Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (12 page)

Selia blinked at the girl who stood in front of her. Ingrid was taller than most of the full grown Finngall woman she had seen so far in Norway. The top of Selia’s head didn’t even reach the girl's chin. Alrik’s daughter stood with an arrogance that Selia hadn’t seen in any other woman but Gudrun.

And like her Aunt Gudrun, Ingrid had quite an impressive bustline.

But Ingrid's face was the very picture of her father; fierce blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, full mouth. Her hair was the same silvery blond shade as Alrik's-although it hung in a disheveled mess, whereas Alrik was very particular about his hair.

Selia stared as the girl drew herself up, crossed her arms, and looked down her nose in an expression of superiority. She was a perfect female version of Alrik Ragnarson. It was uncanny.

But Ingrid's beauty was marred by a deep, scowling glare. "I
said
, who is this?"

Alrik stepped forward and gave his daughter a scowl that mirrored her own. "Watch your tongue, child. This is my wife."

Ingrid turned her unholy gaze back to Selia with the same restless energy that seemed to dwell in Alrik. The girl looked as though she were about to strike. Selia forced her shoulders back and tilted her head to look Ingrid in the eye. She must not let her think she could be intimidated.

A muscle twitched in Ingrid's jaw as they stared at each other. Finally, she spat at Selia's feet, then ran back toward the village. A collective sigh went through the group on the dock.

"That went better than I expected," Olaf chuckled.

Alrik's face hardened. He moved to go after Ingrid, but Hrefna stopped him. "Let her be, my boy," she whispered. "It's a bit of a shock for her-she'll come around soon enough."

Linking her arm with Selia's, she called back over her shoulder to the men. "The thralls can handle unloading the ship. Come to your supper." She headed toward the village without waiting for a reply.

Selia liked the woman more and more by the minute, and her earlier nausea began to subside. Maybe Ulfrik had been right, at least about Hrefna. "Which one belongs to Alrik?" she whispered, motioning to the group of buildings in the distance.

Hrefna regarded her with surprise. "Why my dear, they all do."

Chapter 15

They made their way toward the largest of the buildings on the farmstead-a massive, windowless longhouse with two plumes of smoke rising up from the roof. The house appeared to have been dug into the ground several feet, made of solid logs stacked one atop the other. The simple design consisted of one large rectangle with several smaller rectangles jutting out from the longer, non-gabled sides. They headed toward the carved wooden door.

Selia's heart hammered in her chest. Alrik’s house was huge; large enough to fit several of Niall's houses inside. And there were other buildings everywhere. Some appeared to be barns, and others were much smaller versions of the longhouse. It was anyone's guess as to their purpose. But it all belonged to Alrik, and now she was mistress of this farmstead.

How long it would take these Finngalls to realize she had absolutely no idea what she was doing?

They stopped several feet in front of the door, then Hrefna turned to wait for the men to catch up. "Alrik will want to walk you through," the woman explained, as though Selia was supposed to understand what she was talking about.

Selia smiled and nodded. Doubtless she would be doing quite a bit of that until she learned what was expected of her in this new land.

She watched the men approach. The sun glinted off the pale hair of Alrik and Ulfrik, as well as from Olaf's bald pate. Alrik appeared more relaxed than he had all day-he must be glad to be home. He had barely spoken to her after the events of the previous night, but now he met her gaze and smiled.

Was she forgiven, then? Selia's heart swelled in her chest as she returned his smile.

Alrik passed the women to open the door. He stepped inside the house, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the lintel, and turned to Selia with his hand extended. "Welcome, my little wife."

As she reached for his hand, Selia saw something rushing toward her from the corner of her eye.
Ingrid
. The girl looked deranged, fully capable of committing murder. Selia screamed and turned to run, but before she had taken a step she was pulled off her feet from behind in a grasp so strong it expelled the air from her lungs.

Ulfrik kept one arm around her and held the other out to block the impact. Ingrid ran straight into his hand, bouncing backward into the dirt.

Alrik leapt from the doorway, grabbing his daughter by the hair, and yanked Ingrid into the house. Ulfrik didn’t release Selia until the door slammed shut on her attacker.

She winced, but refrained from rubbing her bruised ribs.

Through the thick walls of the house, she heard Alrik and Ingrid screaming at each other, along with a range of thuds and smacking sounds. Olaf and Hrefna exchanged embarrassed glances but didn't look at Selia.

As a horrible wail emerged from the house, she moved a step closer to Ulfrik. "Alrik is going to kill her," she whispered.

Ulfrik did not deny this possibility. "Ingrid is too old to be acting like a spoiled child. I don't know if she was trying to hurt you, or just end your marriage. You never know with her."

