Chapter 15

Moonglow and Starlight

A blanket of twinkling stars wrapped the night sky. Moonlight flickered on the flowing river which emptied into the Narrow Sea. In the distance, beyond the edge of the wildflower-strewn meadow, white waves crashed against the craggy cliffs, spraying tangy mist and frothy foam high into the cool, salty air. The sweet floral fragrance of sea lavender, wild thyme, and mallow blossoms mingled with the crisp, green scent of beech, ash, and fir trees in the dense forest surrounding the castle. Lively notes from flutes, lutes, horns, and harps thrummed with the rhythm of drums and the movement of wild, carefree dance. Smoke from the crackling bonfire stung her eyes as, hand-in-hand, Ylva wove with Sk?rde through the jubilant throng.

When they reached a small clearing at the edge of the woods, far from the madding crowd, Sk?rde pulled her close and swayed her to the cadence of the music.

A current coursed through her, like the raging river which roared toward the sea.

“At long last, I can hold you. I’ve been wanting to—all night long.” His radiant smile dazzled her and starlight sparkled in his eyes. “I can’t believe Luna and Lugh came to our wedding feast. I’ve never seen a Ljósálfar before. And the gifts they brought! I can’t wait to wield this Light Elven blade.” Sk?rde gestured to Duradrakk , the emerald in its hilt ablaze with verdant fire. Sk?rde’s deep, throaty chuckle reverberated into Ylva’s bones.

“And I’m most grateful for my gift of nen glir . With the Ljósálfar song of water, I’ll be able to heal with Divona’s sacred springs.” Ylva smiled and subtly inhaled Sk?rde’s earthy, heady scent. A sublime, seductive blend of wood, leather, fresh sweat, and pine. Primal and raw, it beckoned to her.

As music wafted on the summer wind, and the perfume of lavender permeated the air, Ylva’s senses reeled and her mind raced as she swirled in Sk?rde’s arms.

He carved a wooden statue of Divona for me. He knew I had to abandon my shrine in Saint-Suliac. So he helped me create a new one. He found the waterfall cave. Collected scallop shells with me. Gave me precious gems and silver, engraved with runes. Taught me about Rán, the Norse Goddess of the Sea.

Dark blond hair peeked from the green tunic at the base of his throat. Swaying to the music, swooning from the mead and the magic of moonglow, Ylva succumbed to the irresistible urge to nuzzle her nose in the thick tuft. She wanted to run her fingertips over the thunderbolt tattoo which streaked across his broad chest. And trace it with her tongue.

I never thought I would marry. Never imagined a man would want me. In my village, they taunted me with insults. Made me ashamed of my Viking blood. But Sk?rde is different. He shares my Norse heritage. Like me, he was abandoned by his royal Viking father. Forced to leave everything behind and forge a new future in Normandy.

For the first time in my life, I feel welcome. Like the people here in the White Chalk Cliffs, I’m a blend of Nordic and Celtic roots. With Sk?rde, I feel wanted. Respected. Even treasured. At first, I dreaded this arranged marriage. Hated my father for abandoning me, then using me for political gain. But fate has entwined me with Sk?rde. And now, I’m grateful that he is mine.

“You’re quiet. And pensive.” He suckled the side of her neck, making her knees weaken as he murmured in her ear. “Thinking about me, I hope.” Longing lingered in his questioning gaze .

Impulsively and instinctively, she kissed the tuft of blond hair beneath her nose, filling her lungs with his sultry scent and savoring the sweet salty taste of his skin.

He groaned, tightening his embrace around her back, swooping down to swallow her lips. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the outline of her mouth, then plunged in to explore and probe.

Ylva melted in his arms and moaned into his mouth. The emerald in her ring pulsed with the same rhythm that throbbed between her thighs.

Four Viking warriors armed with swords and shields hollered for Sk?rde to join them. “Dragon of Denmark! Come show us your Ljósálfar blade. The mock battles are about to begin!”

To Ylva’s astonishment, he refused. “Not tonight, Gunni. I’m dancing with my beautiful bride.” Sk?rde’s arms encircled her in a tight, possessive grip, his chin tucked protectively over her shoulder.

The shock on their stunned faces augmented Ylva’s delight. With a shake of his head and a mutter of disbelief under his breath, the tall, red-haired and red-bearded Gunni led his disgruntled companions away.

He chose me over them. My warrior husband—who lives for battle—would rather dance with me. No one has ever put me first before. I feel wanted. Valued. And loved.

She caressed his thick blond locks, kissed his braided hair, and whispered in his ear. “Sk?rde…please come with me to bed.”

His head jerked up from her shoulder, a ravenous hunger on his ragged face. “Nothing would please me more.” His hoarse voice was guttural and gruff.

Grasping her hand, Sk?rde led her briskly past the enthralled group where úlvhild interpreted her cast runes. Past the cheering crowd gathered around the jugglers and jongleurs. Past the throng of warriors dancing in wild abandon with their new Norman wives.

