A year ago, when Sigurd had lived the life of a sailor for the Eisland Navy, the idea of marriage had never come to mind. Back then, he and Joren had teased one another about remaining bachelors forever, “doomed” to a life as single men. Though, unlike Joren, he hadn’t actively pursued finding a wife.
How things had changed. Now, he couldn’t imagine spending his life alongside any other woman.
Bryn passed her shield to Lagertha and took Sigurd’s hand, joining him beneath the floral arch. He marveled at her, his gaze following the twining flowers and silk ribbons woven throughout the red-golden strands. Gemstones winked from the delicate silver circlet she wore.
First they knelt, heads bowed as the priest led them all in a prayer to Frigga. He repeated the words with an open heart and genuine reverence, adding his own quiet offerings of thanks for her earlier intervention. Without the goddess’s help, he had no idea if they would ever have gotten here.
“Love is a rare thing in this life, and also the most precious,” Bryn’s father said when they rose to their feet again and turned to him for his blessing. “I see love in my daughter’s eyes when she looks at you, and no father could ask for more. I am honored to have you join our family and to call you son, Sigurd.”
The words from the burly jarl took Sigurd by surprise. His eyes burned with abrupt, unforeseen emotion, forcing him to blink several times. He swallowed the thick tension in his throat. “Thank you, Jarl Brynjar.”
“This eve, you are my son, and I am equally honored to bestow upon you the title of thane to my hold. You are Thane Sigurd Skull-splitter of Koldgrun.” Bryn’s eyes darted to her father in surprise, her mouth parting. He only smiled.
“It is now my honor, Thane Sigurd, to bind your life to that of our queen, Brynhildr,” the priest began. “The gods smile on this union, and witness the vows you have asked to speak to one another.
Taking her cue, Bryn began, a slight tremble in her hands. “Camden, you came into my life when all was bleak and I thought I would never truly know love. You opened my eyes and spoke to my heart, and not a day passes when I do not thank Frigga for setting you in my path. You are my beloved, my chosen, a man of two kingdoms. I will never forget that life in Eisland is what shaped you. Each day forward, know that you have my love, my respect, and my trust. You are the love I have always deserved.”
A low murmur spread over the crowd. As Bryn spoke his true name, emotion tightened his throat and burned in his chest. His name.
For a day, he’d rehearsed vows and words of devotion over and over in his head, none ever sounding so eloquent as what Bryn shared with him before the loyal drottin, their closest friends, and thousands of attendees.
“Brynhildr, fate took a strange twist when it brought me to you, but I thank the gods each and every day for that adjustment to my life’s course. I’ve seen your strengths and your sorrows, your kindness and your loyalty, and I vow to always treasure you—to treasure us—and this new life we’re forging together.”
“By Frigga’s blessing, I name you husband and wife. May you walk life’s paths together, bound as one heart and one soul,” the priest said, draping a braided cord across their wrists and binding it to symbolize their union.
Bryn’s feet ached from dancing around the bonfire. She held a mug of mead in one hand, which had been flowing without pause since she and Sigurd had tied the knot. Almost shyly—then cursing herself for nearly succumbing to the demure feelings flooding through her—she stole a glance at her husband. Blood still stained his face from the pig they had slaughtered together and dedicated to Freya. Now that same creature roasted over the flames, joined by a dozen more animals provided to feed the hungry well-wishers cycling in and out of the square.
Dozens of Koldgrun’s citizens gathered around Sigurd with awe and reverence in their eyes as he regaled the crowd with his tale of fighting alongside Freya against three magical beasts.
He’d told it thrice already that night, always for a different crowd, as one would leave and news of his experience would spread to yet more wanting to hear it.
“No matter how fast Geri galloped, we could not escape them. They were swift as the dokkalfar and just as black, with no color save for their terrifying faces. One reached out for me, and I felt its breath like the cold touch of death had already befallen me.”
“What happened then, Thane Sigurd?” a little boy asked. “How did you survive?”
“Freya herself came to my aid.”
The crowd fell in love, each asking another question about Freya, the goddess’s beauty, and the cats who pulled her chariots. He laughed and crouched before a little girl holding what must have been her first shield.
“Yes, little one. One day, if you continue to train very hard, you too may meet Freya in battle.”
How had she been so blessed? Despite everything he’d been through, he retained his good heart.
The children loved him, and as she watched him with them, her thoughts turned to those she had lost, and to those she still might bear. Nothing could replace the tiny bodies she had buried, but she looked forward to starting a family with her husband. One of love and truth, not lies.
She waited until he was alone again, his audience gone, before moving to join him. “You’re good with them.”
“I like kids,” he said.
“As do I. My mother and father wanted to fill our keep with a dozen children, but fate wasn’t with them.”
“Households filled with children fell out of favor in Eisland, I’m afraid. After my mother bore us, she decided that was the end of it, and promptly visited the alchemist to have the matter permanently resolved. She said ‘I have my little boy, and I have a gorgeous girl. No more.’ And my father accepted it, because what else could he do?” He laughed. “Growing up, Cara and I had plenty of cousins to play with, so it never bothered us that we were alone.”
“I’m not certain I desire a dozen, but…” She spread her hands and grinned, but her cheeks warmed. Maybe it was the mead. “When this is all over, when the land is at peace again, I wish to chase happy children with you.”
“Whatever number you want, Bryn. It makes no matter to me.” Sigurd wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her close against him. Each time he kissed her reminded Bryn of the first time, and she prayed to Frigga it would never grow old, that things never changed.
She was willing to love again and put the past behind her. To put Gunnar behind her where he belonged.
Chapter 21
In the days following the wedding, thousands of warriors had gathered outside Koldgrun, their barracks insufficient for holding the shield maidens or the many men pledged by Jarls Ivar, Revna, and their other allies. The former two jarls had committed the most to the cause, and Bryn had promised they would be richly rewarded for their generosity after the war.
Together, they stood on the steps of Staerkvaeg Keep and watched still yet more soldiers arrive. Soon, they would march west. Her father and Sigurd were out there welcoming the generals who arrived, giving orders and relaying the plan.
“On my honor, once this is finished, I’ll—”
“We do not do this for reward or glory, Brynhildr,” Revna said.