Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (2 page)

Selia swallowed her mouthful, pushing aside her sad memories to force a smile. “Like his father or his uncle. They look so much alike.”

Dagrun reddened and turned away, calling for the thrall to bring more bread.

Selia reached for another chunk of sausage. Why did the woman seem so abruptly out of sorts? Had Selia done something to upset her?

Perhaps, as she stated earlier, Dagrun worried about the reaction of her husband. Or perhaps Ingrid had told her aunt some lie about Selia. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time her stepdaughter had disparaged her good name.

“Where is Ingrid? And Ulfrik?” Selia asked. Ulfrik had said earlier he would find a blacksmith to remove the slave collar. But it was unlike Ingrid to miss a meal. She had complained ceaselessly about the lack of proper food after they left Gunnar and his ship.

Before Dagrun could speak, little Eydis piped up from the other side of the table. “My mother went to find my father. My
real
father. His name is Ainnileas Niallsson.”

Chapter 2

Selia stopped chewing and stared at Eydis. Ingrid, foolish, impulsive Ingrid, was going to ruin everything. Such a beautiful woman would not go unnoticed in the streets of Dubhlinn or Baile Átha Cliath. Ingrid didn’t speak Irish, and she had no idea where Ainnileas lived. Just how did she think she would be able to find him on her own? Knowing Gunnar One-Eye was after her?

“No,” Selia sputtered, turning to Dagrun. “We must stop her. It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t worry,” Dagrun assured. “Ulfrik went after her. He knows where your brother lives.”

“But—”

“Gunnar Klaufason came to our door two days ago, inquiring about Inga Elfradsdottir, a woman he claimed was my daughter. Ulfrik and I told him no such person existed. I have two older daughters but they both live here in Dubhlinn. When Gunnar realized he had been deceived, he left with haste. Ulfrik has been watching out for him and his men, and for Alrik as well. He won’t let any harm come to Ingrid.”

Selia shivered. Gunnar was not the type of man to forgive a deception such as this. Especially if he had discovered Einarr Drengsson’s body in the forest. The man had been stabbed with his own blade, then left with his breeches around his ankles. It wouldn’t be difficult to discern what had transpired there.

Ingrid had put them all in danger with her selfish actions. Did she think she was the only one who worried about Ainnileas’ safety? Selia had wanted to warn her brother as well, but planned to wait until nightfall to do so. To boldly walk through the streets of Dubhlinn into Baile Atha Cliath in broad daylight, announcing their arrival to anyone who cared to know, had not crossed her mind.

“Gunnar asked about you, as well,” Dagrun continued.

“About me?”

“Yes. He said Alrik Ragnarson’s wife had also been on his ship, dressed as a thrall, traveling with the woman Inga Elfradsdottir and three children.”

Selia felt the bile rise in her throat. Had Gunnar simply guessed who she was? Or more horrifying, had Einarr survived and told Gunnar what she had done?

“Was anyone else with Gunnar Klaufason?” Selia managed to squeak out.

“He was alone. But very angry. He said we would be sorry if he learned we were hiding you after all.”

Little Eydis stopped eating to observe the interaction between Dagrun and Selia. “Will my mother be all right?” Tears glittered in her gray eyes.

“Of course,” both women spoke at once. Eydis sniffled, unconvinced.

“My brother Ulfrik is very clever,” Dagrun reassured the child, patting her small hand across the table. “And he will protect his family with his last breath. No harm will come to any of you.”

They finished their meal in silence, and the thralls cleared the food away. Another slave came in to announce the bath was ready for the boys, and Selia sent them on. She had never seen her children run to the bath so readily.

Eydis went upstairs with Jora as Dagrun pulled out supplies to stitch Selia’s cheek. Selia touched the wound gingerly. Would it heal? Or leave an ugly scar as Dagrun had hinted it might?

“Do you have a looking glass?” Selia blurted.

Dagrun turned to her. “Yes. But are you certain you want to see it?” Her tone was guarded.

