Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (7 page)

Every Irish child knew the Norse word
berserker
. Parents used it frequently to ensure their children's compliance. 'Stay on the path lest there is a berserker in the woods,' was a common warning in Irish households. Niall had never stooped to such tactics, but Eithne had been known to on occasion. Selia and Ainnileas had also heard the stories from other children.

As Selia had grown older she had begun to suspect these tales were exaggerated. A berserker was a made-up creature meant to scare children. Nothing more.

But now she could see it with her own eyes—there was such a thing as a berserker. And she was married to it.

Skagi sprawled limply on the ground as his leader continued to pummel him. Suddenly, Olaf Egilson came up behind Alrik with a bucket of seawater and dumped it over his head. Alrik gasped, and the pause was just long enough for the men to restrain him. Six men picked him up, carried him bodily to the sea, and threw him in.

Selia was overcome with a wave of nausea as she looked at Skagi. The young man’s face was mangled beyond recognition. His slack mouth revealed a row of newly missing teeth, his nose was smashed to one side, both eyes swollen shut. His head was in his father's lap, and he didn't appear to be breathing.

She had harbored an intense dislike for Skagi since the moment she had met him, but she hadn't wished
this
horrible fate upon him.

"This is your fault," someone spat at her, and she jumped as if he had been reading her thoughts.

"Riki, stop," Ketill commanded. Riki was his other son, Skagi's brother, and the third Finngall who had been at Niall's farm the night Selia was taken.

"Irish whore," Riki continued, undeterred. "You know what Ragnarr Geirson did to his wife, don't you? You won't last long."

"That's
enough."
Ketill grabbed his son by the shirt and looked him in the eye. "I'll have you remember you swore an oath to Alrik Ragnarson, boy. Hold your tongue."

Riki glared at Selia and she took a few steps backward. Ragnarr Geirson was Alrik's father. What in the name of all that was holy had he done to his wife?

Alrik, Ulfrik, and the other five men emerged from the sea. Alrik was stripped to the waist, dripping wet, but did not seem to be affected by the night air. He strode to the group of men surrounding Skagi.

"Is he dead?" Alrik's voice sounded hoarse, as if he had been the one screaming, instead of Skagi.

"No," Ketill replied.

Alrik looked at Skagi's bloody face for a long moment, then back to Ketill. He ignored Selia completely. "You are a good friend, Ketill Brunason. But if Skagi insults my wife again, I will run him through."

Chapter 9

Selia slept poorly that night. She was anxious, lying close to Alrik, and when she did manage to drift into a fitful sleep it was fraught with visions of him coming toward her with his sword drawn, intent on gutting her with it.

She woke screaming, with Alrik shaking her shoulders.

Olaf's voice came from the other side of the fire. "Everything all right?"

"Fine." Alrik was gruff. "Go back to sleep." He pulled Selia to him in a tight embrace, tucking her head into the crook of his arm. The gesture seemed more to keep her quiet than it was to offer comfort, for clearly the man possessed no such womanish instinct.

And so she lay quietly. She listened to her husband's heartbeat as it slowed to a more gentle rhythm, feeling his warm breath in her hair, and hated the fact that his heart beat and his lungs breathed. He was a bad man, an
evil
man. He should not be suffered to live.

Alrik slept with his sword by his side, but kept his dagger strapped to his belt at all times, even when he slept. It lay on his hip just inches away from Selia's hand, the hilt a bronze blur against his red cloak.

A brave woman would do it. A brave woman would pull the dagger out and plunge it into Alrik's heart without a second's hesitation. She imagined herself doing it, rehearsed it in her mind, over and over. The sibilant hiss as she pulled the dagger from its sheath, the exact spot on his chest she would need to aim for, the resistance of his body as she plunged the cold metal through meat and bone.

His eyes opening in surprise, looking up at her as he felt the blade, knowing he was to die by her hand. And the blood; the blood that spurted out as his heart beat its final, jerky rhythm.

A brave woman would do it, but a coward would only think about it. And so she was a coward.

Selia did not want to die. For die she would. He’d stop her hand before the deadly plunge and turn the dagger on her, or, if she did manage to do it, his men would avenge their leader against his murderer. Either way, she wouldn't survive the night.

Yet how long did she expect to live, married to Alrik? He was a brutal man, mad with power, and prone to fits of rage. It was only a matter of time before he turned that rage on her. As perhaps his father had done to his mother.

If she were being completely honest, she was equally angry with herself. She had let herself care for Alrik despite knowing what kind of man he was; had allowed her desire for him to cloud her better judgment. She had deluded herself that he also cared for her, and might even one day come to love her. What a fool she was.

Now she knew the truth about him. The man was incapable of any emotion other than those which fulfilled his own selfish desires.