"End my marriage?"

"It's a bad omen if a wife stumbles over the threshold the first time she enters her husband's house."

Selia's breath caught in her throat. "Did I stumble?"

"No."

The door flew open. Alrik came out, dragging his daughter behind him. Her hair was even wilder than before, and there was a clear outline of a handprint on her tearstained face. Yet her eyes were still defiant as her father pulled her in front of Selia.

Ingrid’s lips curled into a sneer as she spoke. "I apologize for my behavior, Stepmother. Welcome to our home."

Selia eyed the girl. That apology wasn't fooling anyone. "Thank you, Ingrid."

Alrik gave his daughter a dismissive shove, and she slunk off toward the woods. Selia could tell he was furious, nearly to his breaking point. Maybe he would decide to finish this Finngall threshold ritual later, after he had calmed.

But he took Selia by the shoulder, wrapping his other hand around her upper arm like a vise, and practically lifted her as he steered her through the doorway and into the house.

Selia didn't stumble. She smiled hesitantly up at Alrik, but he was too angry to notice. He muttered something about chopping wood as he pushed past Ulfrik, Olaf, and Hrefna to get outside.

She started to go after him, but Hrefna hurried over to stop her. "We'll just give him a moment, my dear. How about if I show you the house?"

Selia tore her eyes from Alrik's retreating back and followed the woman.

The longhouse was even larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, if that were possible. The cavernous main room was divided into sections, with several looms set up to the right, a massive hearth in the middle, and a dozen long wooden tables pushed against the walls to the left. Being partially underground, the house was as cool as a root cellar except for the area directly next to the hearth.

All around the room were spacious sleeping benches built into the walls, with curtains on either side of each bench that could be pulled closed for privacy. The room was lit by rows of torches as well as the large hearth. Since there were no windows in the house, the only fresh air came from two holes in the gabled ends of the roof, from which twin streams of pale daylight cut their way through the smoke.

Selia politely choked back a cough.

She followed the echo of Hrefna's voice as the woman led her through the rest of the house. There were three rooms attached to the back of the main room. A kitchen to the right boasted another smoky hearth as well as a door to the outside, then Hrefna and Olaf's bedroom to the left, and Alrik's bedroom in the middle.

Selia hid her surprise at the realization this house had private bedrooms. Even those of relative wealth in Ireland had bed closets only, not an actual room with no other purpose than sleeping. Alrik's massive bed frame was intricately carved with snakes, dragons and other fearsome beasts. It was piled high with furs and fine wool bedding, with a mattress so level and thick she suspected it was stuffed with feathers instead of straw. She would examine more closely later, when Hrefna wasn't watching her.

The only other furniture in the room was a table and two chairs in the corner, and several chests of various sizes. At the foot of the bed was a hide that had once belonged to a gigantic white animal. The deadly black claws were still attached to the fur.

She followed Alrik’s aunt back to the kitchen. A slave was stirring a large pot of stew, and Hrefna waved the girl aside to taste it. Selia studied her. "How many people live here?" she asked.

Hrefna turned to her. "You mean, in this house?"

"Yes."

"Well, Alrik and Ingrid, Olaf and me, and Ulfrik, whenever the mood strikes him. And now you." Hrefna smiled.

It seemed strange to have a house this large with so few people residing in it. "What about the other people?" Selia motioned to the outside.

"The thralls? Most of them stay in the slave quarters. The other buildings you saw are the barns, the dairy, the smokehouse, and the bathhouse. I can show you later."

She nodded at Hrefna, although some of the Norse words the woman used were unfamiliar. But Selia dedicated them to memory to later ask Ulfrik what they meant. Surely these people didn't devote an entire house to bathing? Even for Finngalls this seemed excessive.

She had seen at least twenty-five to thirty people approach the boat as they docked. These people weren't villagers, as she had assumed, but slaves.
Thralls
. And they all belonged to Alrik.

"This looks to be finished." Hrefna gestured toward the stew.

Selia's stomach growled and she blushed. "Should I get Alrik?"

His aunt hesitated. "I'm not sure how well you knew Alrik before you married him. Have you seen him when he's angry like this?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sure you understand it's best to leave him alone for a while. He can eat later, when he's . . . better."

Selia smiled at the woman. "I will check," she said tactfully. "I will come back if he is still angry."

Hrefna’s expression seemed to reflect a struggle to stay out of the business of her nephew and his new wife. "Be careful," she finally cautioned, turning back to the stew.

