Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (26 page)

"Alrik is a foolish, superstitious man, and if he has made you feel ashamed for what you cannot help, then he will have me to answer to," Hrefna vowed. "I'll speak to him tomorrow after everyone has gone. But for now, we must get back to the gathering. Bolli will swear allegiance to Alrik tonight, and it would not look well for the Hersir's wife to be absent from the ceremony."

Chapter 33

Selia sat on one of the benches in the main room of the house, pressed close to Bergdis. The girl was sweating profusely and doing her best to avoid looking at or touching Selia, which was difficult considering the tight quarters. It was anyone's guess what sort of lies Ingrid had told her cousin about her new stepmother.

Ulfrik and Ainnileas were absent from the crowd that had packed in nearly shoulder to shoulder. Nor had she seen them outside. What right did she have to be upset about Ainnileas’ departure? She had sent him away, after all.

Alrik hadn't spoken to her since the awful incident in the woods. When she returned to the farmstead, his fierce gaze landed on her only briefly before turning away in apparent contempt. He hated her and he didn't want her here. But what Alrik hated more than anything was to be embarrassed, and so he would wait until they were alone to tell her he was divorcing her.

Selia's first impulse was to run back to the woods, but Hrefna gave her a pointed look from across the room that told her to stand her ground.

The house was overflowing with people in anticipation of the ceremony, and the air was thick with stagnant body heat as well as the smoke from the hearth. She swallowed. Her mouth was watering as it did right before she would vomit. She closed her eyes and kept her breathing shallow, willing the bile to stay down.

"Are you going to be sick again?" Bergdis asked. She pulled her gown away from where it touched Selia's knee.

She shook her head, as much to convince herself as Bergdis. The girl wasn't nearly as hateful as her cousin, so Selia attempted to smile at her. "I'm fine. Have you seen my brother?"

Bergdis stilled. "No."

Selia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. The two girls had been as thick as thieves for the past few days, following Ainnileas around shamelessly. Why wasn't Bergdis with them now?

"Where is Ingrid?"

The girl’s face turned white, then blood red. "I don't know," she said with forced nonchalance.

So Ainnileas and Ingrid had sent her away for the chance to be alone together. Stupid,
stupid
Ainnileas, risking the wrath of the Hersir over such a dubious prize as Ingrid. Alrik would kill him if he thought the boy was deflowering his daughter behind a bush somewhere, regardless of whether or not he considered him a potential husband for her. And Ainnileas had the nerve to call
her
a fool. She closed her eyes and focused hard on her breathing.

Dozens of thralls had been working their way through the crowd, replenishing empty cups of ale and wine, and Selia was surprised to hear a familiar, Irish-accented whisper. "Would you like some wine, Mistress?"

She opened her eyes to see Muirin standing in front of her. The girl flushed crimson, and Selia was again struck by her flawless beauty. But never again could she look at Muirin without thinking of her in bed with both Alrik and Ulfrik—the shameful act was burned into her mind as though she had witnessed it herself.

Had the thrall been opposed to it? Had she encouraged it? Had she any say in the matter at all?

Selia frowned. Muirin had to have been in agreement; otherwise Ulfrik wouldn't have accepted his brother's invitation. He wasn't the type to force himself on a woman, slave or no. Perhaps Muirin wasn't the innocent victim she made herself out to be. Perhaps she encouraged the Hersir in other ways as well.

Muirin's lovely green eyes, long and slightly slanted like those of a cat, met Selia’s regard for a moment before she lowered her gaze to the floor. The girl’s condition was impossible to hide now, and Selia glanced uncomfortably at the bulge under her dress.

The slave flushed deeper, shifting from one foot to the other. "I can bring you some ale if you would rather—"

"This is fine." She accepted the cup of wine from Muirin to make her go away. The girl bobbed her head in deference before fleeing back toward the kitchen.

Selia drank deeply of the wine in hopes it would steady her nerves. If Ulfrik truly was leaving the farmstead, he would more than likely take Muirin with him. He wouldn't leave the child here if he wasn't permitted to return. She would miss him, but their bond had been damaged beyond repair this afternoon.

With Ulfrik and Muirin both gone, she and Alrik would have little left to fight over. Selia brightened a bit. Without all the distractions of late she might be able to salvage whatever feelings her husband still had for her.

