Osmund did not argue with him, as Kelda had, but the look in his eyes said, “Barmy, barmy, barmy!”
Then he took a piece of silver and a chain to the blacksmith with specific directions for his bridal gift. If this did not win Joy over, nothing would.
Now he needed to seek out the priest-soldier and get his cooperation. For that, he might need some reinforcements. Incentives, so to speak, to gain the priest’s cooperation.
“Tork,” he yelled. “Bring a jug of ale . . . or five.”
How do you say “dum dum dee-dum”in Old Norse . . . ?
Everything and everybody was really weird.
Joy was about to go down to the great hall on Christmas Eve wearing the spectacular outfit that Arnora had laid out for her. She’d asked Arnora why she was being given such a fine garment, and the old lady had just said that it was Brandr’s gift. The gown had belonged to his mother.
Grateful that he would honor her so with such a priceless Christmas gift, Joy wore the gown but determined to return it before she left. Well, of course she would. How could she cart a valuable gown through time?
Which made Joy get depressed once again, thinking about going home when she really did not know where her home was now. But not today, she determined, shaking her head to rid it of unwelcome thoughts.
In the hall, also preparing to go downstairs, was Liv, who carried her sleeping baby on her shoulder. Liv was dressed for the festivities, too, her amber gown a perfect complement to her pale hair. It was amazing how Liv had gone from a reclusive, shy girl, not wanting anything to do with her child, to this gentle mother who chose never to leave her baby behind. Joy could only hope that Liv found a man someday who would appreciate her for the wonderful person she was.
“I am so excited,” Liv said in a low voice so as not to wake the baby. “We have not had a feast like this since . . . well, since long ago. Our mother was alive then . . . mine and Brandr’s. That was her gown, you know.”
“I know, and believe me, Liv, I’m well aware it should go to you. I’ll be returning it.”
“Nay, ’tis Brandr’s to give as he chooses.”
They both gasped when they emerged from the stair-well into the hall. Candles and torches glowed everywhere, along with huge fires from Yule logs in the five hearths. The smells of holly and pine and good cooking permeated the air. Clean rushes scented with lavender had been laid on the floor that afternoon. Someone was playing a musical instrument somewhere. Probably a lute. Happy voices wafted over everything. It truly was a Christmas feast. A Viking Christmas feast.
“It is magical,” Liv said in a hushed voice. “I wish Erik were old enough to see all the lights and hear the music. You must help us do this every year, Joy.”
Joy nodded, although she doubted she would be here even one more year.
Then Brandr was there, standing before her with a huge dimpled smile on his face. “You are beautiful,” he said in an awestruck voice.
“You don’t look half bad yourself.”
He wore all black: wool tunic, slim pants, leather belt with a silver buckle, even black cross-gartered boots. But all the black was edged with red and gold embroidery in an intricate bear design, like the Bear’s Lair flag, which flew on their longships.
“How about me?” Liv complained in a fake whine.
“You always look pretty, little one.”
“Little one? Hah! You will be calling me that when I am thirty.”
“No doubt,” he said, chucking her under the chin and giving the still sleeping baby a fond caress.
Then he held an arm out to each of them and led them across the hall and up to the dais, fielding greetings of “Good Jul” and “Merry Christmas” along the way.
Already on the dais, each in their finery, were Tork and Dagny, who indeed were dressed to kill . . . or to wed, along with Arnis, Erland, JAM, and a few others of Brandr’s her-sirs and their mates. Einar was at the far end of the hall, thank goodness.
“I just love Christmastime,” Joy said, once seated, as the servants began to carry in platters of food.
“That is obvious, and contagious.” Brandr raised their linked hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “Do you feel at home here, Joy? Nay, do not answer that. ’Tis just that you seem comfortable.”
“Certainly more so than on my arrival. Nothing like being someone’s present.” She flashed him a teasing grin.
The only thing missing was a bow around my neck. Instead I had a thrall collar.
But she would not bring up that sore subject now.
The children began to sing some Christmas songs while everyone was eating, and their conversation was cut short. JAM exchanged a look with her at one point when the kids were leading the crowd in a rollicking version of “Rudolph,” with one of them prancing around with a red puffy wool nose, pretending to be a reindeer.
She had to admit that the Vikings were adaptable, as historians had relayed, and they enjoyed a rowdy good time. They also loved gift giving, which would come in the morning.
After the main course but before the dessert, Brandr stood and raised his arms for silence. When all was quiet, except for the crackling fires, he said, “I have an announcement to make. Henceforth, there will be no thralls at Bear’s Lair.”
Shock held Joy speechless and motionless.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. One man shouted, “Who will do the thrall work?”
He held his arms up for silence again. “Every thrall, man or woman, will be given a choice. They may remain here under contract to work for a given period of time, none to exceed five years. Those who choose not to work may leave come springtime, with no repercussions. I have been convinced that men and women work harder when under no yoke of slavery. I believe Bear’s Lair will prosper in this new way.”
Not everyone was convinced, but Brandr was a strong leader. He would show them that it could work.
“One last thing. From this point forward, no babies born at Bear’s Lair will be thralls.”
More murmurs of disgruntlement passed through the crowd.
“Now, resume the festivities. I will discuss all this with each of you after the Yule season.”
With that, he sat down and reached for his cup of ale, taking a long draw.
She just stared at him. “What was that all about?”
