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

Chapter 12

The morning seemed to come very early, and Selia covered her head with the blanket as Alrik shook her awake.

"Get up, little one." He pulled down a corner of the wool to nibble on her shoulder. "We're going to the market."

She rolled over. "I am asleep, Alrik."

In response, he yanked the blanket completely off. Selia gasped as the cold air hit her skin. Alrik pulled her to her feet, handing her the shift, still slightly damp. She didn't bother arguing with him, but put it on with a glare in his direction.

"Are you awake now?" He was smiling, teasing her as she shivered. She couldn't stop herself from returning his smile through her chattering teeth.

"You are a bad man."

Alrik held her gown out to her. "So I've been told."

After a quick meal of porridge at the tavern, they ventured into the teeming marketplace of Bjorgvin. The morning was cold and misty, and she regretted her decision to wash her shift the night before. A dirty but dry shift seemed much preferable to a clean, clammy one that clung to her body.

Alrik, as usual, didn't seem to notice the cold. With Selia's icy hand tucked into his arm, he moved through the maze of wooden stalls. He was clearly searching for something, and she had to nearly run to keep up with his long strides. When they finally stopped in front of one of the stalls, she was dizzy and out of breath.

The silversmith glanced up, looked them over, and smiled in anticipation. Alrik was obviously a man of means.

"Do you desire something in particular for your beautiful lady, sir?" He rummaged through a box of necklaces, then pulled one out. "Perhaps an opal, to set off her eyes?"

"A ring." Alrik waved the necklace away.

"Ah." The silversmith set the box of necklaces down in front of Selia, then brought out another, smaller box. He squinted at her hands, muttering as he searched through the box, and finally drew out a tiny ring. He held it out to Alrik for inspection before handing it to Selia.

She slipped on the silver ring and smiled. It fit perfectly. She held her hand out, admiring it, but Alrik took her hand to remove the ring.

"We'll come back for it later," he promised her, then bent and whispered to the silversmith for what seemed like quite a while.

Frowning, she returned to the box of necklaces. One at the bottom caught her eye and she lifted it out. Made of twisted silver with dozens of glittering stones of a deep violet blue, she gasped at its beauty as she held it up to the sunlight.

Alrik watched her. "Do you like that one?"

She nodded.

"All right," he said to the silversmith. "The necklace, too.”

Selia didn’t want to hand it over. “We will come back later?”

“No,” he laughed. “You can have that one now.”

Alrik and Selia stopped at several different booths as they wandered through the marketplace. He bought a pair of brooches for the gown Gudrun was making for her, as well as a fillet for her hair. Selia had been taking careful note of the dress and hairstyles worn by the women of Bjorgvin, and she was determined not to embarrass Alrik tomorrow when they returned to his home.

She spent the rest of the afternoon back at the ship. The men unloaded cargo, took it to the market, and then came back with yet more cargo. It was exhausting to watch and seemed rather pointless, so she finally crawled into her tent and fell asleep. Toward dusk Alrik woke her to return to the tavern. Selia was still tired and her head ached. The thought of food and bed sounded very inviting.

She forgot about her headache as she entered their little room to find a folded parcel lying neatly on the table. It was her new gown-or more accurately, gowns, as the women of Bjorgvin wore two gowns, one over the other.

The ensemble consisted of a pale blue, fitted gown with a wide neckline, and a sleeveless apron dress in a complementary shade of darker blue. It was embellished with silk trim, intricately woven in shades of blue and white. The craftsmanship was exquisite, with tiny, perfect stitches, and Selia had to admit she could not have constructed anything so beautiful in such a short time. Gudrun must truly be the best seamstress in Bjorgvin.

She pulled off the stained violet gown, dropping it to the floor without hesitation, glad now that she had washed her shift the night before. It would have been a shame to spoil the pristine new gown with a dirty undergarment.

She slipped on the gown and the apron-dress. Alrik got out the brooches he had bought for her, then showed her how to secure the narrow straps of the apron-dress with them. Selia smoothed the fine wool over her hips as she looked up at her husband. Was she now presentable enough to bring home to his family?

"All right?"