Through the solid oak entrance doors carved with the image of a massive dragon, Sk?rde and Ylva entered the festive castle. In the expansive foyer, seated at inconspicuous tables along the wall of the Great Hall, the seneschal Petroc, the steward Ingolf, and several off-duty knights finally had the opportunity to enjoy the wedding feast. Spotting the lord and lady of the castle, Petroc promptly rose to his feet and hastened to greet them.

Sk?rde silently dismissed him with an outstretched arm, signaling that assistance was unnecessary. When Eydis and Norhild rushed forward to attend Ylva, he waved them away with a flick of his hand. With unspoken command, he conveyed his preference for privacy as he led Ylva across the vast vestibule and up the stone stairs toward their royal chambers.

Moonlight and the salty scent of the sea filtered through the small open window at the end of the hall. Along the corridor, lit torches emitted the fragrant aroma of pine. Sk?rde retrieved one from the metal sconce on the wall and held it as a dutiful servant unlocked Ylva’s bedroom door. He took the key and dismissed the maid, leading Ylva into the moonlit room and locking the door behind him. With the torch, he lit a lamp on the bedside table and headed toward the antechamber which connected their two sleeping quarters. “I’ll be right back. I want to lock my door as well—so none of the servants disturb us.” With a seductive grin, he strode through the door.

Ylva walked to the pair of windows which overlooked the cliff, watching the moonglow and starlight dance upon the Narrow Sea. She removed her silver coronet and placed it on the small table where she had stored the lunula that Sk?rde’s grandmother had given her as a wedding gift. Remembering Gyda’s words to hang it over the bedpost so that the Goddess Freyja would bless her fertile womb , Ylva retrieved the crescent-shaped silver amulet from the drawer and tied it to the carved oak wood.

She removed her shoes and hose, quickly unbraiding and combing her hair while she waited for Sk?rde to return. úlvhild’s otherworldly voice whispered in the wind. “You are destined to conceive Sk?rde’s son… 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 jumped when Sk?rde crept up behind her, placing his hands on her outer arms. A jolt of current surged through her shaking body .

He swept her long blonde mane to one side, bending forward to kiss the back of her neck. “I love your hair…” he murmured, nuzzling her skin and ending shivers down her spine. “Your lithe body, graceful as a swan. Odin’s eye, Ylva—you’re a goddess. And I want to worship every inch of you.”

He turned her to face him. Ardor glinted in his greedy, grateful eyes.

As Ylva watched in fascinated admiration, he unstrapped his leather scabbard and stood his new sword Duradrakk against her walnut table. The enchanted emerald glittered in its hilt. Like my ring, she mused, her eyes darting to the faceted gem which pulsed on her finger.

Sk?rde stepped forward, unbuckling Ylva’s belt and helping her remove the silver overdress. He laid both over the back of the walnut chair he’d carved for her mundr bridal gift.

Ylva slid her dark green gown to the floor, stepping out of the silken dress. She picked it up and placed it on the bedside table near Sk?rde’s standing sword.

He moaned at the sight of her nude body, bathed in moonglow and starlight. Wrapping his arms behind her back, he pulled her against his chest. Soft, insistent lips swooped down to swallow hers.

Ylva slipped her arms up under his tunic, her fingers exploring his sinewy back. “Take this off,” she implored between breaths, struggling to lift the linen garment over his flexed shoulders.

Sk?rde complied, a mischievous glint in his eye as she ogled his massive chest.

Amidst a magnificent backdrop of dark blond hair, a jagged scar tattooed in black ravaged the rugged skin. Mesmerized—for she had foreseen this exact image in the pool of the waterfall cave in Saint-Suliac—she brushed reverent fingertips across the lightning bolt which marked him with the thunder of the Norse God Thor. “I saw this in a vision.” Her voice was a venerable whisper. Obeying an undeniable primitive urge, she covered the scar with soft kisses and traced it with her tongue.

He groaned as if in pain. Gripping her bottom with calloused hands, he pressed his warrior body against hers. Hardness poked against her belly.

Her legs instinctively parted, an unbearable ache deep inside. Liquid warmth pooled between her trembling thighs.

Sk?rde took her hand, kissed it, and led her to the bed, laying her gently upon the feathered mattress. He stood for a moment, ravenous eyes roving over Ylva’s entire body, as he removed his breeches and dropped them on the floor.

Ylva’s breath hitched at the sight of his magnificent hardened body, standing proud like his Ljósálfat sword. He knelt on the bed above her, hovering with voracious hunger. Like a famished man at a sumptuous feast, he sampled and savored every inch.

He started with her lips, swallowing them into his own, probing the recesses of her mouth with a penetrating tongue. His breathing ragged, he trailed kisses down her throat, caressing her breasts, making her body arc toward his tantalizing touch. When he suckled her nipples, she whimpered with want, unaware of what she craved. He parted her womanly curls, exploring the folds of her flesh with tender fingers. Inhaling the musky scent of her arousal, he murmured, “I am dying to taste you.”

