A Flame Put Out (24 page)

There was a rustling in the brush up ahead. Selia leapt to her feet, her heart hammering in her chest. Only Ingrid would know where to find them. Unless it was an animal sniffing around? Selia put her arms out to keep the children behind her.

A man stepped into view and Selia screamed.

Alrik.

No
. How had he found them? How could he possibly be here? Everything—all of it—had been for nothing. The boys leapt in front of her, brandishing their daggers. “Get away from her!” Faolan shouted.

“Selia,” a voice called from the shadows.

Not Alrik’s voice.

Ulfrik
. And Ingrid was behind him.

A sob welled up from deep in Selia’s belly and she took a step toward him, setting the boys aside. Another step and her knees gave out from under her. Ulfrik rushed forward and caught her just before she collapsed to the ground.

His arms went around her and Selia sank into his strong embrace. Ulfrik. He was here. After everything, he was here.

Selia held on to him, digging her fingers in as though Ulfrik was a rock on a stormy sea. She didn’t know how it was possible, but he was here.

He pulled her in tighter, tucking her head under his chin protectively, cradling her like a child. His heartbeat was strong in her ear, safe and familiar. Selia’s relief was so overwhelming, she could have melted into the forest floor.

Ulfrik.

“It’s all right, Selia,” he whispered. “Everything will be all right now.”

Bonus: An Excerpt from Book Three of the
Sons of Odin Series: Oath Breaker,
Coming Soon from Soul Mate Publishing

Sometimes the right man has been there all along . . .

Selia has fled Norway and has divorced Alrik, her Viking husband, to protect her children from his berserker rages. His brother, Ulfrik, having loved Selia from afar, offers his protection. As Selia uncovers the man he is, love blossoms in her heart where there was only emptiness.

But will their newfound love survive when Alrik returns to claim what is his?

Chapter 1

Dubhlinn, Ireland

883 AD

Ulfrik rushed forward as Selia stumbled over the debris of the forest floor. He caught her before she fell, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She clung to him, digging her fingers in desperately as a drowning woman might, burying her face in his shoulder.

The ensuing fury that coursed through Ulfrik’s body burned hot and quick, making it difficult to think clearly. Although Ingrid had prepared him for Selia’s shocking appearance, the sight of her still seemed like a physical blow.

She let out a small, shuddering sigh, the sound of one exhausted who could finally rest, and Ulfrik felt the tension in her body ease as she curled in to him.

What had Alrik done to her?

The vibrant, spirited beauty of Ulfrik’s memory had been roughly stripped away, replaced with the ghost of a woman who now trembled in his arms. His brother had broken her, crushed Selia like a fragile flower under his boot. He had reduced her to
this
.

Never in his life had he wanted to kill Alrik more than he did at this moment.

He tucked her in closer as though comforting a small child. Ulfrik would keep her in his arms for the rest of his life, if only she would allow it. “It’s all right, Selia,” he whispered. “Everything will be all right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she choked out. “I thought you were Alrik . . .”

“I know,” he murmured. “I will never let him hurt you again. Any of you.”

Ingrid had told him of the reasons for their flight from Norway. Alrik had snapped, nearly killing one of his own sons. It had been bound to happen eventually, and they were lucky no permanent damage had been done. Ulfrik knew only too well what his brother was capable of.

He gazed at the two boys who stood over them now, both appearing uncertain yet defensive. The handsome blond youth with Muirin’s eyes he recognized immediately as Geirr. He’d been but a suckling child the last Ulfrik had seen him. The smaller boy must be the babe Selia had been carrying. Other than his coloring, he looked very much like Alrik, down to the hostile expression on his familiar features.

“Are you my father’s brother?” the boy asked.

“I am.”

“Then you are the reason for all of this.”

“
Faolan
,” Selia admonished weakly. “That is enough—”

Ulfrik shook his head. “It is all right.” He rose and helped Selia to her feet. She seemed unsteady and he wanted to keep his hand on her, but the two boys stepped in protectively.

The golden rays of the rising sun dappled through the dark grove, catching Selia’s face clearly for the first time. The smooth skin of her cheek was split, swollen and discolored. Ulfrik’s breath stilled in his chest.

“Who hurt you?” he asked. He voice sounded calm to his own ears even as his insides shook with fury.

Selia dropped her gaze, bringing her hand up to her face as though ashamed. “No one hurt me. I fell.”

He stared down at her for a moment. She was lying, that much was obvious. But why? The wound was too fresh to have been caused by Alrik. Who was Selia protecting?

Gunnar?

He knew Selia had bought passage out of Norway on Gunnar’s ship. It was Ulfrik who had answered Elfrad Audunarson’s door when Gunnar had come knocking, inquiring insistently about the mysterious woman Inga Elfradsdottir.

