Page 90 of The Last Viking

Now his long fingers cradled the goblet of wine. Speaking in English, he prayed, “Odin, we draw this nectar from your well of knowledge. May you bring us the wisdom to deal well with each other in this marriage journey we begin today. Especially give Merry-Death the wisdom to know when to give up the fight.”

“Hah!”

He took a sip of the wine, then turned the goblet, pressing it to her lips so she could drink from the same spot. The cold metal seemed to carry the seductive heat of his mouth.

After she’d sipped the ruby liquid, he gave her a satisfied nod, and picked up the hammer. “Thor, god of thunder, I take in hand your mighty hammer, Mjollnir. This I pledge: I will protect my wife from all peril. I will use the fighting skills learned at your feet to crush her enemies. Let it be known forevermore. Her foe are now my foe. My foe are her foe. The shield of the Yngling clan is now our shield.” With that, he raised the hammer and crushed the stone.

Meredith jumped and Dog jerked his head up. Dog gave them an inquisitive glance from his good eye, then went back to sleep.

Next, Rolf moved to the bowl of seeds, taking a pinch between his thumb and forefinger. “Frey, god of fertility and prosperity,” he began.

Fertility? Meredith stiffened and tried to step away, but she was hampered by the beam at her back.

Giving her a reproving scowl, he sprinkled some of the seeds over her breasts, as well as his own chest, and continued. “We implore not fertility or great wealth in this marriage, oh, great Frey. What we seek, instead, is that you bless us with the richness of love…and an abundance of passion.” His lips twitched at that last, though he remained unsmiling. She suspected passion wasn’t part of the traditional ritual.

The lout! Okay, the adorable lout, Meredith admitted to herself. She was melting with each word of the poignant ceremony, as he’d probably known she would.

After that, he took the knife, walked behind her, and ran the razor-sharp blade over the skin of her inner wrist. Peering back over her shoulder, she saw a thin line of blood immediately appear. She gaped at it in horror. “You are a barbarian.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Didst I e’er say otherwise?” He sliced his own wrist then and took the gold cord, binding their two hands together, wrist to wrist. He worked from an awkward position, having to secure his left hand to her right, behind her back—certainly not the way the ceremony was intended to go, she was sure. This position also caused him to be standing very close to her, hips and thighs touching. His warm breath fanned the side of her face.

“As my blood melds with yours, Merry-Death, so shall my seed. From this day forth, you are my beloved.” He took her chin in a firm grip and forced her to look at him. Seeing that her eyes were brimming with tears, he clenched his jaw, then jutted it out imperiously. He probably thought she cried because she was so unhappy. The dolt! “You will repeat the words after me now,” he charged.

Hmmm, We’ll see. I haven’t done what you’ve ordered so far.

“With this mingling of our blood, I pledge thee my troth…”

Well, that wasn’t too bad. I guess I could concede that much. “With this mingling of our blood, I pledge thee my troth,” she said. To her chagrin, her voice came out wobbly with emotion.

He sighed, as if relieved that she wasn’t going to make this any more difficult. “From the beginning of time, to the end of time…”

She repeated the words softly, “From the beginning of time, to the end of time.”

“…let it be known that I, Geirolf Ericsson, give my heart to thee, Merry-Death Foster.”

A little sob escaped Meredith’s throat at the beauty of his declaration. Could she say this? She’d be pledging a lot more than her troth. She’d be promising to love him forever. But that was a given. No matter how arrogant or overbearing his demand that she marry, then divorce him, she would never stop loving him. So she said the words, with her own interpretation, “…let it be known that I, Meredith Foster, give my heart and soul to the damnedest Viking in the world, Geirolf Ericsson.”

Rolf let himself smile now. “It is done.”

“What’s done?”

“We are wed,” he said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against her lips.

“We are?” She wished he would kiss her longer, or deeper, but he probably feared she’d nip his tongue off. She just might. She realized belatedly that he’d won this battle of wills, after all. “Is it permitted for the bride to bite her husband?”

“Only in the bedsport.”

“Don’t think that I’ve surrendered.”

He grinned. “The heavens would collapse first, I warrant.”

“How about untying me, oh sarcastic one?”

“Will you still fight me, oh obstinate one?”

“Probably.”

“Good,” he laughed. “Every warrior loves a good battle. It makes the victory all the sweeter.”