Chapter 17

Sightings and Seier Magic

Ylva awoke to the squawks of gulls and gannets, the thunderous roar of rhythmic waves crashing against the white chalk cliff beneath the castle. The salty spray of the sea and the sweet floral fragrance of lavender wafted into the room on golden streams of morning sunlight. As she stretched languorously in the soft feather bed, an insistent hardness poked and prodded against her naked bottom.

Sk?rde pulled her back against him and caressed her breasts, tugging on her nipples and kissing the side of her neck until she parted her legs, achingly wet and whimpering for more. He entered her from behind, stroking and circling the small nub with the same relentless rhythm of his deep thrusts, the thundering of the surf echoing the pounding of her flesh. Like the cresting and curling of a powerful wave, the tension in her body mounted and crashed in furious release. She imagined Sk?rde’s seed spraying into her like the sea splattering against the craggy cliff.

“Mmm,” he murmured in her ear as he nibbled the lobe. “The best way to start the morning. May I always wake like this, with you nude and wrapped in my arms.”

Like every morning for the past three weeks, Ylva mused blissfully as she luxuriated in the smooth silken sheets, serenely content in Sk?rde’s sinewy arms.

Every night since she’d first invited him to her bed, she and Sk?rde had feasted in the castle Great Hall, danced under the stars, and made love in her soft feather bed. And every morning, like today, they’d rocked with the rhythm of the waves against the cliff.

Ylva stretched and purred like a satisfied cat, grateful for respite from the flurried, frantic activity of the past several days.

As planned, Harald had set sail for Denmark at the end of June. He and his royal Viking fleet would be arriving in Heieabyr next week. Since Sk?rde’s grandmother had decided to remain at Chateaufort, Petroc had arranged for Gyda and Dagny to have their own private quarters near the solar down the hall. Richard and Gunnor had returned on horseback to Rouen. After an absence of nearly three months—the long voyage to fetch Ylva, the elaborate preparations and negotiations with Harald for the royal wedding and Viking alliance, the continued celebrations and relentless revelry—he was anxious to resume his administrative duties as Duke of Normandy and Count of Rouen.

úlvhild had opted to remain in the village of Chateaufort so that she could continue Ylva’s training in the use of galdr magic. In September, after their very first Haustblót— the autumn harvest celebration of the fall equinox—Ylva and Sk?rde would bring the v?lva back home when they visited Richard and Gunnor in Rouen.

Ylva looked forward to spending the summer with úlvhild. And she was thrilled at the opportunity to visit the thriving trade center of Rouen with its Viking emporium on the Seine River leading into Paris. But that was still several weeks away.

Now, as she watched Sk?rde rise from the bed and stretch his arms high overhead, Ylva admired the glorious expanse of glistening muscles, golden skin, and gilded hair. When he turned toward her, Ylva’s breath hitched.

Sunlight danced like wildfire on the thunderbolt across his maimed, magnificent chest.

After weeks of toiling in the hot summer sun—building huts in the village, tending cattle and crops, fortifying the castle and the port—Sk?rde’s skin glowed like deep, burnished copper. In stark contrast with the bronze expanse of his broad chest. the silvery flesh of the jagged scar—outlined in a striking black tattoo—shone like Thor’s hammer Mj?lnir in the bright morning sun.

He caught her admiring his godlike body and bent down to kiss her while she exalted in the afterglow of their passion and the sensual bliss of silk caressing her skin.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of servants.

Quickly, before he dressed and answered the door, Ylva rose up onto her knees and kissed the jagged scar. “Whenever you touch me, energy from this thunderbolt courses right through me. When I first saw this scar on your chest in the waterfall cave of Saint-Suliac, I knew that Divona had revealed my future. And that you were my fated mate.” She kissed the tattoo again and nuzzled the dense blond hair on his sculpted chest. “I love this scar.” Ylva gazed up into his intense blue eyes, turbulent as the Narrow Sea. “And I love you.”

He pulled her to a stand in front of him, encircling her in his sinewy arms. His smooth, soft lips brushed hers. “I love you too, my Viking Wolf. I’m glad that you’re mine.”

Another rap sounded upon the door, with Norhild’s strained voice calling from the hall. “My lady… I have rosewater and herbal soap for you to wash. Shall I dress you and braid your hair?”

Sk?rde nodded at Ylva, kissed her forehead, and stepped back, releasing her from his embrace. He hollered to Norhild. “Just a moment. I’ll be right there.” He plopped down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his hose as he spoke to Ylva, who slipped a chemise over her head. “I won’t see you until tonight. I’ll be working all day at the mouth of the river. We’re finishing the reinforcements at the port to protect our ships.” He stood, retrieved a pair of folded breeches from the nearby chair and pulled them on, tying the drawstring at the waist. “I’m applying many of the same defensive structures we had at Heieabyr— huge pilings for vessels to dock, palisades with sharpened points to prevent enemy ships from entering our harbor, watchtowers with lookout points for a garrison of knights. And a fire beacon—to signal an impending attack. We’re even constructing a retractable barrier—with chains, winches, and pulleys. In a few days, it will all be ready. Chateaufort will be well defended. By the towering white chalk cliffs…an d our manmade defenses at the port.”

