A Flame Put Out (2 page)

Chapter 1

Norway, 876 AD

Selia awoke to the faint, melancholy strain of a bird chirping. The silk bedding was soft against her cheek, Alrik’s familiar body warm and solid behind her. She nestled closer, loath to open her eyes. All would be right with the world if she could just stay here, with her husband’s arm covering her like a shield, the past events nothing more than an unpleasant dream.

Alrik’s fingers grazed her arm, pausing near her shoulder. “Did I do this to you last night?”

She lifted her arm to look. There was a faint bruise, an outline of fingers and thumb from where Ulfrik had grabbed her in the heat of their argument. It stood out against the white of her skin like a brand for the entire world to see.

Her husband’s brother knew how to play upon her fragile emotions, attempting to maneuver her as carefully as he would the pieces on a tafl board. Though she had spurned him, still she had come uncomfortably close to allowing him liberties.

Selia would carry that secret to her grave.

Now she simply answered, “Yes.”

Alrik swallowed, visibly distressed. “You haven’t been back for long and I’ve already hurt you.”

“It is all right.” She snuggled up to his chest. “You know how easily I bruise. And it was worth it.”

He laughed, such a wonderful sound. How she had missed it. “Well, be that as it may, I’ll have to be more careful now. For the sake of the child.” His hand cupped the swell of her abdomen as he smiled down at the life that grew inside her. His face was achingly beautiful despite the red-rimmed eyes and unkempt hair.

Selia caressed his cheek. “I love you, Alrik.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

His gaze met hers. “Even after all I have done to you.”

“Yes. I knew I should stop loving you. But I could not.”

He appeared to ponder this for a moment. “I have caused you so much pain. There is no way to make it right.” He gestured despairingly. “You should have stayed away, Selia. I destroy everything I touch. You and the child would have been better off—”

“No,” she replied firmly. “I cannot be without you, Alrik.” She turned his chin to force him to look at her. “You cannot make me leave again.”

His smile made her heart flutter. As he bent to kiss her, there was a knock at the bedchamber door.

“I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in,” Hrefna called.

Alrik sat up. “Stay out, woman, or you’re going to see more than you bargained for,” he commanded in the booming voice he used when giving orders to his men.

But Hrefna entered anyway, grinning from ear to ear, and Selia pulled the blanket up just in time to cover her nudity. The woman ignored Alrik, rushing over instead to envelop Selia in a hug. She made a choked noise that was between a laugh and a sob. “I knew you would come back, child,” she vowed, “even though Alrik didn’t believe me.” She shot her nephew a gloating look, and he snorted at her.

Selia blinked back tears as she embraced Hrefna. This woman was more a mother to her than Grainne could ever hope to be. She had missed her terribly, nearly as much as she had missed Alrik.

Hrefna held her at arms’ length, her brow pinching together as she took in Selia’s appearance. “Have you been ill, dear? You look much too thin. I know I sent plenty of provisions with Olaf, and when Ketill stopped by, he said he had supplies for your family as well.”

So Ketill had known the appalling state his Hersir was in, but had not thought to mention it to Selia. Obviously he had told Ulfrik, though. And Ulfrik had taken full advantage of the situation.

The thought of such perfidy made Selia’s stomach tighten into a knot of fury. She willed her face to stay expressionless. “There was enough food,” she said. “I . . . I was ill, yes.” She drew the covers tight against her belly to show the rounded outline. “I am still with child.”

Hrefna reached out in wonder to touch her. “How can this be?”

“Because he is strong,” Alrik asserted. “My son is a warrior.”

“Humph,” Hrefna scoffed. “Warrior or not, your wife lost so much blood she nearly died herself. I can’t understand how the child still lives.”

Alrik scowled at her. “She has the protection of Odin. Is it so hard to imagine the child does, too?”

Selia looked away in discomfort. This sounded a bit too much like Ragnarr’s delusions.

Hrefna seemed unnerved as she studied them both. “Well,” she said after a moment. “Let’s get some food into you then, Selia. It doesn’t appear Odin has been feeding you properly.”

Alrik’s frown deepened at his aunt’s sarcasm. She turned to him. “And you need a bath, my boy.” Hrefna wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It smells like a barn in here. You simply can’t go around pissing on the floor.”

Selia walked out the kitchen door, humming softly under her breath. She had eaten and bathed. Hrefna had combed out the knots in her hair, then styled it for her. Selia felt pretty again. She looked the way the mistress of a household such as Alrik’s should look, and not like some undernourished thrall dressed in rags, with burrs in her hair.

