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

At one time she might have resented his bold talent for swooping in and presuming to make decisions for her. But now, strangely enough, she felt only gratitude. She’d carried everything on her own shoulders for so long. It was a relief to pass the heavy burden to someone else, if only for a little while.

She nodded her assent with a small sigh.

“You’re not angry?” Ulfrik questioned. He knew her too well.

“No, I’m not.” Selia sat up straighter on the hearth to give him a bleak smile. “Thank you, Ulfrik. Thank you for helping us. I will not forget your kindness.”

Chapter 4

Ulfrik rose several hours before dawn. He broke his fast on stale bread, packing another loaf for later, along with some cheese, dried meat, and a flask of ale. He moved quietly through the house, ensuring all was well before he departed.

Dagrun and her family slept upstairs, leaving the benches in the main room for their guests. Ainnileas and Ingrid had claimed the bench furthest away from the others, and had tightly closed the curtains. Near the hearth slumbered Eithne, snoring loudly, next to the two boys tucked together on a bench. Selia and Eydis shared the bench across from them.

Ulfrik’s steps slowed as he moved past Selia. He lingered, almost against his will, to gaze down at her. She slept deeply, her face pale and very still, lips slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with gentle breaths.

One hand lay above her head on the pillow, and Ulfrik’s eyes followed the delicate line of fingers, wrist and arm, back up to her slender throat, finally stopping again at the face that had tormented his dreams for so many years.

How was it possible for a woman to be so achingly beautiful? Like a goddess made flesh; haunting, exquisite, glorious. Even the injury to her face couldn’t spoil her beauty. In a strange way, the bruised stitches only served to highlight the perfection surrounding them.

The fire that always smoldered inside him, kept carefully in check for as long as he could remember, roared to life in an instant. Ulfrik allowed it to burn, hot and fierce, remembering the sweet taste of her lips and the supple feel of her body under his hands.

He wanted her still. By the gods, he wanted this woman as he had wanted no other.

Rarely had Ulfrik allowed his eyes to rest on his brother’s wife for longer than a moment, other than meeting her gaze when they spoke together. To look upon her was dangerous. Yes, he had feared Alrik’s wrath, but more than that he’d feared losing the tenuous control he had over his feelings for Selia.

The last time he had allowed himself to look, truly gaze at her, disaster struck. A kiss had turned into much more very quickly, frightening Selia and making her run away.

But his hungry gazed scraped over her now, like a starving man at a feast, memorizing every alluring curve and plane of her form. It was improper to stare at her so, to invade her privacy, but it seemed nearly impossible to look away.

Ulfrik took a deep breath, centering himself, and mentally tamped down the flames inside him. He could not afford to be so reckless in his desire, risking the possibly of frightening her away again. At all cost, he must keep himself under control.

He would not lose Selia this time.

The winds were favorable and the journey to the island swift, taking half a day. The sun was reaching its zenith as Ulfrik spotted the familiar rocks in the distance. Part of the island rose straight up from the water, the cliffs reminding him of home. He’d had that same thought the last time he had been here.

Ulfrik turned the sail of his small boat toward a passable area of beach, steering well clear of several large rock formations jutting up from the water that could splinter his vessel if not careful. He splashed out, then pulled the boat up far enough to make certain the tide wouldn’t get it. He would spend at least one night on this island, both to ensure its suitability for his purposes and to bury whatever remains he found on its soil.

A natural, serpentine path wound up the cliff, steep and somewhat treacherous, and Ulfrik was out of breath as he reached the top. He rested on the bluff, gazing at his surroundings. A densely wooded area, sheltered from the wind by the rocky landscape, descended from the other side of the path he had taken, toward the eastern shore of the island. It would have been easier to beach his boat there, but he’d wanted to come from the direction most visible to a passing ship of Vikingers, to gauge how long it would take them to climb the cliff path.

Some distance away was a rocky mountain. He would assess it later, as well as the forest below, to determine possible hiding places for Selia and the children if necessity dictated.

