Chapter 13

Children of Captured Concubines

At the rear of the Great Hall, situated upon an elevated wooden dais, the royal table was elegantly appointed in Sk?rde’s new heraldic colors of dark green and silver. An elegant verdant tablecloth embroidered with silver thread and embellished with glittering gems was topped with silver chalices engraved in Nordic runes. Perpendicular to the royal dais, each of the long trestle tables aligned on either side of the vast chamber accommodated seated, convivial guests. Affixed to the walls of the castle, resin-soaked torches emitted radiant light and the clean, fragrant scent of pine. Royal guards in chain mail armor and surcoats depicting the coat of arms of the Dragon of Normandy stood at attention on duty while other knights sat at tables to enjoy the sumptuous fare. While hundreds of royal wedding guests feasted in the Great Hall, an even greater number dined outdoors under the canopy of beech trees in the light of the waxing moon.

Jubilant notes from fiddles and flutes floated through the festive air. Cup bearers served chalices of mead to Harald, Gyda, úlvhild, and Gunnor, who had already been seated at the royal table. As Sk?rde and Ylva approached with their escorts, Richard—who was standing in front of two seated guests—motioned for them to come to his side.

“Sk?rde and Ylva, I’d like you to meet Lord Lugh and his sister, Lady Luna. The Ljósálfar who defend the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs .” Richard stepped aside to reveal his distinguished guests.

To Sk?rde’s astonishment, two Light Elves with silvery blond hair, luminous pale skin, and elongated, pointed ears arose from the table to greet them.

“It is a pleasure to meet the new Count and Countess of the Pays de Caux. My sister and I offer our congratulations on your royal wedding.” Lugh’s deep, rich voice had a melodic timbre, like the mellow notes of a harp. Half a head taller than the towering Duke of Normandy, he was broad-shouldered, yet lean and lithe. Although he wore a simple tunic and breeches in the muted colors of the forest, his fine clothing was embroidered in glistening gold thread. A spectacular gem—clear and pure as a sunlit stream—glittered in the ornate silver brooch which fastened his cloak. And a magnificent sword gleamed in the jeweled scabbard at his waist. Lugh’s radiant eyes glowed with otherworldly brilliance in the incandescent light.

“We have brought wedding gifts for each of you tonight.” Luna’s perfect teeth shone like pearls when she smiled at Ylva. “Lugh will present his to Sk?rde, and I have one for you.” The long, flowing sleeves of her diaphanous white dress gave Luna the appearance of a swan. A luminous moonstone pendant glimmered at the base of her slender throat. Like Ylva, Luna had long hair which flowed to her hips, but the Ljósálfar ’s locks were a much paler blonde. Her deep green eyes sparkled like the emerald in Ylva’s enigmatic ring.

The musicians who had been playing in the back corner of the Great Hall now filed into the wide, open area in the center of the room which had been designated for entertainment. Lively notes of lyres, lutes, rebecs, and flutes floated through the festive air.

“After we’ve eaten, I ‘ll introduce you for the presentation of gifts,” Richard nearly shouted to the Ljósálfar duo above the melodic din. “We’re honored and grateful that you have come to celebrate the royal wedding. I hope you enjoy tonight’s feast!”

The seneschal Petroc quickly ushered Richard to Gunnor’s side while a pair of liveried pages seated Sk?rde and Ylva at the center of the royal table in the two reserved seats of honor just as the entertainment began .

Attendants served the first course—an appetizing array of scallops, oysters, lobster, and crab—and the costumed performers that Sk?rde had seen rehearsing under the canopy of beech trees on the castle grounds presented a humorous theatrical interpretation of The Theft of Thor's Hammer , the Nordic legend of how Mj?lnir was stolen by the giant Thrym. With elaborate costumes, musical accompaniment, theatrical makeup, and hilarious antics, the performers evoked riotous laughter and enthusiastic applause.

