Chapter Seventeen
Ashes to Ashes
Time had become a shadow while Randvior was separated from Noelle.
Now it drove him, he took no chances riding in the open.
Staying vigilant with every inch of ground he covered, he looked over his shoulder continuously.
If Sveinn had been shrewd enough to coordinate Noelle’s kidnapping, nothing would have stopped him from planting guards along the roadway to ambush them.
He headed northeast, away from the coast.
Randvior was unhappy with himself. Deep down, he still wished he’d been the one to kill Sveinn.
But things were changing, especially inside.
He’d demonstrated mercy by sparing the lives of those guards.
His father had always told him it’s easier to kill than not to.
And told him once he grew to manhood he’d understand the usefulness of benevolence.
All men make war, but few possess the necessary scruples to make peace.
Randvior had done that … and now, for Noelle’s sake, he allowed those men to live.
He remembered her words—why she believed they could never be together.
His violence was an abomination in her god’s eyes.
Though he secretly wondered if her Allfather wore breeches or a dress.
Pallid light streaked the sky, the weather overcast and cold.
None of it could penetrate the luxurious heat wrapped in his arms. Noelle’s slight form curled close to his heart.
He held on tightly, galloping faster and faster.
They passed the eastern border of his father’s steading and rode through vales and woods before a large lake came into sight.
Someone unfamiliar with the landscape might not see it.
Beyond the southern shore rose a configuration of starkly white standing stones, almost camouflaged by snow. There they would be offered sanctuary.
He didn’t want Noelle to miss seeing the holy place and called to her. People from all over Norway visited this site on pilgrimages during the summer months. She moved, popped open an eye, and quickly closed it again. He laughed delightedly. Anything she did right now would make him happy.
“Wake up, min lille dukke.”
She grumbled something unintelligible and peeked up at him. “Do I have a choice?”
Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, but she remained as adorable and pretty as ever. He pulled her hood back.
“I want you to see where we’re going.” He pointed across the lake.
“This is an enchanted place, where Odin first made his treaty with us. If you look beyond the shoreline and keep your eyes sharply focused northward, where the trees begin to thin out, you can see a group of standing stones. Nine perfectly matched stones.”
He knew she adored history.
“And why is this place so important at this ungodly hour?” She yawned and tried to lie back down.
“We believe this is one of the places where heaven meets the earth. The gateway into Midgard, the lands Odin gifted the first man and woman, Ask and Embla, to live in.”
“Surely you know that’s a myth.” She was awake now.
“Is it less believable than a garden paradise?”
She considered it. “No,” Noelle sighed. “What do the stones represent? Is nine an important number in your world?”
He pinched her hand appreciatively. Her inquisitive mind wouldn’t allow her to fall asleep again.
“Aye,” he said excitedly. “The universe is divided into three levels and nine worlds. Those worlds are Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Midgard, Jotunheim, Nidavellir, Svartalfheim, Hel, and Niflheim. Each stone represents one of those worlds. And the first Norse king, Harald Fairhair, swore the gods erected these stones as demarcations to show where we should live. They symbolize our sovereignty over the nations of the earth. And each one reminds us of the nine immortal virtues that Northmen strive to live by. If a man abandons them, his soul is doomed—his name forever stricken from the annals of Valhalla. Other legends claim maidens inhabit them, Odin’s own daughters as guardians of the realm. ”
“Name these virtues.”
“I cannot, they are forbidden to foreigners. But I shall reveal one, love.”
As long as she distinguished between Odin and her god, respected the significance of Allfather’s gifts, she would be welcome here. As they neared the clearing, she pointed at a cottage between the sixth and seventh stones.
“A caretaker lives here, a most beloved priest and friend.”
Randvior dismounted and she followed. He hobbled his stallion and they walked to the cabin. Before he could knock, the small door opened. A hoary-colored beard covered the stranger’s face; he wore a plain wool tunic. Randvior bowed and they exchanged pleasantries before they embraced.
The priest turned to Noelle. “Is this the woman I’ve heard so much about?”
“Aye.”
“Odin has an eye for beauty. Come and warm yourselves by the fire.”
The one-room cabin was sparsely decorated, with a crudely made bed, a table, four chairs, and bookcases brimming with ancient scrolls and manuscripts. The priest poured three glasses of wine from an open bottle and served them.
