Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter 21

Ulfrik had no choice but to go with Gunnar. To refuse his hospitality would draw suspicion, and truthfully, Ulfrik had nowhere else to go to wait out the storm, other than back to Osgar’s or to a tavern.

Which was where he knew Gunnar was going. For the time he’d sailed with his cousin, Gunnar had always kept a base at one of the most sordid taverns in Dubhlinn. He paid the owners well to feed and house his men, but to stay out of their business otherwise. Murder, rape, torture; all had occurred within the tavern walls at the whim of Gunnar One-Eye.

Ulfrik left his small boat lashed to the dock at Baile Átha Cliath, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, climbed into Gunnar’s ship. The men kept the sail lowered and rowed instead, not trusting the weather. It was a very short sail to Dubhlinn, but nevertheless seemed to take forever in the driving sleet and heavy winds. Ulfrik was chilled to the bone when they finally arrived at the Dubhlinn docks.

The party of men trudged up the meandering, muddy streets of Dubhlinn, face first into the wind. Ulfrik was glad the storm prevented conversation. Soaked through and boots caked with muck, the men arrived at Finola’s tavern. Gunnar threw open the door, eliciting a round of irritated shouts from the patrons inside as an icy blast of wind whipped through the room. The grumblers subsided quickly when they saw who entered.

Finola came to greet them, tsking at their muddy boots and dripping cloaks. Her eyes rested on Ulfrik briefly, then she did a double take and turned back to him. “Well, if it isn’t Ulfrik Ragnarson,” she marveled, laying a hand on his arm. “I never thought to see
you
again.”

“Hello, Finola.” Ulfrik smiled at her, a bright grin that made full use of his dimples. She blinked in surprise. As he’d hoped, a flush arose to her cheeks and she returned his smile with a coy one of her own. Ulfrik masked his revulsion at the sight of her decayed teeth.

He knew the woman had always harbored a soft spot for him, and he might very well need to call in a favor before this was over. Finola liked Gunnar’s silver very much and had no qualms about allowing him to kill his enemies within her establishment. To dispose of the bodies and clean up the blood was extra.

She was a handsome woman with dark hair and eyes, who must have been quite beautiful in her youth. But time had not been kind to her. Her husband Domari owned the tavern; portly and mean-spirited, he dealt with a wooden leg and avoided walking as much as possible, allowing Finola to run the tavern. Ulfrik didn’t see any sign of the man; perhaps he had died.

Finola and Domari had a daughter, a pretty little girl who’d resembled her mother. What had her name been?

“You’re looking very well, Finola. And how is little Aine?” Ulfrik hoped he’d guessed correctly.

Finola beamed. “Why thank you, Ulfrik. I do try to keep myself up. Not that Domari notices. Aine is around here somewhere. She is such a lazy girl. I’m ready to sell her to the highest bidder.” Finola pealed with laughter, displaying the full extent of rot in her mouth, and Ulfrik kept his smile frozen in place.

“Finola,” Gunnar snarled impatiently. “You can bed my cousin later, if you’re so intent upon it. My men are tired and thirsty—have the girls bring us food and ale.” He stalked toward the fire, then returned to snap, “And I require a room for Ulfrik. One in the back.”

“Now, Gunnar Klaufason, I won’t have you hurting Ulfrik—”

He silenced her with a dismissive wave and a glare from his single blue eye. “I have no plans to hurt him, woman. But I don’t want him running away just yet.”

The night wore on, with plenty of feasting and drinking as the storm raged outside. Finola’s serving girls could be had for a price, and spent as much time serving the food as they did wiggling their breasts and hips in the men’s faces. Gunnar’s men took turns staggering off into the darkness with a giggling lass, sometimes two at a time, returning later to rejoin the feast.

Ulfrik remained firmly planted on his bench, sipping his ale slowly so as not to become as drunk as the others. Aine came in later to help serve. She was a child no longer, but a very attractive girl of about thirteen or fourteen summers. Her large, dark eyes looked miserable as she refilled his cup.

The man seated next to him pinched her buttocks, making her squeal and spill the ale. Finola rushed over to scold her. “Aine! Mind yourself, girl!”

Aine apologized and scurried off. Finola smacked the hand of the man who had groped her. “And
you
,” she spat, “you know better. Aine is off limits. That is, unless you have the silver to afford her?”

Ulfrik froze with his drink halfway to his mouth. He slammed the cup down on the table without drinking, and Finola laughed at him. “Ulfrik Ragnarson,” she purred. “You seem a man of means. Perhaps you would be interested in purchasing the maidenhead of my daughter? No one as yet has been able to afford the price.” She winked at him knowingly. “A wealthy man can have her for a night. A not so wealthy man can have her for life. I’ve set the bride price the same.”