Ulfrik’s eyes traveled across the windswept bluff, where a small stone fort stood. The walls of the encampment were barely visible from the water below, easily missed if one wasn’t looking for them. They had been reasonably intact the last time he had been here.

He approached the fort, lost in thought as he assessed the weak areas of the wall which would require repair. It was in much worse shape than he remembered. As he rounded the turn, he ran headlong into a child.

Ulfrik startled as the little girl fell backward into the dirt. It hadn’t occurred to him anyone might still live on the island, much less a small child.

The girl stared, mouth agape, blinking terrified golden eyes at him like a young owl strayed from its nest. She was an extraordinary looking child, with bronze skin and blond hair that sprung from her head in tight, wild curls. She appeared to be wearing a man’s threadbare tunic, tied about her waist with a length of tattered rope, the sleeves rolled to the wrist. The child’s tumble to the ground had shifted the tunic, revealing her bony shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Ulfrik spoke in Irish, not sure if she would understand him. He extended his hand to help her up. “I didn’t mean to knock you over.”

“
Catrin
,” a woman’s voice called, making the little girl scramble to her feet unassisted. The owner of the voice came around the turn, and as the woman saw Ulfrik she cried out and pulled the child behind her. She snapped at the child in a language that sounded like Welsh, and the girl ran away.

Ulfrik and the woman studied each other. Her skin was darker than the girl’s, her tight black curls cropped closer to her head, but the woman and child shared the same fine bone structure and were clearly related. Mother and daughter? Sisters? The woman’s face was very young, yet the shrewd gaze of her deep brown eyes seemed ancient.

She took a step back as she pulled a dagger from her belt, and the unfamiliar words that spewed from her mouth, no longer in Welsh, sounded like a curse.

Ulfrik stepped back as well. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he said in Irish, hoping she understood him.

The woman spat on the ground. “Do not speak Irish to me, Norse dog,” she said in broken, heavily-accented Norse. “I know what you have come for.”

He shook his head. “I am only seeking refuge for my family.” Ulfrik motioned toward the fort. “Behind these walls, perhaps.”

She looked at him with suspicion. “Where is your family, then?”

“In Ireland. I came to find a safe place, then I will bring them.”

The woman appeared unconvinced, and she took another wary step back as Ulfrik heard the sound of footsteps. His hand itched to draw his sword.

A man rounded the corner, dressed in the garb of a Christian priest. Like the woman and child, his clothing was worn and threadbare, his body thin. He was relatively young, with a pale complexion and an unkempt beard. Shaggy black hair fell in his eyes and he swiped it back to assess Ulfrik.

The priest motioned protectively for the woman to move behind him. She did as bade, still clutching her dagger. Was this man the child’s father?

He spoke to Ulfrik in Welsh, but Ulfrik gestured to indicate he didn’t understand.

“Norse?” Ulfrik asked. But the priest shook his head at this. How surprising for the woman to speak Norse but not her male companion.

The woman said something to the priest in Welsh, and he turned back to Ulfrik. “Do you speak Irish?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ulfrik replied, relieved to be able to converse with the man. “I mean you and your family no harm. I only seek a safe place to hide my own family for a time. I thought no one lived on this island.”

“What is your name, Northman?”

“Ulfrik Ragnarson.”

Slowly, perceptively, the priest assessed Ulfrik. “You’ve been here before,” he said. When Ulfrik didn’t respond, he continued. “I remember you. I only saw you from afar, but that day is burned into my memory. You and your Norse dogs slaughtered every one of my brothers.”

Ulfrik ensured his face remained impassive, but kept his hand close enough to the hilt of his sword to unsheathe it quickly if need be. The woman gripped the dagger as though she knew what to do with it.

He had no desire to kill these people, but would have little choice than to defend himself if attacked. Selia’s safety depended on it.

“You are correct,” Ulfrik stated. “I was with the war band who raided this island. I assumed there were no survivors.”

