Her Gilded Firebird: Book Three in the Norse Warriors series

by Susannah Shannon

  Modre nodded in agreement and asked Dagmar and Elin to pull the truckle bed out from underneath the parent’s bed. A free-standing bed would not be as warm as one enclosed in a cabinet or surrounded by wooden drapes, but a house having an extra bed was a sign of their prosperity. Gunnar seemed embarrassed by the proceedings, “Please, the floor is fine.”

  The girls ignored him and moved the table against the door and made up the bed while Da banked the fire. Elin felt flush at the desire of her beloved sleeping under the same roof. For a moment the family stood around awkwardly, going to bed when they had a bachelor visitor seemed strange. Feisty Marti broke the tension, by calling out, “Watch this!” and running across the cottage in her nightgown Launching herself on the truckle bed, caused it to move a few inches. The little girl looked up triumphantly, ”I made it fly!”

  Gunnar laughed heartily, “You will have to do better than that,” he dropped onto it, and the bed plowed across the room and careened into the legs of the table.

  Marti wasn’t finished, “He might be afraid of the dark, I will sleep out here with him,” she announced.

  The older people laughed, and Marti was incensed. “I am very brave. Maybe the bravest!”

  Gunnar nudged the bed back, and Marti laughed while it rolled under her. He stood and gathered her up, “Let me guess,” he said. “You sleep up here?” He acted as if he was going to l fit her to the top of the mantle. Her howls of laughter reached the eaves of the cottage. He wandered around the room, which was not easy with a table pressed aside and a bed on the floor. He seemed to pick the most ridiculous spots and tried to put her to bed in them. “I know, on this hook!” he pretended he was going to hang the child from her father’s coat hook. The little girls all fled their beds and danced around his long legs. He set Marti gently on her feet and picked up the next toddler clamoring at his feet. Moving the room around had caused some things that were usually hidden to be in plain view. He walked towards the chamber pot that had been under the big bed, ”Is this where you sleep?” Hansy giggled when he leaned over as if he was going to put her in it. At the last minute, he stood up and tossed her over his shoulder. Even the teenaged girls were laughing so hard that they had to hold their sides.

  “Come, girls, I will take you to the privy,” Da said. Elin was mortified, she did not want to acknowledge chamber pots and lavatories in front of her gentleman caller. While her father took the other girls out to relieve themselves, she busied herself getting pillows for Gunnar. The little girls hurried back in out of the chilly night and right back to their new best friend. One by one he picked them up, rowed them back and forth in his arms and acted as if he was about to heave them onto their beds and then gently dropped them onto the blankets.

  “Say goodnight, Elin,” her father said sternly. Elin and Dagmar climbed up into their bed, although instead of sleeping on the inside as she usually did, Elin made a point of laying where she could see her sleeping betrothed. The door was sharply shut, by Modre. “Get ready for bed and tucked in and then we can crack the door.” Quickly Elin shucked her dress and pulled a warm nightie over her head. She and her sister dove under the covers and as fast as she could, Elin opened the door. She noticed that her mother was laying on her side and keeping her eyes directly upon the bed Elin was in.

  Gunnar had removed his boots, but otherwise remained clothed as he stretched out on the truckle bed. He winked at Elin and mouthed “go to sleep. Good night.”

  She woke up in the middle of the night, desperately needing to urinate. Shifting around and crossing her legs only helped for a short while. The thought of using the chamber pot while Gunnar was nearby was preposterous. She lay still and listened, everyone was deeply asleep. As quietly as she could, she shimmied out of the bunk. Crawling under the table that was pressed against the door, she attempted to angle it away enough to get the door open a sliver. She had to turn her shoulders to get out the door and had just pulled her feet out of the house and onto the porch when the door was suddenly open. Gunnar filled the doorway. “Stay” he ordered and then seconds later emerged with a torch. They walked a few steps away from the house, the frost-rimed grass crunching excruciatingly under her bare feet.

  With his voice still low, Gunnar demanded, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Since they had now reached the privy, this seemed like a ludicrous question. Salvaging what dignity, she could, Elin said, “I am answering a call of nature.”

