Across the clearing, where light snow dusted the frozen grass, he set the clean pelts to dry on a rack of branches, their soft fur already catching the pale sunlight that filtered through the mountain mist. Wrapping the fresh meat in linen cloth to bring into the cave for tonight’snáttmál,he strode toward her, a broad grin stretching across his scarred, handsome face.
“That smells like a feast. Tell me it’s ready.”
She laughed with sheer delight. “It is indeed. Bring these inside,” she said, handing him the wooden platter upon which she’d laid the skewered birds. The crispy skins glistened golden in the morning sun, and the rich aroma made her belly rumble. Wrapping a thick cloth around her hand, she lifted the bronze pot of fish stew to carry into the cave. “Let’s eat before it goes cold.”
He parted the reindeer hides for her to enter the cavern, following her inside where the fire crackled in the small stone hearth, the crisp scent of juniper wafted in the warm air, and soft furs spread on the ground promised comfort.
“I’m glad you made us a table,” she said, nodding toward the wooden plank Yrjar and Bjarni had hauled by sled along with firewood, barley, honey, and salt. Worn smooth by years of wind and wave, it had once served as part of a dock in Vågan before breaking loose in a storm.
Úlvhild set the pot down on the table and slipped off her lynx cloak, carefully hanging it on a wooden peg Yrjar had hammered into a crack of the cave wall with the back of his axe. Haldor shrugged off his heavy reindeer hide, looping it over a hook next to hers.
As he fetched the barley bread, bowls, and spoons, Úlvhild stirred crushed hazelnuts and tangy bilberries with warm honey for a fruit dessert to savor after the stew. She ladled the fresh haddock soup into the wooden bowls, then settled across from Haldor at their small table, seated upon folded hides and furs which servedas soft cushions against the hard stone floor.
They ate the roasted birds straight from the skewers, tearing in with their teeth. The meat beneath was tender and rich, juices running down their fingers with each bite.
Úlvhild closed her eyes, savoring the salt and smoke on her tongue. “Crisp skin and juicy meat. Just right,” she hummed, licking a bit of fat from the corner of her mouth.
Haldor grinned. “A feast fit for Freyja,” he said, reaching for another. “You are a fine cook,elska minn.”
She smiled, her heart overflowing with love. How happy she would be to live like this with him forever.
As his wife.
A gulp of water from her mug of melted snow caught in her throat, and she choked back tears that stung her eyes. Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she smoothed the skirt of her warm woolen gown. “Skjöld and Skadi should be returning soon,” she said brightly, masking the heaviness in her heart. “I’m sure he was overjoyed to see his parents and sister again. And Skårde and Ylva must be so proud of the warrior he’s become. With waves and runes inked on his arms… the massive blue dragon on his neck. And the white bearskin cloak that gives him the savage look of a berserker… I imagine they didn’t recognize him at first.”
When Haldor sucked his fingers, her nipples ached at the thought of his warm lips on her breasts. A wave of desire flooded her, pooling between her trembling thighs.
“He was nervous about asking for Skårde’s blessing to wed Skadi.” Haldor drained his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The ouroboros ring on his small finger glinted in the firelight. “But how could they refuse aLjósálfarhealer who shifts into afrostdragon?”His gusty laughter was like a song for Úlvhild’s aching heart.
She broached the subject neither of them wished to face. “You must send theBloðsmiðrwith your answer to Sigurd when Skjöld returns. He demands a response by the winter solstice. You cannot delay any longer.”
Haldor’s brow furrowed and his face darkened. He stood abruptly, wiped the grease from his fingers, and turned awayfrom her gaze. “I’m going to check the pelts,” he announced flatly. Grabbing his reindeer hide from the hook, he swung it over his shoulders and swept out of the cave.
She waited a while before donning the beautiful lynx cloak he had given her and stepping outside where the crisp mountain air and the fresh tang of the fjord blended with the brine of the sea.
The wind whipped strands of her long black hair—she wore it loose, the way he liked—as she made her way toward him, the frozen ground crunching under her boots. Overhead, guillemots and gulls squawked as they soared on the sea breeze through the wispy clouds.
He was venting his anger by kneading the pelts, working the leather so the fur would be soft. He didn’t look up as she approached, nor did he speak.
She ran her bare fingers through his thick hair.
He shot to his feet and spun toward her, crushing her in his arms and bending her back to claim her lips. Rough, ragged, and raw, he devoured them, groaning as he plunged in with his tongue. He kissed her face, neck, and shoulders, frantic and fierce, then growled into her ear. “I willnotwed Svanhild. I only want you.”
He tore his face from her throat, despair and desire raging in his dark falcon eyes. “And if you refuse to marry me,” he choked, “so be it. We’ll be lovers for the rest of our lives.”
Úlvhild beheld the broken man she loved more than life. They had been apart for eight long, lonely years. And now that they were finally together, she wanted to treasure every last moment before fate tore them apart again.
She gazed into his pleading eyes, seeing the primal need laid bare before her.
Haldor had been nurturing Úlvhild for weeks. Now, he was the one who needed healing.
Without a word, she took his hand and led himback into the cave.
To nourish his soul with her love.
Inside, as the fragrant fire crackled in the hearth, she removed her lynx cloak first, then his, hanging them on hooks near the reindeer hides at the mouth of the cave. She led him to their bed of soft furs, stopped before him, and silently lifted the woolen tunic up over his shoulders.
She nuzzled the dark hair on his broad chest, tracing fingertips over the shimmering falcon feathers which glimmered with otherworldly light. Theseiðrfjáðr—thesoulbound runewhich joined them—glowed with golden and violet fire above his pounding heart. Úlvhild traced her tongue over the feather-shaped mark, swirling the tip over the spiral center, symbol of theseiðrmagic through which Haldor had kept her alive by pouring his soul into hers during the long voyage from Ísland.