It had been his last raid with Gunnar, just before they returned to Norway. Gunnar had chosen the island on a whim, not realizing it housed only a small community of Christian priests who lived very simply. No lovely young girls. No chests of treasures. Furious there weren’t more spoils for the taking, Gunnar had slaughtered the dozen or so men and had burned the wooden structures to the ground.

The war band had left the island with nothing other than the priests’ blood on their hands. And even though Ulfrik hadn’t raised his sword that day, the senseless deaths had affected him deeply, finally solidifying his decision to part ways with Gunnar.

His cousin had been the only one willing to accept Ulfrik into his war band after he’d earned the title of Oath Breaker by nearly killing Alrik, his Hersir. He owed Gunnar much. But Ulfrik could no longer stomach a life of killing for profit, with Gunnar or with anyone else. He’d left the war band shortly after their return to Norway, and hadn’t seen his cousin since, until he appeared at Dagrun’s door several days ago.

“And now you think to return?” The priest demanded now. “To take what little we have and kill us all?”

“No,” Ulfrik replied. “I only wish to keep the people I care about safe.”

“So you say, Northman. But the sword on your hip speaks louder than your words.”

It was Ulfrik’s turn to study the man. He was small and painfully thin, not much larger than the woman, and appeared to be unarmed. If he meant to attack, he would have done it when he realized who Ulfrik was. No other people had come to aid the priest in the time they’d been speaking, so it seemed safe to assume these three lived alone here. By their appearance, they eked out a very meager existence.

Ulfrik made a calculated decision. He unbuckled his sword, throwing it on the ground, then did the same with his dagger. He still had a smaller dagger hidden in his boot in case the pair chose to attack.

“I am unarmed.” He raised his hands. “And at your mercy. I have food and supplies to offer you in exchange for allowing me to winter on this island with my family. You are welcome to the food in my bag now, and I will bring more when I return. I swear on my life no harm will come to any of you.”

The priest appeared to consider the offer. He leaned close to the woman, and they whispered together furiously. Then the priest squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes up at Ulfrik. “The vow of a heathen pirate means little, I’m afraid. Leave this place and do not return. We have no need for your food and supplies.”

The priest motioned the woman away, then turned to follow her. Ulfrik could easily have grabbed him; slain him and been done with it. But that would be a last resort. He wanted no more blood on his hands.

There might be another way.

“My mother was a Christian,” Ulfrik called out as the departing priest rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. “It was her dying wish to have me baptized, but my father wouldn’t allow it.”

Ulfrik waited, the moments dragging by. Then the man came back into view, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Would the vow of a Christian be more acceptable than that of a heathen?” Ulfrik asked.

Chapter 5

Ulfrik sat on an uncomfortably short stool in Father Oengul’s small dwelling, with three pairs of eyes upon him. The room smelled strongly of fish, both from a stew bubbling in a pot at the hearth as well as dozens of strings of fish hanging from the ceiling to dry. The odor was stifling.

There was a bin of apples near the hearth, where the woman, Bahati, had been cutting and drying the fruit. Ulfrik saw no other food. He unwrapped his sack of supplies, wishing he had thought to bring more.

He placed the food and ale upon the table. “Help yourself. I ate shortly before I arrived,” he lied.

The little girl approached slowly, staring at the food. She raised the loaf of bread to her nose and sniffed it, as though amazed. Had she never tasted bread before?

The priest took the loaf from her and broke it in half. He tore off a chunk and handed it to Ulfrik. “Perhaps our guest would like a bite, Catrin,” he said. Catrin reached for the other half of the loaf but the priest stopped her hand.

Ulfrik understood very well. Oengul would wait until Ulfrik tasted the food to ensure it wasn’t poisoned.

Tipping his head to the priest, Ulfrik ate the offered piece of bread, then did the same with a bit of cheese and dried meat. He sipped the ale and set the flask before him again, his eyes on Oengul.

