Chapter 11

The Waterfall Cave

Sk?rde awoke early, just as the first rays of the rising sun reflected off the Narrow Sea through the open window of his east-facing chamber. The slightly salty breeze of the brackish estuary reminded him of the Danish port of Heieabyr. Home . The vital Viking trade center on the freshwater fjord connecting both the Baltic and North Seas. Where he had been Jarl and warlord—the Dragon of Denmark—commander of the entire Danish army.

And yet now, here he was, hundreds of miles away, in the distant Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. The newly appointed Count of the Pays de Caux . Married to the daughter of Richard the Fearless, the Viking Duke of Normandy.

An unwanted marriage in name only, forced upon them by their royal fathers for a powerful political alliance.

He sighed and stretched out his long limbs before rising from the down mattress, a luxury provided for him as chatelain of the castle and the new Norman Count. Much more comfortable than sleeping on wooden benches in the longhouse at Heieabyr, he had to admit. And there were other advantages here as well. The green pastures of Normandy meant fat cattle—providing strong oxen to pull plows and till fertile fields. Cows which produced abundant milk for rich cream, butter, and cheese. With the mild climate of the Pays de Caux , the livestock could graze year-round—rather than be slaughtered each fall, like the annual preparation for the brutal winters of Norway and Denmark.

Crops flourished here. Apple, pear, and cherry trees offered abundant fruit, and the dense forests provided plenty of lumber for construction of lodging, merchant shops, and ships. Five new Viking settlements were now established in the plentiful Pays de Caux . Indeed, in the six weeks since their arrival, the restless Danish army who had been eager for fecund farmlands and fertile wives were happy to have found both in the white chalk cliffs of Normandy.

The servants will soon come to dress Ylva. They’ll bring a platter of food for us to break our fast and change the linens on the bed—examining the sheets to be sure the marriage was consummated. I must wake her before they arrive.

Sk?rde arose naked, pulled on his woolen trousers and leather belt, and donned a lightweight linen tunic since he would be working hard in the hot summer sun. He crossed the room and fetched the morgen-gifu. The morning-after gift he had made for his Breton bride.

I hope she likes it. And I know she’ll love my surprise.

He crossed the antechamber which connected their two bedrooms to find that Ylva was already awake and dressed in a dark blue linen dress. He spotted her turquoise silk wedding gown folded on top of a table along the wall. At the sound of his approach, she turned and smiled.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” He entered the room and walked up beside the chair where she sat, detangling her long blonde hair with an antler comb.

“Not really. How about you?” She set the comb down upon her small table and looked up at him. Her bright blue eyes sparkled in the morning sun.

“Quite well, actually. The feather beds here are much more comfortable than the hard wooden benches of my Viking longhouse in Denmark.” He grinned and offered her the present which he had brought from his room. “I made this for your morgen-gifu,” he said, handing her his gift. “As a lad in Norway, I fostered with a craftsman who taught me woodcarving skills.” He indicated the wooden sculpture now cradled in Ylva’s hands. Astonishment and admiration shone in her incredulous gaze as her eyes darted between the lifelike statue of Divona and Sk?rde’s proud face. “When I learned that you had to abandon your shrine in Saint-Suliac, I thought you might like a statue of the Celtic Goddess that you worship. To replace the one you were forced to leave behind. I carved it from yew wood and polished it with pine oil so it gleams.”

Her mouth agape, Ylva’s quavering voice was laced with gratitude and awe. “It’s beautiful .” She ran long, delicate fingers lovingly over the smoothly polished wood. When she looked up at him, tears brimmed in her eyes. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ll treasure it always.”

“There’s something else I want to show you, which accompanies your gift. But first, since the servants will soon arrive, I need to provide something that they’ll expect to see.” Removing his knife from the sheath on his belt, Sk?rde pricked the tip of his thumb and smeared a smudge of blood on the soft linen sheets. “Now, their gossip will confirm that we consummated the marriage.” With a smirk, he wiped off the knife and resheathed the blade.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of the expected servants. Sk?rde unbolted the heavy wooden door, opening it so that they could enter.

“ Bonjour, Monsieur et Madame . We’ve brought a lovely platter of porridge, fish, bread, and cheese to break your fast. With sliced strawberries and cream, a slab of fresh butter, sweet honey—and a pitcher of ale.” While one female servant removed Ylva’s wedding gown from the side table, carefully storing it in the large, ornately carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed, another young attendant brought in the platter of food and set it down upon the bare surface. “Shall I braid your hair, my lady?” she asked with a bowed, humble head.