She turned into the woods to look for her ring, plagued by the vague memory of throwing it at Alrik when everything had gone so horribly wrong. The likelihood of finding the exact spot in the woods where the incident had occurred was slim, and of actually finding the ring even slimmer, but she still wanted to try. Was it soft sentiment that drove her to look for the band of silver, or the harder reality of knowing the runes would keep her safe?

After searching unsuccessfully for some time, she gave up—the ring was gone. Maybe Alrik could have another one made for her. She turned to go back to the house, but as she approached a large boulder she heard the sound of someone crying. She peeked around the other side. And recognized the pale, unkempt hair of Ingrid.

The girl had her head buried in her arms but was not doing a very good job of muffling her sobs. Selia hesitated. Ingrid would be furious if she knew anyone had seen her like this. And it wasn’t as though Selia could do anything to help her, even if she wanted to. The girl hated her with a passion.

She took a step backward to slip away, but the hem of her gown caught on a bush, rustling as she pulled it free. Ingrid’s head shot up. The look on her face changed from despair to rage as she met Selia’s eyes.

“You!” she shouted. “Get away from me, you Irish bitch!”

Selia’s eyes widened at her stepdaughter’s ire but didn’t return the insult. The girl had obviously loved Ainnileas and was hurting. Maybe just as much as Selia herself had hurt after losing Alrik. That kind of misery was punishment enough. She turned to leave.

“Wait,” Ingrid sniffled. Selia glanced back at her. “Did he . . . did Ainnileas say anything about me?”

She studied Ingrid’s tearstained face. Ainnileas had not spoken of the girl, not even once, but that meant nothing. For as long as Selia could remember, whenever her brother was upset about something, he would withdraw. His typical lighthearted banter would vanish for a time, then he would return to himself once he had worked through whatever was bothering him.

Ainnileas had been unnaturally reserved the entire time they had stayed at Ulfrik’s house. And Selia had been too caught up in her own sorrow to notice or care.

But Ingrid deserved an answer. “He was very sad,” Selia said slowly, “but he did not speak of why.”

Ingrid’s sudden laugh rose into hysteria. Selia gasped as the girl pounded her fist into her own stomach. She continued to hit herself until Selia knelt to grab her arm.

“Ingrid, stop.”

The girl pushed her backward. “Leave me alone!”

Selia stared as realization dawned on her. “Are you with child?” she whispered. She was sure the pair had lain together.

What would happen if Ingrid carried a babe?

And what would Alrik do to Ainnileas?

“No. I am
not
.”

“But you wanted to be.”

“Ainnileas would have married me if I was!” Ingrid shouted. “Even after everything . . . I know he would have married me if I carried his child.”

Selia hesitated. How was she supposed to respond to this? The girl had all but admitted she had tried to force Ainnileas’ hand. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.

“You’re
sorry
,” Ingrid snarled. “You hate me. Why would you care if your brother doesn’t want me?”

“I do not hate you, Ingrid. I understand how you feel. I felt this way when I was apart from Alrik.”

The girl blew her nose in the hem of her shift. “Why did you come back?” she demanded. “You are a fool for returning to my father. I know what he did to you. Ainnileas wouldn’t marry me because of it. If you’re willing to come back to a bastard like Alrik Ragnarson then you two deserve each other.”

Selia turned away. Several moments passed before she spoke. “I forgave him.”

Ingrid snorted as she rose to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her gown, glaring at Selia with disdain. Her resemblance to her father was uncanny. “Then you really are the stupidest girl I’ve ever met. Stay away from me. It makes me ill to look at you.”

Ingrid stomped off in into the trees, and Selia sat against the boulder for a few moments longer. At least her brother had escaped a marriage to this unstable and desperate girl. That was one bit of luck to be grateful for.

“Selia!” Alrik shouted through the forest. She heard a hint of fear behind the impatience in his voice.

“I am here, Alrik,” she called back to him.

There was a rustling of leaves as he came into view. He too had bathed and dressed in fresh clothes. As the late afternoon sun dappled through the canopy of branches overhead, his hair gleamed like silk. She was reminded of how he had looked the first time she had met him on the hill in Dubhlinn. He had lost weight during their time apart, and his skin possessed an unhealthy sallow tint. But he was still an undeniably beautiful man.

“What are you doing up here?” he asked. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

She made a face at him. “Alrik, I came back to you. Do you still fear I will run away?”

He crossed his arms with a glower. “No. But the woods aren’t safe for you to wander alone. There are wolves, and bears—”

“And boars,” she reminded him.

