Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (18 page)

Chapter 29

The late afternoon sun was warm, but Selia shivered with dread as the wagon pulled up to Osgar’s modest house and blacksmith stable. But Selia’s gaze traveled past it, to what was left of the house beyond. Her mind struggled to comprehend how a few pieces of charred wood and blackened rocks in a roughly circular shape could be all that remained of the house she and Ainnileas had grown up in.

A soft cry escaped her lips as she reached for her brother’s arm. “What happened?”

His expression hardened as he eyed the burnt remains of their childhood home. “Alrik did it. A year ago.”

Selia gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It would have worried you needlessly.”

The danger of the situation was hard to ignore. Back on Irish soil with her infant daughter in tow, they must at all costs remain hidden from not only Gunnar and Alrik but anyone being paid to spy for them. Selia wanted nothing more but to go back the way they came.

“How do you know it was Alrik?”

“Because he terrorized our mother and Osgar first, demanding to know where you were.”

The shiver of fear turned into an uncontrollable shaking that threatened to overpower her. Selia tried to push it away, but was helpless against the slow swoon of fog settling over her mind.

A moment later she opened her eyes to find Ulfrik standing next to the wagon, his concerned voice calling her back. Deirdre was crying, no longer in Selia’s arms. She turned to find Bahati holding her daughter as the child fussed.

She shook her head to clear it, peering around cautiously. No birds. No strange halo of light. It had been a very long time since her last true spell. She hadn’t had one since Deirdre had been born. Yet she continued to be plagued by her staring spells, and they were lasting longer now. At least the reassurance of the rope she used to secure Deirdre to her side did much to ease Selia’s mind whenever she awoke from one of these strange, hazy spells.

“Selia,” Ulfrik urged. He reached into the wagon and pulled her toward him so he could whisper in her ear. “There is nothing to fear. Alrik knows there is no love between you and Grainne. He hasn’t a reason to think you would come back here. You’re safe. Deirdre is safe.”

She managed a nod, still feeling a bit unsteady. “I love you, Ulfrik,” she said quietly. “Always remember that.”

“I love you too.” He helped her down from the wagon, then did the same for Bahati. “Now let’s go find out what your mother is so insistent to tell us.”

Ainnileas strode directly to the house, but Selia, Ulfrik, and Bahati entered the blacksmith’s stable first. They needed a place for Bahati to keep Deirdre while Selia was inside with Grainne. No smoke rose from the stable, so it seemed to be unoccupied.

They were correct; the interior was in shadows. Selia unpacked a small bit of cheese and bread to ensure Deirdre remained happy with Bahati for a time, then left the two in the blacksmith’s stable.

Ulfrik reached for her hand as they walked toward the house. His fingers gave hers a reassuring squeeze. “This might be a good thing for you, Selia. To see your mother. I think you want to forgive her as much as she wants to be forgiven.”

She remained silent as Ulfrik gave the door a sharp rap. He released her hand to warmly clasp Naithi’s arm when he opened the door. Selia peered around the two men to see Ainnileas and Osgar sitting across the room, stools pulled up close to where the still figure of Grainne lay on her bench.

Is she dead?
Selia approached tentatively, eyes fixed on Grainne. She certainly looked dead. Painfully thin even when healthy, the wasting sickness had decimated her body. Her grayish skin stretched over fragile bones, the outline of her form under the blanket skeletal. Her hair appeared patchy and thin, her eye sockets deeply sunken.

There was no visible movement of her breath. So, that was it, then. Grainne was dead. They were too late.

Instead of relief, Selia felt an inexplicable wave of regret. She thought of little Deirdre, eating her cheese and bread in the blacksmith’s stable with Bahati. She thought of the child’s lovely baby smell and the soft spring of her curls under Selia’s lips as she bent to kiss her head. She thought of lying in bed with her nursing daughter in the early morning before dawn, Deirdre releasing her breast to break into a smile of heartbreaking sweetness.

Selia burst into tears. Ulfrik was right.
Damn him for always being right.

Grainne’s eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head slowly in Selia’s direction. Osgar jumped up to fetch Selia, leading her to the stool he’d been occupying. Selia sat, wiping at her cheeks, as Osgar leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“She hasn’t opened her eyes since your brother left yesterday. She’s been waiting for you.”

Selia stared down at the woman in the bed. Her mother. Without conscious thought, she picked up one of Grainne’s claw-like hands and held it carefully.