But the crux of the matter remained that even through her anger, her fear, she still had a tiny stirring of tenderness for him. To admit it cut to the bone. She was a person of such questionable character and low morals, she could still care for a man such as Alrik Ragnarson. That, she couldn't live with.

Selia moved quickly, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She slipped out from under Alrik's arm, ready with a story about needing to empty her bladder if he stirred. He didn't. She gazed down at him one last time, then crept away and didn't look back.

She began to run as soon as she got to the tree line. Not aimlessly—she had to be clever if she had any hope of eluding him. Instead of heading down the coastline, toward home, she instead traversed inland. The dragonships were built shallowly to forge through rivers and streams where deeper, heavier boats couldn't venture. This gave the Finngalls the ability to attack villages further inland than the coast, villages caught completely unaware. Selia would move away from the coastline, staying clear of any body of water large enough to allow passage of a longship.

Alrik had sold the horses to make more room on the ship for the wine, so if they came inland to follow her, it would have to be on foot.

She would sell her beautiful cloak at the first village she found, then buy clothing and food. But she would wear boy's clothing, and she would cut her hair. Selia knew she could pass for a boy; she could easily model Ainnileas' walk and mannerisms. It would be safer to travel as a boy, and her disguise would help throw the Finngalls off her trail. With any luck she would make it home without a second glance from anyone.

Home
. Would her father take her back, ruined as she was? She was the wife of a Finngall. The marriage had been consummated. Only death—either hers or Alrik's—could set her free.

And was it even safe to go home? Would he be waiting there for her, ready to carry her off again, or—more likely—kill her for defying him? No, if she were to stay alive, she would need to outsmart him. Go as deep inland as possible, and look for somewhere safe to hide. She could find work, keep to herself, and eventually send word to her family. How long this would take, Selia didn't allow herself to contemplate.

The day dawned cold and rainy. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, still she kept moving. The men always rose early. Alrik would be awake by now, looking for her. The thought of his big hands wrapped around her neck gave her the boost of fear she needed to press on.

How long had she been running? Two hours, maybe three? Her legs were so tired. Rain dripped in her eyes, and she had already fallen twice. But Selia pushed on blindly, keeping the diffuse light of the rising sun to her back, always running west.

She lost her footing again, stumbled, and landed on the edge of an embankment. She slipped in the mud as she tried to rise, then slid even further. Her arms flailed, grasping for roots or branches, but everything she managed to clutch on to slipped free from the wet soil. She dug her toes into the mud in an attempt to stop sliding.

Suddenly the earth gave way beneath her feet. For a few confusing seconds, her body rolled and gained momentum.

Then, blackness.

Ulfrik had rarely seen his brother so angry. He seemed to be lit from the inside with it. But it wasn't a blind rage as it had been last night; this had a clarity and focus that Alrik's anger usually lacked. So when the men split up to look for Selia, Ulfrik made sure to go with his brother. None of the men would be disappointed to see the Hersir snap his new wife's neck and be done with it.

If she hadn't gotten in between them last night, the situation with Skagi would never have happened. Ulfrik knew if his brother’s anger continued to build unchecked, someone would end up hurt. But if provided with an intense physical release early enough, Alrik’s fury could be diffused.

A few more minutes of sparring last night would have been enough to calm him, but Selia had jumped in. The embarrassment of his wife leaping to his brother's defense would have been enough to fan the flames of the anger that still burned in Alrik's belly, but then Skagi's ill-timed joke had been too much. It was a wonder the man wasn't dead this morning.

And even if Alrik didn't intend to kill Selia, with the mood he was in he was likely to do so, if only accidentally. He was a very strong man under normal circumstances, but when enraged, his strength was legendary. If he touched his wife in his current mood, things would not end well for her.

Selia was so small. Much too fragile for an unpredictable man like Alrik. The night he had killed the priest she had tried to run, too, and he had ordered Ulfrik to stop her. Ulfrik hadn't meant to knock Selia down—he had barely touched her, really—but hurt her he had. Her body had felt so insubstantial under his, her eyes so terrified as she had begged him to help her. Why hadn't he done something? Why hadn't he stopped it?

Once when they were young children, Ulfrik had found a tiny bird on the ground beneath a tree. He had tried to climb the tree to return the hatchling to its nest, but found he couldn't do so with one hand. Alrik had watched his attempts with amusement for a while, then offered to hold the bird while his brother climbed the tree.

When Ulfrik reached the nest he had stretched his hand down carefully for the bird, only to have a mangled ball of blood and feathers handed to him. The crushed bones looked like tiny twigs emerging from the ball, and the small orange beak was slightly open, as if in surprise.

Alrik had insisted he had killed the bird on accident—he had only tried to hold on as the creature attempted to wriggle out of his hand. Ulfrik hadn’t thought of the little bird in years, but now the image of those crushed bones refused to leave his mind.