Sk?rde lowered his mouth to the opening between her thighs, lapping and humming as if he loved her taste. His clever tongue twirled on a tender, sensitive bud, making her writhe on the bed. He rose up onto his knees and sucked his fingers, penetrating her with first one, then two. A sharp, sudden pain seared, but quickly disappeared when he returned his mouth to her aching nub. Under the persistent pulse of his long fingers, and the insistent stroke of his skilled tongue, her body tensed, taut as a bow, the unbearable pressure pushing her toward an inexorable, unknown end.

When she could bear no more, she cried out as her body shattered in radiant light, like a thousand bursting stars. Gasping for breath, damp with sweat, she looked down at Sk?rde as he rose back up onto his haunches.

“Delicious,” he grinned wolfishly, licking his moustache and placing his knees between her thighs. “I cannot wait to bury myself deep inside you.” He slipped his hands under her bottom. Lifted her hips up to receive him. Positioned himself at her opening. And plunged inside.

Ylva moaned in pleasure, wrapping her arms around his broad back and her legs around his thrusting hips. She clutched him tight, pulling him in deeper, gripping him inside and out. She inhaled his slightly pungent, masculine scent, kissing his tense shoulder, savoring the sweet salty taste of his bare skin.

With a deep groan, he arrowed into her. Convulsing and shuddering between her taut limbs, he filled her womb with his abundant seed.

A few moments later, while she still quivered beneath him, Sk?rde shifted his weight onto one elbow. He swooped down to kiss her with an immensely satisfied smile. “That was incredible. Indescribable. As if I poured my soul into you with my seed.” His languid lips and warm tongue washed her in waves of pleasure. “I am yours, Ylva Rikardóttir. And you are mine.” He kissed her again. She could taste herself on his wicked, wonderful tongue. “You’re exquisite, my beautiful Breton bride.” He lowered himself to lay down beside her and noticed the lunula tied to the bedpost. “What’s that?” He indicated the silver amulet with a jut of his chin.

Ylva sat up, untied the black leather laces of the amulet, and handed it to him. “It’s a lunula. A Viking fertility talisman. Your grandmother gave it to me. She told me to tie it to the bedpost, so that Freyja would bless my fertile womb.”

He grinned from ear to bearded ear. “Mayhap the seed I planted tonight will take root.”

“I hope so.” Ylva smiled as she showed him her emerald ring, sparkling in the moonglow and starlight. “úlvhild gave me this. She said the emerald will heal my heart. Help me to overcome the pain of my father’s abandonment. And enable me to love you.” Ylva pushed a wayward strand of long blond hair from Sk?rde’s rugged face and leaned down to kiss him. She smiled at the irony of loving him.

He’s a Viking. Like my ruthless, fearless father. And the violent warriors who conquered my village. After so many years of hating them—and my own Nordic blood—I am in love with a Viking. Although I loathed this forced wedding, I am now glad that we’re married. Destiny has entwined our fates. And I’m grateful that he is mine.

He laid the lunula on the bed at his side and pulled her down on top of him. Wrapping his arms around her back, he kissed her long, tumbled hair. “I love you, Ylva.” His voice was raspy and rough. “I never thought this marriage would make me happy. But I’ve never known a greater bliss.” Warm, soft lips welcomed hers.

Rising up onto one elbow, Ylva kissed his jagged thunderbolt scar. “Nor have I,” she whispered, twirling the dark blond hair which stretched across his brawny chest. She raised her right hand to display her dazzling ring. “úlvhild said emeralds enhance fertility.” Ylva glanced at the glittering stone, then gazed into Sk?rde’s intense eyes as he lay beneath her. “She foresaw that I’m destined to conceive your son.” With a tender fingertip, Ylva caressed the scarred skin of his cheek above the beard braided with emeralds and silver beads which glimmered in the moonlight. She kissed his irresistible lips. “A son who will forge a dynasty to rule for a thousand years.”

He grasped her hand and traced his thumb over the ring before brushing reverent lips over the glittering green gem. “I sensed a pulsation from this stone—like the beat of my heart.” A fierce, feral grin stretched across his savage face. “And the throbbing of my loins as I yearned for you.”

Ylva reveled in the lust, longing, and love reflected in his ravenous gaze. “I felt that, too. A rhythmic throbbing between my thighs. An empty ache that you finally filled.” She leaned down to kiss him, her long hair falling over his chest and shoulders. “Perhaps we did conceive a son tonight.” Ylva smiled and lifted the lunula from the bed. “I’ll tie this to the bedpost. So Freyja will bless my fertile womb.”

Sk?rde snarled with a seductive snicker and pulled her back down on the bed. “Let’s increase our chances and do it again. And make love in the morning, too.”

Heart full, spirit soaring, Ylva welcomed him into her willing body.

Divona had answered her prayers.

At long last, Ylva was loved.