Hakon’s pulse thundered in his ears. “How can I trust you?” he said. “I came for you, you said you wanted me. And then you did not. I felt that I was dying then.”
He saw the pain in her eyes, probably the same pain that he had felt every day without her. She was nodding, short, nervous nods. Then she went into the purse she had dropped on the floor when she entered. She brought out a small black box. Then she dropped to one knee, awkwardly because of her belly, and held the box out to him.
“What is this?” He stared at her and the box. “What are you doing?”
She opened the box, and on a black little pillow was a ring, black with a band of small rubies in the middle. As the firelight gleamed against it, he saw that in the middle, where the ruby band had a gap, the black metal became a wolf’s snarling jaws. Hakon looked at the ring, which was the most beautiful piece of jewelry he had ever seen.
“This is how people in my time propose,” she said. “Hakon Ulfsson, will you marry me? Me, Mia, not Princess Arinborg. Or anyone else. Me.”
He looked into her eyes, and in them, he saw everything. They shone with love and peace. And the peace and love he had been craving since his mother’s death enveloped him, filling in the cracks in his heart.
He took her elbows and helped her to stand up, and she sighed in gratitude. She must be quite uncomfortable in her condition. “I will not allow my wife to be any lower than me,” he said, and Mia beamed.
Her closeness sent a wave of warmth, like sunshine, through his blood. He drew her to him, the box with the ring still in her hand, and took her in his arms before she could evaporate like the last snow of winter. His lips found hers, and he claimed her mouth. Desire surged through him, getting stronger with every stroke. His tongue dipped into her mouth, meeting hers, licking, probing, indulging. Someone coughed.
They separated from each other, breathless, and looked to the source of the sound. Everyone in the crowd watched them, smiling, eyebrows raised.
“Well?” Solveig said.
“Well, what?” Hakon asked.
“She asked you a question. Will you marry her?”
Hakon chuckled, turned to Mia who was looking like a shy, naughty kitten. She raised her eyebrows and held out the box with the ring.
He took it. “I will marry her,” he said, and a smile so bright and so beautiful spread on her face that he was blinded. The mead hall erupted in cheers and hooting and the delighted squealing of the children. Mia put the ring on his finger, and it fit perfectly.
He kissed her again, hungrily, desperately. Time stood still. Everything disappeared. All that existed was them, their souls dissolving in the kiss.
When they separated this time, Hakon looked around and people were drinking mead, talking, laughing.
Ledis sat pouting on her mother’s lap, but when she saw that Hakon and Mia were free from the kissing, she beamed. “Tell us a story, Mia!”
The hall grew silent. People gave way to Hakon and Mia so that they could take their seats next to the hearth, which they did. Hakon had never felt as light, as soft, and as warm as he did now. It was as if he was swimming in the love and acceptance of everyone in the room.
Mia took his hand in hers. “Do you know the story of the boy who killed a wolf twice his size?” she asked.
Ledis shook her head, her eyes wide, serious.
Mia looked at Hakon. “Maybe it’s time people knew the story of how the Beast was really born.”
Hakon smiled and looked around the room. Solveig gave a barely noticeable nod.
The long winter was ahead of them with cozy evenings in front of the hearth, full of stories and legends. But they would be happy ones. Because by his side would be his wife—the love of his life, shield-maiden, healer, and time traveler.
And they would create many more stories to tell during the long winter nights of the years to come.
Epilogue
Lomdalen, Norway, June 21, 876 AD
Hakon wiped the blade of his battle ax with a cloth, the polished surface shining in the sunlight of the warm day. The ornate decorations on the sides of the blade depicting snarling wolves and a hunter were made of gold. Hakon had never seen anything so beautiful, except Mia. And Ulf, his five-moon-old son. The ax was his wedding gift from the whole village, and Hakon’s eyes burned with gratitude and appreciation.
The ceremony was about to begin, the village buzzing with activity around him. On a meadow nearby, tables were being set to accommodate five hundred people—every single person from the village, plus the guests: King Brunn, Jarl Rafr, Jarl Vefuss, and their men. Among the guests was also the real Princess Arinborg, who stood by Jarl Rafr’s side.
Rafr had taken a liking to her when she had shown up at the allies’ assembly almost a year ago. Even though she had fancied Hakon when she had thought they were about to wed, her feelings had not run deep. When the allies had killed Nyr—who had insisted on attacking despite arriving too late to win back his land—Brunn had taken on responsibility for her and her sisters. She had gotten to know Rafr better throughout the winter when she had lodged with Brunn at the borg. And at the end of winter, Rafr had asked for her hand. Brunn had agreed, and the couple was happily married now.
