Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (4 page)

Chapter 6

Selia gripped the rail of her father’s ship—Ainnileas’ ship, now—as they sailed toward the island which was to be her temporary home. The massive rock emerging from the water looked unwelcoming, the climb to the top perilous.

A cloud passed in front of the sun, darkening the island for a moment, and an unexplainable sense of foreboding enveloped her as she stared at the cliff. A shiver traveled up her spine, causing every hair on her nape to stand at attention.

What is wrong with me?
Selia drew in a deep lungful of the salty sea air to steady herself as she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Ulfrik wouldn’t take them anywhere unsafe; of that she was sure. And although they would be living in a cave, he had assured her they could make the space comfortable. Ulfrik said a priest lived on the island, Father Oengul. So at least the earth would be blessed.

Her children would be safe here, free to exhaust their seemingly endless energy. The time spent with Dagrun hadn’t been easy for them, penned up in the house so soon after their long sea journey. Dagrun had been kind, but Selia knew Alrik’s sister was relieved to see them depart.

The boys and Eydis stood close to Eithne, now; Geirr regaling them all with some boyish story as Eithne beamed at him. The woman had always seemed more a mother to Selia and Ainnileas than a maid, and so the three children were like long-lost grandchildren to her. Selia knew their young hearts ached for Hrefna, as her own did, but at least Eithne could provide a balm for that wound.

The entire contents of Selia’s childhood home was currently packed in the hold of the ship. Knowing Alrik, he was likely to burn the dwelling to the ground if he was unsuccessful in finding Ainnileas. As a precaution, everything her brother owned was coming with them. Ainnileas’ surplus of fabric and trade goods would be housed with his right hand man Ruadhri, who had worked with Niall since he’d been very young. Ruadhri had been Niall’s closest friend, and Ainnileas trusted him completely.

The quantity of household items meant they would want for nothing while staying on the island. Even if they did have to share some of their supplies with its three current inhabitants.

She glanced furtively at Ulfrik and Ainnileas, deep in conversation as they seemed to be so often now. Being near to them both again brought many emotions to the surface. Much had changed in seven years, but their desire to keep Selia away from Alrik permanently had remained constant.

Ainnileas looked so handsome in his fine clothing. His face bronzed from the sun, his teeth sparkling white when he smiled, her brother looked every bit the dashing sea captain; an overconfident boy no longer.

He had been oddly amenable to pulling up roots in Baile Átha Cliath and sailing away to live on a rocky island off the coast of Wales. But as Ulfrik had said, he was on the sea more than on land. And since Ingrid was no easy woman to live with on a daily basis, it could be Ainnileas had realized this arrangement would only be to his benefit.

Truthfully, Selia wasn’t sure what was in her brother’s heart. There had been a time when they knew each other so well they could sense what the other was feeling. This was no longer the case. Selia felt shy and somewhat guarded around Ainnileas now. She would need time to get to know her twin again.

Ulfrik seemed exactly the same as she remembered. It had been a shock, actually, how little he had aged since she’d seen him last. Or perhaps the shock was because he now looked so much younger than Alrik. The two were the same age, but the years of heavy drink had taken their toll on her husband’s handsome features. Selia simply hadn’t realized it until seeing his brother.

The wind caught Ulfrik’s hair and blew it back from his face, and Selia studied him. His expression held excitement, much more animated than she was accustomed to seeing from him. But of course he’d always been at ease with Ainnileas, letting his guard down with her brother as he did with very few others.

In Dagrun’s kitchen, he’d asserted his feelings for her hadn’t changed. Ulfrik still loved her, still wanted to marry her, and was willing to raise the child growing in her belly as his own. Why was that idea so terrifying?

Selia had been prepared to move to Iceland and potentially offer herself to a stranger to keep her family safe. A business arrangement on her part, nothing more. But the thought of such an arrangement with Ulfrik shook her to the very core. She cared for Alrik’s brother, and had no desire to use him. Or hurt him.

Was there more to it than that?