Had Gunnar been the one to hurt Selia? Cousin or not, a shallow grave would be the bastard’s final resting place if Ulfrik learned his suspicions were true.

He motioned for the others to follow him, vowing to revisit this later when he could speak with Selia alone. “The sun is rising quickly. Come, this way.”

Selia shivered in the dusty darkness under Ulfrik’s cloak. She lay in the back of the cart with Ingrid and the children, covered with a heap of sweet-smelling straw. Eydis sneezed and Ingrid shushed her, just as the cart rolled to a stop.

“We’re here,” Ulfrik whispered. “But don’t get out just yet. I want to make sure Gunnar’s men aren’t watching the house.”

They waited for what seemed like an eternity for Ulfrik to return. Finally there was the sound of footsteps approaching, then Ulfrik’s voice as he pushed aside the straw. “Hurry now, this way.”

Morning had broken. Selia blinked into the harsh rays and got a brief glimpse of a large log dwelling, not long like Alrik’s house in Norway but instead tall; two stories high. The house had narrow windows on the second story, shuttered over. Ulfrik urged them inside, then latched the massive carved door behind them.

Selia’s eyes adjusted to the dim light as she stood in the main room of the house. A long plank table took up a good deal of the space, with two looms along the front wall. The side walls held sleeping benches. A welcoming fire burned at a large hearth in the back of the house, with twin doors on either side.

A stairway rose in the vaulted space to a loft above the middle of the main room, open to access the heat from the hearth below. A woman came down the steps, with three children behind her, two boys and a girl.

“Oh,” the woman gasped, gazing at Selia with a sympathetic expression. She was tall and well formed, sharing her brothers’ striking good looks. Her red-gold hair was plaited in a lovely design. Her eyes, however, looked very much like Hrefna’s, and Selia’s heart tightened in her chest at the thought of the woman she would never see again.

“Are you Dagrun?” Selia whispered.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to come to you in such a manner. We didn’t know what else to do.”

Dagrun nodded. “I understand. Ingrid told us what my brother did. I will help you and your children any way I can.”

Selia released a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

The first obstacle was crossed; Dagrun would allow them to stay. The knot of anxiety in Selia’s belly began to ease somewhat.

“Would you and the children like something to eat? Or would you prefer a bath first?”

The boys perked up immediately at the mention of food. Selia felt nearly faint with hunger, but a hot bath was the most wonderful suggestion she had heard in quite some time.

“I would like a bath, if it isn’t too much trouble,” she said quietly.

Dagrun smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. Alrik’s sister was beautiful even with the imperfection, but Dagrun closed her mouth quickly and turned toward the back of the house where a few thralls stood in the shadows. “Draw a hot bath, and bring clean clothes for them all. And food, plenty of food.”

The thralls scurried off, and Dagrun motioned for the three children behind her to step forward. The girl and one of the boys resembled her in coloring and build. The girl appeared to be about ten summers; the boy younger. The oldest boy had white-blond hair and a sharper bone structure, and seemed to be around twelve. “These are my children, Jora and Bjarni.” She indicated the blond boy. “Valdrik Haraldson is my husband’s nephew.”

Selia flushed at the expression of shock she saw in the children’s faces as they stared openly at the group of dirty strangers standing in their home. The girl, Jora, seemed scandalized at the sight of Selia’s legs. She looked away briefly, then turned back to gape again.

Selia was acutely aware of the impropriety of her clothing. The thrall’s tunic left her legs bare from the knee down. Somehow the disguise hadn’t seemed nearly as awful until just now. She felt dirty, ugly, and exposed. Shifting uncomfortably, she pulled Ulfrik’s cloak tight to cover her shame. Yet as soon as she walked, her legs would show again.

“These are my sons, Geirr and Faolan.” Selia waved her hand to encompass the children. “Eydis is Ingrid’s daughter.”

Where
had
Ingrid gone? To the privy perhaps? Surely not to the bath. Yet the sooner Selia could bathe and change into appropriate clothing, the better. She had no desire to use Ingrid’s tepid bathwater.

Dagrun studied the boys, her eyes resting on Geirr longer than on Faolan. Her gaze flickered toward Ulfrik for a moment where he stood behind Selia.

“Welcome to our home, children. Jora, show your cousins the house. Stay inside, and keep the shutters closed.” Dagrun urged them along, and after a nod from Selia, Eydis and the boys followed the children.

Dagrun regarded Selia for a moment before she spoke. “I’m sorry my brother did this to you. I will help you as much as I am able to. My husband has no love for Alrik, and he will not be happy to hear such trouble has come to his home. He is away but will return soon, I think. Have you anywhere else to go, if . . .?” She trailed off.

If Elfrad Audunarson decided we can’t stay
.

