Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (8 page)

Chapter 14

Selia sat in the semi-darkness of the barn with Bahati, leaning against the sheep for warmth, quiet now after confessing her sins. The sinister admission had spewed from her mouth like poison, thick and bitter.

But, like poison, she felt better from the purging. Lighter, somehow; as free as she’d felt after Naithi had removed the slave collar.

“Why did you tell your Northman this?” Bahati asked. It was hard to see her face, but Selia could tell from her voice she was upset.

“He deserved to know—”

“No.” Bahati cut her off. “I think not. I think you wish to give him a reason to be angry. So he will no longer care for you.”

Selia gaped at the woman indignantly. “That is absurd, Bahati.”

“Is it? You are frightened to be with this man. You are frightened to be hurt again. To tell him this thing, it will make your Northman hate you.”

Selia swallowed. Was there truth to this accusation? Had she told Ulfrik not because it was his right to know, but in an attempt to make him reconsider his feelings for her? Perhaps she was trying to safeguard her own heart by damaging his.

Before she could answer, the door to the barn opened. Ulfrik stood in the doorway with the moon shining bright behind him. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, then ducked his head to enter.

Bahati frowned at him. “Northman. Do not be angry at Selia. She was young and foolish, and could not see what would come of her actions.”

Ulfrik looked down at Selia, regarding her silently, his expression masked. Selia’s eyes flickered away—she hated to look at him when she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I know,” Ulfrik said. “She only meant to keep her own child safe. I understand.”

Selia expelled a breath, meeting his gaze again. “You do?”

“We’ve all made questionable decisions to ensure the safety of someone we love. Haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I know you meant no harm to Geirr. And I know you’ve been a good mother to him.” He extended his hand to pull Selia to her feet, his expression still unreadable. “Come, let’s find Eydis and go home.”

Eydis chatted to Selia about her visit with Catrin on the walk back to the cave. Ulfrik was a few steps ahead, silent as though deep in thought. He’d said he understood, that he wasn’t angry with her, but nevertheless Selia sensed a change in him.

“Are you listening, Selia?” Eydis asked.

Selia nodded. “Of course.” She had no idea what the child had said.

“Humph.” Eydis looked skeptical. “Growing a babe makes you not listen. Just like my mother.”

Selia stilled. “Your mother is carrying a babe?”

Eydis looked up at Selia and then quickly away. “I’m not supposed to tell,” she said in a small voice.

“I’ll keep your secret,” Selia assured her, squeezing her hand.

So, Selia had been correct. Ingrid
was
with child. Her stepdaughter had indeed been even lazier than usual lately, and more irritable to everyone other than her precious Ainnileas. Her brother could do no wrong as far as Ingrid was concerned.

Selia did the mental calculations, frowning as realization dawned on her. Ingrid’s child would most likely come in late summer, making it difficult to travel before the winter seas once again became too dangerous to navigate. As much as she hated to admit it, they seemed destined to remain on this island for the foreseeable future.

Was it a sign? Perhaps she was meant to stay here, with Ulfrik, and raise her family with him as their father. Would it be so awful to call this island home? Other than the fact it was too close to Ireland for comfort, it was a good place to live. The children were safe, and she had Ainnileas and Eithne again, as well as a friend in Bahati.

And Ulfrik, who had always wanted more than friendship. He loved her. He was kind to her children, and had agreed to help Faolan keep his berserker nature in check. He’d built Eithne a bed to ease her tired bones. And he was constructing a house for Selia so she wouldn’t have to give birth in a cave.

He was a good man. Better than she deserved.

Why had it been so easy to admit she loved Alrik, and so hard to now admit she cared for Ulfrik? She kept her feelings firmly in check whenever she thought of him, tightening her chokehold on her emotions if they threatened to rise to the surface.

Since her arrival at the island she had often felt as though she suffocated, a phantom hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing ever tighter. Surely she hadn’t brought this upon herself, by squelching her feelings for Ulfrik?

The light of the fire pit flickered from the cave as they rounded the path, and Ulfrik slowed his steps. “Run along ahead, Eydis,” he said. “I want to speak with Selia for a moment.”

