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 Skjold and Skadi’s return from the Pays de Caux.
As promised, they had delivered supplies each week throughout the winter, regaling úlvhild and Haldor with tales about the winter solstice weddings at Chateau Blanc, Luna’s gift of Ljósálfar magic to Njáll, and their moonlit vows in álfheim.
On several occasions, Skadi and Skjold had been forced to stay in the Dragon’s Leap cave with her and Haldor when an unexpected snowstorm had prevented their return to V?gan.
Over shared meals and mugs of mead, they had laughed at the wild tale of the úlfhéenar Blade Dance and winning the coveted Blood Pelt, and how Skjold had defeated Tryggvi in the mock battle before their fearsome uncle Sweyn.
Today, Skadi and Skjold would arrive with sleds to help them pack up their belongings for the journey to V?gan, 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 beloved Pays de Caux lay a deeper unease. Once they returned to Normandy, Haldor, Skadi, and Skjold would march to war against King Lothaire and the Dokkálfar.
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 skin under 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 simple dagmál, 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 of Freyja’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 V?gan?” Skjold’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.
“Nei,” úlvhild replied as she and Haldor stepped out of the cave and onto the snow covered ground. “I did not want the dampness and salt spray to ruin the delicate fur. It’s safely stored inside my trunk for the sea voyage.”
“As is my silver fox cape—in our chambers at Chateau Blanc,” Skadi said, referring to úlvhild’s wedding gift. “Like you, I did not want to damage the magnificent fur.”
Once their belongings were secured onto the two sleds, which Skadi and Skold pulled down the mountain behind them on skis, Haldor helped úlvhild slowly descend the treacherous slope.
The icy wind stung her cheeks and whipped her long black hair, the briny tang of the fjord mingling with the crisp scent of pine.
As snow crunched beneath her skis and she headed toward the village of V?gan, úlvhild breathed in the fresh air of freedom, her fragile heart filled with hope, her fertile womb full of life.
* * * *
After three arduous weeks at sea, especially difficult due to the rough winds and waves of late winter, the white chalk cliffs of étretat finally appeared on the horizon.
As Freyja’s Falcon and Dragonfire beached on the pebbled shore, Thorfinn’s sentinel blew a single horn blast to signal their arrival.
Warriors hurried down the grassy slope, hauling ropes to secure the ships and laying wooden planks for the voyagers to disembark.
Haldor wrapped a supportive arm behind úlvhild’s back and guided her off the ship. “I know you are weak from sickness. Lean on me.”
At the edge of the cliff, Elfi stood with Oda, too heavy with child to descend the slick, grassy slope.
When úlvhild and Haldor arrived at the top, she waddled over to greet them, tears streaming down her smiling cheeks.
“Freyja be thanked—you’re alive and well,” she sobbed, pulling úlvhild into a fervent embrace.
“And here in étretat, just when I need you most. I don’t want any other midwife but you.
” She pointed to a shimmering white fortress at the westernmost point of the cliff.
“That is the tower my faeir gave Njord and me as a wedding gift. La Porte d’ écume—the Foam Tower—where our daughter shall be born.
” Hope bloomed on Elfi’s bright face. “There is a magnificent view of the sea from all sides—the perfect spot for la Louve Blanche to give birth.”
While Elfi spoke with úlvhild, Haldor greeted Oda. “Good day, my lady,” he said, raising her gnarled hand to his bearded lips. “It gladdens my heart to be back in the Pays de Caux after eight long winters.”
Elfi hugged Haldor and kissed his cheek, her sea goddess eyes sparkling like sunlight on the Narrow Sea. “Welcome home. It has been far too long.”
Thorfinn’s deep voice bellowed across the glen as he strode from the castle to join them.
“We’ll feast in your honor tonight,” he announced with a broad grin, clasping Haldor’s forearms in fierce affection.
He turned to úlvhild, relief and joy spreading across his weathered face.
“I thank the gods you’re hale and whole.
” He lifted both of her chilled hands, bowing slightly as he pressed his lips to her pale skin.
“My servants will escort you to your private quarters in the castle and bring your belongings from the ship to your chamber. The bath house is ready, and I shall send refreshments to your room.” As he headed toward the path leading down to the shore, he hollered over his shoulder.
“See you tonight in the Great Hall for the feast.”
Njord appeared at the top of the cliff, cradling úlvhild’s moonstone staff.
Two burly deckhands hauled her trunk, with another pair lugging Haldor’s.
With a quick farewell to Elfi and Oda, she and Haldor followed the servants to their room.
Once their belongings were placed on the pinewood floor, and her staff unwrapped and placed near the hearth, Njord left, with the promise to see them later at the feast.
After washing the sea salt and grime from their bodies and hair in the luxurious steam of the bathhouse, úlvhild and Haldor returned to their chamber, refreshed from the long sea voyage.
They savored fresh barley bread with creamy goat cheese and chewy figs, sipped cider from Thorfinn’s own orchard.
And made love in the golden light of the afternoon sun.
That evening, after visiting her hut in the village—and reuniting with her beloved cat Kól—úlvhild admired the green ivy garlands entwined with pink primrose blossoms and the fragrant wreaths of lavender and wild thyme which decorated the high-peaked wooden walls of the festive Great Hall.
As she sampled the grilled haddock, roast vegetables, and poached pears with honey, Haldor spoke to Luna and Njáll.
“Skjold and Skadi told us you two were wed in álfheim—and that Queen íssla herself granted you the Moonlit Forest near the ísilwen Spring.” He lifted his horn of mead. “To Luna and Njáll. May the moon’s bright blessing and the spring’s pure song bind your souls together, now and evermore.”
úlvhild drank in tribute, then asked Luna about the moonstone cottage she and Njáll were building. “When will your home be finished?”
“By late summer,” Luna replied, sipping from her horn of mead. “We plan to live in álfheim—with frequent visits to étretat through the waterfall cave of the Mermaid Cove.” She leaned into Njáll’s arm, which he draped over her shoulder, her radiant face alight with love.
“Will the two of you live in Falkholl?” Njáll asked Haldor.
úlvhild’s throat clenched in dread, anticipating his affirmative response. Her Falcon was infinitely proud of the famed longhouse in Tórshavn and his title as Jarl of the Faroe Islands.
But Haldor stunned her with his startling response.
“Nei,” he replied, fierce eyes piercing her with a penetrating stare. “My volva wife wishes to live in her beloved Pays de Caux. And so we shall. Our daughter Freyja will be born here in Normandy.”
Too astonished to speak, she threw her arms around his corded neck and showered his scarred, bearded face with fervent kisses. “By all the gods, how I love you.” She buried her tear-streaked face on his shoulder.