“No,” Ulfrik said quickly. He cleared his throat, mindful not to insult the woman whose assistance he might very well need to escape from Gunnar. “I prefer my women a bit older and more experienced.”

This elicited another peal of laughter from Finola. She gave him a smoldering look, swishing her skinny hips as she sauntered toward the kitchen.

Gunnar strode over, motioning the man beside Ulfrik to get up so he could take his place. Ulfrik turned to him with a forced smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, cousin.”

“It was the least I could do.” Gunnar expelled a loud belch before continuing. “I wanted to speak to you without the men overhearing. I had an interesting thought recently and knew you would appreciate the significance of it.”

“Is that so?”

“I believe it is time to mend the bitter feelings your brother harbors for me.”

Ulfrik was careful to keep his face expressionless. “That is interesting.”

“I doubt he would give his daughter to me otherwise. Unless, of course, there is something I could give to him.”

Ulfrik snorted. “If you think handing me over to Alrik will endear you to him, I hate to disappoint you. I doubt there is anything you could do to change his feelings about you.”

Gunnar took a drag of ale, watching Ulfrik carefully. “Oh, I believe you’re wrong. Every man has something he wants above all else.”

“So why are you telling me this, Gunnar? Why not just do it?”

Gunnar smiled. “To see the look on your face.”

“And did you get what you wanted?”

“I’ve been reading your lack of expression for years, cousin. It sometimes reveals more than you think it does.”

The storm raged on, keeping Ulfrik prisoner at the tavern for several more days. Gunnar and his men feasted and drank, pausing only to sleep, or to rut with the serving girls.

Ulfrik passed his time playing tafl with Leif Gunnarson, a boy thankfully unlike his father in every way other than his looks. Domari returned home late the first night, limping and grumbling, saving Ulfrik at least from having to fend off Finola’s advances. Now, she was limited to sending meaningful glances his way from across the room.

The men were becoming restless; shorter with one another and rougher on the girls. A few returned from the shadows of the tavern in tears, the men behind them fastening up their trousers. One of the men, an especially loudmouthed, evil-tempered man named Bausi, ended up with his throat slit by his own dagger. No one claimed to know what had happened to him.

As the storm’s fury finally dissipated, Ulfrik waited for his opportunity to escape. He got his chance when Einarr Drengsson tried to force himself on Finola’s daughter Aine. Late in the night, when many of the men were drunk or asleep, the muffled screams of the girl could be heard from the back of the tavern.

Finola’s head shot up from where she poured a cup of ale. “Aine?” There was no response. “
Aine
?” she yelled.

The sound of crying intensified. Suddenly, the girl ran into the main room of the tavern, face tearstained and hair disheveled. Einarr staggered after her.

Finola screamed in fury. She launched herself at Einarr like a madwoman, alerting Domari with her shrieks. He woke with a start and strapped on his wooden leg, then lumbered to her aid with a dagger in his hand, flashing the blade at Einarr. The portly man demanded compensation for Aine’s maidenhead.

No one was paying any attention to Aine, who stood crying quietly. Ulfrik approached her. “Are you all right?” He had to speak up for the girl to hear him over the ruckus.

“Yes.” The affirmation hitched on her sobs.

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Stay away from Einarr,” Ulfrik warned. “Sleep with your mother tonight if you must.”

Aine nodded, eyes downcast, while a deep flush arose to her cheeks. From her silence and her miserable expression, Ulfrik realized the girl had feelings for the black-hearted man.

“Einarr Drengsson is a berserker. You do not want him for a husband, Aine.”

Her gaze met his, wide-eyed as though surprised he’d read her thoughts. She hurried away toward the kitchen without answering.

The brawl intensified as a few more men rushed to Einarr’s aid. Amid the shouting and uproar, Ulfrik calmly stepped outside to find the horse he’d paid Finola for.

Chapter 22

The storm, sudden and fierce, blew in from across the water like an ominous cloud of smoke. Except the cloud was ice. The sharp needles stung Selia’s skin as she hurried home from Oengul’s tower with Eydis in tow, her fear mounting with every step.

“It hurts!” Eydis cried.

Selia pulled the frightened child behind her so her body would block the brunt of the ice storm. They pushed on through the forest as the trees bent nearly sideways with the howling wind. There was a creak and a horrifying snapping sound from above, then a massive branch crashed down on the path before them.

