsurged forward, howling and hugging Haldor as their long-lost brother-in-arms. Eyesflashing with recognition, his grin as sharp as his teeth, Úlf caught Haldor in a crushing embrace that lifted him off his feet. “Still got bones, or did the sea turn you to fish?”
Hrólf Redbeard thumped his back hard enough to rattle his ribs, then threw back his head and howled. When the others joined in, their raucous roars echoed like thunder across the fjord. It was wild, primal and raw—the way wolves welcome their own.
After returning the back-breaking hugs and shoulder slaps, Haldor spoke to the white wolf with eyes as blue and deep as the Nordic Seas. “You’re Brökk’s son. I recognized you at once.” His low voice was laced with reverence. "Fálkhöllstill stands because of your father’s sacrifice. And now… here stands his son." Haldor pulled the White Wolf warrior into a firm embrace which honored the bloodshed and shared grief that bound them.
“This is Brökk’s son, Njörd. Known as theWolf of the Nordic Seas.” Bodo, clad in his brown wolfskin cloak over chain mail armor, formally introduced the White Wolf warrior to Haldor and Skjöld. TheÚlfhedinngestured to a lovely young woman with long brown hair streaked with gold whose striking eyes were a vivid blend of blue and green, like the sea. “And Njörd/s betrothed. Lady Elfi Thorfinsdóttir, the Heiress of Étretat.”
Haldor remembered meeting Elfi years ago as a child, when he had come to Normandy and accepted Skjöld as his acolyte. “I remember you as a lovely young girl. And now, your beauty is even more radiant, like dawn blossomed into day.” He took her hand and lifted it to his bearded lips, bestowing a gallant kiss upon her slender fingers.
Haldor greeted Lugh and Luna, theLjósálfarsiblings who guarded the alabaster coast of thePays de Cauxfor Jarl Rikard, the Duke of Normandy whom Haldor considered a close ally and fiercely loyal friend. He met the remainingLjósálfarat their side, then presented Skjöld and Hjálmarr to the assembled group. While theBlóðsmiðrand the crews ofFreyja’s FalconandDragonfirefollowed thehuskarlartoward the bath houses and communal lodging for warriors behind the Great Hall, Haldor strode across the windswept grass toward Úlvhild, who stood apart from the others, patiently awaiting his approach.
Without a word, he swept her into his arms, his eager lips tentative, then claiming, as they sought hers, offering a silent promise of what was yet to come. When he finally tore himself away, he rested his forehead against her brow, his deep voice rough with emotion. “I should never have left you so long.”
She reached up to stroke his bristled cheek, her golden eyes glimmering with tears. “Welcome home, my love. I cannot wait until we are alone.”
“Nor can I.” Haldor’s spirit soared as he took her hand and led her toward the others. With a broad smile and a full heart, he invited them into his hall. “Come inside. Let us drink to old friends and new beginnings.”
Chapter 14
Rekindling the Magic
At the entrance toFálkhöll, Úlf bellowed above the noisy din. “You've been at sea too long,Falcon. We’ll not keep you from your rest. Or from Úlvhild." A wolfish grin broke across his blond bearded face while the wolf warriors whistled and howled."We’ll head down into Tórshavn, stir up the market, and have our blades honed. We’ll be back by nightfall. Enjoy your rest. You’ve earned it."
Njörd inclined his head to Haldor, and Elfi smiled knowingly at Úlvhild before linking her arm through her betrothed’s. The White Wolf led her along the trodden path which wound down the black cliff behindFálkhölltoward the bustling village of Tórshavn. They were joined by Bodo and Elfi’s maid Sif, Njáll and Luna, Úlf and the raucousÚlfhéðnar,followed by Lugh and the refined, luminousLjósálfar.
Skjöld, his eyes wild with longing for the unknown, seemed drawn to the untamed energy and chaotic revelry of the wolves as he stood hesitantly at the entrance door with Yrjar.
“You hear the call of the wild, don’t you, lad?” The berserker goaded Skjöld with a taunting grin. “Come, your brothers are howling. Let’s go into town…or would you rather sit here and soak with old men?”
“I’ll return before nightfall,” Skjöld said to Haldor. “The sea hasn't left my bones yet. I need to walk it off …with them.”
Yrjar let out a gusty laugh and wrapped a burly arm around Skjöld’s shoulder. As he hauled Skjöld toward the howling wolves headed into town, he hollered back at Haldor.
“Don’t worry, Falcon. We won’t break your pup. Just rattle his ribs a bit.”
Haldor chuckled as he watched the two bearskin-clad brutes barrel down the pebbled path. With a wry smile, he turned back to Úlvhild, whose amber eyes glittered like molten gold. As he imagined his belovedvölvanaked atop his pile of furs, Viggo’s voice interrupted Haldor’s lusty thoughts.
“I’ve prepared your bath, my lord. All is ready in your private quarters.” The competent, capablebrytihanded Haldor the key to his personal chamber. “Welcome home, my jarl.Fálkhöllis yours once again.”
“Thank you, Viggo. Prepare a feast for this evening. I’ll want to reconnect with my allies, share tales over mead. See that it is done.” Haldor dismissed his loyal stewardwith a nod, then led Úlvhild across the vast hall where the central hearth provided warmth from the biting, salty wind. They walked together down the side corridor which connected the hearth room to the private quarters behind the dais where servants were preparing the high table for tonight’s welcoming feast.
Haldor slid the iron key into the ornate lock and opened the heavy oaken door carved with images of falcons and runes. Inside the large chamber, a bed piled with furs stood along one wall, with a wooden table and two chairs nearby. A set of shelves displayed runestones, engraved bones, vials of herbs and oils, with a silver chalice, several candles, and a dagger whose elaborate hilt glittered with glowing gems. Beside a narrow window facing east, flames flickered in a stone hearth along the exterior wall. And in the center of the room, fragrant steam scented with sage rose from the large wooden tub.
As Haldor closed and bolted the door behind them, Úlvhild fetched a few juniper berries from the pouch at her waist and tossed them into the fire. The crisp, piney scent wafted into the warm air. She ran delicate fingertips along the wooden shelves, gazing out the small window at the waves which crashed upon the black cliff far below. “Fálkhöllis even more magnificent than I imagined.” She smiled, her pale face even more lovely without the thick blue paint. Although Haldor had lived with her for months at a timethroughout the nearly twenty winters they had been lovers, it had always been in King Harald’s royal hall in Norway, or Úlvhild’s thatched roof huts in Normandy. This was the first time she had ever been to Tórshavn. And Haldor wanted to keep her here, as his wife, for the rest of their lives.
After eight long winters apart, he vowed to never leave her again.
“Let me bathe you,” she crooned, removing the leather harness and theÍsfálkrspear strapped across his back, along with the sheathed swordSeiðrvingr,belted at his waist. With loving care, she hung the weapons on hooks near the bolted heavy door, then returned to unfasten the straps of his leather armor, as she had done so many times throughout the years. Piece by piece, she unbuckledthe cuirass from his torso, the wing-shaped pauldron plates which covered his shoulders, and the vambraces adorned with falcon feathers strapped upon his forearms. When she had stripped him bare, she laid the armor upon the bedside table and placed his leather boots on the pinewood floor.
Ardent longing in her lustful gaze, she swept appreciative eyes over his aroused, aching body. “Come,” she whispered, taking him by the hand and leading him toward the steaming bath. “I have chamomile soap for your hair. And scented oils to soothe your tired limbs.”