“ Non, merci . I prefer to wear it loose today. Thank you for the lovely breakfast.” Ylva smiled as the two servants curtseyed and discreetly disappeared through the heavy door.

Ylva set the two-foot tall statue of Divona down on the table beside the platter. “I can’t believe how lifelike she looks. To think that you created such a realistic sculpture from a simple piece of wood.” She handed him a bowl of porridge, her eyes twinkling with mirth as he heaped strawberries, cream, and honey on top, then dug in with a pewter spoon. “You have great talent. I’m truly impressed.”

He swallowed the porridge, washing it down with ale. “There’s more, after we finish eating. The other half of your gift.” He grinned at her raised eyebrow and the eager expression on her exuberant face. She’s beautiful, my Breton bride. I’m pleased she loves my gift, and I can’t wait to show her the rest.

When they had finished eating, Sk?rde returned to his room to strap on his replacement sword. Since he’d been forced to surrender the prized Frankish blade he’d won in battle—the Carolingian sword which had marked him with Thor’s thunder, as Harald had said—to Ylva during the wedding ceremony, he had chosen a blade from the castle armory. Not nearly as magnificent as the weapon he’d offered his bride during the wedding ritual, but it would suffice. At least until he seized a new one in his next Viking raid.

Sk?rde scoffed at the irony of surrendering his Frankish blade to Ylva during the ritual exchange of swords. According to the age-old Viking wedding tradition, she would keep it safe for their future son . Yet—as long as our marriage remains in name only, I will not bed my Breton bride. And Ylva will never bear me an heir.

Although it rankled him to have sacrificed his hard-won Frankish sword, Sk?rde was satisfied with the adequate replacement and looked forward to giving Ylva the rest of her morning-after gift.

As he tucked a few turquoise gems and silver coins inscribed with Nordic runes into the leather pouch belted at his waist, Sk?rde reflected how odd it was that Chateaufort and the entire alabaster coast of the Pays de Caux were Ylva’s ancestral lands, yet she knew nothing of them and had never seen them before arriving for the royal wedding. He, a foreigner from Denmark, was more familiar with her heritage than she was, for he had spent the last several weeks exploring his new territory as Count, deciding where to build strategic defense towers, fire beacons, and lookout posts among the white chalk cliffs. It was during this exploration that he had found it. The second half of the morgen-gifu for his beguiling Breton bride.

“Are you ready?” Sk?rde strode back into Ylva’s chamber, his pulse racing at how much she would love this part of his bridal gift .

She nodded, setting the antler comb down upon the table and rising from her chair.

“We’ll bring the statue,” he announced, lifting the wooden sculpture. When Ylva curiously searched his face, he grinned and answered her unspoken question. “You’ll soon see why.” He opened the door and offered her a bent elbow.

With a grin of impish delight, she hooked her arm through his and allowed him to escort her out the door.

****

“Be careful not to trip on your dress. The incline is steep.” Clutching the wooden statue under his left arm, Sk?rde held Ylva’s hand with his right as he guided her down the grassy path which led from the plateau at the top of the cliff to the rocky, pebbled beach a hundred feet below.

When they finally reached the bottom, Ylva spotted the fleet of drakkar warships in the distance, docked at the harbor where the river emptied into the Narrow Sea. And here on the rocky shoreline, the towering white chalk cliff curved around a secluded inlet. To her delight and astonishment, a waterfall cascaded from the top of the cliff into a pool not far from where they now stood.

“There it is,” he said, pointing to the open mouth of a hidden cave nestled in the curve of the cliff. “The other half of your morgen-gifu .” With a wolfish grin, he took her hand and led Ylva across the pebbled beach toward the entrance to the cave.

The interior of the white limestone grotto reflected the morning sunlight, bathing the entire cavern in an opalescent glow. As Ylva stood inside the cave and peered out, she glimpsed the waterfall tumbling from the top of the cliff, splashing into a deep pool contained in smoothly polished rock. Sunlight glittered through the thunderous cascade, the brilliant colors reflecting off the ebullient pool like glistening gems.