Selia nodded. “Yes.”

Dagrun climbed the stairs, returning a moment later with the looking glass. Selia braced herself as the woman handed it to her.

A sound came from her mouth, a soft cry she couldn’t hold back when she gazed at her damaged face. Her left cheekbone was hideously discolored, the black bruise fading to purple and green in spots. The flesh had indeed split and bone was visible through the wound. Her eye, which had swollen completely shut after Einarr struck her, was now open, but puffy and bloodshot.

Selia fought a wave of nausea as she studied her reflection. Her plan of sailing to Iceland, to start a new life and potentially finding a husband, now seemed laughable. A man might accept her shorn hair, knowing it would grow back, but she doubted any would be able to overlook a revolting scar on her face.

Fighting against the bile that rose in her throat, she placed the looking glass into her lap.

“It does look very bad,” Dagrun said, as though agreeing with Selia’s silent assessment. “But I’m rather handy when stitching up injuries. My brothers always needed something or other stitched up when they were small.”

Selia remembered the numerous large, visible scars covering Ulfrik’s torso, and didn’t feel reassured.

“Come closer to the hearth,” Dagrun instructed. Selia obeyed, sitting in silence as Dagrun threaded the needle with hands shaped exactly like Alrik’s, only smaller. Setting the needle aside, Dagrun examined the wound with her strong fingers, pressing the flesh together and letting it go. She did it again, frowning; pushing harder this time before reaching for the needle.

Selia drew her breath in sharply as her skin was pierced, but didn’t allow herself to flinch. She felt certain Dagrun was angry with her.

“Ulfrik has been beside himself with worry since he arrived,” Dagrun murmured as she stitched. “I don’t think he’s slept.”

“Since he arrived?” Selia gritted her teeth against the pain. “I thought he lived here.”

“No. I hadn’t seen him in years. He lives in Bjorgvin, and works on a fishing boat. He was out to sea when someone left word for him you needed his help. But you were already gone when he came for you. He guessed you would travel to Dubhlinn to look for your brother. He only arrived three days ago.”

Ulfrik came for me
. Ketill had made it to Bjorgvin after all, before he died. A wave of guilt washed over Selia for how she had cursed Ketill and his ineptitude. She sent a silent apology to the dead man.

“But how did he get here?” Selia asked. Ingrid had told her the other longships at Bjorgvin harbor were not leaving for Ireland. Only Gunnar’s. Had Ingrid lied?

“He paid the captain of the fishing boat to bring him here. Gave him everything he owned but the clothes on his back. The captain has family here in Dubhlinn, so I suppose he thought it was worth his while to brave the autumn seas to winter over with them, in exchange for my brother’s fortune. There are as many fish to be caught in Dubhlinn as there are in Bjorgvin.”

“Oh,” Selia murmured, dismayed.

Dagrun began to knot the end of the stitches. Her voice wavered with emotion as she added, “What Ulfrik does is his own business. But he is still my brother and I love him. I only ask that you don’t hurt him any further than you already have.”

Selia’s cheeks grew hot. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The knot pulled tight. “You bore his child and passed it off as Alrik’s.”

“What?” Selia cried in disbelief. “Faolan is Alrik’s child!”

“Not Faolan. Geirr.”

“Geirr is not my son by birth,” Selia sputtered. “Geirr’s mother was a thrall and didn’t know who had fathered him, Alrik or Ulfrik. She died in childbed and Alrik claimed him. I raised the boy as my own. Is that such a crime?”

“Oh.” Now it was Dagrun’s turn to look chagrined. She sat in brief silence. “I thought . . .”

“I understand very well what you thought.” Selia regarded the woman coldly. “Alrik and I were happy together for many years. I did love him, very much. I only left Norway to keep my children safe. I assure you, I have no intention of using Ulfrik, or of hurting him.”

“I apologize,” Dagrun said quickly. “I shouldn’t have assumed your ill intentions. Ulfrik is a good judge of character, and I should have known he would not be fooled by a falsehearted woman. I was wrong to question you.”