  “By yourself, in the dark, when wolves have been here?”

  Put like that, it did seem foolish. “I was going to be quick, “she offered by way of explanation. Gunnar stood with the torch, “go on, then.” She considered trying to order him further away but sensed that would go nowhere. She wasted no time in the cold privy. Falling into step beside him she was curious as he switched the torch form his right hand to his left. Her curiosity was answered when he swung his right hand, smacking her bottom with a tremendous thwack that made her jump.

  “Ow!” she said, both embarrassed and insulted.

  “Ow,” he responded. “You go throwing yourself in front of hungry wolves, and I will show you ow.”

  Miraculously they made it back into the cottage without waking anyone else up. Elin climbed straight up into her bed and settled down to watch Gunnar fall asleep by the glow of the low embers. She rubbed her cold feet against her flannel sheets, hoping to dispel the chill. Delicious warmth seeped from where he had spanked her and settled in between her legs. It was confusing, but delicious in a way. She drifted off, imagining what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around her after a sterner spanking.

  Chapter 7

  Elin was pleased to discover that Gunnar was very much a man of his word.

  Not only did Gunnar give the family his old cart, but he had also secured two large barrels in it so that Elin could easily pull it to the river and quickly fill them with fresh, cold water.

  Gunnar waited for her and would cheerfully greet her each morning. Elin was careful to always use the pulley in front of him. The buckets would be filled, and he would help her get the cart onto the main path and then she could manage it on her own.

  One morning, before he could turn and go back into his forge, she laid a soft hand on his strong arm. She had no words for what she wanted to ask him, but he was able to read it in her eyes and bent to gently kiss her mouth. It was a revelation that a man’s lips could be so firm and yet so soft. Elin forgot to breathe. He paused and withdrew his lips from hers to carefully look into her eyes.

  “Don’t stop,” she urgently whispered. He rewarded her with a grin. He traced her cheek with one finger. Elin pressed her face into his chest and could feel his heartbeat.

  “Bossy,” he whispered, but he did as she asked and kissed her again.

  Elin was overwhelmed, she had a desire to wrap her arms around his neck and press her body against his. Pressing against him she longed to both possess and be possessed by him. His hands roamed over her body. She sighed with pleasure as they circled her breasts, gently pinching her nipples with his thumbs. Her back arched to get her closer to him, anything to feel his hands move lower on her body.

  Gently, but decisively, he pressed her a step away from him, “Soon, dove. Soon we can do that. You're not mine yet, and I would never forgive myself if you regretted it.”

  “Would you please marry me sooner rather than later?” she blurted.

  “Shall we speak to your parents?” he asked.

  The pounding of her heart told her the answer. Gunnar banked the fire, “Let’s go now.”

  As they approached the farm, the little girls ran out and clamored to be picked up. Gunnar obliged and staggered into the cottage with five girls on his arms, clinging to his legs and tossed over his shoulders. Papa saw them coming and left the yoke he had been repairing and met them. Modre was kneading bread on the table and wiped her floury hands on her apron as they all trooped in.

  Gunnar spoke for both, as Elin had gone tongue-tied. “Caren, B
ale do you have a moment to speak with us?”

  Her mother looked up sharply from the dough, and her father said, ”Why don’t you go ahead and say what’s on your mind lad?”

  Gunnar began, but he was speaking too slowly for Elin, he had said, “I am in love with...“

  When she interrupted him, “We want to get married!”

  Her younger sisters broke into a jig and only Papa holding up a hand and giving a sharp whistle restored order. He shared a nod with his wife; apparently this was not unexpected. “We think that is a fine idea,” her father answered slowly, and Elin was shocked to realize that he had a lump in his throat. Modre hurried over to hug Elin and after squeezing her thoroughly turned to press a ladylike kiss onto Gunnar’s cheek. The giant appeared embarrassed, but very pleased. Any adult conversation was drowned out by the delighted chirping of the little girls who danced around them joyously. “I just love weddings so much, and I’ve always wanted to go to one,” sighed little Marti dramatically.