Eydis screamed, clinging to Selia. Shaking in fear herself, Selia climbed over the branch, then helped Eydis. The little girl sobbed as the trees continued to sway threateningly overhead.

“Selia! Eydis!”

She turned, squinting against the shards of ice that pounded her face, to see Ainnileas rushing toward them. He swept Eydis into his arms and she clung to him, burrowing into his neck.

Selia met his silvery gaze, feeling the familiar jolt of connection between them that she’d assumed had disappeared forever with their long separation. She knew without asking that he’d felt her fear and panic, and sensed exactly where to find them on the path.

Her twin was still her other half.

Ainnileas curved an arm around Selia’s shoulders, and they traversed as quickly as they could over the treacherous path back to the cave.

She had never been so happy to see the familiar flickering light from the cave entrance. They staggered inside, then stood still for a moment, breathing raggedly. Ingrid rushed up and pulled Eydis from Ainnileas’ arms as the boys hugged Selia hard.

“What were you thinking, Selia?” Ingrid snapped. “You should have stayed at Oengul’s until the storm passed.”

Selia threw up her hands. “It came too fast. We were already halfway home when it hit.”

If the storm had whipped up upon them this suddenly, wouldn’t it do the same to a boat on the sea? Selia sought Ainnileas for reassurance. “What about Ulfrik?” she whispered to her brother.

“He will be all right.” Ainnileas’ words did little to convince her as he stared out at the storm with a worried look upon his face.

Selia imagined Ulfrik in his small boat, bobbing upon a treacherous, icy sea as the wind churned up the waves. Strong wind; the type that snapped masts and swept men overboard.

She suddenly felt as though her lungs couldn’t draw in enough air. Ainnileas reached for her, squeezing her hand.

“The storm blew in from the west,” he reassured. “Ulfrik would have seen it before he left the Irish coast. He’s waiting there now, I’ll wager. We can expect him tomorrow.”

Two days passed, then three. The ice turned to snow, blanketing the island in white and rendering the path to Oengul’s tower slick and perilous. But still Selia walked it every morning and evening to meet Bahati for the milking.

And to stand on the cliff, looking across the gray sea for Ulfrik’s boat. She kept vigil as the cold seeped into her bones and the snow felt like a death shroud. But he didn’t come.

The fear in her heart was all consuming; a dark, frigid fist that gripped her, tightening with every breath. The pain of the talons of Odin’s ravens ripping into her flesh couldn’t have been any more real.

She prayed ceaselessly, a silent litany for Ulfrik’s safe return.
Please, God. Please bring him home to me.

She’d quit praying after the awful incident with the rabbit so many years ago. Strangely, not even Faolan’s grievous injury at the hands of his father had compelled the Christian words to spring to Selia’s lips again. It was as though she’d feared to pray for her son, feared God would punish her fickleness by allowing Faolan to die.

But now she prayed for Ulfrik. She was a sinner, an adulteress, praying for the very man she’d sinned with. But still she prayed.

The fourth day dawned cold and rainy as Selia lay bleary-eyed on her pallet. She had neither slept nor eaten. Her gaze fixed on the cave opening, willing Ulfrik to walk through.
Please come home to me.

Ulfrik is dead
, an ugly voice in her head whispered.
Why else would he stay gone so long?

There was no other explanation. He must be dead, taken from her forever.

A wail arose inside her, and Selia turned her face into the blankets to muffle her despair as her body wracked with sobs. She’d never told him she loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted, but she had been too frightened and superstitious to grant him even that.

Her sobs escalated, but Selia didn’t care anymore. Ulfrik was dead. Nothing else mattered.

Selia heard Eithne’s familiar grunt of pain as the woman sat up in her bed. She wouldn’t even have a bed if it weren’t for Ulfrik. He’d made it for her to help ease her aching bones. Selia cried harder.

The woman padded over, sitting beside her with some difficulty. She curved a plump arm around Selia’s shoulders. “What’s all this, my girl?” she asked softly.

Rage, guilt, and despair fought within her at Eithne’s words. How dare Eithne ask her this? When it was only for Eithne’s benefit that she had kept her relationship with Ulfrik a secret?

Rage won out. “Don’t touch me!” she choked to Eithne. “Ulfrik is dead—I know he’s dead! And it was because of you we couldn’t be together!”

Eithne drew back. “Because of me?”

“He wanted to marry me, but we couldn’t wed because of Alrik,” Selia sobbed. “And I so feared your disapproval I was afraid to live with him in sin. But I love him, Eithne. And now he’s dead . . .”

