Runar nodded. ‘Most likely. We should gather everything you want for decorations this morning. By this afternoon the snow will be too heavy to do anything more than stay indoors and wait for it to pass.’
‘I only need some mistletoe. We have plenty of straw, spruce, and berries for the rest.’ Embla laid the evergreen branch she had just cut into the large basket he carried. There was also another larger pack on his back full of items. It had been a productive day of gathering. ‘Are you sure you are fine carrying so much? I feel guilty treating you like a pack horse.’
He shrugged. ‘I have carried a stag across the mountains by myself. A few twigs are nothing.’
Smiling, she smoothed her hand down his arm in a light caress of gratitude before turning away. It was enough to ignite his lust, and he had to stare up into the grey sky to distract himself for a moment and regain control.
‘I think there is some mistletoe just to the right of here,’ he said, keen to be done with foraging.
Once she had everything she needed, he could take her back to their warm cabin, and shut out the icy wind. He was looking forward to the blizzard, as it would give him an excuse to spend all day with her, preferably in their bed.
‘Unless you wish to return home now?’ he suggested, a little too enthusiastically.
He hoped she felt the same. Last night had been wonderful, and he could not wait to explore more pleasures with her. He had plans...and not only regarding the Yuletide celebrations.
‘Oh, but we have to have mistletoe!’ she exclaimed, as if he had suggested something terrible.
‘Why? What is the significance of mistletoe? I am not very good at remembering Norse traditions. My mother and father tended not to follow them.’
He gestured for her to walk ahead of him, and pointed in the general direction of where he had seen some woven into a tree.
Mistletoe was a pest in nature, using its host tree for sustenance. He could see no reason why it would be important to a midwinter festival. Although he supposed its white berries were pretty...if poisonous.
Embla gave him a sly smile before walking on ahead. ‘It is associated with Odin and Frigg’s son Baldr, who was the most beautiful and honourable of the gods. But Baldr became troubled by dreams of his own death. Fearing for his life, the goddess Frigg insisted that all things from the earth should swear an oath that they would not harm her son. Everything, including rocks, water, metal, and plants, gave their word they would not harm him. Baldr became invincible, and the gods amused themselves throwing all manner of things at him, knowing that nothing could kill him.
‘But trickster Loki saw that Frigg had forgotten mistletoe, which grew within a tree and not from the earth, and so he made a spear from its twisted branches. He gave the spear to Baldr’s blind brother, Hodr, and without realising it, Hodr threw the only weapon that could kill his brother. Frigg rushed to her fallen son, but it was too late, and he died in her arms. Frigg’s tears fell on the mistletoe and they turned into berries. The berries brought Baldr back to life, and she declared the plant a symbol of undying love.’
‘What a strange story. Why would you bless a plant that killed your child?’
Embla gave an adorable snort of laughter that made her cheeks rosy. ‘You are right! I suppose it is an odd tale, and I have heard a different version of it in Gudvangen. Where Baldr was not saved by Frigg’s tears, and instead had to remain in Hel until Ragnarök... Although, I prefer my version.’
She gave a sudden squeal of delight when she saw the plant up ahead, and ran over to the tree. Hopping up and down, she tried to reach for it, but failed. Runar walked over, gripped the plant, and pulled it down so that she could cut whatever branches she wished from it.
‘Thank you,’ she said, using shears to cut pieces from it and placing them carefully in the basket hanging from his elbow.
‘So, it symbolises undying love?’ he asked casually, although the weight of the words felt heavy in his throat. He had not understood what they truly meant until he met Embla.
She blushed prettily. ‘Yes, some people kiss beneath it...for luck.’
Runar was still holding a fist full of the plant over their heads, and he leaned down towards her. ‘Have you ever shared a kiss beneath it?’
If she had, he wanted to wipe the memory from her mind. If not, then he would make sure she remembered this kiss forever.
‘No,’ she whispered, her eyes staring at his mouth expectantly.
He smiled, glad their minds were in harmony with each other. He closed the gap between them.
‘For luck,’ he said, and she giggled.
As his mouth drew near, her eyes softly closed, and then their lips met in a gentle caress. It felt as if they had sealed their fate with that kiss, and so he pressed another against her mouth, this one firmer and more insistent. She opened beneath him with a sigh. If he were to fall, he might as well fall hard; anything less would not satisfy him.
Releasing the branch, he let it snap back into position. A spray of snow fluttered lightly over them with icy kisses like frozen butterflies.
They both laughed as he tried his best to shelter her from the flurry of snow, but it was soon forgotten as he deepened the kiss.
Embla did not seem to mind. Nothing matched the heat of their own embrace, and he gathered her close until she was breathlessly clinging on to him. Hungry desire burned so hotly within him that he wondered if they would ever appease it. He doubted it.
More snow began to fall, and he realised the blizzard had begun. Taking her hand in his, he swiftly led her back home.
