Page 3 of Shared By the Vikings

She pulled on a white under-top, then her maiden assisted her with a red yarn dress with golden embroidery running from her shoulders to her waist. The neckline was low, the pale skin of her slight cleavage visible.

“I will get the scent, Princess.”

“Ja.”

The handmaiden disappeared.

Pausing in her frantic movements, Ingrid slowly ran her fingertip over the soft orbs of her small breasts. She had yet to be with a man, but she’d seen and heard others in the village mating. Men planting their seed in the hope of sons. Privacy for intimate moments wasn’t something her people craved, especially when the mead was flowing and revelry was in full swing. She, however, wanted her first time with a man—her husband—to be special.

In fact her father had ordered that be the case.

What will it be like to be touched here... and down there?

Not for the first time her mind wandered into the future. She hoped her husband, her soulmate, her betrothed, would be handsome, and a fine warrior, a great provider, and brave and loyal. She’d yet to marry him, but already loved him. For she knew she’d only settle for a Viking of the highest quality, and she knew her father would only hand her over to such a person.

She sat and picked up a decorative comb made from an antler—a gift from one of the young men in the village, Raud Lothi—and set to her task of preparing for the feast again.

She smiled as she thought of Raud. He was one full moon older than her, and they’d grown up together, riding, hunting, chasing, and learning the ways of the forest and fjords. When Ingrid’s mother had passed with the fever four summers ago, Raud’s mother had comforted Ingrid, knowing when to speak, and when to stay silent as sorrow shrouded Ingrid’s life for the longest of winters. Raud had been the one to remind her how to smile. His playful nature, his quick genuine laughter, and his refusal to put her on a pedestal despite her father being king were a salve for her grief. She’d always be grateful to him for that.

Soon her hair was twisted into tight plaits and piled at her crown with several sprigs of dark rose heather sticking from it. She added dark brown streaks made from crushed walnuts and soot above and beneath her eyes, and dabbed dried berry paste onto her lips to give them a bruised shine.

“Ahh, there you are, daughter.”

“Father.” She turned, a smile forming on her face.

The king pushed the curtain aside and stepped into her space. He filled it with his wide shoulders adorned with a shimmering onyx wolf pelt. Two large iron buttons connected by a chain were pinned either side of his chest.

“Are you joining us?” he asked, ramming his hands onto his hips and his thickly coiled red beard shifting as he spoke.

“Of course.” She stood. “I just need to put on Mother’s amulet.”

“Here. Let me.” He reached onto the table and picked up the bronze chain; from it hung the runic compass symbol, vegvisir.

He held it up and looked between it and her. “This is a beautiful piece but nothing could ever outshine you, my dear daughter.”

“Thank you.” A little rush of heat bloomed on her cheeks.

“Perhaps I don’t say it often enough, but I do love you.”

“As I love you.”

“And sometimes...” He paused. “I grieve for you.”

“But I am still here.” She was confused.

“Yes.” He sighed and stepped behind her, positioned the amulet at her throat. “But you are a grown woman now. I miss the little girl who used to sit on my lap listening to stories of the gods even when you could hardly keep your eyes open. I miss our trips to the forest, where every new thing put a shine of wonder in your eyes.”

“I still love to listen to your stories.” She rested her hand on his. “And perhaps when spring comes we could journey into the forest together again, on a hunting trip. It has been a long time since we did.”

He sighed and worked on the clasp of the necklace. “It is true what you say, you do have a journey ahead, my child, and there will be much change with it.”

‘Bloodstone. It will help a lost soul see change on the horizon.’

Ingrid said naught though her mind galloped as the seer’s words came back to her. Did her father know she’d visited the seer? Had the words of the gods traveled so quickly? Did he also know she had a bloodstone in her pouch?

“Now more than ever you need your mother with you,” he said, “to guide you into womanhood. She is not here, but this, her favorite piece is. I am glad you will be wearing it tonight.”

“Ja, Father.”

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