Another thrall disturbed her reverie by attempting to pour more wine into her empty cup. The movement caused the cup to slip from her fingers, rolling under one of the tables. The thrall stared at it, then back to Selia, blinking like an owl. "I will get you another," the woman said, and was off toward the kitchen before Selia could stop her.

The thrall came back with a fresh cup of wine. Her gaze traveled over Selia from head to toe with a surprising directness as she handed it to her.

"Thank you." Selia took a sip.

The thrall didn't go on her way. What on earth did she want? "I'm sorry," the woman said, in clear, perfect Irish. "I shouldn't stare at the mistress of the house."

Selia smiled at the lovely sound of her native language. "It's all right," she said.

The slave looked startled, and she hurried off without another word. What a strange woman.

"Well," Bergdis huffed, “I suppose they think you’re the only one who wants any wine.”

Bolli's young voice shook with emotion as he stood in front of Alrik, and began his formal oath to the Hersir. "I am Bolli, son of Ketill, and grandson of Bruni. I have come to offer my oath to you, Alrik Ragnarson."

Alrik sat in a chair, facing both Bolli and the crush of witnesses. He had changed out of his bloody, dusty clothes and combed his hair. He now looked the part of a mighty Hersir, even though his face and neck still carried the bruised evidence of his fight with his brother. Alrik held his sword under his arm, with the hilt of it on his knee, toward Bolli. Selia noticed his thumb twitching as he gripped it.

Although to the casual observer the Hersir appeared calm, she knew he was still furious and would like more than anything to drive the sword through the belly of an enemy.

Or his brother.

Alrik leveled his intense gaze on Bolli, and to the boy's credit he did not look away. "Will you come into my war band, Bolli Ketilson, to serve me as warrior?" His voice was low and raspy from the throttling he had received at the hands of Ulfrik.

"I will, Hersir," Bolli vowed.

"Speak your oath then."

Bolli's throat moved visibly as he swallowed. He knelt before the Hersir, putting his right hand under the hilt of Alrik's sword. "I, Bolli Ketilson, make this oath, that I shall answer the call of battle, and shall never flee from the field. I shall strike the enemy down without quarter to bring honor to my Hersir and my war band. I shall follow my Hersir without hesitation or fear, protecting him with my life. If he should fall in battle, I swear on my own life to avenge him. By Odin Allfather and mighty Thorr, may this sword upon which my hand rests run me through if I fail to keep my oath."

Alrik looked down at Bolli's bent head. Although the boy was large for his age, and his strength and skill had been proven during the games of the gathering, he was still only sixteen years old. As of yesterday Alrik had been adamant that he would not accept Bolli's oath this year.

Everything had changed this afternoon. With Ulfrik now gone, the Hersir could not afford to turn down a strong and willing addition to his war band.

"I have heard your oath, Bolli Ketilson. Hear you now my vow to you. I shall gift you with gold and silver, sharing the plunder of battle as you merit. Never shall you feel hunger or thirst while my belly is full or my thirst is slaked. My sword shall stand between you and your enemies, cutting down any who dare raise a hand against you, and if you should fall I shall avenge you with my last breath. May Odin Allfather, god of oaths, hear my words, and may mighty Thorr hallow this vow."

Alrik stood and handed his sword to Olaf. Selia noticed a flicker of pain cross her husband’s features. It was gone as quickly as it came, and it could easily have been mistaken for a trick of the light if she hadn't been aware of the fresh assault to his wounded side.

Olaf handed him another sword, then Alrik turned back to Bolli. "Rise, Bolli Ketilson, and join your war band." He presented the boy with the sword, and an eruption of shouting and cheers arose from the witnesses.

Bolli smiled as he accepted his gift. His gaze flickered over to where Selia and Bergdis were sitting, where he obviously expected to find his cousin Ingrid. He tried to mask his disappointment when he realized she wasn't there. But Bolli was young and had not yet perfected the masculine art of hiding one's weakness at all costs. Although he attempted to appear unconcerned, Selia could see the hurt written across his features.

She willed Alrik to look in her direction as well. Surely Hrefna was right; surely he wouldn't stay angry at her forever. But he seemed to have forgotten all about her presence. He grabbed one of the thralls as she passed by, leaning over to whisper something into her ear. With a sickening start, she realized it was Muirin.