Satisfied, Oengul nodded to the females and they tore into the food. Bahati ate hungrily, but didn’t appear to be surprised at what Ulfrik had unpacked, as the child had. Little Catrin examined everything before putting it in her mouth, eyes wide in wonder.

This child had been born here, on the island
. The food was indeed novel to her, as it seemed these three people only had what they could catch, gather or grow on the island. Which so far, appeared to be fish and apples.

The structure they used as a dwelling was actually one of the narrow watchtowers of the old fort, just large enough for the hearth area, a makeshift table with three stools, and sleeping pallets against the walls. A few stones had been knocked out above the hearth to let the smoke out. A ladder rose through the ceiling above them, doubtless to the tower area.

Ulfrik had been disappointed with the state of the stone walls as they had approached the fort a few moments ago. An entire section of the wall was crumbling, rendering it useless for protection. The large wooden structure of the monastery must have damaged the wall when it collapsed and burned.

Only the grove of apple trees remained from the monastery of Ulfrik’s memory. A few had perished, now charred and black, devoid of fruit. But the gnarled branches of the surviving trees flourished despite the windy, salty conditions of the bluff, providing food for the small family living on the island.

The other watchtower had seemed relatively intact at the bottom, but the top was caved in. Not a safe place to house Selia and her family. Perhaps he could repair it well enough to make it suit his purposes. The tight quarters would lead to a long winter, however. Especially if Ingrid came with them.

Ulfrik straightened resolutely. If they remained here longer than one winter he would build a house for Selia. Warm, dry, and secure. He imagined it, built it in his mind, a solid dwelling large enough in which to comfortably raise a family. He saw Selia standing in the doorway of the house he’d built for her, a smile on her lips as he approached.

Oengul interrupted Ulfrik’s reverie. “I’m surprised a Norse pirate such as yourself would be so eager to relinquish his heathen gods. Even a pirate with a Christian mother, as you claim.”

Ulfrik turned to him. “I am a Vikinger no longer. After I left this island, I vowed to never kill another innocent. I have upheld that vow for seven years.”

“Nevertheless, accepting the sacrifice of Our Lord is not a choice to enter into lightly. I will entertain this request only if I am certain of your sincere intentions.”

Ulfrik regarded the priest. “The woman I love is a Christian. I knew I would someday convert if I ever hoped to marry her. This is not a trivial decision on my part, I assure you.”

Ulfrik followed Father Oengul down the rocky path and into the forest. The chill of autumn was sharp in the air, and some leaves had already fallen and now crackled underfoot. Nevertheless, the density of the branches above provided good cover. Perhaps he could build a suitable dwelling here among the trees.

The path descended deeper into the forest, and Ulfrik heard the faint sound of water ahead. They entered a clearing, finally stopping at what seemed to be the entrance to a cave. A small spring bubbled cheerfully nearby.

The priest turned to him. “Take off your clothing,” he instructed. “All but your breeches.”

Ulfrik raised his eyebrows. “Am I to go for a swim?”

Oengul pressed his lips together. “Heathens must be fully immersed. To cleanse the evil.” At Ulfrik’s hesitation, he added, “A supplicant who wishes union with Christ must do so without a faltering spirit.”

Did the priest mean to harm him, and this was the way to ensure he was completely unarmed?

Ulfrik rose to his full height and scowled down at the small man. Father Oengul’s face drained of color, and he looked as though preparing to run. Then Ulfrik expelled a dismissive breath. He could kill this scrawny man with his bare hands if need be. Ulfrik removed his cloak, shirt, and boots, placing everything on a rock next to the spring.

The priest’s eyes scraped over Ulfrik’s heavily scarred torso, the evidence of his violent past. Their gaze locked for a moment. Then Oengul motioned him inside the cave.

Its entrance was small, and Ulfrik crouched low to enter. But once inside he could stand up straight again. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he gazed at his surroundings. The interior of the cave was roughly circular, with a pool of water near the back. This water must be feeding the spring outside as well.