Alrik nodded. “And boars.” He was biting back a smile now.

Selia laughed as she went to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed in his scent. “I missed you, Alrik.”

His hand caressed the back of her head. “I missed you too, little one,” he said quietly.

She craned her neck to meet his eyes. “Come with me and help me find my ring. I think it is over there, somewhere.” She pointed in the direction she had come from.

“Your ring?”

“Yes.” She blushed. “I . . . took it off, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” he assured her as he reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out the ring. He took her hand to slip it onto her finger, and it felt warm and comforting against her skin. She rubbed the familiar runes and smiled at him.

He closed her hand into a fist. “Don’t take it off again, Selia.”

“I won’t.”

He leaned over to kiss her, and she melted into his embrace. Selia wrapped her arms around his neck and twined her fingers in his hair. How she had missed the feel of his mouth on hers, the lips soft yet hard, the scratch of his whiskers against her cheek. He groaned and started to pull away. She held on, and when he stood he took her with him. She kissed him again.

Alrik laughed as he untangled her arms from around his neck. “Later, I promise. Now, we have to get back or Hrefna will have my head. She sent me to find you before supper gets cold.” He paused and added, evilly, “She made blood pudding and sheep’s liver, especially for you.”

Chapter 2

The Irish ship returned a sennight later.

Selia and Hrefna worked the looms in a companionable silence as Ingrid lay like a slug on her bench, pouting as usual. Selia’s mind had wandered, as it did so often now, to thoughts of the babe, and she jumped when she heard a shout from one of the thralls outside. She and Hrefna hurried to the door to see what the commotion was about.

She caught her breath at the sight of the Irish ship, maneuvering into the bay. Niall’s men would assume Selia’s return to Ireland with them—willingly or unwillingly—where they expected to be paid handsomely for her safe return to Buadhach.

She didn’t want to contemplate what they would do to Ainnileas when he told them she would be staying in Norway after all. She wiped her clammy hands on her gown. She had a plan, but she would have to act quickly before Alrik saw the ship.

“Get back in the house, Selia.” Alrik came up behind her, a bit out of breath. He had been overseeing the barley harvest in one of the fields a good distance from the house. One of the thralls must have run for the master the moment the ship was spotted on the water.

She looked up at him and swallowed. What was she going to do now? “You will need me to translate for you, to tell them where Geirr’s house is,” she said. It was Ulfrik’s house now, of course, but she was loath to even say his name.

“One of the Irish thralls can do it,” he replied. “I don’t want you out here.” He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was obvious he still anticipated some treachery on the part of Ainnileas or his men.

She hesitated. Should she tell him the truth and ask for his help, or would it be safer to leave Ainnileas to his own devices? Although Alrik had been remarkably stable since her return to him, experience had taught her how his moods could shift like quicksilver.

He narrowed his eyes as though sensing her uncertainty, then grabbed her hand and headed toward the house. Selia had to run to keep up with his long strides. “Are you having second thoughts already?” he hissed.

“No, Alrik. It is not that. Please . . .”

But he continued to the house, dragging Selia into their bedchamber. He sat her in the chair in the corner, then turned to flip open the large chest containing his battle gear, muttering to himself all the while. He must have thought she’d change her mind about staying with him. Now, his odd behavior confirmed it.

“I won’t let you go again.” His voice escalated as he pulled out his mail shirt, helmet, and axe.

“Alrik—” she began, rising to move toward him.

“You sit down and don’t move from that spot!” he shouted, pointing to the chair with his battle axe.

Selia blew her breath out in exasperation. “Stop, you stupid man. You are angry over nothing! I do not want to leave. I am afraid for Ainnileas.”

He lowered the axe and looked at Selia for a long moment. “Stupid?” he asked finally. “Who taught you that word?”

“Ingrid.”

Alrik snorted as he pulled the mail shirt on over his head. “Why are you afraid for Ainnileas?”

She hesitated. “You must promise me you will not hurt him.”

He turned to her with suspicion. “I do not often make such promises.”

“Please, Alrik.” Selia laid her hand on his arm. She tried to think of a reason that might appeal to him. “If I do not do something, then Ainnileas might have to stay in Norway. With Grainne.”

He stilled. She knew he wanted the woman gone, far from them both. Now that Grainne was a freedwoman, she could come and go as she pleased, and if she stayed in Norway the odds were high they would see her again. Alrik wanted to avoid that at all costs.

