Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (22 page)

His blue eyes bore into hers, glittering with anger even in the semi-darkness. “You are my wife, Selia. You will submit to me now as a wife should to her husband.”

“
I will not
. You are no longer my husband. I am wed to your brother.”

He let out a growl, grasped the neckline of her shift in both hands, and ripped it in two to bare her flesh. “My brother is dead,” he said harshly as she attempted to cover herself. “I left his broken body floating in the sea. Your precious Oath Breaker will never have peace, never have a proper burial. Think of
that
as I take what was mine all along.”

He moved on top of her, nearly crushing her in his drunkenness. She struggled against him to no avail, her shrieks muffled by his chest.

She closed her eyes and willed her mind to drift, trying to bring up an image of Ulfrik. His beautiful face; at turns kind and passionate and fierce, yet able to mask all emotion when he didn’t trust the response of others. He’d let that mask drop with her, allowing her in as he claimed to have done with no other.

She’d seen into his soul, and he to hers. She loved Ulfrik Ragnarson more than she’d ever dreamed possible, with a depth that left her breathless. Nothing could ever change that, not even death. Certainly not a forced submission to his brother.

Alrik loosed a deep rumble of frustration as his fumbling hands stilled between her legs. He shifted his body with a curse, punching his fist into the mattress. Selia cringed and covered her face, dreading the inevitable blow.

But he pushed her aside impatiently. Alrik sat on the edge of the bed and scraped his fingers through his hair. “What have you done to me?” he demanded. “Have you worked a spell to keep me from touching you?”

“No,” Selia whispered. Relief flooded her body as she realized he must be unable, in the same way of Old Buadhach. She pulled the blanket up to cover her nudity. “Perhaps there is some kindness left in you after all.”

He turned to her with a nasty sneer. “There is no kindness in me, Selia. You were a fool to ever believe there was.”

Grabbing his discarded breeches he stormed from the room, leaving Selia shivering in the bed.

Alrik strode directly to the kitchen, desperate for a draught of ale to still his shaking hands. He drank deeply of it, spilling some down his bare chest, and dropped the cup with a clatter.

His erection throbbed for release. He wanted Selia so badly. The sight of her lying in his bed, soft curls spread upon the pillow, had been his undoing. But to his furious disbelief, he’d been unable to take her.

What was wrong with him? Had she spelled him, despite her insistence otherwise?

Selia was so different than she’d been before, with an unfamiliar frankness to her words and actions. It was a side of her he’d never known. Was this how she’d been with his brother, behaving as though she were an equal instead of a wife?

Unbidden, a vision arose in his head of Selia and Ulfrik, talking and laughing together on the ship so many years ago. She’d always been that way with Ulfrik, up until the day Alrik had commanded her to stop doing so. He remembered how the light had faded from her eyes when he’d told Selia she could no longer spend time with his brother.

Rage coursed through his veins at the memory.
Selia had loved my brother even then.

That bastard would continue to spite him even in death, it seemed.

Alrik’s love for Selia had prevented him from forcing himself upon her. She was his wife, despite her insistence she’d divorced him. He loved Selia as he’d loved no other woman. The thought of hurting her and making her cry sickened him.

With a roar of fury, Alrik slammed his fist into the log wall of the kitchen. The blow shuddered through his hand and up his arm, the ensuing pain that flooded his body calming; centering. He drew in a deep breath and adjusted his manhood in his breeches with his uninjured hand.

His body required release. Alrik stomped out the kitchen door toward the slave quarters to find Tofa, eager to take his frustrated lust out on the girl with no qualms of conscience.

Chapter 36

The seasons shifted; summer giving way to autumn as Selia again adjusted to life on Alrik’s farmstead. A dark shroud of melancholy had settled around her shoulders upon her arrival in Norway, a shadow that hadn’t lifted and—she suspected—never would.

Alrik hadn’t tried to force himself upon her again after the first night. Now, he’d resumed sleeping on one of the benches in the main room, so Selia had their bedchamber to herself. Alrik forbade Faolan to sleep with Selia however, claiming it was Selia’s coddling that had turned the boy against him.