Selia pushed the worrisome thoughts away as the ship rounded the cliff and headed toward the eastern side of Father Oengul’s island. An expanse of beach lay before them, silhouetted by a dense forest rising up behind. Ulfrik had said the three current inhabitants lived atop the cliff, while the cave he meant to utilize was in the forest.

This was it, then; their new home.

One of the sailors gave a shout and several of the others adjusted the sails to slow their approach. The bay wasn’t deep enough for the ship to go any farther; they would have to load the supplies into the small boats and row to shore. The sailors lowered the anchor and began the preparations to disembark.

Selia felt eyes on her and turned to find Ulfrik watching, his blue gaze searching. She could suffer his regard only momentarily, as though he could indeed read her thoughts. She lowered her eyes to the deck, and Ulfrik turned to help Ainnileas and the crew.

Oengul stood on the cliff next to Bahati as the ship approached below. She was angry, and had been so since he’d made the agreement to share the island with the Northman and his family. Converting the foreigner had done nothing to engender Bahati’s trust. She’d had no qualms about telling Oengul he was foolish for believing a Norse dog would honor the bargain that had been struck, simply because he had dipped the man in water.

But inexplicably, Oengul did trust the Northman. Why? The big foreigner had given Oengul no reason to trust him. The man admitted to having been on the raiding party of pirates who’d murdered his brothers. He claimed none of the priests had died by his blade, but Oengul wasn’t certain of this by any means. And the man had been very quick to offer to convert to Christianity in exchange for use of the island.

Perhaps too quick. Heathens had been known to accept baptism in name only when pressured to convert. This was one of the many reasons Oengul thought so highly of Bahati. She could easily have agreed to baptism during the years they’d lived together, but had not; choosing instead to hold fast to her heathen beliefs.

Her stalwart commitment to the religion of her homeland had garnered his respect, even as it saddened him greatly that the woman’s soul would burn for her stubbornness.

Oengul turned to her now, studying her delicate profile. Her brows were drawn together in an expression of extreme dissatisfaction, an expression he knew only too well. What could he say that might ease her mind? There was nothing. After what the Northmen had subjected her to, Oengul’s choice to share the island with one of them must seem an act of unforgiveable betrayal.

She refused to look at him, choosing instead to glower down at the ship. Oengul kept his voice soft. “Come, Bahati. We must greet our guests.”

“Guests,” she sneered. “You invite Norse dogs to our home. You invite them to rape Catrin and kill us all. They are not our
guests
.”

Oengul glanced over his shoulder to where Catrin gathered apples into a woven basket behind them, humming to herself. The little girl was too far away to have heard her mother’s comment.

The breeze caught Catrin’s golden ringlets, and she pushed a lock away from her face as she worked. The child was remarkably beautiful; her bronze skin, blond hair, and honey-colored eyes the striking combination of Bahati’s exotic beauty and whatever Norse pirate had fathered her.

Bahati had been only a few years older than Catrin when she’d been sold to slave traders by her dead father’s wife. The spiteful woman had made sure Bahati, daughter of his most cherished concubine, would pay dearly for the favoritism her husband had shown the child’s mother.

The thought of anyone harming Catrin, or Bahati for that matter, stole Oengul’s breath in a way nothing else ever had. He cared for them more than a priest should. He cared for them as a man would care for his own family. They had been alone on the island for so long, forced into an emotional intimacy that although not immoral, was nevertheless unseemly.

Oengul was a priest. Not an ordinary man. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that.

It was wrong to love them as deeply as he did; only God deserved that level of devotion. God had brought Bahati to Oengul’s island to save his life, of that he had no doubt. But the woman and child deserved a life outside of him.

This was the reason he’d ultimately agreed to allow the Northman to stay. He hoped when Ulfrik Ragnarson left the island with his family, whenever that might be, he would take Bahati and Catrin with them.

“Catrin,” Oengul called now to the child as Bahati grumbled beside him. “Come, and bring the apples.”

The group of three made their way down the forest path, Oengul carrying the basket so Catrin could hold her mother’s hand. The child was as sure-footed as a mountain goat and didn’t require Bahati’s assistance. Rather, she was nervous about meeting the family the Northman was bringing to the island. Ulfrik Ragnarson was the first person the little girl had ever seen outside of her small family group. The thought of yet more people must be overwhelming.