“Does your lady know the purpose of your visit?”
“No.” Bloodlust still thundered in Randvior’s heart. No, it was time to speak of love now, not hate.
Growing thoughtful, Randvior set his drink aside and approached Noelle, who was standing in front of the hearth. For only the second time in his life, he knelt at the feet of a woman.
“As the priest has suggested, I brought you here for purely selfish reasons.”
She touched his face.
Unwilling to postpone their wedding any longer he said, “It is customary to spend weeks planning a wedding—inviting kinsmen and friends and holding elaborate celebrations. We can no longer delay the inevitable. We are still in danger, although I cannot say who wishes to see us both destroyed. I still feel it in my bones. I want to marry you here, on cherished ground. Pledge our hearts to the gods as we did at Odin’s altar.
To Hel with the rest of the world … Noelle Sinclair, say once more you’ll become my wife. ”
She swallowed and took Randvior’s hands in hers. Rewarded him with an intense smile. He nuzzled his head between her thighs.
“You didn’t need to ask me again.”
A few minutes later, satisfied she had agreed, he let go and stood. “There are a few preparations before the priest can offer the vows.”
In the farthest corner of the room, he unveiled a large chest. After he opened it, he showed her two swords. The first was the one he had laid across his knees during the oath taking ceremony. Randvior lifted the heirloom above his head.
“My sword was forged in the fires of my forefathers and I am meant to guard its tradition. Our eldest son will hold this weapon one day, and it will continue to symbolize everything we hold sacred—our freedom. Odin blessed this blade and our wedding vows will be spoken over it.”
He lowered it and lifted the second so she could see it clearly. The thin delicate blade gleamed coppery-silver in the soft light. “This one,” he wanted her to join him, “was produced in my armory for you. It’s meant to represent your ancestors.”
Noelle traced the metal with her fingertips. Her name was etched along the unblemished edge.
“Why should you honor my family?”
“Min lille dukke,” he said. “By custom we equally honor both families during a wedding. Our children will share the bloodlines of both our houses. The name Sinclair is honorable. It is only your brother I despise.”
“And these rings …” Noelle inspected the silver and gold rings set in the delicate pommel.
“The first of many oath rings for your blade. These,” he fingered two, “symbolize the beginning of our lives together.”
He tapped the handle. “Hereafter, every critical moment of our lives—births, weddings, and deaths—will be remembered by additional rings. For a people defined by oral tradition, they will act as a historical record. And long after we’ve departed this earth, they will serve as a legacy for future generations who will swear allegiances over them, too. ”
Noelle handled the sword cautiously. It fit her hand so precisely, so perfectly balanced, and she swept it overhead with ease. Her mood improved the longer she admired the weapon. “Thank you.”
“Aye,” he said, “it embodies the beauty I see in my queen.” He took the blade and propped it against the wall.
“Are you ready to face the world as my wife, min lille dukke?”
“Only if you promise to quit teasing me so much and if you finally tell me what that bloody term of endearment you’ve called me since the first day I met you means.”
You need only ask … “My little doll.”
Noelle raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
He devoured her with his eyes. “I’ve considered you that and so much more since that first day.”
She giggled sweetly. “Your honeyed tongue could talk any virgin out of her clothes.”
“Aye,” he said. “It already did.” He hugged her close. “Please believe my words are not practiced. You alone inspire me.” He could feel her heart pounding against his chest.
He swung her around like a child.
“Now,” he set her down. “More gifts await you.”
She clapped her hands as he pulled a powder blue gown and a tawny colored headdress, adorned with sprigs of heather and dried wildflowers, out of the trunk. “My mother wore this bridal crown and her mother before her. Now I wish you to wear it.”
“How is it you knew to bring these things here?”
“After Sveinn kidnapped you, I sent Brandon ahead, as my proxy, to receive my father’s blessing for this union. He brought the trunk, too. The priest has been waiting for days. I knew in my heart if we were reunited that not another day should go by without us being husband and wife.”
“You amaze me.”
“No,” He cupped her face. “You amaze me.”
An exaggerated cough disrupted their conversation.
“My Lord Sigurdsson, if you will follow me outside. Please help me set the hay bales, the lady will need time to prepare.”