Not as happy as Hakon and Mia though.
Hakon was satisfied with his work on the polishing and hung the ax on his belt with pride. His people had given him a gift worthy of a king.
And he felt like one.
He stood up, inhaling the scent of the upcoming feast: grilled meat, smoked fish, and cooked vegetables. Musicians played music on a lyre, a flute made of a cow’s horn, and a jaw harp to entertain the guests before the ceremony and the feast.
He wished Mia and Ulf were with him so that he could share the lightness that expanded his chest like a wind-filled sail. He had not seen her since this morning because she was being prepared, and he already missed her.
But a few hours of waiting were worth it. He was about to claim her as his for the rest of their lives.
Hakon straightened his tunic, which had been made specially for the wedding. It was the color of grass burned by a long, warm summer—between green and gold. Mia said it was similar to the color of his eyes. The edges of the tunic were embroidered with a golden thread in ornate patterns. He had wanted to wear the special wedding attire for the day he would remember until the day he died.
If only to think that a year ago, he had barked at Solveig to stop the preparations for the feast.
This year, he was ready to bark so that they would hurry. He did not need to, though. Mia made sure everything ran as smoothly as a ship.
Oda, with Ulf on her hip, approached Hakon, little Mette walking by her side with her first unsure steps. Frogeir and Torfi walked next to her.
When Ulf saw Hakon, he stretched his little arms towards him and yelled with the biggest smile on his face, “Ay!”
Hakon’s chest filled with love as he took his son in his arms. His hair was the color of young honey, just like his mother. On his left temple, he had a birthmark. Not as big a one as Hakon’s, just the size of Hakon's thumbnail, in the form of a heart. Neither Mia nor Dan had anything like that. Only Hakon.
The day Ulf was born, Hakon knew it was the mark of a blessing, not a curse. Because only someone blessed by the gods could be as lucky as he. The villagers agreed and treated Ulf like a little prince.
And they had named him after Hakon’s father. “I love the name,” Mia had said. “It’s strong and beautiful. I think your mother would have approved. Ulf Hakonsson.”
Naming the child he loved after the father who had feared him was the final act of forgiveness for Hakon. He would no longer allow himself to be consumed with anger and resentment. He would honor his father’s memory by loving and having pride in his own son.
“Solveig says you are to go to the meadow,” Oda said. “The lady is ready and soon to come.”
Hakon’s heart thumped so hard he thought it would break through his ribcage. “Good,” Hakon
said. “Frogeir, Torfi, call everyone who is not there to go to the meadow.”
The men nodded and went to do as he asked. Oda stretched her arms to take Ulf, but Hakon shook his head. “I’ll take him.”
While Hakon walked through the village, Ulf was playing with his father’s nose. “Your mother dressed you very well,” Hakon said, while Ulf clenched his nostrils and laughed. Hakon looked over Ulf’s tunic which was a tiny version of his. “Such a small boy, and yet a man.”
Hakon and Ulf arrived at the meadow, which swarmed with people. There was a small army of cheerful, already slightly drunk men and women who were talking and laughing. Some were dancing. It was a wedding.
Under Mia’s orders, the carpenter had built a wooden arch that was now covered with white flowers, and a white linen cloth, like a path, lay on the ground. Solveig stood under the arch, and Hakon, with Ulf, took his place next to her. King Brunn, Jarl Rafr, and Jarl Vefuss stood in the first honorable row, and behind them, people who Hakon knew were loyal and supportive. Children of the village, including Ledis, all free of whooping cough, were giddy with excitement. It was the best crowd he could wish for to marry the woman he loved. It had been worth the wait in order that everyone could make it.
They were talking and drinking mead from horns, servant girls and thralls going around the meadow to serve the drinks. But then everyone shushed, and Hakon’s breath caught in his throat.
Mia was coming.
Hakon gave Ulf to Oda and watched the crowd split like ice under a skate. She was walking down the white linen path, and all nine worlds of Yggdrasil stopped moving.
She was not just beautiful. She was divine. She was the gates to Valhalla. Her white dress fell down her figure like a waterfall. Her hair was in a braided crown like a Norse woman’s, and there were white flowers in it. And her face…he could die by just looking at her beaming smile. She was light. She was spring. She was life.
When she stood in front of him and put her hands in his, he felt as if he was about to fly high into the air like a dragon. He was one with the world, with the gods, and with the most important person.
Her.
Mia had asked that they not do the ritual of sacrificing a goat for Freyja, and she had discussed with Solveig the speech for the ceremony, which would combine some wedding traditions from her time and Hakon’s time.
Solveig coughed and began.
