Epilogue
Elara
Six Months Later
She remained surprisingly calm. Maybe because this moment had always been as inevitable as breathing.
A wooden arch that Njáll crafted stood at the end of the valley, hundreds of wildflowers woven into its trusses. Sun-dappled light illuminated the grassy knoll in a golden glow that made her chest warm and her cheeks flush.
Soft furs slid under her fingers. She had never felt more magnificent than at this moment.
A rich wool dress dyed with forest green pigment flowed from her. Gold threads lay embroidered in the material, glittering in the sun. Over it, she wore a heavy, midnight-blue cloak, the edges lined with snowy arctic fox fur.
Her shoulders fell and she traced the beads of the jade necklace around her throat. Her curls cascaded down her back like a waterfall, a delicate crown of jewels and flowers nestled atop her head.
Njáll stood under the arch, a withered, ancient man nearly hidden behind him.
Leaves crunched under her feet as she moved toward him, her heart banging against her ribs and blood making her ears hum.
A large ceremonial sword had been struck into the earth. Its blade gleamed with etchings of ancestral runes.
Once Elara reached his side, those surrounding them faded away. She no longer heard the distant chatter of the assembled clans. Her heart slowed, a steady rhythm that matched his and her body melted under his reassuring gaze.
“My love,” he whispered, taking her hands in his and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.
“Jarl,” the aged man coughed.
Njáll dipped his chin, the barest hint of pink tipping the tops of his cheeks. He positioned their joined hands over the butt of the sword. Scarred palms met soft skin, strength and courage meeting.
The man spoke in thick Norse, chanting and whispering phrases she didn’t understand. But she didn’t need to. She felt them in the hum of her soul and the width of Njáll’s smile. The elder’s gaze fell to hers expectantly.
Her throat bobbed, and he spoke.
“Eitt hjarta. Ein sál. Eitt líf.”
A thick silence settled over the valley.
“Repeat the words, little flame,” Njáll whispered, gently squeezing her hands.
Nodding, she stared straight into Njáll’s soul.
“Eitt hjarta. Ein sál. Eitt líf.”
“One heart. One soul. One life,” Njáll said, low enough for only her to hear.
A towering man with a grey beard passed a thick, elderberry-dyed cord to the elder. The man chanted in low Norse words, looping the cord around the wrists, binding them together.
The elder smiled, taking a small, familiar stone from his pocket. A wide grin made her cheeks burn as the man placed the rune over the joined hands. It was the one Njáll had given her long ago.
Once as an apology, then as a promise, and now as a vow.
The cord tightened, the leather biting into their wrists, the knot secured with a final, firm tug.
The clan roared, chanting and shouting. Njáll leaned in, silver fire blazing in his eyes, his dark jeweled braids highlighting the sharp line of his jaw.
“My love. My kona. My flame.”
The vow seared into her lips, his kiss soft and demanding in its fervor.
Wildflowers covered the wooden beams in the longhouse, too many tables squeezed into the cavernous space. Musicians played, meat smoked, skalds sang, and ale flowed.
It didn’t take long for the evening to devolve. The feast was a rowdy occasion with many clans in attendance. Yet, Elara found herself exactly where she belonged, nestled on Njáll’s lap at the high table, flanked by his parents and her father.
Leif dipped his chin, raising a mug in their direction before stealing a kiss from his Dróttning.
The warmth from Njáll’s chest seeped into her skin. She reveled in his intoxicating scent of cedar and leather, wanting to drink it in forever. An arm stayed banded around waist, his fingers constantly stroking, brushing, and touching.
“Eat,” he purred.
She opened her mouth, smiling as he fed her strips of pork and soft bread soaked in honey. It was an intimate act of devotion, of loyalty, of protection, witnessed by all the clans.
In turn, she ran her hands through his dark, thick hair, pulling his head down to her neck, letting her lips brush his pulse point.
As the night wore on, the noise in the hall grew deafening. His lips brushed the shell over her ear, his palm splayed possessively over her belly.
“My flame,” he growled. “You are the most beautiful sight this world has ever seen. This hall. This clan. It is yours. As I am.”
He pressed a hot, branding kiss to the valley between her breasts, his voice dropping into a seductive challenge that made her heart jump into her throat. His thumb stroked her navel, his grip on her belly unyielding.
“I want this round with our babe. I want the next rising of the moon to find you heavy with my son or my daughter. Will you grant me such an honor, little flame?”
Her heart swelled, threatening to burst from her chest. The desire wasn’t only his, but hers as well.
The image of bearing his child, a child woven from them, brought a surge of emotions to the surface, bathing both of them in a golden glow.
A predatory smile curved on her lips, one that perfectly mirrored the warrior who owned her soul.
She tilted her head back, meeting his gaze with a defiant, playful heat that challenged and thrilled him if the glint in his eyes was any indication.
“Well, Jarl, if that is your wish, then you have work to do,” she purred, slipping out of his lap.
The sudden movement drew every eye to them, but she didn’t care. She tugged on the leather cord from their hand fastening around his wrist and she led him toward their furs like the obedient puppy he was.