Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (15 page)

Chapter 25

Overheated in the bed despite the cool, early summer morning, Selia lay next to Ulfrik in the semi-darkness, her enormous belly making it difficult to find a comfortable position. The nagging ache in her back refused to relent. She rolled, trying to move quietly so as not to wake him, feeling as graceful as a cow.

She was breathing hard as she maneuvered to her other side. The child in her belly shifted as well, kicking and stretching, and Selia stroked the outline of a tiny foot. It pressed back against her hand, drawing a smile from her lips.

She had never gotten this big with Faolan, who had come early. This child seemed in no great hurry to be born. No, this one was content to grow as large as possible before making its way out into the world.

The size of Selia’s belly seemed to make everyone uncomfortable. She would catch them staring at it, only to turn away when they saw she was looking. Especially Eithne. Without a word being spoken she knew the woman worried greatly about Selia’s ability to birth this child.

Ulfrik’s face remained masked whenever she spoke of the impending birth. She’d told him Faolan’s birth had been very fast, and Hrefna had been surprised at how well she’d done. There was no reason to think this birth would be any different.

Other than the sheer size of the babe.

Try as she might, Selia couldn’t hide her worry from Ulfrik. His eyes looked into her soul, finding the truth as always. But if he worried himself, he didn’t speak of it.

Ingrid’s babe had come during the winter, much too early, and born dead. A boy child, tiny and perfect, but as blue as the ice that crusted over the stream that fateful morning. He hadn’t even drawn a single breath. Eithne had washed the small body and dressed him in the gown Ingrid had made for him, a gown much too big for the poor mite. Ainnileas had gone alone to bury his son. He’d returned with a face pinched in grief, and sat drinking with Ulfrik well into the night.

Ingrid lay in her bedchamber much of the time now, shrouded in melancholy. Whenever she did arise she glared daggers at Selia’s huge belly and refused to speak to her.

After what had happened to Ingrid’s stillborn son, no one seemed willing to discuss the situation as Selia’s confinement dragged on. It seemed almost a slap in the face to worry about a child staying in the womb too long, compared to Ingrid who couldn’t keep her own babe within long enough.

The pain in Selia’s back grew stronger now, taking her breath, and she gripped the corner of the blanket until it subsided. Huffing with exertion, she shifted her body to the side of the bed to hoist herself to her feet. She crossed the room to open the window for some fresh air.

It was still early, the blush of daybreak just visible upon the water below. Selia gripped the windowsill, listening to the soft sound of the waves lapping at the beach. A breeze fragrant with salt air cooled the sweat that dampened her face and neck
.

Another pain, still in her back, squeezed her tight as Selia gasped in confusion. Was the child coming? The pains weren’t moving to her belly as they had with Faolan. Her fingernails dug into the windowsill, making dents in the soft wood.

“Ulfrik,” she choked out as soon as she could speak.

Although she hadn’t spoken loudly, Selia heard the rustle of bedclothes. “Is it the child?” Ulfrik drew near, his face pale and concerned.

“I think so. I’m not sure.”

“Should you get back in the bed?”

Selia again bent toward the windowsill, swaying into the pain. She shook her head. “Get Eithne,” she grunted.

Ulfrik left. Selia leaned her sweaty forehead onto her arms to rest. The door flew open, then Eithne was by her side. She wore only her shift, with a heavy woolen blanket around her shoulders.

Eithne curved an arm around her, and she leaned into the woman’s familiar form. “It’s in my back, Eithne,” Selia rasped through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t feel like it did with Faolan.”

Eithne looked frightened. Selia knew her former nursemaid hadn’t attended many births. But the one that had ended with the tragic death of Niall’s wife had included unrelenting pains in the poor woman’s back.

Bahati
. She would know what to do. She’d been raised the daughter of a concubine, surrounded by many other concubines, so had by necessity witnessed the numerous births of her half-siblings.

“Wake Bahati,” Selia panted.

Bahati and Catrin had moved into the new house with them. They’d stayed the night of the wedding, and upon returning home Oengul had told Bahati he wanted them to remain at the dwelling permanently. Furious, Bahati had taken her meager belongings from the tower and stormed back to the house with little Catrin in tow.

She’d told Selia how Oengul had tried to explain his reasoning, but Bahati wasn’t interested in hearing his excuses. And judging by Ulfrik’s lack of surprise when the pair had returned, this had been something he’d already discussed with the priest. Sometimes Ulfrik could be so secretive, even still.

