A look of gratitude passed over her face when his mother’s sister, Esja, presented her with his own mother’s winter dress, a long wool tunic dyed the bright blue favored by her father’s people and a silk hangerok of red that had most likely hung loose on his mother, but fit about Chloe’s curves in a way that made his manhood swell inside his trousers.
However, he could not smell a similar arousal emanating from her own person. Also, her eyes did not light, as a she-wolf’s were wont to do, when one of Esja’s daughters secured the hangerok’s front with two bronze wolf brooches, and then hung between them glass beads and thin chains of gold.
A polite, “Pakka fyrir” were the only words from her tongue after her clothing was so adorned.
A pig was slaughtered and set upon his long table for a small feast, to which the local merchants were invited. But there came a point in the night when Olafr, the husband of his mother’s sister, noted his queen had not touched her drinking horn of honey wine.
“They wonder why you do not drink,” he pushed into her mind. “As do I.”
“Women in my time do not drink any liquor when they’re pregnant,” she answered.
A strange custom indeed, but when he asked her the reason why, she would not give him any further answer.
So he told his family of this strange custom and a drinking horn of goat’s milk was set before her by one of the servants, for which she thanked the servant in Norse.
He lingered at the feast, if only to hear her protest that she was tired and wished to return to his bed. But she said nothing more after receiving the milk, merely sitting there with the same distant smile, which never reached her eyes. And the night pressed on with the people around the table filling up with food and honey wine before eventually calling her forth for a song.
“They would have you sing a song or tell a tale. ‘Tis the custom of both humans and wolves with new friends.”
He thought to this she might not answer, but verily she stood and sang a song rendered in a voice so clear and true, that even though her words could not be comprehended, it was understood by all at the table to be one of heartbreaking sadness.
A somber silence descended over the feast after she took her seat.
“I would have you sing a happier song the next time you are called forth or not sing at all,” he said.
Again she did not give him a mind-answer, but reached for the drinking horn of goat’s milk in a manner that clearly conveyed there would be no next time.
Finally he gave in and announced that they would retire. This announcement caused every wolf at the table to depart, welcoming Chloe to their village and calling out good tidings as they did so. When they were gone from the house, he showed her to his bed closet and opened its tall doors to reveal the large, free standing oak bed inside. It was covered in furs, and to his mind, seemingly designed to the purpose of holding them within its confines.
“Vikings do not live alone as your people do. We will be given one night of privacy. It is traditionally five, but you are already with pup, so one is all that is required. I would have us lie together now and forget the anger of this morntide.”
He moved closer to her, hoping their close proximity might ease the chasm between them at least for this night. He felt warm with all the mead and food he had consumed and she remained the most beautiful wolf he had ever laid eyes on, the mother of his child, and the woman he was fated to spend the rest of his life with.
But as soon as he cupped her breasts over her hangerok with his two hands, she said, “I’ll sleep in your bed, but I’m never going to mate with you ever again. So unless you’re one of those guys who has no problem forcing himself on a she-wolf, you can remove your hands now.”
“We have staunch laws against such things in my land. For the humans it may be practice, but for wolves, I find allowing such causes too much fighting between males who would protect their daughters and claimed mates.”
“So we’re clear then.”
“I will not force myself on you, but if I spoke as you, I would not let my mouth make promises my body might hold not.”
She took his hands and physically removed them from her bosom as if dealing with two leeches. “Oh, my body’s in full agreement.”
And thus, the silence returned. She took off the clothes she had been gifted and slept in the dress she had arrived in, which he had no doubt had been made by her own hand. And the next day she stayed shut in the bed closet, only coming out to relieve herself and to eat the large meal with his family and servants in the main room.
For the first days of her stay, her silence was of such a hostile nature he did wonder if she would do him harm in the night as she had spoken in the forest. But on the morntide of her third day in the village, he encountered his mate for the first time outside of the longhouse since their arrival.
He was deciding a dispute between two wolves over a goat. One had been invited to the other’s longhouse to enjoy drink. But in the eventide, the host had promised his guest his best goat if he could do as simple a thing as walk in a straight line to the door. The guest could, though he very nearly fell over a few times before reaching the door. But when the guest attempted to take the goat upon his leave, the host said it was but a jest and sought to take back the goat’s lead. Thusly, all three, host, guest, and goat appeared before him now seeking judgment.
He awarded the goat to the guest and then reminded the sullen host that promises made were promises made even if deep in his cups. That was when he caught the scent of his queen and felt her gaze on him.
He looked up and found her still in her Colorado smock with the fox pelt around her shoulder. She had re-braided her hair, and it now lie in one tail down her back. But what he found most interesting was the curiosity in her gaze before she realized he was now watching him watch her.
““You have finally decided to leave our bed?” he said to her mind.
After he said this, she looked away and continued on to the toilet pit that sat behind their house. He might have followed to try to mind talk with her more, but that was when Randulfr arrived at his house with the news that they had not been able to find Vidar in the mountains.
“Mayhap, he has taken to the sea, knowing we are all now aware of his schemes, and that both you and your followers would have vengeance if ever he be spotted in these lands again.”
“Mayhap,” Fenris agreed, though something in his king’s knowing told him this would not be his last dealing with his cousin.