Sigurd looked out the open window and spotted Kveld toiling in the early spring sun, repairing the stone wall along the north side of the waterfall pool. He grinned at Brynhildr. “Let’s go ask him now.” Taking her hand, he led her out the oaken door.
As they strode across the meadow, the Nightwolf stood, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his grey woolen tunic, long black hair tied behind his inked neck with a leather cord. He looked bare without his enormous black wolfskin cloak. Kveld grinned expectantly at their approach, as if he already knew what they had come to ask.
Brynhildr offered him a flask of cool water from the spring. He accepted it with a grateful nod, eagerly quenching his thirst. She smiled at Sigurd, then voiced her request. “Kveld… you marked our forearms with falcon and wolf… and witnessed our blood oath in the wild rose garden beneath my private tower. You carved the triplebindruneonÚlfalkr, binding Sigurd and me to the ship and the sea. I would ask that you wed us tomorrow night…here, by the sacredspring.”
Kveld flashed a wolfish grin at Sigurd as he fetched the golden band he had crafted from the pouch belted at his waist. “Now you understand its purpose,” he smirked to Sigurd, mirth dancing in his amber eyes. “I knew you would need this,” he told Brynhildr, placing the ring in her palm. “Sigurd has theouroborosto offer you, but I knew you would need a wedding band for him.”
She traced the carved images of wolf, falcon, and dragon, admiring the amber, emerald, and lapis lazuli gems. “It isperfect,” she murmured, examining the trio of runes inscribed inside the band. Eyes wide with recognition, she glanced up at Kveld. “The same triplebindrunethat you carved on the ship—and at the base of my tower.” She whispered to Sigurd, nearly breathless with excitement. “This marks the thirdbindrune—to join us in marriage. Oh, Kveld,” she cried, clutching the ring tightly as she threw her arms around his inked neck and kissed his black bearded cheek. “I cannot thank you enough—nor can I wait until tomorrow night.” She lowered her arms and turned to face Sigurd, a joyful smile illuminating her radiant face. “When at long last, I wed my beloved Sea Wolf.”
Kveld stretched his back and drained the rest of the water from the flask, returning it to Brynhildr. “Come with me,” he told them both, leading them into thehúskarlar’scottage where he had moved his belongings, to allow Sigurd and Brynhildr privacy in the other dwelling. From a leather pouch inside his pack on the floor, he withdrew three blue beads and placed them in Brynhildr’s hands. “Aquamarine—ice blue, like the fjord which brought you together and witnessed your blood oath in starlight. Sapphire, for the sacred spring where you shall be wed in moonglow. And lapis lazuli, for the sea which binds you to each other…and will carry you to safety one day soon.”
He drew the wolf dagger from the sheath at his waist and cut a lock of hair from Brynhildr first, then Sigurd. He placed the two blond strands—his dark, hers light—into Sigurd’s calloused palm. “Braid these together with a piece of ribbon or cord,” he told Brynhildr, “and weave in the three blue beads. I will need it for the wedding ceremony tomorrow night.”
The Nightwolf led them back outside, where wildflowers bloomed in the golden morning light of early spring. There, he instructed them further. “Gather gifts to honor a trinity of goddesses. Three flowers for Jörð, Goddess of the Earth. A triad of herbs for Eir, Goddess of Healing. And a trio of seedsfor Frigg, Goddess of Marriage, to bless your sacred union.” He glanced at Tryggvi and Hálfdan, hauling a slab of newly cut rock toward the stone wall. “I must return to work.” Grinning at Sigurd, he said over his shoulder as he strode across the meadow, “Remember…bathe her tonight and tomorrow in the sacred spring. And make love in moonglow and starlight.”
Brynhildr nearly swooned with joy. “Come,” she urged, pulling Sigurd toward the cottage and the trunk of clothing that Père Clément had just offered. “I need to choose my wedding gown!”
Chapter 20
Moonlit Wedding at the Sacred Spring
“This blue gown has lovely silver embroidery along the neckline.” Brynhildr draped the fine silk dress for Sigurd to see. “And the matching cloak has silver fox fur lining. This will be perfect for the wedding.”
“Deep blue, like the sea.” His glorious smile stretched his braided blond beard, the lapis gems glinting in the sunlight. “And this ribbon,” he said, lifting the two locks of their hair and the blue strand that he was weaving together in his lap. On the table beside the bed where he now sat, watching her search through the trunk, lay the three blue beads he would soon thread into the braided ribbon and hair.