  There was much to do. Dresses to be made, a hope chest to be filled with more bed linens, a feast to ready for. While they readied for the wedding, Caren made gentle reminders that Elin would have to answer to her husband. Elin assured her mother that she knew that. Life on the dairy farm was busy on its own but adding wedding preparations made for some very long working days indeed. She lay in bed at night nestled with her sisters in their toasty bed and imagined a big strong masculine body stretched out beside her instead of their familiar feminine ones.

  Preparations carried on quickly. Gunnar sent a letter inviting his stepmother and half-brother to the wedding. Caren surprised Elin with a lovely piece of wool dyed rose pink. The sisters worked to embroider the edges of it with flowers and stars, even Marta and Bryjna adding a few stitches. Everything Elin would wear that night would be brand new. From her delicate linen shift to the underdress and the kirtle. As a married woman, Elin would wear an overdress secured with brooches. Traditionally, the groom would gift them to the bride. Elin wondered what he would choose. There were many days of sewing. Waves of aunts and other women came to the cottage and worked together. Elin realized that for any farmwife giving up hours of your already impossibly busy day to help a new bride was a sacrifice. She did her best to put up with the teasing about her ungainly sewing. New dresses were made quickly for the younger girls in a pretty, more sensible fawn-colored wool that was soon skillfully embroidered. Modre insisted that she did not need a new dress, and Aunt Magda showed up with a bright blue dress that she said she had made for herself but didn't much like. Elin had no doubt that she was lying. Modre was much taller than aunt Magda, there was no way that the dress had been made for the stockier sister. She would have to make sure to let Aunt Magda how much she appreciated it. Da had a black tunic that he wore so rarely it was still in immaculate condition. His hard work meant that he was as lean as he had been when a younger man.

  There was much anxious chattering among the aunts about the fact that Elin had not been given brooches by Gunnar. Elin and Caren had discussed it, perhaps the traditions were different where Gunnar came from? Elin could not think of a way to ask him for some. She and her mother decided that she would say nothing and if necessary she would use ones she already owned, and hope no one noticed.

  Chapter 8

  Elin discovered that she was even luckier than most brides. Gunnar had two homes. He had a shop front with a small apartment above it in the village. Closer to her parent’s farm., he had his forge and a cozy cottage. Elin made a point of keeping up a running commentary to her sisters as to where she wanted things settled into her new home. Ingrid, Dafne and their friends from the village had a party to “settle” Elin’s things. The young women would gather at the home prepared by the groom and move the bride in. It was a festive occasion, one marked with special sweets and wine. They would need to bundle up because no fire could be lit in the hearth until the bride did it. Luckily, despite the damp the day was not very cold.

  It was improper for a bride to enter her new home until the wedding, so hints about where she wanted things was all Elin could do, she had reminded her sisters over and over that she wanted lots of pillows on the bed and her spinning wheel near a window.

  “I swear to the Gods and their goats that if you tell me that one more time, I will put your spinning wheel in the fireplace and throw every pillow in the river,” Dafne declared.

  Da loaded up the large wagon and harnessed the mule to it. The wagon was soon full of items for the new house, snacks and drinks and his teenage daughters.

  This allowed for Caren and Elin to have some privacy at home, once the little girls were tucked in. They sat in front of the fire as Caren poured mulled wine into two mugs. Elin recognized that cinnamon was very expensive, this evening with her mother was important. “I think he’s a good man, a very good man.” Caren began.

  “But you think I am headstrong.”

  “Well, you are. But that can be a good thing. I don’t know what I will do without you here every day.”

  “Dafne and Ingrid can do the cheese, and I will come over as often as you need me.”

  A tear rolled down Caren’s cheek, “I don’t mean the work, you silly sparrow. I will miss my right hand, and the girl who has made me laugh every day since she arrived on this earth.”

  Elin shed some tears thinking about moving away from her parent’s farm.

  Her mother held her and reassured her that they would be nearby.