“I’m sorry, Grainne. I’m sorry for whatever it was I did to make you hate me.”

Grainne drew in a rattling breath, brown eyes fixed on her intently. “Your father has been visiting me.” The act of speaking seemed difficult for her, and she took another breath before going on. “He is unhappy with how I’ve blamed you for his death.”

Selia stared, confused. Her dead father had been visiting her mother? How was she expected to respond to that?

Grainne rasped, “You were too small to live. Faolan took you to a witch.”

Selia nodded. She’d heard this story from Aslaug at Ketill’s farmstead. “I know that. What did the spell do to me?”

“It kept you alive. It made you strong. You pull vigor from others to keep yourself so, even now. Only a little from each one.” Grainne paused, breathing hard. “But from a berserker you can pull more. He feeds you. You draw strength from him like mother’s milk.”

Grainne closed her eyes as if too exhausted to continue. If it weren’t for the slow rise and fall of her chest, she would appear dead.

Selia’s mind reeled. No . . . it wasn’t possible.
Was it?

If what her mother said was true, she’d inadvertently compelled Alrik to come to her as a child. Her father
was
dead because of her. And against all odds, she’d drawn Alrik back to her as an adult.

Selia had always felt as if there was something wrong with her. Perhaps Grainne had been correct all along.

An awful thought hit her like a physical blow. Did she suck strength from Ulfrik? Or from Faolan—her own child?

The bile rose in her throat and Selia reached for the pail beside her mother’s deathbed just in time. She vomited into it, turning away from her brother and Osgar. Without a word, Osgar left briefly, then returned with a cup of cool water. Selia sipped it gratefully.

More in control of herself, Selia shook her mother’s shoulder to rouse her. “Grainne.” The woman opened her eyes. “How do I break the spell?”

Several more breaths rose and fell from Grainne’s lungs before she spoke. “It was
seidr
magic. The witch wove the spell into a piece of cloth smeared with three drops of your father’s blood. Faolan buried the cloth under our hearth. The only way to break the spell is to burn the cloth.”

Alrik had burned Grainne and Faolan’s house down after that long-ago raid. Had the cloth burned as well? Had the spell already been broken?

Would she have been pulled to Alrik if it hadn’t?

The practical side of Selia didn’t fully believe in the power of spells and curses. As she’d grown older, she had realized the base nature of ordinary people presented enough opportunity for wickedness without the need for dark magic. But her mother’s story explained so many things that didn’t make sense otherwise. Selia drew in a deep, shuddering breath, as confused as she’d ever been in her life.

“I did love you, Deirdre.” Grainne’s eyes searched hers. “Very much. I hated when you would speak to Cassan in your devilish tongue, for it was then I remembered the darkness from which your survival depended. But I loved you despite myself. And I still do. You are my daughter.”

Selia averted her gaze, unnerved by her mother’s direct stare as well as feeling disquiet at being called
Deirdre
again. But Grainne gripped her hand with a surprising strength. “I need your forgiveness, child. I need it to be with your father.”

Tears welled in Selia’s eyes at all that had been lost. If she’d died at birth, her father would still be alive. Her mother would have had a happy life, not kept in thrall to Ketill for years as she slowly went mad, plotting her revenge. Alrik’s first wife and two little girls, as well as Ulfrik’s wife and unborn child wouldn’t have died at Grainne’s hand.

And Niall. He would still be alive.

So much death. So much pain. And all because of her.

Overcome, she blotted her damp cheeks, her words forming on a sob. “I forgive you . . . Mother.”

Grainne closed her eyes as a look of relief washed over her gaunt face, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Then she turned, gazing past Selia with a renewed expression of purpose. “Have you brought your Finngall with you?”

“Ulfrik is here, yes.”

“He has the berserker in him as well.”

Selia stiffened, swiping at the last of her tears. “He is a good man. Not like Alrik. He would never hurt anyone.”

“He saved your life from his brother’s sword. Yet killed many others. It is what Finngalls do.”

“He is a Christian now.”

Grainne grimaced. “Christian Finngalls are still Finngalls. He may very well kill me when I tell him what I must.”

Selia’s heart hammered in her chest as she glanced behind her. “There is no need to tell him,” she urged. “You got what you needed from me to be with my father. Ulfrik is better off not knowing.”

“Not knowing what?” Ulfrik’s voice came from behind her, and Selia cringed. The man missed nothing.