He gave a slow nod. "Yes."

She released her breath on a smile, just as there was a knock at the door. Gudrun entered, peering toward the bed.

"I left the gown—" she began, then stopped as she saw Selia. "Oh. I see you found it." Her nostrils flared as though she smelled something foul.

Gudrun approached her, examining the gown critically. She raised and lowered Selia's arms, then knelt to check the hem. "Well, it's a bit long, but it'll do." She stood again, towering over Selia. "I suppose I didn't trust my own measurements. You could hem it yourself. You do know how to sew, don't you, child?"

Selia gritted her teeth at the hateful woman. Alrik moved in between them, pulling out a bag of silver.

Gudrun gave him an affronted look. "Put your silver away, Alrik. Do you think I'd let you pay me? Consider it a wedding present."

Smiling, she stepped to him and reached up to hold his face in both hands. As she brought his head closer, she rose on tiptoe, then kissed him smartly on the mouth. "Just come to see me a bit more often. I miss you."

Selia was too stunned to speak for a moment. Obviously Gudrun was on very familiar terms with her husband, and neither she nor Alrik had any qualms about revealing that fact in Selia's presence. Was she to stand idly by as he consorted with loose women? Was this the expectation in a marriage to a Finngall man?

Too furious to form words in Norse, she spat in Irish, "
Get your hands off my husband.
"

Alrik and Gudrun turned to look at her blankly. Gudrun interpreted the expression on her face first, and snorted with laughter.

"Alrik is my brother, child," she said with more than a hint of condescension in her voice. "Surely you knew that."

Oh.
Oh.
That explained everything. Selia's cheeks burned and she wanted to sink into the floor. There
was
a resemblance in their bone structure, although the woman had red hair and her eyes were a different shade of blue. And then of course, there was the height . . .

"Why did you not tell me?" she asked Alrik.

He studied her with a puzzled expression. "I did."

Had he told her? She had no memory of such a thing. If she had missed that conversation, how many others had she also missed? Her flush deepened and she avoided Alrik's gaze. If he suspected anything out of the ordinary, he hadn't said as much.

But time was running out. He would find out sooner or later whether she wanted him to or not. Selia swallowed. Niall had told Buadhach her secret, and the old man apparently hadn't been deterred by the knowledge. Would Alrik be as accepting?

The expression on Gudrun's face made it painfully clear she suspected her brother had married a simpleton. Turning away, she took Alrik by the arm. "Come, enough of this nonsense. The feast I've had prepared for you is growing cold."

It certainly was a feast. All the men from the ship were in the tavern, enjoying large cups of ale. One of the serving girls dipped the ale from a huge tankard, refilling the cups as quickly as they were drained. Several other girls carried out steaming trays of meats, stew, bread, and a variety of cheeses. The noise was deafening, and Selia's ears rang with it as they sat down at a table next to Ulfrik and Olaf.

Gudrun bent to kiss Alrik on the top of the head, ignoring Ulfrik completely, before moving into the kitchen to oversee the workers.

Selia eyed the woman as she walked away. What kind of a sister so obviously favored one brother over the other? It made her like Gudrun even less, if that were possible.

Ulfrik had a way of studying her that made her feel as if he were inside her head. He was looking at her now in a watchful way, as though he sensed the uncharitable loathing she bore his sister. Or worse, as though he knew she was hiding something. How could he possibly know that?

Selia wiped her hands on her gown as she turned back to Alrik. "Do you have more brothers and sisters?"

"Another sister," he said. "Dagrun."

"That is all?"

Alrik’s expression was cynical as he drained his cup. "That's all we know of."

"How many years have you, Alrik?" she asked.

He seemed puzzled for a moment. "How old am I," he corrected. "I'm thirty-one."

Selia struggled to hide her surprise as she did the mental calculations. Thirty-one? That meant he had only been sixteen when Ingrid was born. Although a typical age for a woman to have a child, most Irishmen didn't wed for the first time until they were quite a bit older.

