Chapter 30

Return to Chateaufort

Ylva dashed down the grassy riverbank to the harbor amidst cawing sea gulls, shouting men, creaking ropes, and splashing oars as the Sea Siren sailed into the port and docked alongside the wooden quay. While crew members firmly secured the ship and the boarding plank with ropes, Sk?rde, Gunni, and Viggo disembarked and coordinated with Bj?rn, Petroc, and castle servants to unload the vessel. When he raised his head to look up toward the castle, Sk?rde’s eyes—a deep, endless blue like the sky and the sea—found hers. And transfixed her with his piercing, penetrating gaze.

In a flash, he was upon her, swooping her off the ground and into a swirling, dizzying embrace. As always, a current coursed through her at his tantalizing touch. “By the gods, I’ve missed you!” He planted her back down amongst the wildflowers, crushed her against him, and swallowed her lips with his own. “I reek of sweat and the sea…” he whispered into her open mouth, sharing her hitched breath. “I want you to bathe me. And let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” He summoned his chamberlain Jofroi, who had come down from the castle to greet Sk?rde. “Prepare a bath in my private chambers. Send up a platter of fruit, meat, bread, and cheese. And a pitcher of mead. I will spend the afternoon alone with my wife.” Ravenous hunger blazed in Sk?rde’s fierce, feral eyes as he took her by the hand, waved away the swarm of scurrying servants, and led her up the hill .

Gyda greeted him at the castle entrance. “Welcome home, Sk?rde!” She laughed as he bent down to hug and kiss her, his blond beard tickling her crinkled cheek. “We’ll fix a feast for your crew tonight in the Great Hall—and a private meal for us in the solar.” She shot a knowing glance at Ylva, her warm smile conveying her understanding that they wanted to be alone. “I’ll take care of everything. See you tonight. Enjoy your time together.” With a swoosh of swishing skirts and a clinking of keys, Gyda slipped down the hall toward the castle kitchen.

Sk?rde guided Ylva through the crowded foyer, shooing away the approaching attendants and knights who obviously wanted to greet him, pulling her by the hand toward the stairwell. He conducted her up the stone steps to the second floor of the castle, down the hall to the last door on the right where Norhild and Eydis stood waiting inside Ylva’s private room.

“Thank you both, but I won’t be needing any assistance. Please help Gyda and Dagny with preparations for tonight’s feast.” Ylva waited until the two servants disappeared, then followed a restless, eager Sk?rde through her bedroom, across the antechamber where her herbs, elixirs, gemstones, and charms lined the wooden shelves, into his adjacent private chamber.

On a wooden table along the wall, Jofroi placed a platter offering an appetizing array of ripe melon, soft cheese, fresh bread, and cold roast pork with a pitcher of mead and two pewter goblets. Several male servants poured water from steaming cauldrons into a large oval wooden tub atop a shaped limestone base in a corner of the room. Attendants added fresh lavender, whose soothing floral fragrance filled the balmy air. While servants assembled the herbal soap, antler comb, and fresh linens for drying, Jofroi helped Sk?rde remove his soiled linen tunic, trousers, leather boots, and belt, which the attentive chamberlain retained for proper cleaning.

Once the tub was full and everything was ready, a gloriously naked Sk?rde dismissed Jofroi and the servants.

Alone at last, he stood beside the steaming tub, staring at her with unabashed lust, his limbs visibly quavering with longing.

Ylva’s appreciative eyes roved over his scarred, magnificent body.

The jagged thunderbolt tattoo and ragged scar blazed across his expansive chest, amidst the dark blond hair which covered his sculpted muscles and trailed down his sinewy waist. Under her admiring gaze, his hardened body stood at attention for her, undeniably eager for her touch or her warm mouth. She longed to kiss every inch of him, tracing her tongue over his tattoo and down the tempting trail.

He grinned wolfishly, as if he could read her thoughts. “After I wash away the grime, you may do whatever you wish.” Slinking into the inviting tub, he slipped under the scented water and emerged with an audible sigh of pleasure. “Ah…the warmth feels good.” He leaned back in the tub and smiled at her with inviting, intoxicating eyes. “Come, wife. Wash me.”

Heart fluttering, legs shaking with desire, she knelt at the head of the tub and started with his thick blond hair. She soaped his long locks into a rich, luxurious lather with lavender and mint scented herbal soap, massaging his scalp with her fingernails.

His guttural moans sent waves of want straight to her aching loins.

After rinsing the suds from his hair, she lathered his beard, soaped up his neck, shoulders and back, washing and massaging the muscles of his arms down to his hands. One by one, she lovingly cleansed and caressed each of his fingers, delighting in his contented moans.