Her eyes pleaded silently with Grainne as Ulfrik stepped closer. “Not knowing what?” he repeated.

Grainne leveled her gaze upon him. “I poisoned the cask of ale that killed your wife. It was meant for Alrik Blood Axe, as vengeance for all he had taken from me.”

Selia’s breath came out in a whoosh, feeling as though she’d been punched in the gut. She rose, turning to Ulfrik in a panic. What would he do? Hate her for keeping such a secret from him? Kill Grainne in her death-bed?

She reached for his arm but he snatched it away.

Known for his legendary self-control, Ulfrik looked as close to a berserker rage as she’d ever seen him. His huge body shook with fury as his hand twitched on the hilt of his dagger. Selia heard the audible sound of his teeth grinding.

Ainnileas and Osgar appeared genuinely stunned, glancing back and forth from Grainne, to Selia, to Ulfrik, who fumed at each of the men in turn. Apparently satisfied neither had been aware of Grainne’s treachery, he leveled his gaze upon Selia.

She took a step backward. He looked so much like his brother when he was angry, it was as though Alrik now stood before her. She cast her eyes to the floor.

“You knew this?” he ground out.

“Yes,” she faltered. “I’m so sorry.” She reached for him again but he raised his hand to stop her. Miserably, Selia let her arm fall back to her side.

Ulfrik’s icy blue stare bore into Grainne’s skeletal face. “You had plenty of opportunity to tell me this before now, woman. Is it my forgiveness you desire, then? So you can die in peace?”

“Yes.” Grainne’s weak response rattled in her chest.

It took Ulfrik a long time to answer. “You do not have it,” he vowed. “You will never have it. Die, knowing your soul will never be washed clean.”

Ulfrik turned and stormed from the house.

Chapter 30

Selia chased after him. “Ulfrik! Please, wait!”

He whirled on her. “Get Deirdre and Bahati. Meet me in the wagon.”

Selia stretched out a beseeching hand, her heart breaking. “I wanted to tell you—”

He jerked away as if her touch burned. “You would do well to keep your distance.”

She felt her face crumple. Ulfrik hated her. She made no attempt to hide her tears as she entered the dark confines of the blacksmith stable.

Bahati sat inside, holding the sleeping form of little Deirdre, deep in conversation with Naithi. They both jumped as she entered. Selia stared at them, too upset to care why the two looked so embarrassed.

“We must leave, Bahati. Now.” She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. “Ulfrik knows.”

Naithi rose to his feet when Bahati did. “What does Ulfrik know?” he asked.

“Your father will tell you. Now we must leave.” Selia could bear no more.

They hurried to the wagon where Ulfrik and Ainnileas waited. The women climbed in unassisted, and Ulfrik whipped the horses to a brisk trot. Selia gripped the side of the wagon and cried, as Bahati tried to comfort her.

No one spoke during the trip to the dock. Ulfrik’s anger seemed a physical thing, radiating from him like a wall of fury. Even Ainnileas sat as far from him as he could on the bench of the wagon, almost at risk of falling off.

The sun was setting as Ulfrik reined the horses to a stop. The dock bustled with people finishing up a last transaction before going home for the evening. A man shouted in surprise as the horses got too close to him, and Ulfrik snarled in response. The man took one look at the big, angry Finngall and hurried on his way.

Ulfrik leapt down, breathing hard as if he’d been running instead of the horses. Selia knew from experience with Alrik that it was best not to speak to a Finngall when angered. But she had to try to calm him before they all got on the ship.

She handed Deirdre back to Bahati and went to Ulfrik. “Please talk to me.”

He spun, his face like a thundercloud. “You
knew
, Selia.”

“Yes, I knew. And I kept it from you. The knowledge would have only hurt you. I recall you did the same to me years ago, to protect me from pain.”

“You would throw that back at me?”

“It is the same! I love you, Ulfrik. I would not see you hurt.”

“Do not speak to me of love at the moment, Selia,” he warned.

Their argument was drawing a crowd. Bahati hung back as Deirdre cried in her arms. Ainnileas approached Ulfrik and Selia with caution. “We must depart,” he urged. “We are attracting notice.”

Ulfrik’s mocking laugh rang out as he turned sharply to Ainnileas. His long, gilded hair shook free of his cloak. “My apologies, Ainnileas. It isn’t every day a man learns his first wife was murdered by his second wife’s mother.” He glared viciously at the both of them.