“I found this when I was searching the beach.” Sk?rde raised his deep voice above the roar of the waterfall. “I remembered that my grandmother had told me you worshipped Divona, the Celtic Goddess of Sacred Springs. And that you had created a shrine for her in a cave with a waterfall in Saint- Suliac.” He flashed her a dazzling grin that sparkled like the sunlight splashing in the waterfall pool. “When I discovered this grotto, I thought it would be the perfect spot for you to create a new shrine. So, I sculpted the statue of Divona from yew wood and carved this shelf into the limestone.” Sk?rde gestured to the back of the cave, where he had chiseled a ledge into the rock, much like the grotto itself was carved into the protective curve of the white chalk cliff. “I made it high enough to avoid flooding, yet still be within your reach.” He handed her the statue of the goddess. “You can place her where you like.”

Ylva accepted the wooden sculpture in stunned silence, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and generosity. Tears brimming in her eyes, she recovered her voice and whispered in reverent adoration. “I cannot thank you enough. You have no idea how much this means to me.” She placed the statue on the ledge above her head and turned to smile gratefully at Sk?rde, who had retrieved something from the pouch at his waist.

In his outstretched palm, he displayed several small faceted gemstones that were the same brilliant blue as her silk wedding gown and the Narrow Sea just beyond the cave.

The pear shaped gems glittered like droplets of water in his calloused hand. “These nine turquoise jewels are from the Far East,” he explained as he placed the sparkling gems into her cupped palms. “Nine is a sacred number in Nordic culture. And blue represents your heritage as a Celtic priestess with the gift of water.”

From the black silk pouch at his waist, he removed three silver coins which were etched with intricate, elaborate engravings. He gave her the ornate silver pieces. “Three coins—another number sacred to the Vikings—inscribed with your Nordic rune Laguz, for the element of water.” The intensity of his azure eyes—as breathtaking as the rare gems in her hand—bore into Ylva’s very soul. “They symbolize the sacred springs of the Celtic Goddess Divona, whom you worship, and Rán, the Norse Goddess of the Sea.” Sk?rde gestured to the deafening cascade outside the grotto and the brackish estuary where the Arques River emptied into the briny ocean inlet. “Just like this waterfall cave, where the freshwater of a sacred spring flows into the river and blends with the Narrow Sea. ”

Sk?rde wrapped his arms behind Ylva’s back and pulled her close. He bent down to gently brush his bris lips against hers. “Like you, Ylva. Daughter of a Druid priestess and a Viking jarl. A blend of Celtic and Nordic blood. Divona and Rán combined.” A proud grin stretching across his bearded face, Sk?rde stepped back and indicated the statue on the limestone ledge. “Place the gems and coins where you like. Then, if you want, we can collect a few scallop shells along the shore and add them to the shrine.”

A thrill shivered up Ylva’s spine. His morgen-gifu is perfect. He brought me turquoise jewels from a distant land. Precious silver etched with Nordic runes. Both symbolizing my gift of water. Sk?rde understood the sacrifice I had to make when I was forced to leave my shrine in Saint-Suliac. So he helped me make a new one. Despite his savage appearance, he is not the brutal Viking beast I feared.

“Will you help me place the gems and silver? It can be your shrine, too.” Ylva poured some of the beads and coins into his rough palms.

“I’d like that.” He accepted her offer with a gentle smile. Delight danced in his eyes.

Together, they placed a silver coin and a trio of turquoise gems at the foot and on either side of the statue on the carved shelf of the cave wall.

“Let’s find two scallop shells to represent Divona and Rán. The sacred spring and the salty sea. Celtic and Nordic goddesses blended together in this shrine.” Ylva smiled up at Sk?rde, enormously pleased and pleasantly surprised at the thoughtfulness of his morgen-gifu bridal gift.

“The two shells will represent us as well,” he murmured, drawing her close and kissing the hair on top of her head. “A Breton priestess and a Viking jarl. Daughter of a Norman duke and son of a Danish king. A merging of Celtic and Nordic cultures through our marriage. And… if we have a child…a blend of Celtic and Nordic blood in his or her Viking veins.” Sk?rde’s alluring scent beckoned, like the tang of the briny sea and the smell of the sacred spring. He hesitantly lowe red his smooth, soft lips to hers.

At their touch, a sizzling current surged through Ylva like a bolt of lightning. Her limbs quivered as Sk?rde pulled her against his hardened body. He angled his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue probing and penetrating, sending pulses of liquid flame to her inner core. Waves of longing crashed over her, like the tumultuous sea pounding against the white chalk cliffs. Just as her legs were about to give out, Sk?rde withdrew from the embrace and stepped back, tossing his blond braided hair like a stallion shaking his mane.