“I promise no harm will come to your brother,” he said. “Now tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

She looked into his fierce blue eyes. He was still angry, at the tipping point where he could easily slip over the edge into a mindless rage. But she was running out of alternatives.

“There is a man in Ireland who wanted to marry me. He will pay well if I am returned. The ship came back to claim me, and I am afraid Ainnileas will be in mortal danger from his crew if I do not go back.”

Alrik’s jaw clenched so hard she could hear his teeth grinding, and his hand twitched against the hilt of the battle axe. “So you were going to go back with them to save your brother?” His voice sounded like gravel. “You
were
going to leave me again.”

“No,” she insisted earnestly. “I was going to give them my jewelry. Ainnileas also has silver in Ireland. My bride price. I thought it would be enough, together.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “By all rights I should kill your brother for his deceit.”

“You promised, Alrik!”

“I did. But hear me now, woman. If I make this right for Ainnileas, he will never be welcomed on Norse soil again. I will not tolerate such treachery as he has shown me. Do you understand?”

Relief made her knees go weak. Her brother was safe; Alrik wouldn’t hurt him. She nodded, eyes downcast.

Alrik remained quiet for a moment. “Did you love him? The man in Ireland?” He tilted her chin up so she was forced to look at him. There was hurt in his eyes behind the anger.

“No,” she whispered. “I told you, I have never loved another before you.”

But he wouldn’t let it rest. “Did he touch you?” he asked. Selia shook her head but he persisted. “Tell me his name.”

She jerked her head away. “So you can kill a helpless old man? No, Alrik. I will not.”

He made a guttural noise deep in his throat as he glared down at her. She stood her ground and remained silent. “Stay in the house,” he said finally, then turned to storm out, battle axe in hand.

She watched from the main doorway as Alrik, Olaf, and one of the male thralls approached the ship as it docked. Ingrid had decided it was worth her while to rise from her bench after all, and she stood next to Hrefna near the docks, close enough to hear whatever conversation the men would have. Selia felt a twinge of resentment as she watched them. Alrik still didn’t trust her enough to stand with the other women.

Three of the Irish sailors met Alrik at the dock, and even from a distance she recognized Niall’s men. Ainnileas’ men now, but would they would remain so?

Alrik, the mighty Hersir, towered over the Irishmen. He was a menacing sight indeed as the sun glinted off his mail shirt and the axe he carried at his broad shoulder. And instead of tilting his head as he did when he regarded her, he kept his chin angled in a hostile manner and simply looked down his nose at them. He was trying to intimidate them. Judging from the frightened reaction of the Irish sailors, his tactic appeared to be working.

Alrik spoke to the Irishmen as the thrall translated. Then he leaned back, crossed his arms, and gave them the disdainful glare Selia knew very well. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned.

Suddenly there was a scream from Ingrid. Selia’s breath caught. Had Alrik done something after all—had he killed one of them and she hadn’t seen it? She scanned the scene, cursing the fact that she wasn’t down at the docks. Alrik hadn’t moved and no one seemed to be hurt. But Ingrid ran into the woods, wailing, with Hrefna calling out after her.

The discussion concluded quickly. The three Irishmen hastened to board the ship. They wasted no time sailing out of the bay, as Alrik stalked back toward the house.

“What happened?” she called to him, but he pushed past her without a word. She followed him into the bedchamber, where he threw his axe to the floor with a clatter and ripped the mail shirt off over his head.

“
Buadhach
,” he snarled, running his hands through his hair. The Irish name sounded strange spoken with Alrik’s strong Norse accent. “Did you think I wouldn’t learn his name? I will kill him, Selia. I will rip his lungs from his chest—”

She gasped. “No, you promised!”

He turned to her. “I promised not to hurt your brother. I made no such promise about the man who would take you from me. And for someone you claim to care nothing about, you seem quite concerned for his safety.”

“He is an old man, not any threat to you. Buadhach is, um . . .” she paused, blushing, “unable to bed a woman.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Eithne told me. She said my father was afraid I would die in childbed, so he would give me to Buadhach.”

He continued to pace, undeterred. “Yet he would rob me of you, Selia—he would pay those Irishmen to steal you away! I should have killed every one of them, to the last man.” Snarling in frustration, Alrik bent at the waist to be face to face with her. “Never in my life have I swallowed my pride this way, woman. Do not ask me to do such a thing again.”

Selia stilled, looking into his blazing eyes. She hadn’t been able to see past the threat to Ainnileas’ safety to realize that the Hersir would consider it an achievement of unbearable restraint not to slay the crew of the Irish ship for their part in the deceit. She hadn’t understood the situation would be an affront to his Finngall sense of honor.