Ainnileas cringed. “I’m taking the women home, Ulfrik. You can stay here and draw a crowd if you like.”

Her brother turned, grasping Selia’s elbow despite her protests. As they moved, Selia caught a familiar face out of the corner of her eye. She stopped in her tracks as a sickening wave of terror swept over her. The man met her gaze, his predatory smile curling over his white teeth.

No!
How could it be?

Einarr was alive. And he was here in Baile Átha Cliath.

The rage had overtaken Ulfrik to the point he was afraid to touch any of them, most of all Selia. His vision had dimmed and his breathing turned to a pant when Grainne had confessed the evil she’d committed. The dark thing inside him clawed to get out, calling for her blood.
Screaming
for it. The darkness wouldn’t be satisfied until Grainne was dead.

He’d barely been able to rein himself back. If he let the darkness overtake him, there was a good possibility he’d kill more than just Grainne. He couldn’t allow himself to hurt anyone he cared about. Ulfrik needed to get them all on Ainnileas’ ship and send them on their way before he snapped and did something he’d never forgive himself for.

It was a relief when Ainnileas moved to take Selia to the ship. Ulfrik didn’t trust himself to touch her. But her sudden stop drew his gaze. He narrowed his eyes, fighting for control. What was wrong with her? Had he frightened her so much she was reluctant to walk past him?

Selia wasn’t looking at him, but at something behind him. Her face blanched, taking on a look of abject terror, as she cowered close to Ainnileas. Almost reflexively she drew her hand near her face, as though to protect herself from a blow.

Time stood still for a moment as Selia’s fingers hovered over the purplish scar on her cheekbone. Understanding flooded his mind. At that moment, he knew with certainty the person who’d hurt Selia was now here in Baile Átha Cliath.

Ulfrik whirled, searching the crowd. His furious gaze landed on the sneering face of his cousin Einarr. The darkness roared in triumph, drowning out the sound of Selia’s scream.

“Ulfrik, no!” Selia cried as Ulfrik rushed at Einarr. She leapt to go after him but Ainnileas snatched her back. Selia tried to pry his hand from her arm.

“Who is that?” Ainnileas demanded.

“It’s Einarr Drengsson,” she hissed frantically. “And he’s not alone. Gunnar’s men will kill Ulfrik!”

Her brother’s face darkened as realization dawned on him. “That man hurt you, didn’t he?”

She gasped, watching Ulfrik attack, unable to respond. The crowd backed away as Ulfrik charged Einarr with his sword drawn. Two Finngalls near Einarr stepped aside, but kept their hands on their own weapons as Einarr drew his sword.

Selia screamed. Ainnileas snapped his arms around her and attempted to drag her bodily to the ship. Selia kicked and flailed. “Let go!”

“We must leave, Selia! Think of your daughter. Ulfrik can take care of himself.”

Selia stilled in her brother’s grasp. She took in the expression of panic on Deirdre’s tearstained face as the child wriggled in Bahati’s arms. Bahati herself looked frightened and confused, her dark eyes darting toward the ship.

Sobbing, Selia allowed Ainnileas to pull her away as Bahati hurried along beside them. She watched the fight over her shoulder, praying for Ulfrik.
Please, God, keep him safe—

The clang of metal reverberated through the docks. Neither Ulfrik nor Einarr had his shield with him, so they fought with both hands on their swords, swinging and cursing like madmen as they tried to kill each other. Selia was only able to catch glimpses of Ulfrik through the melee of people as they hurried toward the ship.

Just as they reached the dock where their vessel was tied, a gasp came from the crowd in unison. The sound made Ainnileas stop, and he and Selia both gasped at the scene below them.

Einarr’s severed head rolled toward a woman who stumbled back from it with a shriek. Einarr’s body lay at Ulfrik’s feet, in a rapidly spreading pool of bright red blood.

Einarr’s two companions leapt toward Ulfrik with weapons drawn. Ulfrik dodged and parried, as agile as a large cat hunting its prey. He somehow managed to know where each man was and anticipate their attack, either blocking the blow or avoiding it.

The easy grace of Ulfrik’s body was eerily familiar to Selia. He moved exactly the way Geirr did when practicing drills.

Ulfrik ducked, dropping nearly to his knees, as one of his opponents swung his sword behind him. Selia cried out in terror, but the blow meant for Ulfrik instead sank into the shoulder of the other man.