She switched to his feet, concentrating on every one of his toes, working her way up his legs as she washed and massaged his muscled thighs. Removing her hands from the water, she lathered his chest hair, running her hands down his taut stomach, sliding her soapy, groping hands between his twitching legs.

Sk?rde leaned his head back against the tub and groaned as she finally grasped his erect shaft. But instead of letting her pleasure him, as she’d intended, he stopped her hand, stood up, and poured a pitcher of water over his head, rinsing away all the suds .

Eyes aflame, he stepped out of the tub, staring at her breasts through the sodden bodice of her soaked dress as he hastily dried off. He stepped down from the elevated base of the tub, onto the pinewood floor. Tossing the drying cloth aside, he moved forward and helped Ylva out of her wet, clinging clothes.

As she stood nude before him, his ravenous mouth claimed hers, his tongue parting and penetrating her lips while he grasped her bare hips and pulled her firmly against him. He suckled her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts, making her swoon and whimper with want.

He led her to his feather bed, laid her gently upon the downy mattress, and spread her legs wide, feasting on her exposed flesh with a savage hunger in his fiery eyes. “I longed for this every day at sea. I cannot wait to taste you.” Soft, insistent lips suckled and swallowed her sensitive folds, the tip of his tongue tracing her delicate nub, driving her wild with mounting tension. “I must have you,” he groaned, sliding his calloused hands under her bottom, tilting her hips up and penetrating her with a full, deep thrust. In rhythm with the thunderous crash of the waves against the chalky cliff far below, he pounded into her, taking them both over the edge as they shuddered and shattered together, entwined in each other’s limbs.

Easing his weight onto an elbow, he leaned down to brush her lips her softly, sighing in ecstatic relief. “Odin’s eye, I missed you.” He covered her face with a light flutter of fleeting kisses. “I love you so much, Ylva. It feels good to come home. To you .”

As he nuzzled her neck and murmured in her ear, Ylva’s heart overflowed with love and gratitude. The trio of goddesses had answered her prayers. Sk?rde had safely come home. And, cocooned in his sinewy arms, her long legs wrapped around his hips, she felt blissfully happy and truly loved. Inside and out, body and soul.

“I’m famished.” He snarled like a growling wolf, rising from the bed and plodding across the room to inspect the platter of food.

She slipped out of bed and came up behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she kissed his broad, muscled back. “Smells good. Your clean skin…and the fresh fruit.”

He handed her a wooden plate, serving her some of the melon. “Would you like some cheese and nuts?” When she nodded, he placed a slice of soft white cheese beside the melon on her plate and spooned some cinnamon and honey laced chopped walnuts on top. “Pork and bread?” She nodded again, a wave of desire flowing through her when he dipped his finger in the pot of honey and stuck it into her mouth. As she sucked it, she watched the effect it had on him, sublimely content when his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“I want to suck more than your finger…” She slowly and deliberately licked the honey from her lips, soaking up the lust and love blazing in his brilliant blue eyes.

He kissed the honey from her lips. “Let’s eat first. And have each other for dessert.”

“Sounds perfect.” She accepted the plate he had prepared for her and watched as he poured the goblets of mead, handing one to her. “Thank you, husband.” Thinking how much she loved to say the word, she crossed the room, set the chalice down on the bedside table, and crawled onto the bed. Still nude, she sat cross legged on the bed, smirking as she noticed how he couldn’t take his eyes off the pink flesh between her open thighs.

With a lusty grin, he groaned, “With you sitting like that, I don’t know how long I can last.”

She laughed and patted the bed beside her. “Come, let’s eat together. And make love again when we’ve finished.”

He sliced open some barley bread, spread it with cheese and nuts, topped it with slices of cold roast pork, and poured honey over the meat. Adding a couple wedges of fresh orange melon on the side of his plate, he came over and sat down beside her to eat.

They spent the rest of the glorious, golden afternoon in the soft, sumptuous bed.

****

That evening, gathered around the oak table in the private solar with Ylva, Gyda, úlvhild, his Viking warriors, and the knights of Chateaufort , Sk?rde related the tale of his six week sea voyage to Heieabyr.

“We were granted an audience with my father—thanks to the letter from the wealthy Count of Lisieux—to present our Frisian Royal Fleece to King Harald Bluetooth. Armed guards escorted us into the royal longhouse to display our exceptional wool to the king. Although we were disguised as shipping merchants, my father immediately recognized this ring, which he had given me when he proclaimed me the Dragon of Denmark.” Sk?rde flashed the dragon ring with glittering emerald eyes which he proudly wore on the index finger of his scarred right hand. “I was able to get close enough to my father to speak quietly in his ear. I told him that Sweyn was imprisoned in the royal palace of Paris, that Richard and I would free him, and that we would bring my brother here to Chateaufort.” Sk?rde took a long pull of mead and eyed Bj?rn and the knights seated at the table. “He informed me that King Lothaire of West Francia had ordered him to attack Chateaufort, and that he would set sail for Normandy on the autumn equinox.”

