A Flame Put Out (18 page)

Chapter 18

Bleary-eyed, Selia sat near the hearth with her sewing. It was late in the evening, but with only a few more stitches the project would be complete. Everything would be ready tonight as long as Hakon had indeed followed her instructions. But surely he had. Of all people, Hakon would have a vested interest in Selia’s plan.

Keir came in from the kitchen, startling Selia into dropping the needle. She had thought everyone had already gone to bed. She crumpled the sewing in her lap.

“Mistress,” Keir said. “Let me stir the fire for you.” Now that Alrik had gone to Ketill’s funeral, Keir had resumed speaking to Selia. She was the only one who had, for the rest were still terrified of the Hersir even when absent from the farmstead.

Selia shook her head. “It’s all right, Keir, I will keep the fire going. I need to finish this. Go on to bed.” Keir lowered her gaze but didn’t leave. Selia studied her. “Is there something else?”

Keir swallowed. “Mistress Hrefna told me your plans. I am fearful for your safety and I wished to tell you safe journey.”

“Oh,” Selia breathed. It was not surprising Hrefna had confided in Keir. Since Hrefna’s illness, Keir had taken over much of the responsibilities of the farmstead as well as helping Selia care for Hrefna and the boys. She had proven herself to be loyal and trustworthy. Selia would miss her very much. “Keir,” Selia began hesitantly, “would you . . . would you consider coming with us?”

Keir fell silent for long moments. “I am honored you would ask,” she whispered. “But Mistress Hrefna will need someone to assist her after you’re gone. I will stay. And I will pray for your safety and happiness.”

Selia rose from the hearth and put her arms around Keir. Other than during Faolan’s birth, they had never touched. Keir stiffened for a moment before relaxing into the embrace. “You are a good woman, Keir. I will never forget you,” Selia vowed. “I will pray for your safety and happiness as well.”

At the soft sound of the front door opening, Keir stepped away from Selia and lowered her head as Ingrid and Eydis entered the room.

“What is she doing here?” Ingrid hissed.

Selia replied tersely, “Keir knows. And she can be trusted. You certainly took your time, Ingrid.”

“I had to wait until everyone was asleep, didn’t I? Sigrun was very talkative tonight.” Ingrid gestured with impatience as she mentioned Bjorn’s wife. “I should have brought some of Hrefna’s special tea for her.”

As part of the plan, Ingrid was to cry and carry on when Alrik arrived at Ketill’s farmstead. She was to refuse to be in the same house with him and finally storm off with Eydis to stay at Bjorn’s. This would not be seen as out of the ordinary for anyone who knew how Ingrid despised her father. And Alrik would be eager to have her leave. Ingrid’s tantrums were an embarrassment to him.

“Well. Let’s hope she doesn’t rise early and discover you’re gone.”

“No, she’ll think I went back for the funeral. I told her I would, even if it meant I had to see my father.”

Selia nodded and folded up the sewing project that was not quite finished. The breeches weren’t hemmed properly, but she could make do. It was time to leave.

They entered Hrefna’s bedchamber and Selia opened one of the storage chests. She lifted out several of Hrefna’s gowns to get to the satchel at the bottom. It held a pair of Geirr’s old shoes, a small dagger, a hand shovel, a pair of scissors, food, and two flasks of water. She added the clothing she had been sewing to the satchel and tied it closed.

Hrefna and the boys were asleep. Ingrid roused Hrefna to say goodbye, and Hrefna sat up in the bed and held Ingrid and Eydis for a long time. She whispered something in Ingrid’s ear and Ingrid nodded.

Selia woke the boys and handed them their shoes and cloaks. They would not be cold and wet this time. They dressed quickly and then Hrefna pulled them close. “Be strong now, boys. You must take care of your mother. And Eydis.” Hrefna turned to Ingrid with a sad smile. “But I think your sister can take care of herself.”

The boys nodded, both blinking back tears. Selia’s heart contracted at the sight of them trying to be so brave. Hrefna was a grandmother to them. And if all went well with Selia’s plan, they would never see her again.