He strode across the room and opened the door for Norhild to enter.

Averting her eyes at the sight of Sk?rde’s bronzed, naked torso, the blushing servant entered the room and set a tray with a pitcher of water and a basin, a bar of scented herbal soap, and a linen cloth for washing on top of Ylva’s bedside table.

“Good day, Norhild. It’s such a beautiful morning!” Sk?rde winked at Ylva and went through the antechamber into his own room. A few moments later, as Ylva was washing with the sweet smelling soap, he came back into her chamber, clad in a clean white linen shirt. He strapped the Ljósálfar sword Lugh had given him at the wedding, belting the embellished sheath at his waist. The emerald in Duradrakk’s hilt glittered in the golden sun. “Will you be training with úlvhild today?”

Ylva rinsed the soap from her face and dried it with the lined cloth. “Yes, after the midday meal. But this morning, your grandmother is giving me more lessons on how to be a proper chatelaine,” she groaned with a grin. “I’m grateful we have Petroc and Ingolf to supervise the servants and manage the castle. I can’t imagine doing it all on my own.” She set down the drying cloth and turned toward him. “After that, I’m going to the waterfall cave.”

“With six armed guards to protect you, as always. I don’t want you going anywhere alone.” Sk?rde’s serious tone and fierce scowl brooked no argument.

Ylva sighed in reluctant resignation. It had been like this every day for past three weeks. Although she resented the constant presence of her personal guards and the loss of freedom she’d enjoyed in Saint-Suliac, Ylva understood that Sk?rde’s protectiveness of her was a sign of his love. “I know. But I always insist they remain outside and guard the entrance to the cave. To allow me the privacy to worship Divona.” Her gaze met his. “And of course, Rán . ”

He flashed her a dazzling grin, enormously pleased that she had accepted his Norse Goddess of the Sea. His warrior eyes blazed like blue fire as he adjusted his Ljósálfar sword.

Norhild stepped aside so Sk?rde could kiss his wife goodbye .

He whispered softly in Ylva’s ear so only she could hear. “I’ll be thinking of your luscious body all day long. I cannot wait until tonight.”

A sizzling current surged through her when his lips nuzzled the back of her neck.

Shivering and quivering, she watched him go. And then sat down, limbs shaking, for Norhild to braid her long blonde hair.

“Lord Sk?rde is quite smitten with you. It’s obvious for anyone to see.” Nimble fingers plaited slender braids along either side of Ylva’s smiling face. “And you, my lady, are equally besotted with him.” Norhild’s soft brown eyes twinkled as she secured the ends of the thin braids with silky ribbon and fetched a dark blue gown from the chest at the foot of the bed.

Ylva raised her arms up over her head, slipping them through the long, flowing sleeves of the dress while Norhild pulled the garment down over her body. The attentive maidservant helped Ylva don a light overdress, belting it to cinch her waist. As a finishing touch, Norhild placed a simple silver coronet atop the long blonde hair braided with blue ribbon.

“Lovely! Now Eydis and I will escort you to the private solar where Lady Gyda is waiting. We’ll serve you strawberries and cream, porridge with cinnamon and honey, and freshly churned butter for the warm barley bread.” Norhild smiled brightly as Eydis arrived to accompany Ylva downstairs to the sunlit room.

After a delectable meal—and another seemingly endless hour of instruction by Sk?rde’s well-meaning grandmother detailing more of Ylva’s duties as Lady of Ch?teaufort and Countess of the Pays de Caux— she was desperate to escape the confines of the castle and head to the waterfall cave.

Accompanied by her six armed personal guards, Ylva crossed the meadow filled with fragrant wildflowers toward the narrow path that led from the top of the cliff to the pebbled shore far below.

Gannets and guillemots soared in the cerulean sky, the midday summer sun making the weather very warm as she cautiously descended the steep, grassy slope.

At the bottom of the cliff, low tide revealed mudflats and small puddles where sandpipers, oystercatchers, and dunlins poked their long bills into the sand for shellfish. In the distance, she spotted the striped sails of the drakkar warships docked at the mouth of the river. That’s where Sk?rde and his men are working today. Finishing the barricade to fortify the port. A wave of desire washed over her at the thought of his magnificent body and the unknown delights he had shown her in bed. Like my lusty husband, I can’t wait for tonight. Smiling inwardly, she crossed the rocky beach toward the familiar rushing and splashing of the nearby waterfall. The thunderous roar echoed in the curved, sheltered inlet of the towering white chalk cliffs.

