Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (9 page)

Gildi shouted in surprise, rushing in with his own dagger drawn, but Ulfrik felled him with a sharp kick to the knee he’d been favoring. The man dropped like a stone, howling, as Bjarni also sank slowly to the ground.

Ulfrik heard the hiss of a sword being drawn behind him and ducked to avoid the swing of Eykell’s blade. He came up fast, moving by sound more than sight, and grabbed the man’s arm where it gripped his sword. Ulfrik head-butted him twice, making Eykell stagger backward on unsteady legs. Ulfrik’s dagger found a home deep in the man’s belly, spewing his hot blood onto the sand.

Too late, Ulfrik sensed the motion of something moving toward him. Before he could pull his dagger from the body of Eykell, he felt the sharp sting of Gildi’s blade as the man lashed out with it. The blow had most likely been meant for Ulfrik’s kidney, but pain must have dulled the man’s aim, for it sank through the flesh of his side, from front to back.

Ulfrik turned with a grunt, Gildi’s dagger still in his body, and slit the man’s throat. Gildi’s grip on the blade relaxed as he finally collapsed to the ground.

Chapter 16

Selia sat with her mending by the dying embers of the fire. Bleary eyed, she stirred the coals, adding a few more sticks to revive the flame.

Being late in the night, everyone else had gone to bed long ago. The cave was cold and quiet, with only an occasional snort from Eithne to break the ominous stillness.

Where was Ulfrik? He’d never been gone this long. He’d come back from Dubhlinn after dark only once. Following a stern scolding from Eithne about how they had all worried for his safety, he’d told them there might well come a time when the weather or some other unforeseen event could keep him from returning the same day. And not to worry if it did.

But the weather was clear tonight. What could be the reason for Ulfrik’s delay?

Sighing, Selia laid the mending aside and tied her cloak tightly around her shoulders. She slipped from the cave to walk up the path, her breath fogging in the frosty air. The bright stars above provided the only illumination, and she was relieved as she reached the bluff.

She’d been up here often enough to know where the edges of the cliff began, but to be safe she stayed next to the crumbling walls of the old fort as she slowly scanned the water below for Ulfrik’s boat. Or anything at all.

She heard nothing other than the soft sound of the sea crashing against the rocks below. The reflection of the stars glittered upon its surface, cold and unfeeling. Was Ulfrik’s body down there, in its watery depths? Had some terrible fate befallen him? The knot of anxiety in her belly grew tighter as she turned back to the cave.

Ulfrik was very cold. His teeth chattered as he tended to his wound, washing it as best he could with seawater, then binding it with strips of fabric ripped from a section of Gildi’s cloak that wasn’t saturated with the man’s blood.

His fingers shook as he tied the binding tight. It wasn’t such a cold night, he knew; but rather he’d lost quite a bit of blood. If he wasn’t careful he might faint. Ulfrik returned to his boat on unsteady legs, taking a long gulp of water from his flask, followed by a few bites of bread. The food in his belly helped, but wading through the icy seawater had chilled him to the bone. Exhausted, Ulfrik wanted nothing more than to lie down in the bottom of the boat to rest.

He forced himself to make his way to the other boat. There was a satchel of food, dried meat and a hunk of cheese, plus three flasks of ale. Ulfrik took a swig of the ale before transferring these items to his own boat.

As much as he’d like to sell the vessel Gunnar’s men had been sailing, Ulfrik knew this was much too risky. Boat building was an art, and every boat-builder an artist. Gunnar or one of his men would easily recognize the distinctive lines of this particular vessel. A few questions of the buyer would reveal who had sold it to him, and then Ulfrik’s life would be forfeit as his cousin hunted him down.

What to do with the bodies? Ulfrik considered burying them, but doubted he would be able to dig in his wounded condition. And shallow graves could be too easily exhumed.

Grunting with exertion, he dragged the three dead men to the edge of the water and loaded the bodies onto the boat they’d sailed on, tying them down. Ulfrik returned to the scene of the skirmish to ensure all their weapons were accounted for, then stumbled back to the boat of dead men. He used his axe to chop a small hole in the side, finally lashing the vessel to his own.

He pushed his boat further into the water, struggling to climb inside. Ulfrik adjusted the sail for home, then closed his eyes for a few moments’ rest.

A sharp tug of the boat jerked Ulfrik awake. He sat up with a start, realizing he must have slept much longer than he’d meant to. The night sky was fading; it would be dawn soon.