They rounded the path, and Catrin held back a bit as the sound of voices drifted to them. Children’s voices. She drew her breath in and looked up at her mother with uncertainty.

“It is all right, Catrin,” Oengul reassured her after Bahati’s silence. “They are children, just like you. Nothing to be frightened of.”

A large blond boy bounded around the path, reckless as a puppy, and stopped short as he saw them. “Hello,” he said in Irish. He looked the three of them over, an expression of impish curiosity on a face that resembled the big Northman.

Catrin stared up at him for a moment but didn’t return his smile, instead ducking behind her mother’s skirts. Two other children, a tiny slip of a girl and a boy with glittering blue eyes, rounded the path and stood next to the blond youth.

The little girl, a pretty thing with red-gold hair who seemed a year or two older than Catrin despite her diminutive size, approached hesitantly. She laid a hand on Catrin’s shoulder until she looked up. The two girls regarded each other with shy smiles.

There was the sound of a woman’s voice, calling for the children. The owner of the voice rounded the corner and stopped abruptly, just as they had. Oengul gaped at the woman without meaning to.

Barely larger than the children, wearing an ill-fitting red gown, nevertheless the woman had a regal bearing about her. Her simple head covering framed a face of rare beauty, so exquisite she seemed more angel than human. But an angel wouldn’t have a nasty bruise on her face, stitched up beneath one of her silvery eyes.

This was the woman the Northman meant to protect, then.

“Father Oengul?” she asked softly.

“I am.” It seemed odd to hear ‘Father’ before his name again. It had been a long time since anyone had called him that.

The woman’s smile was so lovely Oengul could only gape at her. Celibate by choice even before taking his vows, still he could understand how a woman such as this could reduce a man to a stammering fool. No wonder the Northman had been so quick to renounce his heathen gods.

“Ulfrik told me of your generosity in sharing your island with us. Thank you for allowing us to stay here.” She looked at Bahati in turn. “Thank you,” she said again.

Bahati studied the newcomer thoughtfully, her distrustful expression softening. She stepped closer, touching the woman’s cheek below the stitches, tracing it lightly with her finger. Then whispered to the woman in Norse.

Even if Oengul had spoken the language, which he didn’t, he couldn’t hear what was being said. He could only assume Bahati was asking about the injury to her face.

The woman flushed as she met Bahati’s gaze. They regarded each other for a long while, each wary in her own way, mirroring the other’s sorrow.

Then the woman nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Bahati let a breath out as she turned to Oengul. “They can stay.”

Chapter 7

Selia found the following days an exhausting blur as they settled in. They made the cave as comfortable as possible, with all the trappings of a real house. It seemed strange to see her father’s familiar furniture arranged in the cave; the well-worn table and benches at which they’d eaten every meal during her childhood now the centerpiece of the damp, drafty space. Every time Selia looked at it she felt a pang of longing for Niall.

The boys adapted quickly to their new home, as she’d suspected they would. And Eydis had found a fast friend in Catrin. The two spent nearly every waking moment together—it seemed to matter little to either of them that they spoke different languages.

The four children explored the island for hours at a time, typically accompanied by Ingrid, who was too lazy to help with much other than collect firewood to make it appear she was doing something useful. Selia shook her head at the meager amount of kindling Ingrid and the children brought in after each excursion, but didn’t scold them. It was good to see her boys happy after all they’d been through.

Ulfrik and Ainnileas had worked at the crumbling fortress tower to quickly make it useable as a barn for the livestock, and Selia began to milk every morning with Catrin’s mother, Bahati. She liked the woman and found she looked forward to their mornings together.

Bahati was as unaccustomed to having a female friend to confide in as Selia herself was. She shared that the last friend she’d known had been in her early childhood, a half-sister from another concubine her father kept.

After her father’s death, Bahati had been sold into slavery and taken to a foreign land. There she was bought and horrifically used by vile Finngall pirates, men she called ‘Norse dogs.’ It had been almost a relief when a storm at sea descended upon the longship that was her prison and swept her overboard.