“Please wait here at the entrance,” she said to the armed royal guards. “I won’t be long.”

Inside the opalescent grotto bathed in late morning light, the gleaming wooden sculpture of Divona stood on the rocky shelf that Sk?rde had chiseled into the wall of the limestone cave. At the base of the polished statue, nine turquoise gems and three silver coins glittered, flanking the pair of scallop shells that she and Sk?rde had centered on the limestone ledge of the shrine. Ylva had added the two scallop shells she’d saved from the wedding feast. And today, as an offering to the goddess, she’d picked a sprig of sea lavender in the meadow on her way down the slope. As she tucked the sweet smelling spray of fragrant purple flowers at Divona’s feet, she whispered a prayer of gratitude to the Celtic Goddess of Sacred Springs.

“Thank you for bringing me here to Normandy. For entwining my fate with Sk?rde’s. I am happy with my new husband. For the first time in my life, I feel loved.”

Ylva’s heart soared like the seabirds in the summer sky as she stood inside the waterfall cave. She peered into the bubbling waters of the deep pool where the cascade tumbled from the top of the cliff and splashed into a basin of smoothly polished rock. Sunlight glittered on Divona’s sacred spring, radiant light reflecting through the waterfall like dazzling, brilliant gems.

As she gazed into the ebullient pool, darkness suddenly descended and a hushed silence fell. On the surface of the water, unbidden images appeared as Ylva stood mesmerized in the throes of a trance.

She glimpsed a fleet of sleek Viking ships bearing unfamiliar sails with the emblem of a huge black raven on a background of solid white. As Ylva stared at the reflections unfolding in the otherworldly vision, hundreds of axe-wielding warriors poured from the raven ships onto a bloody, beleaguered beach. Heart pounding, mouth dry, she felt as if she were there on the battlefield, ready to fight. But who were the raven warriors? Friend or foe?

Slowly, Ylva’s senses returned.

The roar of the waterfall thundered in her ears.

The crisp, saline scent of the sea filled her nostrils.

A soft summer breeze caressed her cheek.

Still reeling from the horrific images she’d foreseen, Ylva felt her legs shake violently under the long gown.

Breathless, she whispered a prayer to the Celtic Goddess of Sacred Springs and the Nordic Goddess of the Sea. “Divona and Rán, please help me understand this vision. Guide me to discover the truth.”

Ylva inhaled deeply to calm her frazzled nerves, smoothing her gown to steady herself. I must speak to úlvhild. Perhaps she can interpret my vision. It must be a warning of an impending attack. But where? When? And who are the raven warriors? Allies or enemies?

Ylva stumbled out of the sea cave, stopping to drink from the sacred spring, splashing the icy water from the pool upon her flustered face. She summoned her awaiting guards. “We must hurry back to the castle and inform Lady Gyda that I’m going to úlvhild’s cottage. I need to speak to the v?lva right away.”

“At once, my lady. Please, allow me.” Kallez, the highest ranking of her personal guards, escorted Ylva across the pebbled beach to the path which led up to the oceanfront fortress. With a reverent bow of his mail-coiffed head, he offered a gallant arm and helped her climb back up to the top of the cliff.

She dashed across the meadow toward the oaken double doors where the castle guards— immediately alert in response to her perceived distress—were reassured by Kallez and Ylva’s personal knights.

Darting through the foyer, she caught the worried eye of Petroc, but dismissed him with a gesture of her hand. She raced down the hall, past the servants’ quarters, up the stairs to her father’s private solar where Gyda and Dagny were weaving linen and chatting in a sunny corner of the comfortable room.

At the sight of a breathless, harried Ylva, both women set down their looms, worry etched upon their startled faces.

“Ylva, what’s wrong?” Gyda rushed to her side.

Dagny pulled up a chair, seated Ylva, and poured her a goblet of ale.

Ylva took a few gulps to catch her breath, then told them of her disturbing sighting in the waterfall cave. “I didn’t recognize the port. And it was nighttime in the vision, so I could barely see the beach where the battle occurred. I must speak to úlvhild. Perhaps she can cast her runes or seek seier wisdom to interpret my vision.”

****

While Kallez and her knights stood guard outside, Ylva knocked on the door of the wooden cottage. The sweet smell of smoke and incense wafted from an opening in the peaked, thatched roof.

úlvhild’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she greeted Ylva at the entrance. “I didn’t expect you so soon. But please come in.”

Inside the dim hut, a golden-eyed black cat observed them from a sumptuous pile of brightly colored silks and exotic furs on a bed in the back of the room. Drying herbs were suspended from metal hooks in the ceiling, and the pungent scent of rosemary and sage again reminded Ylva of the herbal remedies she’d always prepared with her mother Lova in their stone cottage in Saint-Suliac. An iron cauldron simmered on the hearth, and the spicy scent of myrrh burned in a gem-encrusted ceramic incense bowl on the nearby wooden shelf.