Selia bit her lip as Eydis left them. She looked up at Ulfrik nervously.

“What happened with Muirin changes nothing of how I feel for you.” His voice held such gentleness. “Yet it makes me sad to think of her and what she lost. As well as the years I lost with Geirr. I will need some time to be right with all of it.”

Selia nodded, wincing a bit at the hurt she’d caused him. “I’m so sorry, Ulfrik.”

He continued, his unblinking gaze holding her prisoner. “I would like to be the one to tell Geirr, if you’re in agreement. But understand this, Selia. I don’t want the boy to know unless you’re sure you won’t take him from me. I won’t have him hurt if you decide to leave.”

He would put Geirr’s happiness ahead of his own. Selia’s heart fluttered as the burgeoning feelings that had begun to grow for Ulfrik took root with a vengeance, without warning; painful and frighteningly deep.

Selia was surprised at how much it hurt, and she restrained herself from clutching her heart where it ached. Could she do this again? Could she allow herself to care for another man the way she’d cared for Alrik?

Perhaps even more?

“I’m not leaving, Ulfrik. I want Geirr to know his father.”

Ulfrik and Geirr left the cave together. Selia busied herself straightening and stocking wood next to the fire pit for the night. Anything to avoid Eithne’s accusing stare.

Faolan sat a bit removed from the others, leaning against the cave wall, playing halfheartedly with the animals they’d carved. Selia crossed to him and sat.

His eyes darted to her, then quickly away. “Hello,” he mumbled.

“Hello, my love. What game are you playing?”

He shrugged, turning the wooden horse over in his hand. “I’m just looking at them. It isn’t any fun to play by myself.”

“Geirr will be back soon. He’ll play with you.”

“He’s been gone for a long time.”

“Yes.” Selia nodded.

“I think Ulfrik is Geirr’s father. Is that why they wouldn’t let me come?”

Selia hedged. “Would it upset you if Ulfrik was his father?”

“No. I would be happy for Geirr. But sad for me.”

“Faolan, my own father died when I was a small child. I have no memories of him. But Niall, the man Ainnileas and I called father, took us in and cared for us as though we were his own flesh and blood. I know he wouldn’t have loved us any more if we were.”

Faolan nodded, eyes lowered. Selia had not told the children the truth of her father’s death—that Faolan’s namesake had been killed by Alrik.

“Niall was a good man,” Selia continued. “Ulfrik is just as good, I think. He will be a father to you if you’ll let him.”

“Do you love him, Mother?”

Selia expelled a breath. “Would you be angry if I did?” she asked.

“No.” Faolan shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Why not anymore?”

Faolan pulled something from the pouch attached to his belt, and Selia gasped in disbelief. Her braid. How could it be? How could he possibly have gotten her braid from the bottom of the hole in Norway? She’d pushed the dirt over it herself, and they’d left quickly afterward.

“How did you get that, Faolan?”

“Ulfrik gave it to me today.”

She glanced from the braid to her son, still not understanding. “How did Ulfrik have it?”

“He said he came for us, in Norway, but we’d already gone. So he went to the beach to see if we had taken the silver. If it was gone he would know we went to Ireland. He found everything in the hole.”

Selia blinked back tears as Faolan’s words hit home. If she’d only waited a bit longer, all the horrors of Gunnar’s ship could have been avoided. But how could she have known Ulfrik had received her message and had been on his way to rescue them?

Selia stared down at the black braid in her son’s small hands. “Why did he give you my hair?”

“He asked me what makes me calm when I get angry and can’t stop myself. Ulfrik said he looks at the sea and it calms him because it reminds him of his mother.” Faolan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I said I used to like to twirl your hair.”

Faolan wound the end of the braid around his finger, almost absentmindedly, as he’d done for so many years. Selia’s threatened tears spilled forth, hot and quick.

Faolan studied her with a worried expression. “I’m sorry.” He stuffed the braid back into his pouch. “Does it make you sad to look at it?”

“No,” she assured him, smiling through her tears. “It makes me very happy you have it again. I hope it helps you, Faolan.”