The firelight danced in Dagrun’s red-gold hair as she sat beside Selia on the hearth, and her softened expression again reminded Selia of Hrefna. Selia nodded, her righteous anger dissipating.

“I understand. I am protective of my brother as well. I would be very angry if I thought anyone had deceived him. And the truth is, we will never know who fathered Geirr. He could very well be Ulfrik’s son.”

Dagrun appeared surprised. “Oh, Geirr is Ulfrik’s son. Of that I have no doubt.”

“What?” Selia turned sharply. “How are you so sure?”

“I knew Ulfrik’s mother well. Treasa was very kind to me.” Dagrun’s voice wavered. “My mother was frequently ill, and I spent a good deal of time with Treasa. I saw her spirit in Geirr as soon as you arrived.”

Selia pondered this. Geirr had Muirin’s eyes, but his face and build were clearly that of one of the sons of Ragnarr. What was Dagrun talking about?

“I don’t understand,” she said. “He looks like Alrik. And Ulfrik.”

“I’m speaking of his mannerisms,” Dagrun replied. ”The way he moves. There is a grace about him, don’t you see it? Treasa had that.”

“I hardly think—”

“His smile is Treasa’s,” Dagrun insisted. “Not his mouth, but his smile. And his hair. Treasa’s hair was like spun gold—she used to let me brush it for her, when my mother was asleep. That boy was fathered by Ulfrik, of that I am certain.”

“If you’re so sure, you should tell Ulfrik.”

Dagrun hesitated before stating, “He has lost so much already. If you do not plan to stay with Ulfrik, it would be cruel to tell him the boy is his son. I think you should be the one to tell him.” She paused. “Or not.”

Selia nodded but avoided the woman’s gaze. If Dagrun was correct and Ulfrik had indeed fathered Geirr, Selia had stolen a child from its natural parent.

Seven years ago, Selia had been young and naive, blinded by her love for Alrik and furious with Ulfrik for lying to her and manipulating her emotions. There had been no way to know which of the brothers had fathered Muirin’s child. And Selia needed a male child to succeed Alrik as Hersir, to prevent her own child from being thrust into the violent life of a Finngall warlord.

Her bargain with Muirin had seemed a clever solution to so many problems. But the day of Geirr’s birth everything had gone horribly wrong, ending with the slave girl’s death.

And as Selia had grown to love Geirr as her own, the fateful bargain she’d struck haunted her, worrying at her like a vengeful ghost as the years passed.

She’d saved one son only to sacrifice another.

How would Geirr’s life had fared if she’d allowed Ulfrik to take the babe as he’d returned to do, so many years ago? The thought of the boy being raised away from her was like a knife in Selia’s heart. But what right did she have to consider her own feelings, knowing the pain she’d caused Ulfrik with her actions? There were so many wrongs to be righted. And she didn’t know where to begin.

Selia’s self-recrimination was interrupted as the door opened. In walked Ulfrik and Ingrid.

And behind them, Ainnileas and Eithne.

Chapter 3

Selia leapt to her feet with her heart pounding in her ears. With an excited shriek that made Dagrun jump, Eithne threw her hands in the air. Such exuberance, Selia well remembered.

Eithne rushed across the room with a quickness of movement rarely seen in the stout woman. Her ample bosom heaved with emotion as she clutched Selia close.

She could barely take a breath, but held on tightly to Eithne’s plump, familiar form, suddenly feeling like a small child once again. She had missed the woman terribly, the closest thing she’d had to a mother for most of her childhood. The day Alrik had taken Selia away she had despaired of ever seeing Eithne again.

“My girl . . . my girl . . .” Eithne crooned in Irish. Selia’s head covering fell away as the woman gripped her. Eithne gasped, rubbing her hand over Selia’s bristly head. “What did he do to you?”