She looked over at Ulfrik. She assumed he was younger than his brother, but only because Alrik was the leader of the war band and Ulfrik was not. He had a few lines around his eyes from squinting into the sun, just as Alrik did. The rest of his face was smooth and unlined, and he boasted a mouthful of white teeth. Still, he somehow seemed older than his brother. There was a maturity to Ulfrik that Alrik lacked.

Ulfrik appeared a bit uneasy at her scrutiny. Odd, for him to show it. Why was he so wary? He rearranged his face into his typical bland expression before he spoke. "We're the same age, Selia."

That was the obvious explanation—they were twins. She brightened. "Like me and Ainnileas . . . what is the Norse word?"

The brothers exchanged a glance. Ulfrik leaned over the table as the serving girl came around with the full dipper of ale, holding out his cup. The girl blushed and smiled at him as she filled it. There was a definite swing to her hips as she walked away.

Ulfrik took a long drag of ale before he set the cup down. He leveled his gaze at Selia. "Alrik and I aren't twins. We have the same father but different mothers. I was born a moon’s span before Alrik."

That meant their mothers had carried them at the same time. She felt sick. "Finngalls can have two wives?" she whispered.

As Alrik smiled and drained his cup, Ulfrik threw him a narrowed frown. "My mother was a slave. Our father freed me after she died."

"An Irish slave," Alrik pointed out. "Why else would he speak Irish so well?"

She sat for a moment, too stunned to say anything. A slave. How awful. No wonder she’d had the distinct feeling Ulfrik was different than the other men. He actually was.

So Gudrun's coolness toward her brother—
half-brother
—had not been Selia's imagination. Poor Ulfrik. Had anyone loved him, growing up? Family awaited them at the end of this journey. Would they claim Ulfrik as one of their own, or ignore him as his sister did? She longed to question him further, but she sensed his discomfort in discussing the situation. Maybe another time.

Selia spoke to Ulfrik in Irish. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Thank you for telling me."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and stood up, mumbling something about finding the serving girl for another quaff of ale.

Alrik laughed and thumped Ulfrik's arm. “Be a man, brother, and ask her to do more than fill your cup.”

The drinking and feasting continued for hours, with the behavior of the men deteriorating as the night wore on. The loud laughter, shouting, and clattering of several dozen drunken men seemed overwhelming. But even as tired as she was, Selia wouldn't leave Alrik's side at the feast. Such quantity of drink caused the men to grow bold with the serving girls.

Selia averted her gaze as they pinched the girls' buttocks and even pulled them into their laps to fondle their breasts. Alrik was as drunk as the rest of them, and there was no telling what he would do if she went to bed and left him to his own devices.

The difference in his personality from one day to the next—and sometimes one minute to the next—could be striking. He was in a remarkably good mood now, laughing and joking with the men, and whispering ribald comments in Selia's ear that made her blush. When he was like this she could almost forget about the shadow that resided in his soul.

Skagi sat with his father and brother on the other side of the tavern. He seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face now. The few times she had accidentally caught his eye, she had been flung a look of such hatred that it chilled the blood in her veins. She wasn't sure if Skagi's anger was directed at Alrik or at her, but she kept her distance from him.

The rest of the men, for the most part, avoided her as much as possible, and only spoke to her out of necessity. Everyone but Olaf, who seemed to like Selia well enough, behaving in a rather fatherly way toward her. She had suspected early on that he was some sort of kinsman to Alrik by the familiar way they treated each other, and she had been correct. Ulfrik had mentioned Olaf was married to their aunt, and the only one of the Finngalls other than Ulfrik who didn't seem to be afraid of the Hersir.

Olaf, every bit of sixty years old, currently had a serving girl on his lap who was no more than twenty. The light from the torch flickered on his bald head as he kissed her. Selia turned away with a flush creeping over her face. The fact that Alrik and Ulfrik did not bat an eye at his behavior told her more about the Finngalls' view of infidelity than any words could.

A sudden sound, like the flapping of wings, caused her to duck instinctively. Alrik turned to her, still laughing at something one of the men had said. "What's wrong?"

His face and voice were very far away. Her heart beat too fast; she could hear the
whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh
as it pounded in her ears. Everything else seemed quiet and distant. She stared down at what appeared to be her hands holding her cup, but she felt no connection to them.