Page 50 of Heart of the Wolf
Excess threads from the ribbon dangled between them as the Gothi faced Brielle, a tenderness in his gaze that put her at ease. Brielle listened intently as he spoke, certain that she would need to do something when he was finished. Unfortunately, his words were too thick, and she didn’t understand. She flicked a panicked glance at Leif, hoping he would know what she was asking of him.
A light twinkled in his eyes as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Repeat the words,Einn sal. Eitt lif. Eitt hjarta.”
Brielle squeezed his hands, reassured by the comforting strokes of his thumbs on her knuckles. Flakes of snow fell harder, landing on his cloak, twinkling in the firelight before melting under the heat. Gold shimmered in her eyes as she gazed up at Leif, finding nothing but absolute devotion staring back at her.
“Einn sal. Eitt lif. Eitt hjarta.”
The Gothi nodded at Brielle, relief washing through her at the gesture. Now he turned to Leif, reiterating the words she had just spoken. For as many as were there, the grove was deafeningly quiet, save for the sounds of the bonfire crackling. Leif stepped in closer to Brielle, resting his forehead against hers. In the distance, she heard a collective sound rolling through the crowd that she couldn’t make out.
“Einn sal. Eitt lif. Eitt hrjata.”
The slow vibrato of his words moved through her, soothing the chill that settled deep in her bones. The words, his voice, his attention, it was as if, at that moment, it was only for her.
And, maybe, it was.
Leif wanted the meaning behind each phrase to seep into the very fiber of her, of them, together. Even if she didn’t grasp entirely what was being said, whatever it was,it was profound, alighting a glow inside her that echoed in him.
A stone etched with a rune of fertility rested on their bound hands, and the Gothi murmured a prayer to Frigga. Lost in the depth of his words and the warmth of his gaze, Brielle hadn’t heard the closing remarks, only aware of the finality of it all when the throngs of people erupted around them in rancorous cheers.
Leif took her face in his hands, holding it like some precious metal as a warm sound resonated in his chest. He ignored the people who encircled them, looking to revel, stealing a private moment with her instead.
“Hjartað mitt,” he said, brushing his lips along hers.
“Úlfr,” she breathed back.
The stares didn’t deter him; Leif captured her lips, drawing a breathless whine from her. His lips slanted along hers, his smile growing as she parted to let him deepen the kiss. He hummed quietly, dipping his tongue into her mouth, swiping it along hers, swallowing her quiet sighs. He held her face still, ending their embrace with a final tender peck between her brows.
Amund clapped Leif on the back, wringing his shoulder, effectively popping their bubble. And then, the solemn ceremony morphed into a celebration.
Ale flowed freely among the village as children ran around the bonfire, poking it with branches and playinggames. Brielle stayed close to Leif; he kept her tucked to his side as the celebrations moved from the grove to the longhouse, where a giant feast waited for them.
Drums thrummed at their arrival, a group of men pounding on them, stationed in the center of the room. Others strummed a harp, while still others sang. The music magnified everyone’s good spirits while many drunkenly danced along.
Leif and Brielle sat at the center of a long table at the end of the hall with Astrid on Brielle’s left and Amund on Leif’s right. Brielle sipped on a honey-sweetened draught of berry wine that was too delicious. It was deceptively sweet; she knew she couldn’t have more than one. Not if she wanted to be awake for her wedding night.
Liv arrived at the foot of the table, grabbing both women, insisting they dance. Leif dipped his chin, urging her to enjoy the festivities.
“Go,” he grinned, raising his mug. “Dance, my pretty kona.”
Laughter radiated around them as others joined in their dancing, pleased to see Brielle smiling among them. Sweat trickled down her brow as Liv swung her around the room, introducing her to those who had yet to meet her. It wasn’t long before Andri found his wife, nipping at her throat, his dark eyes glassy with the strength of ale.
The arches of her feet began to ache, and Brielle was thankful when Astrid suggested they return to their table. A skald mingled among their guests, spinning tales of the gods and mighty warriors to drunken men who stared as wide-eyed as the babes.
Astrid settled in Amund’s lap, her fingers playing with his hair while he spoke with another jarl Brielle didn’t know. Leif, too, spoke with two men from another clan. She quietly slid into her seat, sipping a skin of water.
A palm splayed over her thigh, rubbing in soft strokes. Leif wrapped up his conversation, turning his attention to his wife. Silver flickered in his eyes as he appraised her slowly, grinning at her wine-flushed cheeks. He pecked chaste kisses along her jaw, nipping at her ear.
“What did it mean?Einn sal. Eitt lif. Eitt hrjata.”
Curled lips paused by her ear when he pulled away to look into her eyes.
“One soul. One life. One heart. We are bound as one. As we were always meant to be, hjartað mitt,” he said, nuzzling into her hair. The gorgeous braids from the ceremony had long broken free. His long fingers combed through her thick curls. “My beautiful, wild wife.”
Very few people appeared to be paying them any mind; most were either too gone with ale or too tired from their exertions. Leif’s hand slid higher on her leg, moving to the crux of her thighs. A breath hissed through her teeth.Brielle barely stifled the audible moan tumbling out of her. She squeezed her legs together, licking her lips.
“Leif,” she whimpered, shifting in her seat.
He chuckled a dark laugh as he suckled on a spot between her collar and jaw that made wet heat pool between her thighs. Unbothered by the others, he worked over the same place until it was marked, his tongue soothing it.