“Get in,” Oengul said, motioning Ulfrik to the pool. Ulfrik climbed in and stood in the middle, the icy water up to his waist.

The priest closed his eyes and whispered to himself in Latin. Ulfrik waited, the cold water seeping into his bones, as the man stood silently for a long while after finishing his prayer.

Father Oengul crossed himself and opened his eyes. He began to chant in Latin, the rhythmic sound oddly soothing, even though Ulfrik didn’t understand the words. The chanting continued for some time, then abruptly stopped.

“Ulfrik Ragnarson.” The priest spoke in Irish. “Do you repent of the sins you have committed in the name of your false gods?”

“Yes,” Ulfrik replied.

“Do you accept Jesus Christ as your one true Lord and Savior?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Lie down,” Father Oengul instructed. Ulfrik leaned back in the water to his shoulders as he scrutinized the priest warily.

The priest began to chant again, then grasped Ulfrik by the shoulders and submerged him in the water. For a brief moment Ulfrik thought the man meant to drown him, but then Oengul pulled him up, chanting all the while. He released him and allowed Ulfrik to sit up.

The priest spoke intently in Latin, his words incomprehensible yet oddly stirring. He made the sign of the cross once again, then switched to Irish.

“The bond which God establishes at baptism is indissoluble. Your soul has been washed clean. Go, and sin no more. You are a child of God.”

Water streaming from his hair and body, Ulfrik stood and regarded the priest. “It is done?”

“It is done.”

Ulfrik stepped out and wrung the water from his hair. The priest watched him, again staring at the scars on his body. “You are the first heathen I’ve converted,” he mused.

Ulfrik raised his eyebrows at this. “The woman was already a Christian?”

“No. Bahati still worships the heathen gods of her homeland. We have an understanding.”

“You would make me kneel to the White Christ, but not her?” Ulfrik asked, a bit annoyed. He tried to refrain from shivering in the cool air.

“Her people didn’t come here to kill us.”

Ulfrik grunted. It was a fair stipulation, he supposed. He looked around the cave again, taking stock. It seemed a much larger and more comfortable space than the cramped tower on the bluff. It might do very nicely as a refuge for the winter. He turned back to the priest.

“Why don’t you live here? In this cave?”

“Because I choose not to,” Oengul replied.

“Is it a sacred place?”

“No.”

“Then do you have an objection to my family living here?”

The priest appeared unsettled by Ulfrik’s request. He chewed at his cheek thoughtfully. “Well. I would have to give that idea grave consideration . . . I suppose now is the time to discuss the terms of our agreement. If you wish to bring your family to our island, this is what you must provide for us. Food, as you mentioned, and plenty of it. Several bolts of warm wool cloth and some leather for shoes. Blankets, tallow, livestock, and fodder. And a boat.”

Ulfrik felt his cheeks heat as he glowered down at the man. His offer of food and supplies had been turned into a demand for a household’s worth of items. He had given everything he owned to his former employer as an enticement to bring him to Dubhlinn. Ulfrik had nothing left to sell or trade to obtain the items Oengul now requested.

He should have killed the priest when he’d first had the chance, and been done with it.

Ulfrik gritted his teeth. No. He would figure out a way to live here peacefully. “If I bring you these things, we will share them. As we share the island. When we leave, whenever that may be, half the livestock will be yours. Agreed?”

Oengul chewed at his cheek again. “I am willing to consider this. But only if you also agree to care for Bahati and her daughter should anything happen to me. Care for them as you would your own family for as long as you live here. Take them away from this island if they wish it when you leave. Vow this now, bring the supplies I requested, and the cave and use of the island is yours.”

Ulfrik nodded slowly at the odd request from the young priest. Was the man ill? Did he not expect to survive the winter?

Refraining from voicing his questions, Ulfrik reached out to grasp the surprised priest’s forearm. “I vow it. The woman and child are under my protection.”