The ship had broken to pieces, and as far as Bahati knew, all the pirates had drowned. Fighting for her life, she’d grabbed hold of a piece of the wreckage and floated for two days before washing ashore on Oengul’s island. She’d unknowingly carried Catrin in her belly. Therefore Oengul had saved two lives the day he’d spotted her body on the beach.

Bahati hated Finngalls, so had very little tolerance for Ulfrik. She would glare at him any time he came near, as if to protect Selia from him. Selia found this ironic as Ulfrik was the kindest Finngall she’d ever known. But nevertheless it was good to have a friend.

Still, Selia couldn’t shake the profound sense of apprehension she felt since they’d been on the island. A strange, prickling feeling, a sense of waiting for some unknown disaster to strike, seemed to haunt her every step. Even as she went through her day, working herself to exhaustion in the hope she would finally be able to sleep, the sense of uneasiness was always there, lurking in the shadows. Waiting to rear up as soon as she was still and quiet with no company other than her thoughts.

Selia couldn’t hide from her own guilt as she lay sleepless on her pallet, night after night. Was it a sign from God that Ulfrik had brought her to an island inhabited by a priest? Was she meant to make peace with the awful things she’d done? Perhaps this darkness in her spirit, this sense of being unsettled, was urging her toward the religion of her upbringing.

Early one crisp autumn morning, Selia made the short trek up the hill to the dwelling shared by Bahati and Father Oengul. She stood hesitantly in front of the door, staring at the weathered wood as she gathered the courage to knock.

Before she’d raised her hand, the priest opened the door, stopping short in surprise. “Oh . . . good morning, Selia. Bahati is already at her chores for the day.”

Selia nodded. “I know. I wanted to speak to you, if I could.”

Oengul raised his eyebrows. “Are you in need of guidance? Or confession?”

“I’m not sure.” Selia darted a look up at him, then glanced away.

The priest hesitated. “I admit it has been some time since I’ve performed my priestly duties. But I’ll do my best. Come in, Selia.” Oengul opened the door wide and Selia stepped within. “Please, sit.”

Selia sat on the edge of the bench he motioned to, silent under his scrutiny. She picked at a loose thread on her gown, yearning for courage.

“I’ve felt uneasy since we came here,” she began quietly. “As if I’ve done something wrong. When we left Norway, when we left my husband, I knew I had no other choice. I had to keep my children safe. But now . . .” She trailed off.

“Now you are having second thoughts?” Father Oengul prodded.

“No. My children are safe and happy. That is all that matters.”

“If that was all that mattered, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now, I think.”

How to explain that even though she knew she’d done the right thing by leaving Alrik, there was still a part of her, missing him? Worried about him. What did that reveal about her own character—what darkness must reside inside her to still care for such a man?

“There is an emptiness in my soul,” she whispered. ”It frightens me.”

The father was thoughtful. “It could be that you lived with the heathens for so long your soul was tainted by them. It has been known to happen when followers of Christ live amongst non-believers.”

Selia pondered his words. Could that be the problem? Somehow it seemed like more. Alrik had awakened something in her, yes, but she sensed what he’d stirred had always been there. Her need for whatever dwelled inside him had pulled her in, and she’d gone willingly. If her soul was indeed tainted, it was from her own choices.

Her mother had told her there was some evil inside her. Had she been right after all?

Selia sighed. It had been a mistake to come to Father Oengul for assistance. There was nothing he could do. But she nodded as though accepting his suggestion that living with the Finngalls had brought this shadow upon her.

“I will say a blessing over you, my child. That should ease your troubles.”

She bowed her head as he spoke the Latin words and made the sign of the cross over her.

“Thank you,” Selia whispered, wanting desperately for the blessing to cleanse her soul. She crossed herself, then hurried from the dwelling.

“Selia,” Ainnileas called to her with a wave. There had been a leak in the roof they’d hastily constructed on the makeshift barn, and he’d left early to fix it this morning. He smiled, his handsome face lighting up as it had when they’d been children, but his smile faded as he drew closer.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m just on my way to do the milking.”