Nevertheless, Selia liked having her friend near. Bahati slept in the fourth bedchamber, the one originally meant for Ulfrik, and Catrin slept in one of the lofts upstairs with Eydis. It was a good arrangement, and the two already felt like family.

And now their little family was growing again. Bahati swept in as Selia grunted through another radiating wave of pain. The woman brushed Selia’s damp curls aside, bending to meet her gaze. Selia saw the concern in her dark eyes.

“It is only in your back? Nowhere else?”

“Nowhere else.”

Bahati rubbed her hand along Selia’s lower back. She found the focus of the pain and Selia hissed, trying to draw away.

Instead, Bahati balled her hand into a fist, pushing hard into the spot as Selia was hit with another wave of pain. Strangely enough, it seemed to help, and Selia leaned into it with a long groan. Bahati was shaking with exertion when Selia’s body finally relaxed.

“We must prepare for the labor.” Bahati’s voice remained calm yet allowed for no argument. “Broth and weak ale to keep her strength up. Plenty of cool water. And several candles.”

“Candles?” Eithne echoed. Dawn was already breaking. The family did their best to ration the candles, only using them when it was too dark to see otherwise.

Selia’s heart sank. This labor was not going to be a quick one as Faolan’s had been.

“Candles,” Bahati said firmly.

Ulfrik paced outside as the final rays of the sun disappeared behind the trees. Another day over, with no child to show for it. Yesterday as the sun had set on Selia’s cries, everyone was sure the child would come in the night. But morning had broken once again with them all exhausted and bleary eyed; Selia no farther along than she’d been the day before.

The forest was cool and fragrant. The fresh scent of a verdant spring always reminded him of Selia. How he loved walking with her through the forest, holding her hand as they made plans for their future together. Ulfrik wanted to grow old with this woman, watching the children grow healthy and strong into adulthood.

Selia’s cries were audible through the walls of the house, even though they’d closed the window. The pains kept coming, and Selia’s voice had grown progressively weaker. Sometimes they would stop for a while, then start anew. How long could she keep this up?

He wanted to nestle his face in the curve of her neck and breathe in her scent. He wanted to tell her everything was all right. He wanted to take her pain away.

Bahati and Eithne would not allow him to be in the bedchamber with her. This infuriated him to such a degree the edges of his vision had gone black for a moment. But he’d pulled himself together before he said or did something he would regret, and stormed from the house.

He should be inside with the others, waiting for the lusty cry of a newborn babe. But at this point, it felt as though they were all waiting for the ominous silence so many births ended in. Just as Ingrid’s had. The stillbirth of his niece’s boy child seemed a dark omen now.

Ulfrik knew Ainnileas currently sought comfort in a fresh vat of ale as Selia’s labor dragged on. Ingrid had locked herself in her bedchamber. The children were huddled upstairs in one of the lofts, boys and girls together, sharing their whimpers.

He should go to them. He should reassure them that Selia would be all right. He should wait with them.

Selia cried out again; she definitely sounded weaker. Something had changed with the sound of her voice.

The sounds she made now carried a ring of defeat.

An impotent rage ripped through Ulfrik’s body. He wanted to
fight
something. Fight for Selia. He would do anything to keep her alive; would lay down his life for her in a second. But there was nothing he could do.

Or was there?

The ring
. The ring Alrik had made for her was brimming with powerful magic, meant to keep the wearer alive while offering protection from those who would do harm.

Ulfrik raced into the house, past a surprised Ainnileas, and swept open the bedchamber door. Bahati and Eithne didn’t gasp at his presence as he thought they would. Exhaustion lanced their faces instead.

Selia lay on her side in the bed. Her shift clung to her body damply, her head lolled against her arm. Slowly, her gaze focused on him. Dulled with pain, her beautiful eyes were sunken and ringed with purple, set in a face so pale the only color came from the scar across her cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The words sent hackles up his neck. He turned to Bahati and Eithne. Eyes downcast, they both shifted nervously.

“She’s asked for Father Oengul,” Eithne choked out. “I will send Ainnileas for him.”

Ulfrik shut the door and blocked it with his body before Eithne could exit. “What do you want with the priest?” he asked Selia.

Her lip trembled as she averted her gaze. “Please.” Her voice was raspy from screaming. “Just bring him here.”

Ulfrik turned back to the women. “What does she need with the priest?” His voice was too loud, making Eithne flinch.