úlvhild seated her at the round table where each afternoon, Ylva was learning to wield galdr magic and the healing properties of crystals and gems. Pouring two goblets of mead, the v?lva handed one to Ylva with a welcoming smile. “Shall we begin our lesson a bit early today?”

Ylva gulped several swallows of mead and detailed her disturbing vision in the waterfall cave. “I went back to the castle and told Gyda and Dagny what I’d seen. I explained that I needed to speak to you right away.” She downed another gulp, her mouth dry and her limbs still shaking. “Can you interpret my sighting? What does it mean?”

úlvhild fingered the black leather pouch attached to her belt. “I’ll cast the runes. Perhaps the three Norns will reveal our fate.”

From a jar on the shelf, she tossed a few seeds into the crackling embers. Deeply inhaling the acrid fumes, úlvhild thumped her staff upon the earthen floor. Ethereal and haunting, her rhythmic, melodic chanting of the vardlokkur summoned the spirits between worlds to aid in her divination .

The v?lva spread a blue linen cloth across the oak table, all the while continuing her eerie incantation. She withdrew the black pouch tied at her waist, shook the contents, and cast three oval shapes etched in blood upon the sacred cloth. Pounding her staff like a drum on the ground, humming an otherworldly harmony, she leaned over the ivory bones to interpret the Nordic runes.

“The rune for Urd, the Norn goddess of the past is Naudiz— for hardship, endurance, and struggle.” úlvhild’s golden eyes glazed like embers in the fire. “You and your mother lived apart—taunted, ridiculed, and shamed.” She swooned and swayed, perceiving the past. “Sk?rde suffered rivalry, envy, and strife—endless battles and raids…”

Eyes closed, in consultation with divine spirits between the realms, úlvhild hummed, thumping her staff on the ground before examining the second ivory bone etched in blood. “Verdandi’s rune for the present is Raido —symbolizing a ride or journey. I see… a long voyage in a carriage… with hidden secrets, mystery, and danger.”

úlvhild returned to the fire and tossed a handful of herbs into the flames, inhaling the thick, sweet-smelling smoke. As she thrummed her staff on the floor of the hut, the luminous moonstone encased in filigree at the tip of her wand glowed in the firelight.

Evocative and eerie, the v?lva’s otherworldly voice summoned the spirits as she returned to the table and examined the final rune. “Skuld—the Norn who reveals the future-shows us Kaun . Representing injury, destruction, and disease.” úlvhild’s eyes glowed like the radiant moonstone in her iron staff. “I sense betrayal, evil, and doom. To understand more, I must seek answers through seier vision.”

Ylva watched in wonder as úlvhild selected herbs, flowers, berries, and seeds from the stores upon her shelves. “Henbane and wormwood, to enhance divination.” She tossed a handful of yellow flowers, silvery green leaves, and three small seeds into the cauldron. “Rowan and juniper, to purify and protect against evil.” Deep purple and bright red berries went into the steaming pot. “Mistletoe and vervain, to promote visions and magical ability.” The v?lva added several white berries and tiny purple flowers to the elixir. While it simmered, she fetched her goblet from the table and added a spoonful of honey. “To sweeten the bitter brew.”

úlvhild returned to her cauldron and stirred the potion, chanting incantations for divination. When she deemed it ready, the v?lva ladled the liquid into her goblet. She stirred it with a small spoon, then downed the contents, resuming her vardlokkur chant and drumming her staff on the rush-covered floor. When she moved a high-backed wooden chair into the center of the room and seated herself upon it, her head lolled to one side, and her eyes rolled back, exposing just the whites. After a few moments, she bolted upright, golden eyes glazed, staring into the distance between realms.

“A trio of evil will betray the Danish king.” The v?lva’s ephemeral voice echoed in the quiet cottage. “I see a fire… Viking ships burning…a young boy abducted in the night. A long voyage in a carriage. He is imprisoned in a fortress on an island… l’ ?le de la Cité… in the heart of Paris. ” úlvhild slumped forward. Ylva was about to rise from her chair to help when the v?lva stiffened her spine, suddenly alert. But her glassy gaze remained fixed far away .

Raising her arms as if taking flight, úlvhild stretched her skeletal fingers toward the sky. “I must summon the Falcon to find the boy… and the Dragon must free him. To save the Danish king… the Norman duke…and the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.”

Like a whisper on the summer wind, úlvhild’s otherworldly voice carried across the Narrow Sea. “Haldor Falk! Heed my call. Come at once to the clifftop castle of Chateaufort. On the alabaster coast of the Pays de Caux .”