During the second course of salted boar, baked fish, roast venison, and stuffed goose, fire eaters and torch jugglers elicited shrieks of delight inside the Great Hall while the theatrical performers entertained the enormous crowd outside.

Sk?rde chuckled and held her tight as Ylva reveled in the brightly colored silk scarves that the dancers and acrobats swirled.

“After the feast, we’ll join the others outside and dance near the bonfire under the stars.” He kissed her hand, thrilled to see excitement spark in her bright eyes. I can’t wait to hold her again. And share another sizzling kiss like the one in the waterfall cave.

Now that their performance had ended, the jugglers and fire eaters extinguished their lit torches, the dancers collected their silk scarves, and the musicians resumed their play.

“The food is superb. My compliments to Petroc, your new seneschal, for arranging such a delectable feast.” Harald raised his mug of mead to Sk?rde, who grinned in acknowledgement and drained his own goblet.

An attentive cup bearer promptly refilled their empty silver chalices.

“With construction nearly complete, and the wedding feasts coming to an end, I plan to depart for Denmark in three days.” Harald smiled as he glanced at Ylva. “Seeing your beautiful wife reminds me of my own. I long for my lovely Tova. And I miss Sweyn very much, too.”

A pang of envy rankled Sk?rde at the mention of his seven- year-old brother.

Father’s legitimate son.

When Harald’s attention was diverted to chatting with Gyda and úlvhild, Sk?rde discarded his ire by asking Ylva about the v?lva . “Today, when I finished carving the woodwork on Bj?rn’s front door, I saw you returning to the castle with úlvhild. Did she take you to her hut?”

Ylva swallowed a mouthful of boar and licked the honey from her lips.

Sk?rde’s body hardened at the sight of her sweet pink tongue.

“She’s teaching me galdr magic!” Elation illuminated her beautiful face. “I’m learning about curative crystals and gems—which ones to use for specific illness or injury. úlvhild has taught me incantations that I must practice. Vardlokkur chants to summon the curative essence of the stones. She has shown me how to imbue gems with galdr magic and create talismans of protection. Her training will increase my skills as a Celtic healer. And enhance the herbs I use as a Druid priestess.” Ylva gulped her mead, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. “She wants me to come to her hut for training every afternoon until she returns to Rouen with my father and Gunnor. I plan to go there tomorrow, after I visit the waterfall cave.” A corner of her mouth curving up into an impish grin, she raised the linen cloth beside her trencher to reveal a pair of large pink scallop shells. “I saved them from the first course. I’m going to ask Norhild to take them up to my chamber tonight when she clears away our trenchers. I want to bring them to the shrine tomorrow.”

She’s the daughter of a powerful duke. Surrounded by luxury as a countess. And yet, something so simple pleases her so much. She’s a treasure. And I am glad she is mine.

Ylva glanced around at the crowded tables where armored knights and elegantly attired ladies feasted with Viking warriors and their new Norman brides. Bustling attendants cleared away the barley trenchers—which would be feed to the pigs—while others served the final dessert course on small wooden plates laden with plum tarts, honeycakes, and rich dates stuffed with rolled nuts and cheese. Cupbearers refilled goblets of golden mead and ceramic cups of rich red wine. With laughter, music, and animated conversation, the wedding feast in the Great Hall was a jubilant, joyous affair .

“I’m not used to so many people. Or so much noise.” She sipped her mead and eyed the festive throng. “In Saint-Suliac, my mother and I lived alone in a cottage on a cliff. We were isolated. Surrounded by dense woods, far from the village. During the ten years after my father left, I lived alone with her. Drying herbs…tending sheep…harvesting shellfish in the bay. After she died this past winter, I was completely alone. I’m used to silence and solitude. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to living in a large, crowded castle. I miss the solace I once had.”

“You can escape to the waterfall cave. Or walk in the forest near the castle.” He tried suggesting something to lift her spirits. The gaiety in the Great Hall seemed to sadden her. “Why did you and your mother live so far from the village?”

