Chapter 33 #2
Inside, as the fragrant fire crackled in the hearth, she removed her lynx cloak first, then his, hanging them on hooks near the reindeer hides at the mouth of the cave. She led him to their bed of soft furs, stopped before him, and silently lifted the woolen tunic up over his shoulders.
She nuzzled the dark hair on his broad chest, tracing fingertips over the shimmering falcon feathers which glimmered with otherworldly light.
The seierfjáer—the soulbound rune which joined them—glowed with golden and violet fire above his pounding heart.
úlvhild traced her tongue over the feather-shaped mark, swirling the tip over the spiral center, symbol of the seier magic through which Haldor had kept her alive by pouring his soul into hers during the long voyage from ísland.
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 her heart 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 back into 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 Gr?skegg delivered supplies, he’d engage them all in mock battles. Later, after they’d all shared a meal and the Bloesmier had returned to V?gan, 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, Skjold’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, Skjold appeared at Drekafjall, 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! ”
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. ”
Skjold 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 Skjold’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 Skjold had brought, blending lingonberries, crushed hazelnuts, and warm honey in a small wooden bowl.
Skjold 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 at his 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 Skjold 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…volva with healing hands and warm heart… who fights like a Valkyrie and cooks like Freyja herself.” He grinned at Skjold, 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 Skjold for news from Normandy. “It must have been wonderful to see your parents and sister after all these winters. Did your faeir grant permission for you and Skadi to wed?”
Skjold’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 my faeir give us his blessing, he’s arranged for us to wed on the winter solstice, alongside Elfi and Njord.
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 at Chateau Blanc! ”
úlvhild smiled with genuine pleasure at Skjold’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 the Dragon’s Leap cave through the winter.”
Haldor sipped his mead, wiped his mouth, and nodded. “Freyja’s orders,” he smirked, winking at úlvhild.
“You look well, úlvhild.” Skjold 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.” Skjold lifted his mug. “To Haldor. Mentor, trainer, and friend. I shall always be grateful to you for making me into a warrior, vitki, and noaidi.” He raised his mug higher. “To Haldor…Skál!”
After they all drank in tribute, Skjold 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.
“My faeir, 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, “my faeir suggested 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 and overjoyed, 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.”