Ainnileas approached as well, throwing strong arms around both of them. “Selia,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ve missed you so.” His voice was deep, his body solid and masculine as he held her, nothing like the skinny boy of her memory.

Selia’s tears fell freely as she pulled away to look at them. Eithne seemed very much the same—a bit more gray, a few extra lines, but otherwise unchanged. Ainnileas’ appearance, however, was a shock. Taller, broad shouldered, he seemed more a dashing stranger than the carefree brother she remembered. His black curls, always so unruly, were tied firmly at his nape. He wore a full beard, neatly trimmed, and his clothing and boots were of high quality. Apparently he had done very well for himself since he returned to Ireland.

But his eyes were the same. Their silvery depths glittered with unshed tears as he gazed down at her. He fingered the slave collar around her neck. “I will kill that Finngall bastard,” he muttered. Ainnileas locked his gaze with Ulfrik’s over Selia’s head. “This cannot go unpunished.”

“Agreed.” Ulfrik nodded.

“
Stop
,” Selia cried, pulling away. “Neither of you will risk your lives by going after Alrik. I won’t stand for it. I am here now, and safe. It is over.”

Ainnileas and Ulfrik exchanged a glance that Selia understood all too well. They would continue this conversation when she wasn’t present to hear it.

The sound of footsteps made them all turn to the staircase. Eydis stood at the bottom, gazing uncertainly at the handsome Irishman in front of her, then over to her mother. The child, appearing even paler than usual, looked as though she were about to faint.

Ainnileas and Eithne gaped at the little girl, and Eithne crossed herself. The child resembled Ainnileas to such a degree it was uncanny; a tiny doppelganger with red hair. ”You couldn’t deny that one, my boy,” Eithne murmured.

Ingrid strode over and took her daughter’s hand, pulling her in front of Ainnileas.

“Are you my father?” Eydis asked in a small, shy voice.

Ainnileas knelt to look her in the eye, speaking in broken Norse. “Yes. My name is Ainnileas
Ó Murchú
. And you are Eydis?”

The child drew her brows together. “My mother said your name was Ainnileas Niallsson.”

Ainnileas flashed his most charming smile, and the little girl couldn’t help but return a smile of her own. “That is what the Finngalls say,” he explained. “My name in Irish is
Ó Murchú
. It means ‘of the sea.’ I have a ship. Do you like to sail?”

Eydis shuddered. “No,” she said emphatically. “I
hate
to sail. I hate it more than anything.”

Ainnileas chuckled as he rose. “She looks like you, Selia,” he said in Irish. “And just as stubborn, I see.”

“I believe she gets that from Ingrid,” Selia retorted dryly.

Ingrid frowned when she heard her name mentioned. She sidled closer to Ainnileas and took his hand. With a start, Selia realized the two were now the same height. Ainnileas had indeed grown considerably since she had seen him last.

“Speak Norse, Ainnileas,” Ingrid purred. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Ainnileas smiled and whispered something in Ingrid’s ear, making her giggle. Selia scowled at them both. By the way the two were behaving, it was as though the past seven years had been but a blink of the eye.

There was a knock at the door. Ulfrik motioned for everyone to be quiet. He strode over, sliding the latch of the eye hole to peek out, then threw the door open. A man hurried in, carrying a bag on his burly shoulder. He seemed strangely familiar to Selia.

She studied him. How did she know this man?

“Hello, Selia,” he said quietly, blushing slightly as he gazed down at her. “It has been a long time.”

Recognition dawned on her. “Naithi?” she said hesitantly.

“Yes,” he replied with a smile.

She turned to Ulfrik and Ainnileas. “I don’t understand.” Naithi had lived in Baile
Á
tha Cliath the last time she had seen him. Had he moved to Dubhlinn? Or had Ulfrik feared any blacksmith from the city might be in Gunnar’s employ, and so had gone to the Irish village to find an acceptable smith to remove the collar?

“Grainne is married to Osgar,” Ainnileas explained. “Ulfrik said he needed a blacksmith who could be trusted, and I could think of none better than Osgar or Naithi.”