“Let’s search for the scallop shells,” he gasped, his voice ragged and hoarse. Adjusting his clothing, he exhaled sharply, as if struggling to regain his composure. “I must take you back to the castle soon. I’m working with the carpenters again—we’re finishing a few houses and shops in the village.” He flashed her a disarming grin. “They appreciate my skills as a woodcarver.”

Ylva smiled, smoothing her dress as she inhaled deeply, her nerves still frazzled from Sk?rde’s scorching kiss and enticing scent. “I’m sure the boatbuilders do, too, with the fearsome dragon prows carved on the drakkar warships.” Taking a step toward the cave exit, she turned to look back at him. “It’s low tide. We can walk out onto the soft sand.”

With a hearty grin, he grasped her hand, leading her from the cave out into the blinding summer sun. Sea gulls and gannets soared in the sky, their squawks floating on the salty morning breeze.

Up ahead on the mud flat exposed by the receding waters of low tide, Ylva spotted the distinctive dark rose color and shield-like shape of an enormous scallop shell. “I see one!” she cried, hoisting up the hem of her gown to run across the packed sand. When she picked it up and held it in her hand, it covered her entire palm.

Sk?rde, who had been searching along the shore’s edge, came trotting across the sand with a shell clutched between his fingers. Ylva watched the powerful stride of his muscular legs, admiring his sculpted torso, the bold dragon tattoo on his right arm, and the blond beard braided like his long, thick hair. She remembered her vision of him in the Breton cave where she had first glimpsed the jagged scar across his chest. She wished he would remove his sleeveless tunic so that she could see it now and trace her fingers along the lightning bolt which marked him with Thor’s thunder.

If his kisses scorch me with such a sizzling current, what would it be like to lie with him? Her pulse raced at the exhilarating thought.

“I found another one,” Sk?rde announced triumphantly as he reached her side, displaying his delightful treasure. “Let’s go back into the cave and put them at the base of the shrine.”

They centered the scallop shells together on the ledge in front of the statue’s feet, adjusting the silver coins and turquoise gems to accommodate them. Satisfied with the altar to worship Divona and Rán, Ylva rose up on booted tiptoes to kiss Sk?rde’s bristled cheek and whisper in his ear. “Thank you for the perfect gift. I will always remember this day.”

His azure eyes shone like sunlight reflecting off the Narrow Sea. “I am glad it pleases you.” He admired the glittering offerings, nodding his head in approval. “A truly beautiful shrine.” Eyebrows raised, he turned toward Ylva. “Ready to go back?”

She sighed in reluctant resignation. She didn’t want to leave this enchanted realm and had no desire to resume learning about her new responsibilities. “I know we need to. But I plan to come here often—it will be my refuge from the endless duties as chatelaine of the castle and Countess of the Pays de Caux .”

****

“As Lady of Chateaufort , your duties now include managing the castle, supervising the servants, planning meals, feasts, and celebrations.” Gunnor smiled as a dutiful servant set steaming cups of chamomile tisane upon the oak table in the private solar of the castle where she sat with Ylva, Gyda, and úlvhild. “You must keep accounts and manage the finances, buying and selling provisions at the glorious trade center of Rouen. This year, of course, since you’ve only just established the settlement here at Dieppe, you’ll still have much to learn. But it will be exciting to travel with your husband, as Count and Countess of the Pays de Caux .”

While the sweet, fruity, floral scent of the herbal tea mingled with the salty brine of the sea wafting in through the open window, Ylva tried to concentrate on Gunnor’s instructions, but her mind kept returning to the waterfall cave and Sk?rde’s scorching kiss.

“Gunnor, as your father’s Viking wife, is very familiar with our Nordic customs. And as Duchess of Normandy, she is also well acquainted with running a royal castle. While she and Richard are here for the rest of the week to celebrate your wedding, she can provide you with valuable advice and help you establish yourself as chatelaine of Chateaufort .” Although Gyda’s smile was meant to reassure Ylva, she nevertheless felt overwhelmed by the enormity of expectations placed upon her by Sk?rde’s grandmother and Richard’s new wife.

“Rouen is where your father and I reside when we’re not here in the Pays de Caux ,” Gunnor continued, oblivious to Ylva’s discomfort and growing desire to escape.

Unused to the constant noise and bustling activity of life in the castle, Ylva longed for the peaceful solitude of her quaint stone cottage in Bretagne. The mudflats where she used to harvest shellfish. The inlet where she always swam every summer. Her flock of sheep… grief choked her at the heinous memory of the Vikings slaughtering her beloved herd. She quickly covered her distress with several swallows of herbal tea.