  “Now, I know you’ve grown up on a farm, and I know that girls talk about these things. But if you have any questions about your wedding night, I will answer you as honestly as I can.”

  Caren was usually reticent about such private matters. Elin had seen enough animals that she had some idea of what to expect, but she had heard it would be painful the first time. “Does it hurt?”

  Caren smiled,” Sometimes it can hurt a little the first time. But it might not, and I think you will feel nice too.”

  “Is it like horses? I mean I don't think I can stand up with Gunnar’s weight on me.”

  Caren inadvertently inhaled some wine and Elin had to pound her back until she caught her breath. Caren was very red in the face, whether from her near choking or form embarrassment, Elin couldn’t tell.

  “Well,” Caren paused, seemingly to gather her thoughts. “There are many ways that...”Caren paused. “Each couple,” she seemed to be struggling to find the right words. She started over. “You will find the ways that you both find the most pleasurable. It’s not like horses, you won't have to support Gunnar's weight.” Caren wrapped an arm around her daughters' shoulders, ”You will find it wonderful.”

  Elin was relieved. She blushed, thinking that soon she would be initiated into the secret rites of married life. It was late when the rest of the family returned home, and Dafne stubbornly refused to tell Elin anything about how they had arranged her new home. Elin continued to prod her younger sister until they both fell grumpily asleep.

  The morning of the wedding Gunnar knocked on the door very early. Everyone was already up and hard at work. Elin had her hair twisted around rags to make curls, and she dove into her cabinet bed and said, ”Tell him I am not here!”

  Her mother laughed. “I’ll see what he wants.” Elin had never heard of a groom visiting his bride to be on the day of their nuptials. She had a brief moment of panic thinking he intended to call the wedding off.

  Modre stuck her head into the bed. “Take your curlers out and go talk to him.” the smile on Caren's face reassured Elin. Whatever it was Gunnar was here for, it made Modre happy.

  The giant was leaning against the porch post when Elin emerged. “Good morning,” she said.

  Gunnar turned towards her with a radiant smile”Good morning, my darling bride.” He held out a small box. “My half-brother arrived in the middle of the night, he brought me these.”

  “You must be happy to see him,” she said

  “Open it,” he urged.

  The box con
tained two silver brooches, delicately worked with a wreath of blossoms. She had never seen a pair quite like them.

  “They were my mother’s,” he whispered, and Elin realized for the first time how much he must miss her. She thought of her own modre and tears came to her eyes.

  “I will wear them today,” she said.

  “And every day after,” he added. “I have to go,” he said but did not take a step away. They stood, transfixed, both knowing they have to move and neither of them wanting to. Only when Da poked his head out a window and said, ”Lad, shooo! We have a wedding to get ready for!” did Gunnar move. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze and then whispered huskily, “Till tonight,” and loped off the porch and into the woods.

  Chapter 9

  Elin was not allowed to be immobile for long. She was hurried into the tub of water in front of the fire and bathed in water laden with rose petals. Dafne helped her dress. Although no one could see it her mother had plied her needle to make a delicate shift with white on white embroidery on the sheerest linen she could find. The shift was light as down and glided over Elin’s skin. The bride looked lovely in the pale pink woolen gown. The silver brooches held up her overdress elegantly. Her hair was combed down and reached her hips. Elin had a bit of a panic while her hair was being brushed, perhaps she should have practiced tying on a scarf since a married woman covered her hair. There was no time to worry about that. Her grandmother brought over the bridal crown that had been worn by the women in the family as long back as anyone could remember. It was unusual in that it was crafted of flowers made from delicately dyed colored, whisper-thin leather. It bore no jewels, and yet Elin had never felt more beautiful than when her mother placed it on her head, whispering the traditional blessing, “May you bring pride to your parents, solace to your husband and may the world be a richer place for the home you will establish.” Both Elin and Modre were crying at this point. Luckily Marti broke in and crossly demanded, “Don’t lose that crown, I will grow up someday, and I want my turn!” With much laughter, the women of the family joined the men for the pre-wedding feast.