And the weeks of loving her in this isolated, sacred cave.
She untied his trews, sliding them down his long, rugged legs, covered with silky dark hair like most of his beloved body.
He kicked off his boots, then his breeches, standing gloriously naked before her.
She swept her adoring gave over his scarred warrior body, which stood high and ready for her love.
“Lie down,” she whispered, removing her own leather boots, woolen gown, and linen shift as he complied.
She knelt over him, letting her long hair fall like black silk over his wide shoulders. With soft caresses, she stroked his scarred face, thick beard, and furrowed brow. Combing her fingers through his dark hair, she rubbed his head in slow circles and gently scratched his scalp.
He moaned with pleasure at her touch.
She kissed his bristled face and corded neck, working his shoulders and sinewy arms with strong, loving hands. Digging her thumbs into knotted muscles, she coaxed the tension from his taut limbs.
When she sucked each of his thumbs, he groaned as if in pain.
Úlvhild rose up onto her knees and nuzzled the dark hair on his chest, inhaling his salty, musky scent deep into her lungs.With her warm mouth, she followed the dark trail down his belly, where his hardened body pulsed with anticipation.
Darting away to tease him, she kneaded the thick muscles of his thighs like dough. When she finished massaging both of his lower legs, she sucked each large toe, as she had done with his thumbs.
A guttural growl rumbled from his twitching belly.
She traced her fingers and the tip of her tongue back up his long legs, nuzzling and licking the soft globes covered with hair where his seed was stored. Finally, she took him into her warm mouth, pressing firm lips as she slid up and down the velvety steel in deliberate, relentless rhythm.
When he shuddered, convulsed, and roared in release, she swallowed all of his seed.
Lovingly, she licked his softening shaft. When she lifted her head to look up at him, she poured all the love in herheart into her eyes as she held his intense, fiercely gratified gaze. “I love you, Haldor Falk. With every beat of my heart, every drop of my blood, and every breath I take.” Rising to her feet, she looked down at him, sprawled in blessed relief upon the soft furs. “And I always will. In this life and the next.”
Úvhild bent to pick up her linen underdress, pulling it down over her naked body. She donned the grey woolen gown next, smoothed her waist length black hair, and pulled on her catskin boots.
“Come, my love,” she murmured with a soft smile. “Let’s finish our feast.”
* * * *
She loved to watch him hunt as a falcon.
Wide grey wings flecked with deep blue and black, he’d fly from the mountaintop over the fjord, plummeting to seize prey with sharp black claws. He’d make several trips back to the ledge, dropping cod or haddock into the woven willow basket. Once he’d caught enough for their meal, he’d shift backinto human form to clean and gut the writhing fish.
When Yrjar and Bjarni had delivered supplies, they’d brought a large wooden bucket which served as a tub for quick bathing. Úlvhild melted snow over the fire, poured it into the barrel, and washed her hair with birch soap scented with yarrow and juniper. Though it was not large enough for Haldor or her to submerge in, they could wash their hair and bodies, dry off quickly, and return to the warmth of the cave.
She also loved to watch him train as a warrior.
As she often cooked over the stone hearth in the sheltered nook outside the cave, she’d admire his fluid form as he danced with spear, axe, and sword. Bare-chested despite the icy bite of November wind, he’d swing his axe in controlled strikes deep into a thick log. He’d lunge and slice with his sword, moving with power and grace forged from years in battle and at sea. As he gripped heavy stones, hoisting them high above his head before sinking into a deep crouch, steam rose from his glistening, tattooed skin.
When Yrjar, Bjarni, and Gråskegg delivered supplies, he’d engage them all in mock battles. Later, after they’d all shared a meal and theBloðsmiðrhad returned to Vågan, she would rub Haldor’s sore muscles with a soothing herbal balm of beeswax, pine oil, and yarrow.
Today, as she watched Haldor bathe in the wooden barrel after his strenuous routine, Skjöld’s deep voice bellowed from the base of the mountain.
Úlvhild’s heart dropped to her belly.
The time had come.
Now, Haldor would send word to Sigurd.
And his refusal to marry Svanhild could very well start a war.
White bearskin wrapped around his brawny shoulders, blue dragon coiled in ink around his wide neck beneath the blond braided beard, Skjöld appeared atDrekafjall, a hearty smile stretched across his tattooed face. “Haldor…Úlvhild!” he called, his voice booming like a drum as he unstrapped the heavy pack of supplies from his broad back and dropped it onto the frosted ground. “I hope you saved me some of that stew,” he quipped, flashing Úlvhild a boyish grin. “I just trudged up the mountain. And Thor’s thunder, I’m hungry as a bear!”