Selia sat on the edge of the bed and clung to Hrefna’s neck. She had spoken her goodbyes already, but there was something else that needed to be said. “I do understand how you love him, Hrefna. I understand why you’re staying with him. And I’m grateful to you for it. It would be harder for me to leave if I knew he would have no one.”

Only Hrefna understood the tragedy of loving someone who was damaged beyond repair. Selia had gone through so much to be with Alrik. She had stayed with him despite much turmoil and heartache. Truth be told, she was only leaving for the sake of the children. If not for the threat to the boys’ safety, Selia would again try to smooth things over with Alrik, knowing he would eventually come to his senses. He would forgive her and their lives would go back to the way they once were. For a while it would be good between them. The good times between the bad were made all the more precious because Selia never knew how long they would last.

She had lived for those times.

But the image of Alrik slinging Faolan across the room was burned indelibly into Selia’s mind. It had taken a near-tragedy for her to gather enough courage to leave. She was foolish to love a man like Alrik, but not foolish enough to allow him to hurt her children.

Hrefna hugged her one last time. “Safe journey, dear child,” she whispered to Selia. “I will take care of him.”

The boat slipped silently through the dark water. The moon was high and lit up the cove as Ingrid steered toward the beach at Ulfrik’s house. Geirr jumped out and pulled the small boat onto the shore.

Selia hurried to the spot where Ulfrik had indicated she should dig. Her bride price was buried there. Her eyes traveled over the rock and her throat tightened, remembering the events of that fateful afternoon.

More than once Selia had wondered what their lives would be like if she had left her husband. Ulfrik was so different than Alrik in every way, it seemed, except in his desire for her. Ulfrik claimed to love Selia as he had no other woman. Would she have been content as Ulfrik’s wife? Would she have grown to love him?

Selia cared for Ulfrik a great deal. They understood each other. At one time, Selia had felt closer to Ulfrik than she had to anyone, other than perhaps Ainnileas. But the intense, overwhelming, irrational
need
she felt for Alrik was not an emotion she had ever felt for anyone else.

That was ‘love.’ Wasn’t it?

Selia knelt to dig. It was hard work and slow going, and after a while Ingrid snatched the shovel from her and began to dig herself. As the hole got progressively deeper, Selia’s anxiety grew. What if the bride price wasn’t here? What would they do?

“It’s not here, Selia,” Ingrid snapped. She pushed her sweaty hair away from her face with her forearm. “If it was ever here at all.”

“Of course it’s here. Ulfrik said so. We just need to dig deeper.”

“No. The tide washed it away. Or maybe Ulfrik grew tired of waiting for you and he came back and dug it up himself. Maybe he used it to buy a new little Irish girl.”

Selia hadn’t told Ingrid the details of the reason the bride price was buried in this spot, but she’d had to reveal enough of the story so Ingrid understood how important it was to go to Ulfrik’s house first. Ingrid only knew Ulfrik had wanted to marry Selia but she had refused him. Ingrid was still smarting that not one, but two men had desired Selia. All the while Ainnileas had left Ingrid in Norway and sailed away.

The bride price had to be there. Without it the rest of their plan was futile—only the bag of silver would buy them passage out of Norway. Selia took the shovel from Ingrid and resumed digging. “He would have buried it deep so the tide wouldn’t get it.”

Selia dug furiously, becoming more and more apprehensive, as Ingrid and the children watched. It had to be there.
It had to be there.
There was no other way to keep Geirr and Faolan safe.

The shovel hit something that resisted the metal blade. Cloth.
A bag
. Selia cried out and used her hands to scoop the sandy dirt away from the bag. The cloth was rotten from being in the ground for so long, and as she lifted it the seam gave way and the silver spilled out into the moonlight.

“Oh,” Selia gasped. There were so many little nuggets of hack-silver. Enough to buy passage anywhere they wanted to go in the world, with plenty left over to start a new life and live comfortably. Ulfrik had buried a fortune and walked away from it, all on the off-chance that Selia would need it to escape.

Selia’s heart hitched in her chest. She had treated him so badly.