Contempt contorted her pretty face. “Because we were ostracized. Shunned. Hated. I truly believe that if we had not been Druid priestesses, the villagers would have killed us.” Repressed rage strangled her voice. She ducked her chin as a castle servant placed a decadent dessert plate on the table in front of her. The sweet scents of honey and cinnamon contrasted sharply with the bitterness in her acrid eyes.

“I don’t understand. Why would the villagers hate two gifted healers?” Sk?rde accepted his dessert plate but didn’t touch it. He wanted Ylva to explain.

She opened her mouth as if to speak. But when she turned to face him, she quickly averted her gaze and remained silent, reluctant to answer his question.

He squeezed her hand and caressed it with his thumb. “I’m your husband now,” he said softly. “I want to share your life, know how you feel. Please tell me what happened.”

Lively music played in the background, and the animated wedding guests were obviously enjoying the delectable dessert. Ylva raised her mug of mead to her lips, sloshing a bit on the silk tablecloth. She downed a big gulp, as if composing herself. Or summoning her strength. When she looked at him, outrage flared in her eyes.

“They hated us for being contaminated . By the Viking raiders who had conquered our village and enslaved our people.” She glowered at Richard, who was laughing at something Gunnor had said, oblivious to his daughter’s distress. Ylva compressed her lips grimly and continued. “For ten years, my mother was Jarl Rikard’s concubine. His mare danico. His pagan Viking wife. And I was his precious, coddled daughter. The apple of his eye. We lived a privileged life of luxury in his royal Viking longhouse. And then—he abruptly abandoned us. Renounced his Breton wife and daughter to marry a Christian bride from Paris. So that he could earn the title of Richard I, the fearless Duke of Normandy.” Ylva gripped her goblet as if to strangle her pain. “He took his fleet of drakkar ships—and his entire Viking army—west to Rouen. He withdrew from Saint-Suliac, leaving devastation and ruin in his wake. He discarded my mother and me, abandoning us to the angry villagers who hated the Viking wife and daughter of the enemy. We had no choice but to seek refuge in an abandoned cottage that had belonged to a sheep farmer. I never saw my father again after that. Not once in ten years. Until the day he came to fetch me to become your Viking bride.” Ylva drained her goblet and thumped it down on the table. She glared at Sk?rde. “I have hated him—and my shameful Viking heritage—ever since. Now you understand why I did not want this forced marriage.” Her lip quavered as she looked right at him, her penetrating gaze piercing his soul. “But…you’re nothing like I expected. When I first saw you, I was terrified. Afraid you were a savage brute, like the Vikings I saw in the village.” She glanced around at the revelry, shaking her head as if confused. “And here—everyone has been kind and accepting. Nothing like the hatred and ridicule I experienced in my own village. I was never welcomed by my Celtic people. I grew up ashamed of my Nordic heritage. I was a cultural contradiction. A blend of both—but belonging to neither.”

Sk?rde brushed a long lock of blonde hair from her crumpled face. “I’m sorry you suffered. And I understand your pain. I was abandoned by my father, too.” He raised Ylva’s hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “My mother, like yours, was a captured concubine. And like you, I’m the illegitimate child of a ruthless Viking ruler.” He kissed her hand again, meeting her distraught, imploring gaze. “I was forced to leave behind the country I had grown to love. Just like you.” Bristled lips brushed the soft skin of her slender hand. “I didn’t want this forced marriage either. But now that I’m here—I see the abundance of the fertile plains of Normandy. The striking beauty of the white chalk cliffs. The magnificent castle of Chateaufort. And the beautiful, beguiling woman who is now my wife.” He leaned forward and caressed her flushed cheek. “I want to wash away your pain. Make you happy. Unlike our Viking fathers, I will never abandon you. I’m glad that you’re mine. And Ylva…” he said, curling a finger under her chin and leaning in to kiss her softly, “…I am yours.”