She shot to her feet, dashed across the snow-dusted clearing, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his bristled cheek. “Welcome back,” she cried, overjoyed to see him, yet dreading the inevitable future that loomed with his arrival. “Of course there’s plenty of stew. Come inside—Haldor just finished his training, and I’m certain he’s as famished as you.”
Skjöld took in her new lynx cloak, admiration and awe in his deep blue gaze. “You look like a cat goddess,” he mused, removing a leather glove to stroke the soft silvery fur. As Haldor joined them—wrapping a burly arm around Skjöld’s neck and pulling him into a rough, affectionate embrace—he added, “You’ll have to tell me the tale over mugs of mead. I’ve brought a small barrel in my pack.”
Úlvhild unloaded the food supplies, stacking the jar of honey, sacks of barley, leather pouch of coarse salt, loaves of flatbread, dried lingonberries and apples, and a small wheel of goat cheese wrapped in a linen cloth on the stone shelf at the rear of the cave. Haldor stacked the firewood beside the hearth and unrolled a bundle of kindling wrapped in birch bark. He spread two new woolen blankets onto their bed of furs, and placed a coiled rope and small pouch of nails beside his seax near the mouth of the cave.
When the two men settled onto furs around the hearth, Úlvhild served them all fish stew. She unwrapped the fresh oatcakes and goat cheese that Skjöld had brought, blending lingonberries, crushed hazelnuts, and warm honey in a small wooden bowl.
Skjöld slathered the soft cheese over his oatcake, spooned the sweet, tangy fruit and nut mixture on top, and popped the whole thing in his mouth. He moaned with pleasure, washing it down with mouthfuls of golden mead.
Úlvhild shot Haldor an amused look, the two of them laughing athis youthful exuberance and bearlike appetite.
“I’ll steam these outside the cave. Won’t take but a few moments. Be back soon.” While the men devoured the haddock stew, Úlvhild took an iron pot, poured in a splash of clean water, and added the fresh mussels and clams Skjöld had brought with the supplies. She lugged it outside the cave, and set it over the glowing embers in the enclosed hearth. When the shells popped open, she carefully hauled the steaming pot back inside, setting in on a flat rock near the fire to cool. The briny tang of the sea mingled with the juniper-spiced smoke and the fresh herbal scent of the savory haddock stew.
They pried the tender meat with the tip of their knives, eating straight from the blade, tossing the discarded shells into a large bowl to be tossed back into the sea.
Haldor wiped his beard and fingers, then reached for his mug of mead. “To Úlvhild,” he said with a wry smile, falcon eyes fierce with fire. “Cat goddess in a lynx cloak…völvawith healing hands and warm heart… who fights like a Valkyrie and cooks like Freyja herself.” He grinned at Skjöld, then gazed back to her. Though his tone was light and playful, longing lingered in his sorrowful eyes. “Now, if I can just make her my wife…”
Úlvhild lowered her head and sipped her mead to hide the tears which threatened to spill. She forced a smile and asked Skjöld for news from Normandy. “It must have been wonderful to see your parents and sister after all these winters. Did yourfaðirgrant permission for you and Skadi to wed?”
Skjöld’s handsome, eager face lit up with joy. “Indeed he did. They were both quite taken with her—as were Jarl Rikard and Lord Thorfinn. Not only did myfaðirgive us his blessing, he’s arranged for us to wed on the winter solstice, alongside Elfi and Njörd. Thorfinn gave Sif her freedom—she’s no longer a thrall—so she and Bodo will marry at the same time. A trinity of winter solstice weddings atChâteau Blanc!”
Úlvhild smiled with genuine pleasure at Skjöld’s elation and bright future. But her heart clenched at the mention of the winter solstice.
When Haldor would have to send word to Jarl Sigurd.
“That’s wonderful! I wish we could attend the weddings,” she said, masking her dread with cheer. “But we must remain here in theDragon’s Leapcave through the winter.”
Haldor sipped his mead, wiped his mouth, and nodded. “Freyja’s orders,” he smirked, winking at Úlvhild.
“You look well, Úlvhild.” Skjöld gripped her hand and raised it to his lips. Concern and compassion shone in his deep blue eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Much better, yet I still tire easily. Haldor is taking very good care of me.” She reached across the table and squeezed his calloused hand.
Desire and devotion blazed in his fierce falcon gaze.
“The way he’s taken care of me for the past eight winters.” Skjöld lifted his mug. “To Haldor. Mentor, trainer, and friend. I shall always be grateful to you for making me into a warrior,vitki, andnoaidi.” He raised his mug higher. “To Haldor…Skál!”
After they all drank in tribute, Skjöld set his mug down and grinned impishly, his eyes flicking between Úlvhild and Haldor. “I bring surprising news—something you will both want to hear.” He leaned forward, clearly eager to share. “Myfaðir,Jarl Rikad, and Lord Thorfinn discussed the problem of Jarl Sigurd… and your wish to refuse his offer.”
He grinned wider and took a long pull of mead. When he slammed his mug down on the table, Úlvhild jumped in her seat.
“So,” he said with a spark in his eye, “myfaðirsuggested marrying Tryggvi to Svanhild instead. Sigurd could hardly be insulted by that—not when the groom is the grandson of King Harald Bluetooth…and Richard the Fearless, Duke of Normandy!”
Úlvhild’s mouth dropped open as she looked at Haldor in disbelief.
He wouldn’t have to refuse Sigurd and invoke his wrath.
Nor would he have to wed Svanhild.
Overwhelmed andoverjoyed, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Haldor’s warm arms wrapped around her, lifting Úlvhild to her feet.
Elation, relief, gratitude, and fierce love blazed in his dark, fiery gaze. “A future for us at long last.” He lowered soft, full lips and gently brushed hers, whispering sweet words of promise. “We shall be together… forevermore. And never live apart again.”
Chapter 34
Moonflowers on the Vine