Chapter 15

Ulfrik set out early, before sunrise, as he always did when sailing to Dubhlinn. If he was quick to get in and out of the city he could be home by nightfall. He hated to leave Selia and her family alone overnight if it could be helped.

He turned the sail, catching the breeze as it shifted, and tied his cloak tighter against the sea spray the change in direction elicited. His cloak was becoming a bit threadbare and would need to be replaced during one of these trips to Dubhlinn. Once winter hit with a vengeance he doubted he would chance a sea journey again until spring.

The children were growing fast, especially Geirr. Ulfrik swore he’d stretched half a head since they’d arrived on the island. They would all need new clothes soon. He’d been using Selia’s silver sparingly to buy necessities from Dubhlinn, but was loath to spend anything on himself and possibly take away from Selia and the children.

Ulfrik had lived on his own for so long, he’d forgotten how it felt to have a family to support. He would make do with his current cloak in order to buy wool for the children’s clothing. Selia was an excellent weaver and Eithne a talented seamstress, but their speed was hampered by the fact there was only one loom on which to weave. Ulfrik would buy wool cloth for the women to make clothing from, although he knew Selia preferred to use cloth she had woven herself.

Ainnileas, a trader of fine fabrics, had admitted no woman had a nicer hand with wool than did his sister. Her fabric was smooth, unblemished, and held the dye evenly. Ainnileas said Niall had always fetched a high price for Selia’s cloth.

Perhaps Ulfrik would buy her a new loom in Dubhlinn instead. That way she and Eithne would each have a loom and would always have enough fabric without resorting to buying wool from a less expert weaver.

The thought of giving Selia a present made Ulfrik smile. Even if he would have to use some of the silver he’d given her.

But first things first—he needed to check in with Naithi to collect hardware for the house. And there was another reason for the trip, one he hadn’t told anyone about. Ulfrik wanted to commission a piece from the blacksmith.

Ulfrik was eager to see if Naithi could do it. He sailed past the large Dubhlinn harbor and instead docked his boat at the harbor at Baile Átha Cliath.

Avoiding the house where Naithi and Osgar lived with Grainne, Ulfrik instead made his way directly to the blacksmith stable. A welcoming wave of heat greeted him as he opened the door. The smith and his son both glanced up as Ulfrik entered.

Osgar nodded a greeting, but continued to hammer the piece he was working on. Naithi stepped away from the fire to approach. He clasped Ulfrik’s arm with a warm smile, then beckoned him over to the other side of the stable, where the noise wasn’t so deafening.

“I have your hinges finished,” he said as he reached for a shelf containing rows of wooden bins. He pulled one down and extracted its contents for Ulfrik to examine.

Ulfrik nodded his approval. “Thank you. These will work nicely. But there is something else I wondered if you could make for me.” He pulled out the flat stone in his satchel, marked with a blackened stick. He’d had to wrap it carefully so the markings on it wouldn’t smear.

He laid it on the table and explained to Naithi what he wanted. Naithi peered down at it as Ulfrik spoke. He gave a thoughtful nod, the excitement in his eyes growing. “Yes,” he said. “I can do that for you. But it might take some time. I must help my father with his work before starting projects of my own.”

“I understand. I can return in a fortnight, if that will be enough time?”

“Yes.” Naithi smiled.

A sudden rush of chilled air made him turn to the door, where Grainne stood. She stared at him, her dark eyes full of malice. And something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Osgar’s hammering stopped.

“I thought I saw a Finngall come this way,” she said with a sneer. “I asked myself, what business would a Finngall have in Baile Átha Cliath? But I see his business is with my husband and stepson.”

Naithi frowned at her. “Ulfrik Ragnarson is a good man, Finngall or no. And his silver spends as well as anyone’s.”

Osgar plunged the piece into a trough of water, then turned to his wife. “Who Naithi does business with is no concern of yours. What is it you want, woman?”

“I want to speak to this Finngall. Alone.”

Osgar opened his mouth to respond, but Ulfrik stepped between them. “It is all right. I will speak to her.”

He went outside and Grainne followed him, shutting the door behind her. Ulfrik studied her silently as she fumed up at him. The woman had aged a good deal since he’d seen her last. Still painfully thin, her hair was nearly completely gray, her face lined in a permanent frown. Even returning to her homeland hadn’t made her happy, apparently.