“The labor has stopped. The child is stuck. Selia wants the Father’s blessing for the babe.” Eithne’s voice trailed to a ghostly breath. “And for herself.”

Ulfrik’s mind reeled. Selia wanted the priest to say a Christian blessing over her. Before she died. That was how Christians attained their heaven, by the recital of certain blessings. She would hold on until Oengul arrived, but it was clear from Selia’s appearance she wouldn’t last long.

“No,” Ulfrik ground out. Both women gaped at him.

“You don’t understand—”

“
No
.” Ulfrik’s voice rose to a shout. “Get out, both of you!” He strode to them, grabbed each by the arm, and fairly dragged them to the door.

Ainnileas, seated at the table in the main room, rose to his feet with an exclamation of shock as Ulfrik pulled the two women from Selia’s bedchamber.

“No one is to bring Oengul here.
No one
,” Ulfrik stressed. “I will slay him the moment he sets foot in this house. Understood?”

Eithne burst into tears, running to Ainnileas, who gawped in shock over the woman’s head. Bahati shook her arm free from Ulfrik’s grip, muttering something in her native tongue.

Ulfrik felt the darkness pacing for release inside him. He looked at them all in turn. Bahati, Ainnileas, and Eithne. Sensing movement from above, he glanced up to see the four children gripping the rail of the loft, staring at him with swollen eyes. He faced Ainnileas and the women.

“Unless you want the priest’s blood on your hands, you will all do as I say. Keep Oengul away from Selia.”

Without another word, he stormed back into the bedchamber and latched the door.

Chapter 26

Selia cracked open her eyes. How long had she been asleep? She drifted so readily to the space that had no pain, occasionally waking as someone wiped her brow with a cool rag or brought a sip of water to her lips. She recognized the plump, reddened hands of Eithne and the slim brown hands of Bahati. Sometimes she would wake up long enough to speak to them. But the effort it required seemed too great anymore.

They had gone to fetch Father Oengul. She would wait here, in the space without pain, until they returned with him. It wouldn’t be long now. The priest would say the blessing for her unborn child. She could hold out that long.

Hands were on her again, touching hers. Big hands, not Eithne’s or Bahati’s. It was so hard to open her eyes, but she cracked them a bit to see a blurry vision of Ulfrik before her, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pushed something cold onto her finger.

It felt familiar. A ring. Her ring? “What . . .?” she mumbled.

“It is the ring Alrik gave you. The ring was spelled to keep you safe. It will help you birth the babe.”

Selia’s mind struggled to comprehend. Hadn’t she left the ring in Norway? She licked her parched lips. “Where is Father Oengul?”

She felt Ulfrik’s hand behind her neck, lifting her slightly as he brought a cup of water to her mouth. She swallowed, spilling most of it down her chin, as he laid her head back down on the pillow. “Oengul is not coming, Selia. I would kill him if he tried to come near you.”

Ulfrik’s words cut through her haze like a knife, and Selia opened her eyes. She met his blue gaze, as fierce as Alrik’s had ever been. Anger sparked in her belly. How dare he?

His eyes flashed back at hers. “You are waiting for Oengul’s blessing, aren’t you? Then you will let yourself die?”

Exhausted from the moment of anger, Selia closed her eyes. It was several breaths before she could speak. “I cannot do this any longer, Ulfrik. I’m sorry. Let Oengul come for the babe.”

“No. If you want Oengul’s blessing for the child, it will only be once it’s born. Not before. So you must get up and push the child out.”

Selia’s eyes flew open again. She wanted to strike him. She raised her arm to do so, but the effort was too much. Her hand dropped back to the bed before making contact with his face. “I hate you,” she mumbled.

“Good. Use that.”

Ulfrik pulled her awkwardly to her feet. Selia reeled, stumbling against his chest. He put both arms around her, half dragging, half carrying her over to the window.

Ulfrik threw open the shutters as Selia slumped against him, supported by his arm. “Look, Selia. Look at the sea. You will be standing here soon holding a babe in your arms. A healthy babe.”

“It hasn’t moved in a long time, Ulfrik.”

“That means nothing. The child is simply tired. Push him out, Selia. Push him out and this will all be over. You can rest.”

At Selia’s lack of response, Ulfrik added, “Push him out so Father Oengul can bless him. That’s the only way he will get it.”