The other boat had taken on water during the night, just as he’d hoped, and was nearly full. His wound had tightened as he’d slept and moving was difficult, but Ulfrik maneuvered himself close enough to the side of his boat to grab the rope lashed to the sinking vessel of Gunnar’s dead men.

He cut the rope, watching the boat sink further into the still, cold water. All the evidence of what had befallen the three men would drop to the bottom of the dark sea.

Ulfrik adjusted the sail again, then allowed himself to relax against the side. Selia and her family were safe, at least for now.

Right after he’d been stabbed, Ulfrik had feared he might not see Selia again. He’d waited so long for her, had been so patient, hoping she would one day come to care for him as he did her. Ulfrik couldn’t give up now, so close to having what he’d desired for so many years.

If he did, Selia would never know what had befallen him. The thought of her being alone on the island made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. Of course she had Ainnileas, but Selia’s brother would eventually have to sail again, leaving the women, children, and a priest on their own. Although Oengul was a man, more or less, still Ulfrik trusted Bahati and Ingrid with a weapon more than he did the frail priest.

Gunnar’s obsession with Ingrid was quite surprising. Even after several moons, the man hadn’t stopped searching for her. Ulfrik would have to be very careful the next time he came to Dubhlinn to ensure he had no more encounters with Gunnar’s men.

He’d warned both his niece and Ainnileas about what kind of man Gunnar Klaufason was. Apparently Ulfrik had neglected to take his own warning seriously enough.

The watery rays of the morning sun welcomed him as he saw the island in the distance. He smiled as he sailed closer, imagining seeing Selia’s lovely face light up at his arrival.

Ulfrik squinted at an unexpected flash of red, the color of Selia’s gown, just visible on the top of the cliff. The color moved, flapping like a sail, causing Ulfrik to blink and shake his head.

Was his mind playing tricks on him? Could it actually be Selia? The flash of red moved, now descending down the steep, rocky path.

Ulfrik sat up, ignoring the stab of pain. It was Selia. What was she thinking? That path was too dangerous, especially in her condition. He’d told all of them to avoid the cliff path.

He’d meant to sail around to the other side of the island, but instead continued toward the cliff where the woman he loved was risking life and limb to get to the beach quickly. Ulfrik felt the boat bottom out under him as it drew near. He sat for a moment, gathering his strength to climb out and pull it closer, as Selia called to him.

To hear his name on her lips felt like a balm. So sweet. The sound took the edge off his vexation with her.

“Ulfrik!” She called again. Selia rushed across the sand to stand at the water’s edge. “What happened? We were so worried.” Her brow furrowed as she studied his face.

He tried to smile at her but it felt more like a grimace. He hadn’t known if he would ever see her lovely face again. So beautiful. He shook his head.
Focus
.

Selia was too small to help him up the path. And now the boat was stuck. “I need Ainnileas. And perhaps Oengul as well.” His voice sounded raspy to his own ears. “I have . . . a flesh wound.”

Selia splashed into the icy sea, gasping. “A flesh wound?” She gripped the boat with white knuckles.

“Get out of the water, Selia,” he protested. It was too cold for her to be in the sea. And she couldn’t swim. A strong current could carry her away, and Ulfrik wasn’t sure if he would be able to swim after her in his weakened condition.

Her gray eyes grew large as she focused on the bloody bandage tied around his midsection. She met his gaze, and he saw fear there.

“I’ll live,” he assured her. “But I’ve lost a bit of blood.”

She looked behind her, obviously having the same concern about the steep path as he was. Selia turned back to again meet his gaze. She squared her shoulders, then pushed the boat deeper into the water.

“What are you doing?” Ulfrik tried to stop her. But she pushed again, now waist deep in the frigid sea. “Selia, stop!”

He felt the boat come free of the sand below. She threw one leg over the side of the boat, making it wobble dangerously. Ulfrik grabbed Selia to haul her in.

Exhausted from the effort, he lay still, with her pressed against him. “That was very foolish,” he managed.

She didn’t argue with him. “We’ll sail around to the other side. I don’t want you trying to climb the cliff path.”

Ulfrik lay still for several breaths. Her head was on his shoulder, her slight form pressed next to his, shivering, and Ulfrik was tempted to hold her close and let the wind take them where it may, wound or no.

Then he struggled to sit in order to adjust the sail. He felt Selia’s eyes on him all the while.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.

“I was followed by three of Gunnar’s men out of Dubhlinn. I sailed further down the coast to be sure. They confronted me, looking for Ingrid. I had to kill them.”

“Oh,” Selia breathed, visibly distressed, blinking back tears.

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “I sank their ship with the bodies aboard. I left nothing behind that would lead Gunnar to believe they found me. We’re safe here.”