“I know you, Ulfrik Ragnarson. I know you’ve manipulated my son somehow to make him hate me—”

“Ainnileas doesn’t hate you,” Ulfrik began, but Grainne cut him off.

“
Cassan
hasn’t been to see me once since he left. It’s hard enough to be without him when he’s sailing, but not to have him for the winter is more than a mother can bear. I know you had something to do with this.”

“Ainnileas is a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

“Is he with that girl? Ingrid? Is that why he hasn’t returned?”

“I will tell Ainnileas you asked about him, Grainne. Would you like me to tell Selia you asked about her as well?”

Her frown deepened. “No.”

He shrugged. “As you wish.” Ulfrik moved to step around her but she dropped her palm on his arm to stop him. Ulfrik stared down at the slender hand that resembled Selia’s, then met the woman’s gaze.

“Is she with
you
now, then?” Grainne demanded. “Has she traded one brother for the other?”

Ulfrik breathed slowly through his nose to quiet the anger that flared inside him. “I’ll ask you only once to mind your tongue when you speak about Selia.”

“Or what?” Grainne loosed a cackle. “You’ll kill me?”

Silently Ulfrik shook her hand from his arm.

Grainne would not be stifled. “You know she doesn’t love you. Not truly. She needs you to survive. Just as she needed your brother.”

“You know nothing of what you speak, woman. Step aside.”

Ulfrik left Grainne standing in front of the blacksmith’s stable and returned to pay Naithi for the hardware.

As he shut the door behind him he could still hear the woman’s final words.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Ulfrik left Dubhlinn later than he’d hoped to, departing the harbor just before sunset. He’d have to sail for several hours after dark, guided only by the moon and stars.

But he’d gotten what he wanted. He’d obtained a new loom for Selia, Norse instead of Irish; large, sturdy, and heavy. He’d have Ainnileas help him carry it up the hill to the cave. And if the weather continued to hold out, they could get the roof on the house soon and move it, along with everything else, into the new dwelling. He smiled to himself.

Lost in thought, he sailed through the purple twilight. Not even the strange encounter with Grainne could dampen his excitement about giving Selia her present. She would have her new loom tonight.

He missed her greatly, even though he’d been gone less than a day. Ulfrik realized he missed them all very much. He’d been tempted to take the boys with him on one of these excursions to Dubhlinn. He’d thought it was only to give Selia a reprieve from their antics, but he knew the truth now—he loved them, Geirr and Faolan both.

But Geirr was his son. The responsibility of having a child of his own flesh was sobering. The boy had taken the news in stride, showing a guarded sense of excitement when Ulfrik had spoken with him.

Geirr’s first question had been a surprise to Ulfrik. “Did Alrik always know he wasn’t my true father?”

The look on the child’s face had been heartbreakingly earnest. “I don’t know what my brother knew,” Ulfrik had responded gently. “It was possible he had his suspicions.”

Geirr nodded as though relieved. “What did my mother look like?”

“She was very lovely. Tall, with your green eyes.”

“Did you love her?”

Ulfrik hesitated. The child deserved more than the sordid knowledge of how he’d come to be. “I cared for her, yes,” he hedged. “And she cared for you very much—she was willing to let you be raised by another so you would have a better life.”

“Are you glad you’re my father?”

“I am.”

Geirr had smiled up at him with that, a look of happiness on his young face that reminded him of Treasa. Ulfrik’s heart had contracted in his chest.
My son.

A sudden motion out to sea that caught his eye, and Ulfrik stilled. There it was again. The flutter of a sail, so far away it was barely visible.

A strange foreboding settled in his bones. Halfway to the island, he had several hours of sailing ahead of him. To change direction would mean he wouldn’t be home tonight.

Ulfrik shifted the sail, then settled in to see if he was being followed.

He headed south for several hours, then turned the boat westward, back toward the coast of Ireland. After the sun set it was difficult to tell if he was being followed, yet he continued on until he found an uninhabited stretch of rocky coastline, heavily forested just beyond the beach.

