Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (10 page)

Chapter 17

Selia shivered against the chill in the air as she sewed next to the fire pit. She stopped to add a few more logs to the dying embers, needing the light as much as she did the warmth. She was nearly finished with her project and wanted to make sure the decorative stitches were perfect.

The babe inside her kicked, a tiny, fluttering movement so faint she might not have recognized it if she hadn’t remembered the same movement with Faolan. Selia stopped, cupping the small swell of her belly.

Eithne turned to her. “The quickening?”

“Yes.” Selia nodded, smiling faintly.

“Well. They’d better finish with that house, then.” Eithne frowned. “Unless they want the child born in a cave like an animal.”

Winter had arrived. While not nearly as severe as the winters had been in Norway, still the cave was cold and damp. The thought of Selia giving birth in its drafty confines, in addition to the difficulties of keeping a newborn babe warm and snug afterward, seemed to worry the woman to no end.

Ignoring Eithne, she finished the final stitches and examined them closely. She smiled in satisfaction—they were perfect. Selia looked up to see Eithne watching her.

“Be careful, my girl,” the woman said softly.

Selia tried to keep her face impassive as she met Eithne’s shrewd gaze. “Careful of what?”

“Don’t get impertinent with me. You know my meaning.”

“I have done nothing wrong.” Selia flushed at her reproachful tone. She wasn’t a child any longer, yet Eithne still felt the need to correct her as though she were.

The children ran in, laughing and shoving at each other as they raced to be first to the fire. Their faces were flushed from the cold as they held their hands out to its warmth.

Eithne rose quickly to scold them. “Look at you! Red ears and fingers, all. When will you learn?”

She poured ale into a pot to heat it for them, adding a large measure of water. Eithne had been shocked that the boys and Eydis were accustomed to drinking strong ale in Norway. She insisted on watering it down despite their objections, and regardless of Selia’s explanation that this was the way all Finngalls drank their ale, adults and children alike.

Taking advantage of Eithne’s present distraction, Selia quickly folded up the sewing project. “Warm yourselves,” she told the children. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

She slipped from the cave, feeling Eithne’s disapproving eyes on her back.

Selia made her way down the path to the clearing. The sun would set soon, and she knew Ulfrik and Ainnileas would work until it was too dark to see. She hadn’t come down this way often since they had begun building. If they wanted her opinion on the house they could have asked for it, and since they hadn’t, she initially avoided the project to show her displeasure in not being included.

She stopped as she approached the log structure, gaping up at it. They’d made incredible progress since the last time she’d been here. The house was a simple, large rectangle, consisting of logs stacked atop each other like the longhouses in Norway, but high enough to include a sleeping loft on each short side.

Selia stepped through the opening, which still lacked a door. She looked up to see Ulfrik working in one of the lofts, his broad back to her, muscling something into place. Ainnileas was nowhere in sight. Ulfrik had taken only a few days off to allow his wound to heal, and since then he and Ainnileas had been working from dawn to dusk to make up for lost time.

She hesitated. She hadn’t anticipated being completely alone with Ulfrik. Ainnileas had probably run off to rut with Ingrid, as usual. But leaving a man with a recent wound to fend for himself? Even for her brother, this seemed uncharacteristically selfish.

As she wavered, Ulfrik turned, stopping as he saw her below. “Selia,” he smiled.

“Where is Ainnileas?”

“He took a stroll with Ingrid.” At her muttered curse, Ulfrik laughed. “I told him to go. I feel fine.”

The sight of his handsome face lit up in a smile was too much. She looked away. “I brought you something. But if you’re busy I can give it to you tomorrow.”

“No. I was just finishing for the night.” He descended the ladder and stood a bit away from her. “I wondered when you would come see the house.”

“It is larger than I thought it would be.”

Ulfrik took a step closer and she peered up at him. She always forgot how big he was until he stood next to her. He loomed now, all broad shoulders and tousled blond hair, nearly as massive as his brother. Being so close to him gave her an odd feeling in her chest, making it difficult to draw in a deep breath.