Not only am I forced into a marriage I did not want, I’m also expected to govern this castle and rule as a Countess. Among the Vikings who conquered my village and enslaved my people!

“We live in a fortress on the Seine River which flows into Paris.” Gunnor took a dainty sip of chamomile tisane from an elegant ceramic cup, part of the set of dishes she had brought—along with countless other household items—to furnish the castle for Ylva. “You and Sk?rde must come to visit. As a Norman Countess, you’ll enjoy the luxury items available in the exclusive markets of Rouen. Sumptuous silks, exotic spices, exquisite jewelry…everything you could imagine and would ever want!” Unabashed excitement blazed in Gunnor’s bright brown eyes. “Richard and I will expect you to come to Rouen—after the Fall Harvest and the celebration of Haustblót , of course.” She reached across the table and affectionately squeezed Ylva’s sweaty hand. “If your crop here in Dieppe is as plentiful as anticipated, you’ll be able to sell many of the fruits and vegetables from your abundant gardens. Apples and timber from your orchards and forests. Cheese and dairy products from your plentiful cows. Leather, wool, sheep, cattle. You’ll soon discover why the Vikings from Norway and Denmark are very happy to have settled here in Normandy.”

Ylva stared out the window, where late afternoon sunlight glimmered on the Narrow Sea. Gulls and gannets squawked as they soared over the waves, calling her to join them in carefree abandon and jubilant freedom. I long to go to the waterfall cave…

úlvhild, with the intuitive insight of a Viking v?lva , seemed to perceive Ylva’s distress as she flashed a knowing smile. Without the blue woad face paint and the elaborate cape strewn with feathers and glittering gems that úlvhild wore for the wedding feast celebration, the v?lva appeared much less menacing in a red linen gown. But the large amber stone in the amulet around her neck glowed with an otherworldly brilliance, pulsing with a power that thrummed in Ylva’s veins.

“Thank you for the lovely tisane,” úlvhild said as she rose from the table, graciously inclining her head to Gunnor and Gyda. “But you must excuse us.” Her golden feline eyes glowed in the gilded sunlight. “I need Ylva’s assistance. We’ll join you this evening for tonight’s wedding feast.”

Taking Ylva by the hand, the v?lva led her from the sunny solar, down the stone stairs, across the vast foyer of the castle, and out into the summer sun. The tangy saline breeze was cleansing, comforting, and calming. “I’m bringing you to the hut where I reside while Jarl Rikard and Gunnor are here. When they return to Rouen, I’ll go with them. But there is something I must show you before I leave. For I have foreseen a disturbing vision. And I wish to protect you from harm.”

****

The small wooden hut with thatched roof in the dense forest near the castle was dimly lit by two small open windows. An empty hearth occupied most of the rear wall of the cottage, and fragrant clusters of drying herbs were suspended from large metal hooks in the pinewood ceiling. The pungent, purifying aroma of rosemary, sage, and comfrey reminded Ylva of the herbal remedies she used to prepare with Lova in their stone cottage on the oceanfront cliff in Bretagne. Overcome with emotion at the bittersweet memories, Ylva was filled with desperate longing for her mother and the simple life she had left behind.

“You were abducted from your home. Forced to abandon everything you loved.” úlvhild’s velvety voice offered solace and support as she closed the entrance door and slipped to Ylva’s side. “Forced into an unwanted marriage. Wed to the Dragon of Denmark, a ruthless Viking as fearless and savage as your Nordic father.” The v?lva gently stroked Ylva’s long blonde hair, her touch consoling and soothing. “You—a Breton priestess and gifted Celtic healer—now find yourself surrounded by the very Vikings who slaughtered the Druids that you revered. It’s no wonder you’re stricken with grief and loss. And overwhelmed with the endless responsibilities as chatelaine of the castle and Countess of the Pays de Caux .” úlvhild took Ylva’s hand and led her to a small table near the window which overlooked the Narrow Sea.

The thunderous surf crashed against the craggy white chalk cliffs, the rhythmic pounding reviving the exhilarating sensations of Sk?rde’s scorching kiss. Ylva longed to go back to the waterfall cave within the sheltered cove and feel Sk?rde’s searing lips again upon her own.