Ulfrik sensed Alrik’s growing anger, minute by minute, as they tracked Selia, made worse by having to pursue her on foot. She was a clever girl, going inland. But obviously too panicked to attempt to hide her tracks. They had followed her trail easily by the footprints she left in the damp earth.

The rain was a blessing in that sense, but the mud continued to slow them down. Ulfrik cursed under his breath as he once again lost his footing and nearly fell.

"Keep up or I'll leave you behind," Alrik growled over his shoulder. He abruptly stopped as the footprints ended.

He backtracked as he scanned the brush, wiping his wet hair out of his eyes with an impatient hand. "There." Alrik pointed to something in the distance, then disappeared from sight as he made his way down the embankment.

Ulfrik squinted in the direction his brother had been pointing. His gaze rested on a small figure lying next to a rock, unmoving.

Selia.

Sliding down the bank, he approached Alrik who cradled his wife’s lifeless body in his arms. Her head lolled back to reveal a substantial trail of blood that had dripped down her forehead and cheek. Selia's face, usually so animated, was waxy and still, the lips a delicate shade of blue.

Ulfrik held his breath. Was she dead? Would he be surprised if she were? Since meeting her, Alrik had been more jealous and volatile than Ulfrik had ever seen him. The poor girl never had a chance.

Alrik's face was stony as he looked down at his wife. Did he feel anything? Did he know—or care—that he was responsible for this?

Selia took in a small breath, and Alrik jumped. "Selia." He patted her cheek.

She moaned, so quietly it could have been imagined, and Alrik's lip turned up in a smile. Maybe he did feel something for her after all. He held her head with one hand while pressing her skull with the other, searching for the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Alrik paused, then felt again. Confusion lanced his face.

"What is it?" Ulfrik asked, although he suspected it was pointless to prevaricate.

"Her head. The bleeding is on this side, but there is something over here. A dent," Alrik said. "Feel this."

Ulfrik studied his brother. It would have been only a matter of time before he figured out who he had married. The bigger question was what he would do about it now that he knew. Ulfrik knelt to run his hand over the spot Alrik indicated. There, hidden by Selia's hair, was a small but unmistakable divot in the bone of her skull. He parted her hair, seeking the area in question, and revealed an old, thickened scar.

Alrik's face drained of color as he met his brother's gaze over Selia's head. He thrust Selia's limp body into Ulfrik's arms, then stood as if he had been burned. "No," he whispered.

Ulfrik was careful to keep his face neutral, but his brother’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you know this?” Alrik demanded.

Ulfrik looked down at Selia as the drizzling rain pattered against her skin. He leaned over her slightly, trying to keep her dry with his body. "I suspected, yes."

"You suspected." Alrik's voice rose in timbre. "But you didn't think to share your suspicions with me?"

"You had already married her. What was I to do?"

"Did you tell her?"

"Of course not."

Alrik grunted, unconvinced. "Why else would she have run?"

Ulfrik stared at him for several seconds. "Why else.
Why else, Alrik.
You don't think you've given her any other reason to be afraid of you?"

Alrik swallowed as he reached out to brush a muddy lock of hair from Selia's forehead. "Those eyes . . . I should have known her from her eyes. I kept thinking there was something familiar about her."

Ulfrik again kept his face expressionless. "What are you going to do?"

Alrik didn't answer immediately. "When we saw her in Dubhlinn I knew I had to have her. There was something about her that drew me. Now I know she came back to me for a reason."

"A reason?"

"She is meant for me. She is a gift from Odin. He has placed her in my path twice."

Ulfrik turned the thought over in his mind. His brother was not known to have pangs of conscience, so it was doubtful this was his guilt speaking. But Alrik had never been one to think deeply about spiritual matters. To claim divine intervention in meeting Selia again was almost as out of character as the guilty conscience would be.

Selia moaned. Ulfrik shifted her, and her head rolled and settled against his chest. She weighed nothing in his arms, like a child, yet there seemed a strength to this girl that defied her size. The blow to her head that had caused the dent in her skull should have killed her. The fall from the embankment and a second head wound, not to mention lying insensate in the cold rain for hours, should have killed her. And yet she lived.

But truly, how long would she last as Alrik's wife? How long would it be before he snapped again?

Ulfrik's memories of his father were fraught with Ragnarr's delusions and paranoia, and his eventual descent into madness. At the end, his ranting had taken a decidedly religious turn. It would be dangerous to encourage this line of thinking in his brother, but what other way was there to keep Selia from getting hurt?

Ulfrik chose his words with care. "I think you're right." The quickest way to appease Alrik was to let him think you were agreeing with him. "Odin is testing you."

Alrik drew his brows together in a scowl.

"Odin gave you a second chance. Why else would she have survived that?" Ulfrik motioned to Selia's head.

As Alrik studied his wife, Ulfrik moved in for the kill. "If you keep Odin's gift safe you'll prove yourself worthy of his favor."