As though sensing her discomfort, he stepped back again. “This will be the main room, with a hearth along the wall. And there will be two bedchambers under each loft.”

“Bedchambers?” she echoed. Never had she imagined the dwelling would be so extravagant. She’d assumed it would be more like Ulfrik’s home in Norway, one long room with benches for beds. Nothing like this.

“Yes.”

He’d built her a house, a beautiful, luxurious home, even though she’d made it clear at the beginning she planned to leave at some point. It was only when she’d agreed to tell Geirr of his true parentage that she’d chosen to stay, long after Ulfrik had started building the house. Selia felt a bit ill at the thought of him putting so much effort into something he hadn’t even been sure she’d appreciate.

He studied her, astute as always. “Don’t feel bad, Selia. I needed a project to keep my mind occupied. I reasoned we could give the house to Oengul if you decided not to stay.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Come, let me show you something.” He beckoned. “Tell me if it’s what you wanted.”

Selia followed Ulfrik toward the back of the dwelling, toward another open doorway. But he turned into one of the half-finished rooms under the loft he had been working on, stopping near the exterior wall.

Against the horizontal logs of the wall was an area where vertical planks of wood had been hung. Ulfrik unlatched the planks, swinging them open to reveal a hole cut into the side of the house.

“
Oh
,” Selia gasped, staring at the beach below. A window. Ulfrik had made her a window, just as she’d teased him about. It appeared to be the only one in the dwelling.

He smiled at her reaction. “This will be your bedchamber.”

Selia tried to blink back the moisture that sprang to her eyes. She turned from him, fighting for control over her emotions.

Ulfrik’s voice came from behind her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She swiped at her tears, unable to speak. She felt him move closer, and looked back to find him sitting on the ledge of the window. They were nearly face to face.

“Do you like the house?” His voice was soft.

“Yes.”

He reached for her cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. His touch was as raspy as the wood he’d been working on, making her shiver. Ulfrik let his hand drop to his side but continued to meet her eyes frankly.

Selia looked at him, truly looked at him as she’d rarely allowed herself to. His handsome face was flushed, full mouth slightly parted, blue gaze penetrating. He swept back a lock of hair with one large hand, making the fabric of his shirt tighten over his muscular frame with the movement.

Oh
. Eithne had been right. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here. Being alone with Ulfrik made it very hard to think clearly.

“I should leave,” Selia whispered.

Ulfrik caught her wrist as she turned. His touch felt like a hot brand on her skin, causing a clench in her belly and setting her thoughts into a swirl. “You said you had something for me?”

Selia looked dumbly down at the parcel she carried. Yes, this had been the reason she’d come. She had made him a present. Silently she handed it to him.

He shook it out, revealing the new shirt. It was in the Irish style, looser than the Finngalls wore. The dark gray wool was heavy, woven tightly on the Norse loom he’d bought her. Selia had embroidered the tunic with a pattern of intricate, interlocking knots in shades of blue and silver.

An Irish pattern, woven with a Norse loom. It seemed a fitting symbol for how she felt about this man. The shirt was the best needlework she’d ever done, boasting nearly as much embroidery as it did cloth.

Ulfrik’s fingers moved over the elaborate stitches as though caressing a lover’s flesh. He tore his gaze from it to stare at her. “Selia . . .” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

By his expression, it was obvious he knew what it meant for a woman to make clothing for a man. It was the reason Hrefna hadn’t allowed her to make him an outfit so many years ago, before Selia understood the Finngall superstition of a woman binding a man to her with her stitches. To do so would claim him as her own.

Selia spoke hesitantly, feeling very unsure of herself. “I made it for you to wear to Dubhlinn. You look like such a Finngall in that.” She waved her hand to indicate his current clothing. “I thought you would be less conspicuous dressed as an Irishman.”

This was a feeble excuse, and by the look on Ulfrik’s face he suspected as such. He was a head taller than any Irishman, with strong Nordic features and hair so pale it sometimes glinted white in the sun. An Irish outfit would fool no one.

“This will make me look like an Irishman?” His voice was light, teasing.