Alrik did look across the room then, as he held onto the beautiful slave girl who was his property. He leveled his gaze on Selia with a wicked smile.

Selia ran, pushing her way through the crowd. Her stomach cramped as though she had been stabbed with a knife, and she prayed she wouldn't vomit before she reached the woods. How could Alrik do this to her? How could he brazenly commit the one sin she was unwilling to forgive? He’d made sure she had been looking. He
wanted
to hurt her. He wanted to hurt his brother as well, and by bedding Muirin he could do both in one fell swoop.

She made it to the tree line as another excruciating cramp gripped her. Falling to her knees, she vomited, choking and barely able to breathe.

Muffled laughter filtered through the woods, likely young lovers searching for a trysting spot. Selia forced herself to rise. She couldn't let anyone see the Hersir's wife in such a humiliating position. She stumbled deeper into the trees until she finally collapsed in a small clearing.
Something is wrong
.

The pain was now in her back just as much as her belly, and she doubled over in agony. There was something warm and wet between her legs. Had she vomited so violently that she urinated on herself?

What if it was blood?
No
. . .
please God
. . .

As she writhed in pain, she felt an arm go around her and she cracked opened her eyes to see the female thrall who had served her wine.

"Deirdre," the woman murmured, pushing a damp strand of hair from Selia's face.

She looked up in a fog of pain. "Please," she panted, "Get Hrefna. I think something is wrong with the babe—"

As another pain ripped through her, she screamed and grabbed the thrall's arm. "Help . . . me . . ."

The woman hesitated for a moment, then reached under Selia's gown to gently probe between her legs. When she pulled her hand out again her fingers were bloody, and Selia wailed.

"Hush now." The thrall put both arms around her. "There is nothing that can be done. It's just as well his child dies in your belly."

Several seconds passed before her words registered with Selia. How dare this woman—a slave, at that—speak to her so about her child? She tried to push the thrall away, but was incapacitated with an intense wave of pain. She felt as though she had been shoved outside her body and was actually floating above it. She saw herself writhing on the ground, screaming, being comforted by a stranger.

Deirdre,
a small voice whispered in her head.
Deirdre.

Was the woman a stranger? Although Selia had not remembered seeing her before today, she seemed somehow familiar. She looked up at the thrall, almost too exhausted to speak. "Why did you call me Deirdre?"

"Because it is your name. Do you not know me at all, child?"

She stared into the thrall's sorrowful brown eyes. Did she know this woman? It was hard to judge the age of a thrall, but she guessed her to be several years older than Alrik. Her short, curly brown hair was lightly streaked with gray. Her delicate features might have once been beautiful, but her face held a pinched expression, and deep frown lines marred her forehead.

The woman was thin almost to the point of emaciation, with narrow shoulders and tiny, childlike hands-a build too fragile for the manual labor that was expected of a slave.

"No," she rasped, turning away.

But the thrall leaned forward to brush Selia's sweaty curls from her face where they had escaped from the confines of her fillet. And then Selia smelled her.

It was the most wonderful smell in the world, the musky crook of this woman's arm; the scent of warm milk and soft skin, and the murmured breath of midnight whispers.

Selia leaned against the woman and breathed it in.

Mamai.

"You are my mother," Selia whispered haltingly.

"Yes, Deirdre," the thrall murmured. "I am your mother. For all these years I thought you dead, and now I find you are married to the very man who would have murdered you-"

Selia cut her off with another cry of agony, and her eyes rolled up to the woman. Surely the haze of pain was making her hear things. Alrik had not tried to kill her. Hadn’t he given her the ring to avoid that possibility entirely?

There was a rustling of footsteps from behind them in the forest, and then Ainnileas knelt beside her. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her away from the woman. "Selia, what ails you?"

"What are you doing with her, Grainne?" Another familiar voice spoke, this time in Norse.

Selia looked up to see Ingrid staring at the thrall.

Grainne ignored the girl and gazed at Ainnileas. "Cassan," she breathed, reaching out to touch him. "You are so like your father."

Ainnileas paled. He tried to pull Selia to her feet but she doubled over as more pain gripped her. He put an arm under her knees, lifting her, and began to carry her toward the house.

"Wait," Selia panted. "She is our mother."

He stopped. "No. Our mother is dead."