Selia swallowed. “My brother, Ainnileas, lives in Baile Átha Cliath. I must warn him Alrik means him harm. Then, I plan to go to the Icelandic settlement. I have enough silver to start a new life there with the children.” She felt her cheeks heat again at the mention of Ulfrik’s silver.

Ulfrik spoke up from behind her. “Iceland? In the spring?”

“No.” She turned to him. “Now—as soon as I know Ainnileas is safe.”

Ulfrik and Dagrun exchanged a glance. Ulfrik seemed about to speak when one of the thralls entered the room and announced the bath was ready.

Dagrun nodded, then glanced at Selia, scrutinizing her injury. “Your eye looks very painful,” she said. “I can stitch the wound for you after your bath. I’m not sure if it will heal cleanly, though. When did this happen?”

“I am not sure,” Selia hedged.

Dagrun’s expression relaxed. “So my brother did not do this?”

“No one did it. I fell.” Selia stared at the floor as she lied.

“But Alrik put that collar on your neck?”

“Yes.” The cumbersome metal slid on her neck as she nodded. “He thought to keep me from leaving him.”

The shame of it all was just too much, to be standing here in front of Alrik’s brother and sister, wearing a slave collar and dressed in rags, hair shorn to the scalp. Asking for help like a beggar. She wanted to sink into the floor.

Ulfrik leaned close to examine the collar, and Selia shrank from his touch. How must she appear to him? The woman he had expressed his undying love for was gone. In her place stood a dirty thrall, face disfigured, hair clipped to the scalp.

How disappointed he must be.

“I will send for a blacksmith to have this removed,” Ulfrik assured, dropping his hand to his side. “Bathe now, and eat. Then we will speak further.”

Selia stayed in the bath until the water grew cold. She soaped up three times, scrubbing the filth from her hair and skin. The soap stung the numerous scrapes and abrasions on her body from her struggle with Einarr and her flight through the forest afterwards.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a female voice. “Mistress, I have a clean gown for you. Would you like me to bring it in?”

Mistress
. It had been quite some time since anyone had called her that.

“Yes, please,” Selia answered. The thrall entered, placing a folded parcel of clothing on the bench next to the wooden tub. “Thank you.” Selia spoke to the woman’s downcast face.

The slave nodded and hurried out. Selia dried herself, hating the bristly feel of her hair as she toweled it. How long would it take to grow back? Or at least cover the awful dent in her skull?

The gown was a deep red shade, with a matching apron dress. It was a bit snug in the bust, but loose in the waist. A child’s gown, cut for freedom of movement rather than alluring appearance. It must belong to Jora, Dagrun’s daughter. The shoes, most likely Jora’s as well, were too big, but Selia would have gratefully worn Ulfrik’s enormous boots if it meant she didn’t have to go barefoot any longer. Dagrun had also thoughtfully provided a wrap for her head, somehow understanding not only Selia’s need to hide the shame of her shorn hair but to keep her exposed skin warm, too.

Clean and comfortable at last, Selia entered the main room where Dagrun and the children were seated at the long table. Platters of food lined the wooden planks; bread, cheeses, meat and sausages. Dagrun’s children ate slowly, watching the strangers with fascination.

The boys and Eydis had shoveled food onto their platters and now ate like hungry animals, hunched over, stuffing their mouths as if afraid someone would come and snatch the repast away. Geirr paused for a moment to gulp from the cup of ale in front of him, spilling some down his shirt in his haste.

Selia was mortified. “I apologize for their lack of manners,” she said to Ulfrik’s sister. “It has been some time since they have had anything other than berries and fish.”

Dagrun gave Selia a kind smile. “No need to apologize. Sit, and eat your fill. I told the children to go ahead, but I wanted to wait for you.”

Indeed, the woman’s platter was untouched. Selia’s cheeks heated once again. She shouldn’t have stayed in the bath so long and made Dagrun wait.

She eyed the food, suddenly dizzy with hunger, and chose a hunk of succulent-looking sausage, dripping with fat and juices, as one of the thralls brought her a cup of ale.

Selia bit into the sausage and the familiar taste flooded her mouth. This had been her father’s favorite meal; the very item Selia had bought in Dubhlinn when she first met Alrik. How appropriate that it would be her first meal back on Irish soil. She found herself blinking tears away as she chewed.

Dadai
.

Dagrun was watching her. “You are very comely, Selia. As are your children. Your son Faolan favors you with his dark coloring. Geirr, though, looks like his father.”

Selia swallowed her mouthful, pushing aside her sad memories to nod in agreement. “Like his father or his uncle. They look so similar.”

Dagrun reddened and turned away, calling for the servant to bring more bread.

Selia reached for another chunk of sausage. Why did the woman seem so abruptly out of sorts? Had something upset her?

Perhaps, as she stated earlier, Dagrun worried about the reaction of her husband. Or perhaps Ingrid had told her aunt some lie about Selia. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time her stepdaughter had disparaged her good name.