Ulfrik sailed into a small inlet, then splashed out in the icy water to pull the boat close enough to lash it around one of the smaller boulders. He walked around the beach area until he found a good spot behind several of the larger boulders, close to the boat but hidden from anyone approaching by land or sea.

Cold and wet, he crouched behind one of the boulders.

A bit later, Ulfrik heard the faint sound of voices, followed by splashing. He listened carefully to the Norse voices. One was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place the man. The two others were unknown to him.

“Where do you suppose he went?” one grumbled. “It’s too dark to track him tonight.”

“We won’t have to track him. He went to get help to carry this loom. All we need do now is wait.”

“I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of Gunnar sending us out on a fool’s errand. Why he wants that harpy of a woman I’ll never understand.”

“A man who speaks of his Hersir in such a manner is a man who will end up with his throat slit. Mind your tongue, Bjarni.”

The man Bjarni grunted, mumbling something Ulfrik couldn’t hear. But he definitely knew who the first man was, now—Gildi, a warrior he remembered from sailing with Gunnar years ago. Gildi was a very large man, and an excellent fighter. He’d had a bad knee, though, if Ulfrik wasn’t mistaken.

Bjarni and the unnamed voice were unfamiliar to him. They sounded relatively young. Three men. The thought of killing three of Gunnar’s men, one of which he knew and had liked, saddened him. But kill them he would, if left with no other choice.

Silently, he slipped around the boulder and into the forest, finally walking up to the boat. He stopped as if in surprise to see the men, making an exaggerated move for his dagger.

“Stop right there, Oath Breaker,” Gildi growled.

“How do you know me?” Ulfrik squinted into the darkness, letting his hand hover above the hilt of his dagger.

“I am Gildi Sturlason.” The man stepped closer. “You sailed with me under Gunnar Klaufason.”

Ulfrik glanced nervously behind him, as though warning a companion away. Gildi motioned one of the men toward the forest. “Go see who’s back there, Eykell.”

Good. Two men were better odds than three. Once Eykell was gone, Ulfrik studied the other man, obviously Bjarni. He was tall and slim, just barely into manhood. Ulfrik turned back to Gildi. “What do you want? Gunnar allowed me to break my oath to him. He has no quarrel with me.”

“We were told to follow you and see if you were harboring the woman Inga and her children. It’s clear that you are, or you wouldn’t be transporting a Norse loom from Dubhlinn. Surely you wouldn’t have anyone believe you’ve taken up weaving.”

Bjarni snickered at this. “Or perhaps he has.”

Ulfrik ignored the slight, continuing to address Gildi. “And what is your charge if you found me?”

Gildi hedged. “We are to bring the woman back to Gunnar.”

Even in the darkness, Ulfrik could see Bjarni’s look of contempt. Ulfrik again disregarded him, addressing Gildi. “I remember my cousin Gunnar to be a fierce Hersir, feared by all. Now he has his warriors chasing after a woman who scorned him? Times have certainly changed from when I sailed with Gunnar.” Ulfrik at last leveled his gaze on Bjarni. “Unless, of course, he sent the men he thought best suited for this task.”

His words had the intended effect. Bjarni shifted furiously, reaching for his dagger. “You are an Oath Breaker, Ulfrik Ragnarson! No one would fault me for killing you—”

As Bjarni lunged toward Ulfrik, Gildi gripped his arm to stop him. Gildi raised his voice, calling out to the other man searching the forest. “Eykell! Did you find her?”

“There is no one here,” the man shouted from some distance away.

Bjarni shoved Gildi’s hand aside. “I don’t care what Gunnar said, Gildi! She’s hiding. Let’s kill him and be done with it!”

This told Ulfrik all he needed to know. Gunnar had obviously instructed his men they could only kill him if he was indeed harboring Ingrid. Blood was blood, after all; Gunnar wouldn’t allow anyone to kill his cousin unless the men could prove Ulfrik had lied to him about knowing Ingrid’s whereabouts.

Ulfrik whirled quickly, drawing his dagger. He drove his elbow hard into Bjarni’s nose, feeling the cartilage crush under the impact. As the man screamed and clutched his bloody face, Ulfrik plunged the dagger between his ribs.