úlvhild seated her, pouring Ylva a goblet of mead from a ceramic pitcher. She handed her an elaborate pewter chalice engraved with Nordic runes, then poured a goblet for herself. “Supervising servants and planning meals will soon become second nature for you as chatelaine,” she said, taking a sip of mead and placing the chalice on the table in front of her own empty chair. “Such tasks are easily delegated to others. But your healing skills are a gift from the gods. A gift which I have foreseen will be greatly needed. Although my vision does not reveal when or where it will occur, I have foreseen a bloody battle, with many wounded. That’s why I have brought you here. To enhance your Celtic skills with my Nordic galdr magic. ”

While Ylva sat in breathless anticipation, úlvhild retrieved a violet colored small silk bag from a cupboard along the oak wall where bottles, vials, feathers, bones, and glittering gemstones lined the wooden shelves. Returning to sit across from Ylva at the small table, the v?lva spread a blue linen cloth across the surface and poured out the contents of the purple pouch. “Crystals and gemstones can channel and amplify healing energy. I’ll teach you how to summon galdr magic, which will greatly enhance your skills as a trained Celtic priestess. Every day for the remainder of the week, we’ll come here—as we have done today—shortly after the midday meal. I’ll teach you chants and spells of incantation, which you must practice diligently as you learn to wield galdr magic. I’ll show you which crystals and gemstones to use for specific illnesses and injuries. You’ll learn how to imbue gems with galdr magic to create talismans and charms for protection and healing.” úlvhild’s mesmerizing gaze blazed like molten gold. “It’s my hope that you will embrace your Nordic heritage by blending galdr magic with your skills as a Druid priestess and Celtic healer.”

Under úlvhild’s expert tutelage throughout the long afternoon, Ylva practiced chants, repeating incantations until her voice evoked the proper rhythm, vibration, and intonation for the Nordic magic of galdr spells. She learned to channel the healing energy of various gemstones, a skill which would greatly enhance her knowledge of herbal remedies and Druid training to heal injuries and cleanse disease from sickened bodies.

úlvhild taught her the restorative properties of minerals and gems—the soothing calmness of amethyst, the revitalizing and energizing of citrine and carnelian, the protection of turquoise, jade, and emerald. As the power of galdr magic surged in her veins, Ylva directed the curative, cleansing flow through her hands, voice, and body into the healing crystals and sacred stones.

“Emeralds not only heal and protect, but they enhance fertility as well.” The v?lva gave Ylva a silver ring inscribed with Nordic runes along the band and set with a faceted deep green emerald shaped like a droplet. The verdant gem sparkled in the golden light of the setting sun. “Wear this ring, Ylva. To heal your broken heart. To reawaken your nurturing spirit. And to enhance your fertile womb.” She nodded her head encouragingly as Ylva slipped the ring onto her finger. “I’ve imbued the emerald and the inscribed runes with galdr magic to protect you from harm.”

úlvhild indicated the pattern of carved symbols, tracing the tip of her long finger around the trio of etched markings inside the band of the ring. “ Berkana , the rune for nurturing, rebirth, and fertility. Gebo —to symbolize Freyja’s gift of love—for passion, desire, and partnership in marriage. And Othala , for heritage, family, and preservation of loved ones.” Golden eyes glowing with otherworldly wisdom, the v?lva’s gaze was as compelling as the amber pendant around her neck which pulsed with palpable power. “This emerald ring will heal and protect you. And aid you in conceiving Sk?rde’s son.”

She grasped Ylva’s hands, squeezing them to emphasize the gravity of her message. Energy flowed from úlvhild’s long fingers into Ylva’s shaking limbs. “For I have foreseen that the child born to the son of a Danish king and the daughter of a Norman duke will forge a dynasty that will unite this land and rule for a thousand years.”

Ylva’s heart hammered in her chest. Fate has entwined my destiny with Sk?rde. No wonder his touch sends a current coursing through me. And his kisses scorch me senseless. I am destined to conceive his son. Sk?rde and I shall rule as Count and Countess of the Pays de Caux. And our son will forge a dynasty to last a thousand years!

As Ylva sat in stunned silence, forcing a swallow of mead to quench her parched, constricted throat, úlvhild scooped up the gemstones and tucked them back into the purple pouch. She rose from her chair and headed toward the wooden shelves containing her potions, charms, feathers, and bones. Smiling reassuringly at Ylva, she placed the crystals back into the cupboard. “We’ll practice again tomorrow afternoon. And every day this week, until I return to Rouen with Jarl Rikard and Gunnor.” The v?lva poured water from a pitcher on the counter into a large ceramic basin and washed her hands with sweet smelling herbal soap before returning to Ylva’s side. Her lips curled up into a contented feline grin. “Let’s return to the castle for the wedding feast. Tonight’s entertainment is the competition of skalds!”