Grainne had married Naithi’s father?
I truly have been gone a long time.
How had that odd match occurred? She would have to ask Ainnileas later.

Selia took a step back, overwhelmed with it all. The last time she had seen Naithi, she had vomited at the skinny lad’s feet. Like her brother, Naithi was a boy no longer. And he was here to remove the slave collar her Finngall husband had put around her neck. Embarrassment again burned her cheeks.

She touched the cold metal collar without looking at him. “Thank you, Naithi. I appreciate you coming. I’m very anxious to be rid of this.”

He motioned her closer to the hearth and leaned over to examine the rivet. His calloused fingers brushed her skin and Selia froze. His large body, so close to hers, brought disturbing thoughts of Einarr to mind. She did her best to push the thoughts away. Naithi was a kind man, nothing like Einarr.

The boys emerged from the bath as Naithi finished examining the collar. They approached Selia, eyeing the blacksmith with uncertainty. “Are you all right,
Mamai
?” Geirr whispered. The boys had always been sensitive to her emotions, and could obviously feel her fear now.

“Of course.” Selia attempted to smile. “I’m just nervous about him using his hammer and chisel so close to my head.”

The boys didn’t appear to be fooled by her stab at levity.

“My hand is steady,” Naithi assured Geirr and Faolan as he gently pressed her head to the table. “You have my word.”

Selia tried not to panic. She closed her eyes tightly and held her breath, willing it to be over quickly.

Naithi was correct. A single, swift movement from his hammer snapped the rivet, and the collar clattered to the table below. Selia expelled her breath as she stumbled away from the table, her head feeling very light. She rubbed her neck where the metal had been.

A vision of Muirin arose in her mind, doing the same thing when Alrik had freed her. But the poor girl hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy her freedom.

Ulfrik regarded her in the perceptive way Selia knew only too well. She gazed up at him, surprised to see a brief look of anger cross his features, and she flushed at the odd feeling of intimacy it garnered. An expression of true emotion occurred so rarely on Ulfrik’s face. Then it was gone, wiped clean as he arranged his features into his typical mask.

“Come, my girl,” Eithne said, ushering Selia to one of the benches next to the hearth. The boys followed them and sat on the floor at Selia’s feet. “I have worried about you day and night since that Finngall stole you away. When Ainnileas returned from Norway without you . . .” She trailed off, studying Selia, then lowered her voice. “Did that heathen force you to stay? Did he threaten you? Ainnileas refused to speak of it.”

Selia shook her head. “No. I loved him, Eithne. For a long time.”

The familiar groove of worry settled into Eithne’s forehead. She was clearly discomfited by Selia’s response. “Well. You’re here now, with your fine young sons, all that matters. We will get you safely home and forget this unpleasantness. What do you say, boys?” Eithne smiled down at them.

The hopeful expressions on her children’s faces broke Selia’s heart. What she wouldn’t give to stay with Eithne and allow her boys to get to know her.

“Eithne,” Selia said gently, “We cannot stay. We’ve only come to warn Ainnileas that Alrik means him harm. We’re taking the first ship to Iceland, in the morning if possible.”

“Iceland?” Eithne squawked. The others in the room turned to look, and the woman dropped her voice again. “By all the saints, why would you want to go to Iceland?”

“Because I doubt Alrik would look for us there,” Selia replied. “And they speak Norse in Iceland. My boys are Finngalls, after all.”

Eithne pressed her lips together in dissatisfaction. Before she could speak further, Ulfrik approached them. He smiled politely at Eithne but her scowl only deepened. Of course he would seem just another Finngall to her, not to be trusted. Ulfrik turned to the boys and spoke to them in Irish. Only a slight Norse accent gave him away as a non-native speaker.

“I understand you are protective of your mother, but I need to speak with her alone. It won’t take but a moment.” He held out his hand to Selia and she rose from the bench. Geirr and Faolan didn’t seem happy about this, but Selia shushed them with an admonishment to stay with Eithne.