The wounded Finngall screamed as the first one gaped at him. Ulfrik jumped up, whirling, and slew the first man without hesitation. The wounded man still had his companion’s sword embedded in his shoulder, and he slipped in the blood with the dead man atop him. Ulfrik leapt upon them, his broad back blocking his motions from Selia, but when he arose again there were two more severed heads on the dock next to that of Einarr.

Ulfrik stood, gripping his bloody sword, as the crowd shrank from him in a hushed silence. He turned and met Selia’s gaze.

She stared at him as the blaze in his eyes faded, the blind fury on his features slowly replaced by dread, as though he realized the enormity of what he’d done.

Now Gunnar would never stop looking for them.

Anguish filled Ulfrik’s eyes.

She broke free of Ainnileas’ grasp and reached her husband’s side as he groaned, “I’m sorry—”

“Shh,” she murmured. “I know.”

He still held his sword at the ready. Selia gripped his forearm with both hands and gently urged it down. “We must leave now. It isn’t safe to stay here.”

Ulfrik turned, his gaze lingering on a Finngall youth who stood staring down at the three dead men. The lad looked up, his handsome face fish-belly white under his dark hair, pale violet eyes stunned and frightened.

A wave of nausea washed over Selia. She recognized the boy from Gunnar’s ship. His son, Leif. The kind lad who’d carved a bird for Eydis.

Ulfrik’s hand twitched on his sword as he stared at the boy. Selia gripped his arm tighter. “He’s only a child,” she cautioned.

Ulfrik drew in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as if to steady himself. He wiped the sword on the leg of his breeches, front and back, then carefully sheathed the weapon. Selia took Ulfrik’s bloody hand and led him to the ship, feeling the gaze of Leif Gunnarson upon them all the while.

They sailed away as the sun slipped over the horizon. Selia pulled Deirdre from Bahati’s arms and sank against the rail of the ship, hugging her daughter tightly. The child had cried so hard she now made small hiccupping sounds as she clung to Selia’s neck. Selia brushed Deirdre’s sweaty curls aside and kissed her hot cheek, damp with tears.

She looked up at Ulfrik, wanting to cry herself. He was streaked with dirt and blood, eyes glazed. She had nearly lost him today. After Grainne’s confession, she’d thought for certain he would leave her. And during the brawl with Einarr, she’d feared he would be killed.

He was alive, thank the saints. Whether he would leave her still remained to be seen.

Leaving the sailing in the hands of his men, Ainnileas approached. He regarded Ulfrik warily, then Selia. “What will we do now?”

She drew in a shaking breath. Ainnileas was departing on a long journey in the next day or so. His visit with Grainne had kept him from leaving when he’d planned, but he couldn’t afford to postpone his trip for much longer. He had the livelihood of his men to think of. If he didn’t set sail soon, many of them would hire on with another ship. No matter how loyal they were to Ainnileas, they must feed their families this winter.

Selia’s mind churned. What if they all went with him? Packed everything up to wander the seas for the summer, returning when it seemed safe. But the reality of being penned up on the ship for several moons, trying to keep Deirdre and the boys occupied, seemed daunting indeed.

Was now the time to leave the island permanently? Go to Iceland as she’d planned all along? Selia’s breath caught in her throat at the thought. She loved their little island, loved the life she’d built with Ulfrik. They’d made a home together, and leaving it all behind seemed almost unimaginable.

“I should have killed the boy,” Ulfrik said suddenly. “Or brought him with us. Now I’ve put everyone in danger.”

Selia shook her head. “If you had done either, we would never be free of Gunnar. He would search for us until his dying breath. You did the right thing, allowing Leif to live.”

Ainnileas blew out a frustrated sigh. “This doesn’t change the fact that I must depart as soon as possible. How can I leave, not knowing you’re safe? Not knowing Eydis is safe?”

Selia noted he didn’t mention Ingrid.

“We will be safe. The forest provides good cover for the house, so even if Gunnar sailed close he wouldn’t know anyone lived on the island. It’s you I’m most worried about, Ainnileas. They will be looking for this ship. You must leave immediately.”

Ainnileas glanced from Selia to Ulfrik. “Is my sister safe with you?” he asked pointedly.

Ulfrik met his gaze. He was starting to seem more like himself now. “You think I would hurt her?”

“I saw how angry you were.”

Ulfrik spoke slowly. “I am very angry she kept the truth from me. But I assure you, she is safe. I will not lose control again.”