Selia heard the rustle of bedclothes as the others woke, and too late glanced around the cave to see everyone staring at her. She buried her face in her blanket. Her shame was complete.

Ainnileas crossed to sit beside Eithne. “We don’t know that he’s dead, Selia.”

“Then where is he?” she demanded. Selia gestured to the cave entrance. “Why hasn’t he come home?”

“I don’t know,” Ainnileas admitted. “But I do know this—Ulfrik Ragnarson loves you. He would do everything in his power to find a way home to you. And if he was dead, he would give you a sign. Have you had a sign, Selia?”

“No.” She choked back a sob.

“Then have faith. He will come home.” Ainnileas turned to Eithne with a stern expression. “And when he does, Selia has my blessing to handfast with Ulfrik. This nonsense must end.”

Eithne gasped. “Nonsense? You call the holy laws nonsense?”

“I call it nonsense that two people who care for each other as they do can’t be together without fearing one old woman’s disapproval,” Ainnileas shot back.

“It is not my disapproval she should be concerned with. It is the state of her soul.”

“My soul was dammed long ago, by my own doing,” Selia retorted. “Loving a man who is not my husband can’t damn it any more than it already is.”

“Selia!”

“It’s true. I love him, Eithne.
I love him
. My only regret is that I didn’t tell him so before he left. And if God sees fit to bring him back to me, I will live with Ulfrik Ragnarson, sin or no, without guilt.”

There was a shout from outside, a woman’s shout. Bahati. Selia quieted, listening, as a tiny spark of hope flamed in her heart. She leapt from her pallet to run from the cave, despite Eithne’s protests that she don her shoes. She’d been sleeping in her gown and wool stockings for warmth, but not her shoes.

The spark of hope roared to life as Selia saw the smile on Bahati’s face. “Your Northman,” she gasped, out of breath. “His boat approaches.”

Relief flooded Selia’s body as she swept past Bahati to head toward the cliff. Bahati grabbed her elbow. “No.” She inclined her head in the other direction. “This way.”

He was sailing around to the bay. Selia turned quickly, sprinting toward the empty house on cold, wet feet, pushing aside the branches that slapped at her face. She burst through the brush behind the house, stopping short as she scanned the water. Nothing.

Moments later Ulfrik’s sail became visible. Selia saw him, his blond hair billowing as the wind pulled it free from the hood of his cloak, and her heart nearly burst with relief. Shouting his name, she ran headlong down the hill on numbed, bare feet, slipping in the wet snow and mud.

Ulfrik looked up, his expression heartbreakingly happy. He sailed as far as he could into the bay, then got out to drag the boat onto shore. She splashed into the water to launch herself into his arms.

Selia clung to him, shivering with cold and emotion. She burrowed into his warm neck, feeling the beat of his pulse. Ulfrik held her with one arm as he grasped the boat’s rope with the other, knee deep in the cold sea.

“I love you, Ulfrik,” she whispered, leaning back to grip his face. “
I love you
.”

His smile bloomed, achingly beautiful. Selia kissed him—lips, cheeks, eyelids—as he laughed.

“If I would have known all it took to get a profession of love from you was to stay away a few days . . .”

Selia couldn’t share in his humor. She hugged him hard again, breathing in his scent. Ulfrik shifted the rope so he could hold her tight with both arms. “I thought you were dead,” she moaned. “Never do that to me again.”

Ulfrik strode through the water to the beach, carrying Selia and dragging the boat behind him. He dropped the rope when he’d pulled the vessel far enough. Ulfrik cupped the back of her head, nudging her a bit until she looked up. His eyes were serious now.

“I’m sorry. I did everything I could to get back to you. I didn’t mean to make you worry—”

Her eyes fixed on his mouth. She kissed him again, hard, and he stopped talking to kiss her back. The passion that welled up inside her made it difficult to think clearly. She wanted him, now. Wanted to feel the naked length of his body against hers to prove he was alive. Prove he was real.

But the others were coming—she could hear voices as they made their way down the hill. Ulfrik set her on her feet quickly, taking a step away.

Selia sidled closer to him and reached for his hand. He gazed at her questioningly.

“They know. All of them—even Eithne.”

“How?”

“I told them just a moment ago.”

Ulfrik studied her. “But if you thought I was dead . . .”

His meaning was clear. If she thought he was dead, why go to the trouble of admitting her sin to Eithne?

“Because I love you, Ulfrik. And I was too cowardly to admit it for far too long. You deserve more than that. I’m finished with letting others make decisions for me. I am a woman, not a child, and I choose you.”