Selia turned away, not speaking. Had he misunderstood her worry? Were her tears for him?

She nodded but didn’t look at him. The boat rounded the rocks as they sailed toward the beach. There was a shout from above, and Ulfrik looked up to see Ainnileas waving at them through the trees.

Selia followed behind as her brother and Father Oengul helped Ulfrik up the path. She took everything from the boat she could manage to carry; packing the flasks of ale into Ulfrik’s satchel so she could tote the other sack as well. Selia could only assume it belonged to the dead men.

She’d stared down at the loom, shocked, before turning away. Ulfrik had bought her a loom—a Norse loom. She’d mentioned to him once she liked the feel of the Norse loom better than the Irish. Without him having to tell her, Selia knew the loom was the reason Gunnar’s men had been so sure he’d been harboring Ingrid.

Her belly churned with guilt and anxiety as they slowly ascended the forest path. Ulfrik had an arm over each of the smaller man’s shoulders. His face had been very pale as they’d helped him from the boat, and judging from the amount of blood on his bandage, the wound was serious. Yet he remained stoic, talking to Ainnileas and Oengul, even laughing a bit when Ainnileas grumbled about how heavy he was.

Selia remembered seeing him shirtless at the summer gathering, so many years ago. His torso was covered with scars; some from battle, still more from skirmishes he’d fought with his brother.

She knew Ulfrik was accustomed to ignoring pain. What if his wound was much worse than he was leading them all to believe? What if he was going to die?

A frantic wave of fear gripped her, stealing her breath.
No
.

At last they reached the cave. Ulfrik limped inside to sit heavily on one of the chairs, a gleam of sweat on his pale skin despite the cold morning. The boys rushed to him, both speaking at once.

“Hush, lads.” Eithne waved them away. She handed Ulfrik a cup of ale, which he gulped, nodding his thanks at her over the rim.

As he explained what had transpired on his return trip from Dubhlinn, Selia laid the rucksacks down to gather what she needed to tend to his wound. Scissors, a bowl of fresh water, needle and thread, and strips of clean cloth for bandages.

She was shaking as she approached, but forced her voice to remain calm. “Boys, step aside. Stir up the fire if you will, Eithne.”

Ulfrik could not contain his look of surprise. “You’re going to stitch me up?”

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No,” he chuckled. The laugh turned into a cough, and it was a moment before he could speak again. “I only remember you not being fond of the sight of blood.”

“Well, times have changed, Ulfrik Ragnarson.” She placed her items on the table. “Remove your shirt, please.”

He obeyed, albeit with some difficulty, and Selia had to help him get it over his head. “I don’t think this shirt can be salvaged,” she mused.

“I have another.”

She knelt next to him, carefully cutting away the bloody bandage. Selia dipped the clean rag in the water to soften the areas where it had dried on his skin. She held it there for a moment, then peeled the last of it free.

The hole went clear through his side, front to back. A section of Ulfrik’s skin was laid open where the blade had ripped into him. A bit more than an ordinary flesh wound, but at least it seemed as though no organs had been affected. Selia blew out a relieved breath as she rose to her feet.

“Can you stand?” she asked him. “I think if I stitch it while you’re sitting, it will pull when you stand up.”

Ulfrik rose, towering over her. Selia wiped the wound again, then reached for the threaded needle. She hesitated for a moment.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stitch him, my girl?” Eithne asked quietly.

Selia shook her head. She held the edges of his wound together with one hand as she pierced his flesh with the other. She pulled the thread through, feeling slightly sick at the odd sensation. Ulfrik didn’t move, not even a flinch. She looked up to see him watching her.

“Go ahead.” He nodded encouragingly as if he knew she’d never done this before. “You’re doing fine.”

Selia’s confidence increased as she continued to stitch. She worked methodically, the row of stitches growing one by one, finally tying the end off as she’d seen Hrefna do dozens of times. Selia cut the thread and laid the scissors and needle aside. She cleaned the stitched area of residual blood and wrapped a fresh bandage around his midsection, tying it snug, then leaned back with a sigh.

Ulfrik moved his arm above his head gingerly, testing it, then turned from side to side. He smiled down at her. “It’s good. You did a fine job, Selia.”

Then why did she feel like she was about to shatter into pieces? At Ingrid’s instruction, Eydis brought Ulfrik the fresh shirt from his sleeping area. Once Selia helped him put it on, Eithne insisted Ulfrik retire to his pallet for a rest.

Selia watched him limp across the cave, and could take no more. She slipped into the forest, hurrying so no one would see her crying.