“That was a week ago.” Bj?rn shot an uneasy glance at Esulf, his second in command. “We need to fortify the castle immediately.” He spun his attention back to Sk?rde. “Richard has requested reinforcements from three of his allies. Enguerran has gone to meet with the knights sent by the Count of Anjou and position them east of Fécamp. We could bring them here instead to defend Chateaufort .”

Sk?rde shook his head, swallowed a gulp of mead, and set his goblet down. “My father is amassing an army from Norway and his allies along the Baltic Sea. He’ll make it seem as if he has no choice but to comply with Lothaire’s orders and attack me. But he’s not sailing for Chateaufort. He’s going to help us retake Fécamp.”

Gunni grinned above his thick red beard. “We attack from the sea. Richard attacks by land.”

úlvhild’s velvety voice floated like mellow notes from a harp. “And Haldor Falk attacks from the sky.”

All heads spun toward the enigmatic v?lva .

Golden eyes aglow in the incandescent light, she flashed a cunning feline smile. “He is a master of flying magic. A powerful vitki who commands all winged creatures. He can summon ravens, owls, hawks, and falcons—even stinging insects. With wasps, hornets, osprey, and gyrfalcons swooping down to gouge the eyes and sting the faces of the castle archers and defenders along the ramparts, you will be better able to eliminate the enemy and infiltrate the fortress.”

The Norman knights and Viking warriors around the table shared incredulous glances and grins of astonished delight.

Sk?rde raised his goblet of mead, prompting others to follow suit. “To Haldor Falk, Falcon of the Faroe Islands. May Odin guide us to victory at Fécamp. Or the glory of Valhalla.”

Amidst shouts of “ Skál !”, everyone toasted to triumph in the upcoming battle.

Ylva glanced around the table at the familiar smiling faces. Although Lugh and Olvir had departed from Chateaufort and returned to álfheim —the realm of the Ljósálfar Light Elves—there was one pale, luminous face she had expected to see seated amongst Sk?rde’s men. “Where is Ildris? Did he not return with you on the Sea Siren ?”

Viggo’s deep voice reverberated through the room. “He insisted that we leave him in the port of Thybor?n, in the north of Denmark, where we stopped to replenish supplies on the return voyage.”

Eyebrows furrowed with incomprehension, she looked at Sk?rde for an explanation.

“We encountered a D?kkálfar as we were leaving Heieabyr after seeing my father. Ildris recognized him as Nithrak, one of the two proprietors of the Sapphire Chalice Tavern in Dorestad, founded by King Lothaire of West Francia. Nithrak had most likely been sent to Heieabyr as a spy for the Frankish king. We couldn’t allow him to report back to Lothaire, so Ildris used the gildir starstone in his brooch to turn the D?kkálfar to stone. We disposed of the petrified statue at sea.” Sk?rde downed a gulp of mead and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ildris explained that Nithrak’s brother Guldur would undoubtedly come to Heieabyr and find traces of Ljósálfar magic, which would enable him to track Ildris. Since he did not want to lead Guldur to us here in Chateaufort , Ildris remained in Thybor?n. Apparently, he was able to cross the Bifrost bridge into álfheim from there.”

“Guldur can’t follow him to álfheim. Only the Ljósálfar —or those with Ljósálfar magic—can cross the Bifrost bridge.” úlvhild’s amber eyes gleamed with otherworldly wisdom as she firmly held Ylva’s incredulous gaze.

An icy shiver crept down Ylva’s spine as comprehension dawned.

I have the magic of nen glir. Perhaps one day, I will need to cross the Bifrost bridge.

She looked at Sk?rde. And recognized the same realization in his profound, perceptive gaze.

“Lugh and Olvir have promised to aid us in defending the Pays de Caux . They’ll cast powerful, protective shields around Chateaufort . And—if the gods grant us victory over the Franks—around Fécamp, once you have reclaimed Richard’s fortress.”

“To the Dragon of Normandy! May Sk?rde the Scourge lead us to victory! Or the glory of Valhalla!”

****

The following day, as gulls cawed and waves of the Narrow Sea crashed against the craggy white chalk cliffs, Ylva and Sk?rde made love in the early morning light. Wrapped snugly in his sinewy arms, her head resting over his thundering heart, she heard the bellow of the castle sentinel waft on the salty wind through the open window.

“Vessel approaching! Ship sighted in the harbor!”

Her father and the Falcon had returned to Chateaufort.