She cried into her pillow every night, missing Ulfrik with a relentless ache. The memories of lying next to him in their house on the island, moonlight from the open window bathing Ulfrik’s face, left her sleepless and raw with grief.

What she wouldn’t give to lie with him again, to feel his raspy fingers brushing her cheek, to hear the deep timbre of his voice and feel the warmth of his lips on hers. And his laugh; how she had loved it. She missed their conversations almost as much as she missed his physical presence. His quick mind kept pace with her own, and there had been many nights where they’d lain awake after lovemaking, talking to nearly dawn.

Friend, lover, and husband; Ulfrik had been all to her. Selia supposed she should be grateful for the time she’d had with him, for she’d never realized a relationship between a man and a woman could be such as it had been with her and Ulfrik. But instead the bitter loss sliced deep, and she doubted she would ever recover.

Blurry-eyed, Selia arose from the bed. She bathed herself quickly in cold water as she’d done nearly every morning since arriving at the farmstead. The hot water of the bathhouse required much work from the thralls, and Selia couldn’t bring herself to ask this of them any longer.

As Selia drew the rag across the hard swell of her abdomen, a now-familiar knot of anxiety gripped her like Odin’s fingers. She was showing much sooner than she had with either Faolan or Deirdre. She’d hoped Alrik would be dead from drink before he realized she carried his brother’s child. If her belly continued to grow at this pace, Selia wasn’t sure she could hide it from him for much longer.

A prayer for protection sprang to her lips as she cupped her belly, and the knot of worry eased somewhat. She crossed herself, then dressed quickly.

The bleakness of her current circumstances had finally been enough to draw her fully back to the religion of her upbringing. She had no idea if her soul was still forfeit, but the familiar rituals of Christianity had provided some comfort, at least. She prayed for the safety of her children, including her unborn babe. She prayed for Ulfrik’s soul every night, hoping his restless spirit could find peace.

And she prayed for the strength she would need to kill Alrik, if indeed it came to that. She cringed to think of what would happen when he discovered the babe she carried. But one thing was certain—Selia would slay him if he tried to hurt Ulfrik’s child.

There was a knock at the farmstead door later that evening as Selia and Keir worked in silence at the looms. They looked up from their weaving in surprise, as there were very few visitors to the farmstead. Keir answered the door and ushered Bolli Ketilson inside.

Bolli limped over, meeting Selia’s gaze directly. “Is Alrik here?”

“No,” she replied. “Check the slave quarters if you need to speak with him. I’m sure he’s with Tofa.” Alrik had been spending more and more time with the pretty blond thrall. It was always a relief when he left the house in search of the girl.

Bolli’s brows rose at her blunt admission of Alrik’s infidelity. He turned to leave, but Selia placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “I would speak with you if I may, Bolli.”

Her gaze leveled on Keir. The woman took the hint; excusing herself to go into the kitchen.

“Something weighs heavily upon me,” Selia began quietly. “But I do not know if I can trust you. My heart tells me I can, but my mind insists you mean to do my son harm.”

“I bear no ill will toward Faolan Alrikson. You know this to be true.”

“Do I? Alrik is killing himself with drink, everyone sees this. Who will be Hersir after him? The men will fraction. Faolan is too young to be Hersir. Yet we both know some of the men will hesitate to follow you due to your lame foot. It is not a difficult leap to think you might try to improve your chances.”

Bolli appeared genuinely stunned. “I give you my word I will not harm Faolan.”

Selia searched his eyes for the truth, and saw no guile there. She nodded. “Faolan has no wish to be Hersir. All I ask of you when Alrik dies, is safe passage for me and my son to leave Norway.”

“You seem very certain of Alrik’s impending death.”

“I have eyes. Look at him, Bolli. I do not think he will see another summer.”

“Where will you go?”

Selia rubbed at her neck wearily. “I will find my children. After that, I’m not certain. Where I live matters little without Ulfrik beside me.”

Bolli was silent for a long moment. “You truly loved him, then. Ulfrik.”

“I did.” She choked back a sob. “More than I knew could be possible. He was everything to me.”

Bolli’s sharp intake of breath drew Selia’s gaze. She saw pity there, and something else. Something defiant.