Selia fumbled in the pouch at her belt and pulled out a length of leather cording. “Almost. You’ll have to tie your hair back or everyone will know you’re a Finngall.”

Ulfrik smiled. He shifted on the windowsill so his broad back faced her. “Show me.”

Drawing in a breath to brace herself, she stepped closer. Selia combed his hair with her fingers, pulling it tight at his nape. The strands were soft, silky to the touch, making it very difficult to concentrate. She caught his scent, warm, clean, yet musky with desire, and struggled to tie the leather cord with shaking hands.

Ulfrik turned back, reaching for her before she could step away. “How does it look?” His teasing manner gone, his voice now sounded hoarse with restraint.

Her face was inches from his. Selia’s heart thumped in her chest so hard she feared Ulfrik could hear it.

She wanted him badly, needed him to fill the emptiness inside her. Her body cried out for his touch. She felt as though she might shatter with longing, or splinter with the guilt of allowing herself to commit what Eithne had insisted was a sin.

Selia couldn’t halt the words that sprang from her lips. “It looks beautiful,” she whispered, gazing directly into his eyes. Ulfrik swallowed visibly, and Selia forced her brain to function enough to add, “I’m sorry for what I said to you that day, Ulfrik.” She lowered her eyes to the floor. “I told you I could never love you, but I wasn’t being honest. I was afraid . . . afraid of losing myself again. I thought there would be nothing left of me if I let myself love you.”

“You know I would die before I would hurt you, Selia.”

Didn’t he realize the obvious? He could hurt her more profoundly than his brother had, just by being the man he was. Ulfrik was as deep and as unfathomable as the sea. Selia suspected if she permitted herself to plumb the depths of his soul, she might never return. To love him, to give herself over to him completely, could very well bring about her destruction.

He pulled her close and she didn’t resist. He slanted his warm mouth over hers, lips seeking, questioning, yet still gentle. How could such a large man be so gentle? Ulfrik’s body was thick and solid, tight with muscle. So like Alrik’s in many ways, yet he held her as though he feared to crush her.

She melted into him and the kiss deepened, bringing something to life inside her she thought long dead. The flames of desire scorched hot and quick through her core as his arms drew her in tighter, his tongue seeking hers.

Ulfrik groaned, his kisses becoming more desperate, more possessive. She felt as though he burned her everywhere his skin touched hers. He broke away from her mouth to seek her throat, sending another aching rush of desire through her body as the heat from his mouth drew her closer.

“I need you,” he whispered hoarsely, tugging her head back gently to make her look at him. “If you don’t stop me now I won’t be able to.”

She stared at him, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. Allowing her hand to press between his legs, Selia felt the painful evidence of his desire.

He needed her.

She needed him too
. Now.
Before she could change her mind, Selia began fumbling with the laces of his breeches.

There was a wild flicker in Ulfrik’s eyes and a rumbling sound from deep in his throat, as though he tried to control himself and was losing the battle. He rose just enough to push his breeches down over his hips, then pulled her bodily into his lap so she straddled him. She felt his hand under her gown, the roughness of his skin belying the gentleness of his fingers as he stroked her flesh. She cried out, pressing herself against his palm, feeling as though she might die if he didn’t take her.

He paused, and Selia opened her eyes. He gazed at her with an expression filled with both lust and adoration, pulling her in with his love like an undertow pulled a sinking swimmer.

She would drown in it; drown in him. But Selia didn’t care.

Grasping her hips, Ulfrik pierced her slowly, until he filled her completely. It had been a long time, and her body stretched to accommodate him. She nearly sobbed at the heady sensation, gripping his shoulders, and as he began to move beneath her she met him thrust for thrust.

His fingers dug into her flesh as she rode him harder. Selia again saw the feral glimmer in his eyes, raw and fierce, and it sent a shock of recognition through her body as he drove into her.

A roaring sound in her ears preceded a rush of energy that coursed through her veins. Then a sensation of shattering, of mingling for a brief moment, as though her very soul became entangled with his. She gasped with the exquisite beauty, the torturous pain of it, as Ulfrik compelled her to be one with him.