Even though there were still grumblings, the music had started up again, and people were beginning to consume the plum pudding that Kelda had sweated over.
“Me. Adapting.”
“You?”
“What? You thought I was so rigid in my ways that I could not change?”
“In a word, yes.”
“See, we all learn something every day.” He winked at her.
The wink was almost her undoing. “Did you do that . . .releasing the slaves . . . for me?”
“Not
for
you, but
because
of you.”
“Oh, Brandr.” Deeply touched, she put a hand to his cheek.
“Oh, good gods!” someone exclaimed to the right of her. It sounded like Arnis.
She looked to see what had caught his attention, then did a double take. Two men were carrying a huge platter on which rose a very large cake, at least two feet tall. A lopsided cake with white icing, sprinkled with black things that might be nuts, or dirt.
“
What
is that?” she heard Liv ask.
“A wedding cake.” someone replied.
Brandr just chuckled and murmured something that sounded like, “Good old Kelda!”
“Dearly beloved,” someone else said, drawing their attention to the other side of the dais where a holly and pine bough covered trellis stood with a crude cross on top. And JAM stood there in his priestly attire, his booming voice ringing out, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of one man and one woman . . .”
Joy smiled. The wedding. She turned to look at Tork and Dagny.
Who had turned to look at her.
In fact, everyone was looking at her . . . and Brandr.
Whaaat?
She jerked her head to the left. “Brandr, please don’t tell me you did this . . . without consulting me.”
“Yea, I did. It is to be a surprise wedding. Surprise, surprise!”
I am going to kill him. I am really going to kill him this time.
“There is not going to be a wedding between you and me, surprise or not.”
“You wear my mother’s wedding gown and the torque my father gifted her. I honor you with this offer of matrimony. Nay, do not get your hackles up. Let me finish. More than that, I would be honored if you would marry me.”
Tears were welling in her eyes, and she noticed that the hall was silent, everyone waiting for her answer. Could she be more embarrassed?
He turned her chair around so her back was to the crowd, and did the same to his own, a belated attempt at privacy. Then, taking her hands in his, he pleaded, “Be my bride, Joy. Please? Marry me. Be my helpmate, my lover, and the mother of my children.”
She moaned and swiped at the tears rimming her eyes. “You don’t make it easy to refuse you. And don’t ever try to tell me ever again that you are not romantic.”
“You have changed me.”
“Why, Brandr? Why are you doing this?”
He exhaled loudly, as if trying to gain strength. “You came into my life like a lightning bolt, heartling, bringing sunshine where there was only darkness. If you leave, I despair that I can go on. The berserkness will come back, I know it will, like black, life-sucking quicksand.”
“Don’t play on my conscience. That’s not fair.”
“For the love of God,” JAM yelled out, “tell the woman you love her.”
Brandr blinked at her. “That goes without saying.”
“It does not!”
He cocked his head to the side. “You do not know?”
“Know what, you idiot?”
“I love you, heart of my heart,” he said simply.
And she was lost. Lost, lost, lost.
She fell into his arms, onto his lap, and wet his neck with her copious tears. She could no more leave this man than cut off a limb. It was crazy. She was a twenty-first-century woman. He was a tenth-century Viking. But they were meant to be.
A short time later, JAM said the traditional wedding vows over them. Out of nowhere, Brandr pulled out a heavy, etched, gold ring and slid it on her finger. She was handed a silver chain and medallion to slip over Brandr’s neck.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“My slave collar.”
“No way!”
“Yea way! The leather thong has been replaced by metal, and the amulet is silver, but the significance is the same.”
She put a hand to the medallion and turned it over. “What do those runic letters say?”
“I belong to Joy.”
A new Viking tradition . . .
With a deep kiss and hearts singing, they both turned to JAM, who said, “By the power granted to me by God and the Navy SEALs, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Then, with a chuckle, he added a loud “Hoo-yah!”
The Viking men thought that was a cue. Thus it was that a new tradition was born at Norse weddings, or at least those at Bear’s Lair. A loud chant by Viking men of “Hoo-yah!” forever after accompanied horns of mead raised for the wedding toast.
Of course, that did not mean that the Old Norse rituals were abandoned. Brandr made sure he smacked Joy across her bottom with the broad side of his sword, just to remind her who was to be the master in this household.
No one believed that would be the case.
In fact, in their bedchamber that night, the bride was heard to say, “I’ve been thinking . . .”
And the “master” buried his head under a pillow.
Epilogue
Good-byes bring sweet sorrow . . . some worse than others . . .
Even though it was springtime, the air was crisp as five of Brandr’s longships prepared to make their way down Igorssfjord now that the ice had thawed. Two would be going a-Viking, and three would be for the markets of Kaupang, Birka, and Hedeby.
Brandr would not be traveling with his men. This was a time for rebuilding Bear’s Lair. In addition, he had a new wife to coddle and hopefully to plant with the seed of his child as soon as her birthing control device wore out. Most important, ne’er would he leave Bear’s Lair unprotected again, as it had been with the Sigurdssons. A strong hird of soldiers remained here with him.
“Make sure you bring back plenty of young hogs,” he told Erland. “They will have all the spring and summer months to pannage amongst the acorn trees. By fall they will be fat enough to butcher, and our larders will be full once again.”
Erland nodded, and they both exchanged “Godspeeds” with hands to each other’s shoulders.