“He may very well still be alive, Selia.”

The room spun at Bolli’s words, and Selia gripped the stout post of the loom for support. How could this be possible? She had seen Ulfrik go over the edge of the cliff with her own eyes. Her mind struggled to wrap around Bolli’s assertion as a tiny flicker of hope sparked inside her.

“How?” she whispered.

“I was in the ship and saw him fall. He hit a ledge hard, then went into the water. He was still moving, just a bit, trying to swim. One of Gunnar’s men saw as well, and your boy Geirr hit him over the head with a rock to keep him from shouting. Geirr swam out after Ulfrik and they disappeared.”

With a muffled cry Selia collapsed to the floor, choking so hard she could barely draw breath. Bolli crouched down awkwardly, his metal plated boot hindering him. “Geirr could have dragged him around the island,” he insisted. “He seems a strong lad.”

Through her haze of emotion Selia realized he thought she was crying because she feared they’d both drowned; Geirr as well as Ulfrik.

But she knew without a doubt Geirr had hidden his father in the cave just off shore. Ulfrik
could
still be alive. She tried to slow her sobs enough to speak, finally managing, “You didn’t tell Alrik. Why?”

“Ulfrik was always kind to me, even when others were not.” Bolli’s face had flushed with emotion. “I owe him much.”

Selia studied him, wiping at her nose. By his discomfited expression, she understood he meant Ulfrik had known about his relationship with Hakon and hadn’t made him feel badly about it. Selia scrubbed the tears from her face and accepted Bolli’s proffered hand to help her rise.

“Now,” he said with conviction, “do you trust that I bear no ill will toward Faolan?”

She gave a firm nod. “I do.”

The day dragged on with no sight of Alrik. Or Faolan either, for that matter. Selia tried not to worry. He’d struck up a friendship with Emundi, a thrall child, the son of Hallveig who had nursed Geirr when Muirin had died. The boy was several years older but seemed a kind lad who genuinely liked Faolan. Selia knew her son was bereft without Geirr’s constant companionship.

Should she tell Faolan that Ulfrik might still be alive? Could he keep the secret? Faolan wouldn’t tell on purpose, of course, but his actions might give him away. And if Alrik found out, he would surely return to the island and finish the job himself.

Selia’s hands shook so badly her weaving was crooked, and she sighed heavily as she pulled out the uneven strands to start again.

Keir glanced over at her. “Is something the matter, Mistress?”

“Oh, Keir,” Selia managed, “I feel as though I will shatter into pieces. I want to laugh and cry and scream. But I cannot.”

“What has happened?”

She leaned close to Keir to speak quietly in her ear. “Ulfrik may be alive.”

Keir gasped, her eyes huge.

Selia had shared with Keir her plan to bide her time until Alrik died of drink, then return to Ireland to find her children. But Bolli’s revelation had changed her thinking drastically.

If Ulfrik
had
lived, why hadn’t he come for her? Had the fall broken his body beyond repair? The thought of him suffering, needing her, was nearly as awful as when she’d thought him dead. Desperation to get to the man she loved was clouding her thinking.

“I’m going to try to escape again when Alrik departs on his fall trip,” Selia disclosed. “I’m sure Bolli was here today to discuss the trip with him, so they must be leaving soon.”

“How will you do it?”

Selia shook her head miserably. She had no silver; nothing to barter for safe passage back to Norway. Alrik’s ring on her finger was her only jewelry, and he’d hidden away his treasures so she wouldn’t have access to anything of value.

Her eyes focused on the strand of wool between her fingers. She did have something of value.
My weaving.
It had always fetched a high price at market, whether her father, Ainnileas, or Alrik had been selling it. The wool she spun was fine yet strong, woven into a dense, smooth cloth that took the dye very well. She’d received countless compliments on the quality of her work over the years.

“How much of my cloth is left, Keir?” Selia asked. “Is there any surplus?”

“No. The master sold it all in Bjorgvin.”

Selia squared her shoulders. “Then I will work day and night. I must have enough to buy passage out of Norway by the time Alrik leaves on his fall trip.”