The spark of anger roared to life, flaming hot, sending a shot of energy through her exhausted body. How dare Ulfrik put her child’s soul in jeopardy? She shoved him away, standing on her own now.

“You are as mad as your brother,” she cried in rage. “And just as stubborn! As if I could push a babe out through force of will after lying in childbed for days—”

There was an abrupt shifting inside her, as peculiar a feeling as if the very earth moved under her feet. Selia gasped, leaning over to hold onto the windowsill, as the babe squirmed violently. The pressure became overwhelming, the pain intolerable as if her womb had torn asunder.

Selia screamed. The grinding movement inside her continued, and suddenly a gush of water coursed down her legs. She gaped at the puddle at her feet. Her scream turned into a grunt as the pain in her back radiated to her belly, the vise clamping down with such force it was all she could do to remain standing.

Through her fog of pain, she heard Eithne and Bahati shouting outside the door, along with the frantic beating of their fists. There was a rustling in the underbrush outside the window, then suddenly Ainnileas’ voice.

“They think you’re killing her,” Ainnileas called. Selia opened her eyes to see her brother standing outside, looking up at Ulfrik with a hostile expression.

“You know I’m not.
They
would kill her, by sending for the priest. I’m saving her life.”

Selia drew in a shaky breath as the pain passed. The pain that, for the first time in two days, had not been in her back. Hope flickered inside her; something had changed. She might birth this child after all.

“Let them back in. I don’t need Father Oengul.”

Selia slept deeply, her dreams fraught with anxiety. Alrik was pounding on the door, demanding to see his child. He had killed the priest. Eithne and Bahati were screaming at him. Their screams went suddenly quiet.

Had Alrik killed them too?

Where were the boys? Where was her child?

She opened her eyes with a start. Daylight streamed through the open window, bringing with it birdsong and a fresh breeze. Ulfrik sat in a chair next to it, holding the babe in his arms. She was swaddled tight and warm, curled against his chest. Selia heard the faint sound of humming as Ulfrik patted her back, his hand nearly as large as the bundle he held.

Selia observed him for a moment. She’d been so furious with him for refusing to allow Father Oengul to come to her. For interfering in matters he knew nothing of. But somehow, it seemed as though her flash of rage at Ulfrik had given her the vigor she needed to finally birth the child.

Or was it the ring? Selia shifted her hand on the pillow to look at the familiar band of silver on her finger. Ulfrik must have found it in the hole in Norway, pulling it out along with her braid of hair. It felt so odd to have the ring back on her finger again, eliciting uncomfortable reminders of the man who had first put it there, years ago.

She looked up to see Ulfrik watching her. His blue eyes were soft now, full of love and concern. Not flashing madly as they had when she’d been preparing to die. He’d looked like his brother then, a crazed berserker eager for bloodshed.

Selia shivered. “Bring me my child.”

Ulfrik crossed the room to sit next to her on the bed. Selia straightened, groaning at the movement, and adjusted the pillows behind her. Every part of her body ached as if she’d been torn to pieces and stitched haphazardly back together. The focus of the pain felt like a hot iron between her legs.

She laid her daughter down to unwrap the swaddling. She’d only seen the babe briefly after the birth, and had a vague memory of Bahati encouraging the infant to nurse once at Selia’s breast, as she drifted in and out.

Her daughter was long and skinny. Bigger than Faolan, of course, but nowhere near the size Geirr had been. How had this little scrap given her so much trouble? Bahati had said the pains in her back indicated the child wasn’t lying properly in her womb. The awful shifting that had happened near the end must have been the babe maneuvering into the proper position for birth.

The child had a thick shock of dark hair and a face that resembled Faolan’s. She flailed, making small mewling sounds, and Selia’s breasts responded with a tingling warmth.

Opening her eyes, the babe stared up at her with a dark blue gaze. Faolan’s eyes had been that shade at first too, only later turning to the brilliant blue of his father’s.

Selia gazed at her daughter. Alrik’s daughter. She met Ulfrik’s eyes, their focus intent on her. This child would never know her real father, only Ulfrik. The girl would love him not as a stepfather, but in the same way Selia had loved Niall.

“What will you call her?” Ulfrik asked quietly.

“Deirdre,” she replied without hesitation. It had been her own name at birth, the one Grainne had tried to make her answer to after they were reunited. The rift between Selia and her mother was too great to mend, but in a strange way the name felt right.

Her voice grew in conviction. “Her name is Deirdre. Deirdre Ulfriksdottir, if you are willing.”