“Dearly beloved,” she said, and chuckled. Mia laughed, too, as though it was a private joke. “No. Not that. We knew Mia as Princess Arinborg first,” Solveig said, and nodded to the princess who cocked her head. People chuckled. “And these two already were wed, almost exactly a year ago. But they were different people. Mia was Arinborg and Hakon was the Beast. What they have, what they overcame together, and what they became in the end is love. Love that crosses time. Love that crosses destinies. Love that conquers all.”
Mia’s eyes filled with tears, her lips trembled. “I did not ask her to say that,” she whispered to Hakon.
He squeezed her hands in response, it was the only thing he could do, as Solveig’s words rang true in his heart.
“Now, Hakon, before the gods and before men, what do you swear to Mia?”
Hakon’s throat was so thick from emotion, he could barely breathe. “I give my oath to you, Mia, that I will never mistake you for anyone else.” She laughed at that, happily, and the crowd echoed her. “I give you my oath that my whole being—body and soul—are yours. I will shield you from harm like a mountain. I will praise you like a nightingale. And I will go through time every day if I need to find you and bring you back home. I will love you until my last breath because I do not know how else to live. I will be your husband and my heart will beat for you until it stops.”
He was sinking into her green eyes like a swimmer diving into a warm ocean.
“Hakon Ulfsson,” Mia said. “I swear that I will be your wife, in every sense of the word. I came to you from another time, first by chance, then because I could not take another breath without you. To be together, we had to travel through time and negotiate with the destiny. You took in my son, Ulf, and accepted him as your own.”
She paused, and her eyes shone with special meaning. Then she leaned towards him and whispered, “And now, I will give you a child to love that is of your flesh and blood.”
Hakon glanced down at her flat stomach. The world suddenly heated up like boiling water. “What? You are—”
She nodded with a smile from ear to ear. “It’s still very early, but I am.” She straightened and continued in a louder voice, “And I promise, if destiny will allow—” She glanced at the crowd, and Hakon followed her gaze. With a shock, he saw the Norn in a Norsewoman’s clothes. “If destiny will allow, I will give you many, many more. I love you more than life itself. I promise to be your partner, your wife, and your friend in this marriage—the marriage of time.”
Hakon did not think his chest could fit in any more air, any more feelings, but it did. It grew, and expanded, and he was now pure light and pure love.
“In front of the gods, and in front of men, Hakon and Mia, you are now husband and wife,” Solveig said.
The crowd erupted in cheers, but they faded away as Hakon swept Mia into his arms and kissed her, dissolving in love. And he knew that even Valhalla did not feel as good as his wife’s kiss.
A Glimpse Into The Surf Of Time
Thank you so much for reading The Marriage of Time! I hope you enjoyed Mia and Hakon’s story.
Stay tuned for the next book in the series, The Surf of Time! Cathy, a yoga instructor from California cannot let go of her fiancee, Brad, who after suffering a brain trauma during a surfing accident, has been in coma and on life support since over twelve months. When Cathy travels back in time to the 9th century Wessex and finds herself between the Viking and the Anglo-Saxon armies, she is terrified, especially since she sees that one particular Viking looks exactly like Brad.
Intrigued? The Surf of Time is coming in July, 2019! Want to stay on top of the updates? Sign up for my newsletter on my website https://mariahstone.com/
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Called by a Viking series:
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The Fortress of Time
The Jewel of Time
The Marriage of Time
The Surf of Time
The Tree of Time
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Acknowledgments
There are several people who have helped this book to see the light of day. THANK YOU:
Laura Barth, my amazing editor, who helped me get through the challenging process of writing this book, although I almost stopped—twice.
My husband who supports me no matter what. My 1,5-year-old son who draws on my outlines and early drafts and reminds me that life also is about fish, flowers and helicopters—not just Vikings.
My loyal, wonderful readers and the best ARC team in the world.
People with medical background who helped me check the medical facts about whooping cough: my aunt Tatiana who is a doctor; my writer friend Nicky who has a nursing background; and Kathy C., a writer friend I met online, who gave me feedback on the scenes involving pertussis, gave me tons of information about herbal medicine, and was the one who gave me the idea about a glow-in-the-dark bracelet.
My writer friends, you know who you are.
About the Author
Mariah Stone fell in love with her future husband on the edge of a Norwegian fjord. Now she lives in the Netherlands with him and their baby son. Her talents include forgetting everything when she writes and creating a bigger mess than her baby can ever make.
She believes love wins even if people come from different backgrounds – even if they were born hundreds of years apart.
That’s what her books are about.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2019 Mariah Stone. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, contact the publisher at http:\mariahstone.com
The Marriage of Time: Called by a Viking series Book Three Page 15
