As the others rose from the table and fastened their cloaks, Lugh flashed a cheerful grin. “Come. I’ll lead the way.”
When they reached the edge of the forest, Lugh halted, and Njáll took hold of Luna’s hand. Moonlight cast a silvery frost over her pale blonde hair.
“Here—in the heart of the Moonlit Forest where we will build our home—I want us to wed tonight. Under the winter solstice moon ofÁlfheim.” He withdrew a silver band etched with scrolls and runes from the leather pouch at his waist.
“I offer you this ring…” he said solemnly, his deep voice reverent and rough as he slid it onto her long finger. “And with it, my vow to protect you with my life.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her smooth skin. “I swear to love only you until the day I die.”
Tears glimmered in Luna’s moonlit eyes as she gazed up at Njáll. “I accept your ring, your vow…and you as my husband.”
Lugh unbuckled the belt at his waist and removed adragonscalescabbard studded with glowing moonstones and glittering starstones which sheathed a gleamingLjósálfarsword. Attached to its ornate hilt by a dark emerald green ribbon, a silver band glimmered in the soft light. “This magnificent sword belonged to ourfaðir.I offer it to you,systir minn,to present to your husband who will now protect you in my place. Untie the ring, state your vows, and give Njáll theLjósálfarsword,Vélindor.”
Luna looked up at herbroðirwith a blend of incredulity, joy, and gratitude. She untied the ribbon, withdrew the ring, and took hold of Njáll’s large, scarred hand. Gazing up at her darkÚlfhéðinn—the amber eyes of his black wolfskin cloak glowing golden in the incandescent light—Luna slid the silver band onto his large finger.
“With this ring, I vow to stand at your side, to heal you when hurt, andto bear your babes, should the gods bless us with children.” She kissed his knuckles dusted with dark hair, then turned to Lugh to accept the heirloomblade. Holding the weapon flat across her outstretched hands, she presented it reverently to Njáll. “I offer you myfaðir’ssword,Vélindor.Forged indragonfire, adorned with agildirstarstone, and imbued withLjósálfarlight. May you wield it as myfaðironce did. And may the magic ofÁlfheimguide yourÚlhéðinnhand.”
Njáll bowed his head and took the gleaming blade from her open palms. “I accept your ring, your vow, and your sword.” He solemnly sheathed the weapon at his waist, then lifted Luna’s hands to his bearded lips. “I am honored to call you my wife.” Towering above her, he bent down and pressed a reverent, gentle kiss to her lips.
When Njáll straightened and took hold of Luna’s hand, Queen Íssla’s crystalline voice flowed like theÍsilwenspring which rippled at the edge of the forest. “As Queen of theLjósálfar, I offer you my blessing as husband and wife, duly wed this solstice night in the Moonlit Forest ofÁlfheim.” Raising her luminous hands over Luna and Njáll, she anointed them with radiantLjósálfarlight.
After the ethereal glow faded, Lugh stepped forward and inclined his head toward the queen. “It is time to return,” he said softly, offering Íssla hisdragonscaleclad elbow.
The queen slipped her arm through his, and Lugh led them all from the glimmering glade, back to the waterfall cave.
Chapter 43
Nine Ships for Paris
Úlvhild snuggled against Haldor in their warm pile of soft furs. He still slept, and she did not wish to wake him, so she lingered in bed, reminiscing about Skjöld and Skadi’s return from thePays de Caux.
As promised, they had delivered supplies each week throughout the winter, regaling Úlvhild and Haldor with tales about the winter solstice weddings atChâteau Blanc, Luna’s gift ofLjósálfarmagic to Njáll, and their moonlit vows inÁlfheim.
On several occasions, Skadi and Skjöld had been forced to stay in theDragon’s Leapcave with her and Haldorwhen an unexpected snowstorm had prevented their return to Vågan. Over shared meals and mugs of mead, they had laughed at the wild tale of theÚlfhéðnarBlade Dance and winning the coveted Blood Pelt, and how Skjöld had defeated Tryggvi in the mock battle before their fearsome uncle Sweyn.
Today, Skadi and Skjöld would arrive with sleds to help them pack up their belongings for the journey to Vågan, where they would all sail south to Normandy at long last.
Though her heart stirred at the thought of returning to the white chalk cliffs of Étretat, she was reluctant to leave the sacred refuge where Haldor had nurtured her for four glorious moons.
And beneath the longing for the belovedPays de Cauxlay a deeper unease. Once they returned to Normandy, Haldor, Skadi, and Skjöld would march to war against King Lothaire and theDökkálfar.
Dread gnawed at her belly and constricted her throat.
Haldor awakened, stretching and growling like a bear. He pressed his hardened body against her bare bottom, for they slept skin to skinunder the thick, heavy pelts. Warm lips suckled her neck and nipples, his long, skilled fingers parting her thighs and making her moan. When she lifted her leg to let him in, he impaled her with a savage thrust from behind.
As he relentlessly rubbed her sensitive nub in rhythm with the pounding of his hips, Úlvhild’s body tensed like a tightly drawn bow. When he arrowed into her, she snapped, soaring as waves and waves of pleasure washed over her, and Haldor filled her with his seed.
“Though I am anxious to return home, I hate to leave this sacred cave.” She kissed the sinewy arm wrapped beneath her neck, savoring the salty taste of his bare skin.
“We’ll make a final offering to Freyja, and leave it in her care. Perhaps we will return one day.” He stroked her hair, pressed soft lips against hers, and rose from their pile of furs.
While she cooked the final pot of barley porridge with dried lingonberries and honey, Haldor packed their belongings into the wooden trunks with the remainder of their supplies. When they’d finished the simpledagmál, she rinsed the pot clean and he stacked it among the provisions to be loaded onto the sled.
She tossed the last of the juniper berries from her pouch of herbs into the fire. As the fragrant smoke swirled up through the fissure in the cave roof where the goddess had entered to heal her, Úlvhild whispered a prayer of thanks to Freyja. “We offer juniper and mead in gratitude for your divine healing. And the gift ofFreyja’s Bloom, with which you blessed us with a daughter… and at long last, a future together.”
Haldor poured the mead into the fire and doused the flames, then tucked the mug inside their wooden trunk.
“Ready for the trip to Vågan?” Skjöld’s bearskin-clad, beaming face appeared in the doorway of the cave. Behind him stood Skadi, wrapped in a heavy cloak over warm layers of wool.
“You’re not wearing your lynx cloak,” Skadi remarked.