“You know you can’t hide anything from me. Walk with me, Selia. The milking can wait for a moment.”

Selia followed him toward the cliff. They got as close to the edge as they dared, then sat down. The morning sun glinted off the water below, and Selia watched the gulls peck for food in the sand.

“I hate to see you so melancholy, sister. Do you still pine for Alrik?”

“No.”

“Then what troubles you?”

“I don’t know, Ainnileas. I wish I did. It’s as though I’m screaming inside and I don’t know why.”

He turned, studying her face. “You’ve spoken with the priest?”

So he’d seen her come from the tower dwelling. “Yes. But it didn’t help.” She hesitated before continuing. “Grainne said there was some evil inside me. Perhaps she spoke the truth.”

“Our mother’s mind is very fragile, Selia. She’s said many things that aren’t true.”

“Do you still see her often, then?”

Ainnileas frowned. “She married Osgar a year after we returned to Ireland. They were both lonely and it seemed a good match. I hoped that would help her . . . hoped it would give Mother something else to focus on. But she still felt compelled to visit every day I was home. And pester Eithne to her wits’ end when I was not. I thought about moving away to Dubhlinn many times, let me assure you.”

Osgar the blacksmith had been Niall’s nearest neighbor. Poor Ainnileas, hounded by Grainne, unable to escape her cloying presence unless he was on the sea.

Selia gave him a small smile. “No wonder you were so quick to come with us to the island. And here I thought you missed me, Ainnileas.”

He curved his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. “I did miss you. But I admit the chance to escape our mother was very appealing.”

Selia settled into the crook of her brother’s arm. His heart beat a steady rhythm that matched her own. How she had missed her twin, and the closeness they’d always shared.

“You seem happy with Ingrid. I’m glad for that. I was afraid we’d come to Ireland only to find you married with a half dozen children.”

“A half dozen? Is that all?”

“Or a half dozen wives. One at every port.”

“You wound me, Selia,” Ainnileas laughed.

She shifted to look up at him. “So why aren’t you married, Ainnileas? You seem to be doing very well for yourself. I would think the merchants of Baile Átha Cliath would be eager to make a match with you and one of their daughters.”

He shrugged. “They all seemed dull after Ingrid, I suppose.”

Selia pondered this. As odd as it seemed for her brother to care for Alrik’s shrew of a daughter, Ainnileas’ feelings appeared genuine.

“Ingrid loves you, you know. She gave up her life in Norway just for the chance to see you again. Don’t hurt her, Ainnileas.”

Her brother met her gaze. “I thought you two hated each other.”

“I don’t hate Ingrid. I don’t particularly
like
her, but I don’t hate her. She’s much easier to live with when she’s happy. And you make her happy.”

“She makes me happy as well. Don’t worry, I have no plans to hurt her.” He looked out to sea thoughtfully, then turned to her again. “And what about you, Selia? Will you make Ulfrik happy or will you let him suffer?”

“Suffer?” Selia echoed. She pulled away, adjusting her cloak around her shoulders so she wouldn’t have to look at her brother.

“Yes,
suffer
. He’s a good man, sister. And he’s been pining for you for years. Why do you spurn him? You could do a lot worse than Ulfrik Ragnarson.”

“I’m still married to his brother.”

Was she, in fact, still married to Alrik? She was by no means certain. Her declaration of divorce had been witnessed by Ingrid and the children. In the world of the Finngalls, that was enough to end a marriage.

Her brother shook his head. “You were married to a heathen. You know as well as I do that marriage wasn’t legitimate.”

“Why are you so anxious to marry me off? Are you in need of silver? I doubt Ulfrik would give you another bride price,” she said in an attempt at levity.

“You wound me again, sister. I only wish to see you happy. I think you could be very happy with Ulfrik, if you would stop brooding over his bastard of a brother.”

Selia rose, brushing the dirt from her gown. This conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn very quickly. “Well. I’ve sat here idle long enough. I must go help Bahati with the milking. I’ll see you back at the cave, Ainnileas.”