Selia followed the sound of chopping wood to the rear of the house until she came upon Alrik. He had his back to her, so she watched for a few minutes as he worked his way through the pile of wood. Stripped to the waist, his skin dripped with sweat, and her own body grew warm as she watched the powerful muscles of his back and arms tighten with each blow.

It seemed like a very dangerous dance. Alrik quickly chose a log, placed it on its end, raised the axe high above his head, then swung down on the log with such force that the two pieces flew apart with a splintering snap.

Although she had often observed her father and Ainnileas chop wood, she had never seen them do it with such unwavering intensity. Each blow of the axe ended just inches from Alrik's feet, and she was reluctant to distract him. She waited until he finished the pile of logs before she called his name, softly.

When he turned to her, the look on his face was almost enough to make her run back to the house. He was as wild-eyed as he had been when he was attacking Skagi. She took a step backward.

"Hrefna said it is time to eat," she whispered.

He wiped his arm across his brow, still holding the axe. "I'm not hungry." His voice was harsh. "Get away from me."

Selia swallowed but didn't turn away. Could she help him when he was this far gone? Her heart pounded as she stepped closer, putting a hand on his arm. She could feel the energy resonating through his body before he snatched his arm away.

"Alrik, I want to take a walk . . . up there." She nodded toward the woods. "Is that all right?"

He didn't answer, only glared at her.

"You can come with me if you like," she said. Without another word she walked away from him toward the woods.

She had gained the tree line when she heard him behind her. It sounded as though a large animal was charging her, and she braced herself for the impact. Alrik grabbed her, dragging her deeper into the woods, and she stumbled. Suddenly she was on the ground with him on top of her. His face was feral, inhuman, and when he looked down at her it was as if he stared not at his wife, but at his prey.

This was the beast. Alrik
had
been holding himself in check, all this time. But now the leash had snapped and the animal within him was completely out of control.

He dragged Selia's skirts up and she gasped as he pushed himself inside her. He gripped her hard, jerking her body upward to meet each thrust, and his hipbones ground into her flesh. His face was that of a stranger, and although Selia wanted to look away she found she could not. Her heart ached for him, longing to ease the madness of his mind. She would take this pain from him if she could.

It was over quickly, in a matter of moments. Alrik made an odd guttural noise she had never heard before, then collapsed on top of her, completely spent.

Selia pushed out a breath as her husband’s pounding heartbeat slowed in her ear. He carried most of his weight on his elbows, but his chest was crushing her face. She squirmed as a droplet of his sweat ran down her cheek.

He lifted himself up slightly to look at her. "Selia . . ."

The beast was gone, and she had never seen Alrik so contrite. He rolled away, sitting with his elbows on his knees, and kept his head lowered as if too ashamed to make eye contact with her. He looked like a sad little boy.

"It is all right," she said quietly.

"It's not all right." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Did I hurt you?"

"No."

Alrik shook his head at her. "Selia, why did you do that?"

She paused, not quite sure herself. "I wanted to help you. I wanted you to feel better," she admitted.

"Don't ever do that again. I could have hurt you. I could have
killed
you."

"But you feel better now?"

He didn't answer.

She stared at him until he looked at her. "Do people think you have dark magic inside of you?"

He busied himself fastening his breeches. "I don't care what people think."

Selia gave him a tentative smile. "We are the same, Alrik. We are both . . ." she searched for a Norse word that would convey her meaning, ". . . broken, a little bit. Maybe we are made to be together."

Alrik went pale, and she squeezed his hand.

Spells such as Selia's were thought to be a mark of the devil, a sign that her good Christian body was possessed by darkness. Every time she had been overtaken by one of her spells, she knew it had been like a slap in the face to her family-a clear indication of the innate evil inside her.

Now she knew it to be true, herself. Her fascination with the Finngalls and their heathen ways had gotten her abducted by the wickedest of men, a man who could not control his baser desires; his lust for blood, for power, and for her body. And she desired him as well-she wanted him,
craved
him, no matter what he did.

Alrik was as imperfect a creature as she; deeply flawed, damaged beyond repair. And despite that—or perhaps because of it—she was in love with him.

As a child she had wondered what being in love might feel like, but this was nothing like the romance of her imagination. Her love for Alrik was a shadowy, desperate thing clawing up from the depths of her soul. And whatever he felt for her, whether he claimed it as love or not, was as dark and as unnatural. But what else could be expected for a husband and wife such as they, one as wicked as the other?

Selia reached to touch Alrik's face. He looked so scared, so vulnerable. She leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

He smiled at her, slow and soft, unbearably beautiful. The smile of an angel. Selia's breath caught in her throat. At last she had made him truly smile with his eyes as well as his mouth, and it was the loveliest thing she had ever seen.