His body shook with the effort it cost to maintain his self-control, and she touched his face to soothe him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured consolingly.

“Do you have anyone else to tell me about?” His voice was curt. “Any other thwarted suitors I should be aware of?”

None beyond your own brother.
“No,” she whispered. She slid her hand behind his head and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Alrik’s mouth remained hard. “Will Ainnileas be safe?” she asked, looking into his eyes for the truth.

He drew back. “He will be safe as long as he stays out of Norway. I told those Irishmen I would grant them the gift of their lives, which is more than they should hope for after such treachery. If your brother does not make it to Ireland safely, I will find and kill every one of those men, and I will take their women as my thralls. This was my vow.”

She shuddered, knowing the threat was not exaggerated. “Why did Ingrid scream?” she asked.

Alrik glared at her for several moments. “Because she knows I will never allow Ainnileas to have her. I swore on Odin’s blood if your brother or any one of those Irishmen sets foot upon Norse soil, it will be the last step they will ever take. I will not show mercy a second time to those who would steal from me.”

Selia drew her breath in sharply as realization dawned on her. So this was it, then. She would never see her brother again. She felt a sense of lightheadedness that had nothing to do with the child growing in her belly, and she moved away from Alrik to steady herself on the edge of the table.

Although he had said earlier he would not allow Ainnileas to return to Norway if he helped him, she had assumed Alrik’s statement was simply a product of his anger, and that when it burned off she would be able to reason with him. But no, this was final. Her husband was furious that his honor had been compromised, and he would never forget nor forgive.

Ainnileas, her twin, her once-constant companion, would very soon be on the Irish ship sailing away from Norway. Forever. She had not even said a proper goodbye, and now would never be able to. The bitter words they had exchanged when she departed from Ulfrik’s house clawed at her mind, refusing to be pushed away.

A suffocating panic rose inside her and she had difficulty forming the Norse words. “I did not get to tell Ainnileas goodbye—”

“No, Selia,” he growled, as if he already understood what she was about to ask.

“Alrik! If you are to keep him from returning to Norway, I must go to him. I must see him one last time. He is my brother. He is my twin.” Selia sank onto the chair, forcing air into her lungs.
Breathe.

He studied her for a moment, his expression fierce. “Why should I do this? Tell me why I should let you see that traitorous boy. A boy who deserves nothing from me other than a blade through his belly.”

“Because there is good in you,” she pleaded. “And because you love me.”

Alrik took a very long time to respond. He looked away, and when he turned back to her his face was shuttered. “If I take you, then this will be the end of it,” he vowed. “You will never ask me to reconsider. Ever. Understood?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

The trip that had taken Selia so long by foot was made much faster by horse. Alrik had asked Olaf to accompany them in case the Irishmen decided to try to take her after all, despite his grim threats.

She rode in front of Alrik as they galloped at full speed, the horses churning up clumps of dirt with their hooves. She gripped the saddle with white knuckles as the wind forced tears from her eyes. The power of the animal beneath her was terrifying, and she was grateful for Alrik’s strong arm holding her tightly to his body. But even traveling at such a breakneck speed, there was a good chance they wouldn’t make it in time and would arrive to find an empty house. The ship could travel much faster than the horses.

As they drew near the dwelling, she saw another horse tied to a tree. It danced with a nervous whinny as they approached. Selia’s stomach tightened. Was it Ulfrik’s horse? She had assumed he had gone back to Ketill’s farmstead after she had refused him. Why would he have stayed here? And more importantly, what was she going to do when she saw him?

Alrik reined the horse, then dismounted, turning to lift Selia down as well. She rushed to the edge of the cliff, leaving the men to tie the horses to the tree, and let her breath out as she saw the Irish ship. The fact that the Irishmen were sailing through unfamiliar territory must have slowed them down just enough to allow the horses to reach the house in time. The water was too shallow for the deep ship to pull up to the dock, so it was positioned in the middle of the bay, waiting, while two Irish sailors in a small boat rowed toward the dock.

She heard the sound of raised voices as she peered down to the beach. She saw not only Ainnileas and Grainne, but Ingrid as well. So the horse belonged to Ingrid, not Ulfrik. The girl must have come in a desperate attempt to run away with Ainnileas.

As Alrik came up behind her, he obviously reached the same conclusion. He bellowed with rage as he drew his sword to rush down the hill toward the beach. Selia took the shorter way, climbing down the cliff, and reached the group on the beach before he did.