She followed him through the house and into the kitchen area, a cheerful space with a scrubbed worktable and a large cooking hearth. Selia eyed Ulfrik with uncertainty. What did he want?

“There are no ships departing for Iceland, Selia,” he stated. “Not until the spring, anyway. It’s too late in the season for any ship to venture so far. I’m sorry.”

The room seemed to spin around her as the crushing weight of his words sank in. Selia gripped the edge of the table for support. “No,” she whispered. “That cannot be. Surely we can pay someone to take us. I have silver, almost all of what you buried, other than what Ingrid paid Gunnar to bring us here.”

Her lip trembled and she pressed her fingers there to stop its quiver. If they paid someone all the remaining silver, they would have nothing left to start anew in Iceland. How would they live?

Ulfrik gestured abruptly. “You could offer a king’s ransom and still no one would take you until spring. The crossing is long, dangerous even in mild weather, but deadly this late in the year. A sack of silver is useless at the bottom of the sea.”

Selia sat on the edge of the hearth and dropped her head in her hands. A shroud of weariness settled over her, cold and dark.

She had made it this far, escaping not only her mad husband but Gunnar and Einarr as well, keeping herself and her children alive through danger and treachery. Only to be thwarted on the final leg of the journey by
the weather
.

A sound halfway between a laugh and a sob emerged from Selia’s throat. Alrik had won after all.

“If you are set on Iceland,” Ulfrik continued in a softer voice, “you can stay in hiding until the spring. I have a place in mind.”

“I’m with child,” Selia blurted miserably, her words muffled by her hands. “The babe will come in the spring.” The thought of a long sea journey with two young boys and a newborn was difficult enough. But attempting to start a new life with a suckling babe might prove impossible. How could she demonstrate her worth to a new employer with the constant demands of an infant in arms?

Ulfrik knelt before Selia and gently pried her hands from her face. She met his intense blue gaze before letting her eyes drop to the floor. “When I came to you years ago, at the cove, you carried Faolan in your belly,” Ulfrik began quietly. “I offered to raise him as my own. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember.”

“That conversation has plagued me ever since. I feared I had frightened you away with my professions of love. I played the words I spoke over and over in my mind, wondering what I could have said differently.”

Selia faced him squarely. “There was nothing you could have said differently. I was still in love with Alrik.”

Ulfrik swallowed visibly. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, Selia. I would raise this child you carry, just as I offered for Faolan. But if that frightens you, I will instead care for you as my brother’s wife, and be uncle to your children. It is your choice and I will honor it. But please, allow me to help you.”

Selia considered his words. Ulfrik’s feelings for her hadn’t changed? He still professed to love her then, even with the hideous mark on her face? That didn’t seem quite possible.

But if it were true, was it fair of her to exploit his feelings and allow him to take care of her and the boys?

She licked her dry lips, wishing for a cup of water. “Where would we go?” she asked.

Ulfrik released his breath with a smile. “I know of an island less than a day’s sail from here. I believe it is uninhabited. We could winter there, and decide on a permanent course of action in the spring.”

“What about Ainnileas? And Eithne? I fear for their safety.” Selia had hoped she could talk Ainnileas into coming to Iceland with them, and had planned on having that conversation with him tonight. Now that it was clear he was interested in renewing his relationship with Ingrid and in being a father to Eydis, it seemed likely he would agree.

“I’ve already spoken to Ainnileas and told him what I planned to offer you. He has no wish to see Ingrid or Eydis hurt, or Eithne for that matter, and he wants them to come with us.”

“But what about Alrik—”

“Your brother knows Alrik is after him. He’ll be careful. Ainnileas said he lives on his ship more than he does at home, so it matters little to him where he lays his head when he’s on land. He will winter with us on the island, then sail again in the spring.”

As usual, Ulfrik had thought of everything. She should have known better than to expect anything less from him.