They painstakingly picked up every piece of silver and laid them all in a pile on top of the bag. Selia had sewn little pockets into the interior of the boys’ clothing, and Ingrid had done so as well to her skirts and Eydis’ gown. They divided out the silver and put some into each of the children’s pockets and tied them shut. Selia would have to carry Ingrid’s portion until later tonight after the next step of the plan.

She returned to the satchel she had brought and pulled out the clothing and Geirr’s old shoes. Behind a rock Selia changed into the new outfit, then stuffed the folded parcel containing her old garments into the hole. Gown, shift, cloak, and shoes. After a moment’s hesitation, Selia removed her ring and dropped that in, too.

Ingrid made a move to reach into the hole. “We can sell that, you know.”

Selia grabbed her hand. “No. We have plenty of silver. Leave it.”

Ingrid didn’t argue further. Selia started to push the dirt back in and heard Ingrid snickering behind her. Selia gritted her teeth at the sound. She had always found her stepdaughter’s laugh grating.

“Wait. Don’t cover the hole yet—I think you’re forgetting something.” Ingrid rummaged through the satchel and pulled out the pair of shears.

Selia’s mouth went dry and she nodded. Her hand went up to finger her hair one last time. It was dressed very simply in one long plait down her back. The tip reached well past the swell of her buttocks. Other than an occasional trim, Selia’s hair had never been cut.

She sat before Ingrid and steeled herself. The boys knelt beside her and each took one of her hands for comfort.

Ingrid gripped the plait and began to cut. Each snip of the shears pulled Selia’s head back for a moment and then released it as a chunk of hair was cut. Finally Ingrid made one last snip and Selia’s head was free.

With shaking hands, Selia reached up to feel it. Ingrid had cut off the plait at the nape of her neck, and the ends of her hair felt odd and bristly. The boys stared at her, both looking as though they were about to cry. Eydis stood in horror and gripped her own hair as if to assure herself it was intact. Ingrid swung Selia’s rope of hair like a tail, then dropped it into the hole. She was obviously enjoying this. Selia turned away and started to rise.

“Not yet.” Ingrid pushed Selia back down. “It’s not short enough.”

Ingrid began to snip in earnest now. She worked quickly, grabbing handfuls of hair and cutting each clump off very close to Selia’s head. Tufts of black curls drifted down onto Selia’s lap and she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at them. Selia’s hair had always given her a feeling of security—the thick curls had hidden the dent in her skull. Was Ingrid clipping her bald? Was that really necessary?

Finally Ingrid stopped cutting and sat back to examine her work. “There,” she said. “It’s done. You look hideous.”

Selia touched her head and gasped. Ingrid had shorn her nearly to the scalp. Her head felt cold and bare. Exposed. The sensation was distressing, somehow more naked than actual nudity.

But Ingrid wasn’t finished just yet. She picked up a clump of dirt and began to rub it all over Selia—on her face, her hands, and her clothing. Ingrid screwed up her face and studied her.

Selia averted her gaze. “Do I look like a boy now?”

Ingrid frowned. “No,” she said finally. “Your eyelashes are too long.”

“I’m not going to let you cut my eyelashes!”

“Then it was pointless to cut your hair. You still look like a woman.”

Selia pondered the fate of Eydis, of her boys. Their safety depended on her passing as a male thrall. She would be infinitely more conspicuous traveling as a woman than as a boy. A woman with uncut hair, fine clothing, and a slave collar would be recognized immediately as a bed-thrall. An exquisite slave only the wealthiest Finngalls could afford, whose sole purpose was to appease her master’s lusts. So the disguise had been essential to the plan.

If Selia hadn’t cut her hair and dressed in boy’s clothing, she would have been at the mercy of every man’s desire during the trip across the sea. It was a crime to rape a free woman but not a thrall. Selia suspected this was the reason Alrik decided to leave the slave collar on until he returned from his fall trip. He knew how foolhardy it would be for her to try to escape with it on, and he knew it would be impossible for Selia to remove the collar without risking death or disfigurement.

The collar had given Alrik a false sense of security. He hadn’t realized it afforded Selia a unique opportunity for a traveling disguise.

It was imperative that Selia pass as a boy. The eyelashes had to go. Selia turned back to Ingrid.

“Cut them.”