“Here is a gown I can wear right now.” She lifted a dark green dress from the wooden chest, laying it beside Sigurd on the bed as she shed the ill-fitting clothes he had lent her. When she stood nude before him, he laid the braid aside and leapt to his feet. Grasping her hips, he pulled her close, roaming hands over her bottom, sending heat to pool low in her belly.
“Before you dress…” he growled, laying her down on the bed and moving the dark green gown to the table. “I wish to worship my golden goddess.”
He bolted the heavy wooden door of the cottage whereBlárúlfrhung on a hook. Closing the shutter on the open window, he returned to kneel over her on the bed, worshipping her with skilled fingers, lips, and tongue. After bringing her to ashattering climax, he filled her quivering body withseiðr,soul,and seed.
“Mmm,” he hummed, kissing her tousled blonde hair. “With your taste on my tongue and your scent in my beard…I shall relive our lovemaking all day long.” Grinning, he rose from the bed, donned his shed clothing, and sat down again to finish braiding their locks of hair with the silky ribbon and sparkling blue beads.
Longing, love, and lust in his fierce lupine gaze, he watched as she dressed in the emerald gown.
“After three glorious days together, it will be heartbreaking to see you leave.” Standing between his parted legs, she wrapped her arms behind his neck and drew him close, cradling his head over her heart. She kissed his thick hair and rocked him like a babe. With a curved finger, she lifted his chin and pressed a gentle kiss to his bearded lips. “I shall love you, and only you, Sigurd Sea Wolf. In this life and the next. Forevermore.”
Brynhildr withdrew her arms and stepped back, sorrow clenching her gut at the thought of him sailing to Sweden. She knew he was destined to avenge hisfaðirby slaying King Lyngvi of Götaland. Sigurd and Agnar had recently defeated Hjálmgunnar in the decisive Battle of Bjarkhölm—where she had defied the web ofwyrdand incurred theAllfather’swrath.
Now, thebloodswornbrothers would ally once again, to reclaim Sigurd’s birthright—the Kingdom of Lindesnes, in southern Norway. The Völsung lands of his ancestors.
As she opened the window and deeply inhaled the fresh alpine breeze and the sweet floral scent ofedelweiss, dread gripped her heart. For she sensed the Norns tightening the threads of fate around her and Sigurd.
“It’s finished,” he announced with a proud grin, handing her the completed braid.
She held it in her palm, admiring his loving, painstaking craft.
With the lighter strand of her golden hair, the darker blond of his, the deep blue ribbon, and the trio of blue beads, the braid was a symbol of their love—bound by the fjord, the sacred spring, and the sea. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, returning it to him and kissing his lips softly. With a smile, she said, “Now let’s gather gifts to offer the three goddesses. And I’ll collect wildflowers, fragrant herbs, and ivy to make my bridal wreath.”
Sigurd cut three tender twigs from a linden tree near the sacred spring, trimming the side buds with swift, sure strokes of hisÚlfhjartadagger while Brynhildr sliced long sections of dark green ivy. When they returned to the cottage together, he bent the supple shoots into a gentle oval, holding the overlapping ends steady as she wound the glossy ivy around the linden twigs, binding wood to wood, life to life.
“I’ll weave in the wildflowers tomorrow, so they don’t wilt.” She held the wreath, sitting on the edge of the bed, and wove ivy around the frame in her lap. “But I can cut sprigs of wild thyme and weave those in today. The fragrance will be lovely in my hair.”
Sigurd’s smile stirred her soul. “While you gather the herbs, I’ll fetch our armor from the other cottage.” Rising from his seat on the bed, he kissed the top of her head and whispered softly. “I’ll be right back.”
Brynhildr stepped outside, basking in the warm sun on her upturned face. She wandered through the meadow, gathering sprigs of wild thyme for her bridal wreath and fragrant herbs for the wedding offering to the Goddess Eir.
Sigurd returned to their cottage, carrying her golden corslet, falcon vambraces, and the amber leather pieces of her armor. Through the open door, she watched him lay them carefully atop the wooden trunk, placing her sword and shield against the wall.He disappeared briefly to retrieve his own goldenbrynjaand winged helm, then returned outside. Settling onto a large stone near the edge of the forest, he polished her leggings, boots, and gloves with a soft linen cloth and beeswax till the amber hide glowed in the golden sun.
