Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (16 page)

Hrefna did understand. She loved Alrik as much as Selia did, perhaps even more. "I want him to be happy also," she whispered.

"I will say, Alrik has learned to restrain himself somewhat better as he's gotten older,” Hrefna reflected. “He was quite a terror growing up. You should be glad you didn’t know him then.”

So Alrik's current behavior-which included nearly killing his daughter—was an improvement upon his behavior as a youth? Selia absently rubbed the rune carvings on her ring as she pondered this new information.

Hrefna noticed the gesture and gave her a puzzled look. Selia held out her hand for the woman’s inspection. "Alrik gave me this ring. He said it would protect me from him."

Squinting at the tiny carvings, Hrefna spun the ring around on Selia’s finger several times as she interpreted the runes. She met Selia’s eyes with a bewilderment in hers.

"This is very powerful magic, Selia. It is a protection spell, clearly a death curse for anyone who attempts to harm the wearer of the ring."

Selia steadied herself against the post of the loom. Alrik had the ring specifically made for her as protection from his rages. He was willing to face death if unable to control himself. Furthermore, he had given it to her
after
he had learned of her shameful spells, even knowing she too was damaged and possibly brimming with dark magic.

"He must love you more than I even realized," Hrefna said.

Selia stared at the ring on her finger. If Alrik tried to hurt her he would die. Her heart rebelled at this thought, and it was all she could do to keep herself from pulling the ring off. That was why Ulfrik hadn't told her what the runes meant. He thought if she knew Alrik's life would be at risk, she would refuse to wear the ring.

Ulfrik, true to character, had discerned Selia's love for his brother even before she admitted her feelings to herself.

Chapter 19

Selia slept poorly that night in the big bed. She had so quickly grown accustomed to Alrik sleeping beside her, and now found she could no longer sleep well alone. Hrefna’s assurance that he’d be gone a sennight at the longest did not help Selia.

It sounded like an eternity.

Ingrid was unharmed aside from some bruises and a tender spot on her head. She was staying with Bjorn Sturlason and his family, the blacksmith who lived on Alrik's property a mile or so into the woods. Ketill's youngest son, Bolli-who, along with Riki and Skagi was Ingrid's cousin on her mother's side-was Bjorn's apprentice. The boy was sixteen, just a year older than Ingrid, and the two were as close as siblings.

But even knowing Ingrid had suffered no permanent damage, the image remained in Selia's head of how Alrik had snatched her up and thrown her across the room. True, she was a hateful and evil-tempered girl, but no child deserved to be treated so by her own father.

She rubbed a hand over her belly. Although it was as flat as it had always been, she had a nagging suspicion she carried Alrik’s child. She had not bled since her marriage, which by itself was not unusual as her cycles had never been regular. But the absence of her cycle seemed more concerning when she took into account the recent sensitivity of her nose and stomach, her ravenous hunger, and the heavy, aching fullness in her breasts.

Aside from the very real concern she might not survive childbirth, there was another worry that plagued her. Most wives, upon realizing they carried their first child, would assume their husband would make a good father, and would protect his children from the evils of the world. But Alrik was a father already, and she had seen how he treated his daughter. He appeared to despise the girl. When he wasn't ignoring her, he was beating her.

How could Alrik teach a child right from wrong when he himself didn't seem to know?

Selia had taken Niall's affection for her for granted. Regardless of how he felt about her spells, Niall loved her. And she wasn't even his daughter by birth. Although strict, he had always been a kind and patient father, never raising a hand to her in anger. How could she have known not all fathers were like him?

Ingrid was without a doubt Alrik's child. Did he hate the girl because she was so like him? Or so like Ragnarr? Regardless, he treated his slaves better than he treated his own daughter.

And therein posed yet another problem-Muirin, the beautiful thrall who might be with child by Alrik. Hrefna had assured Selia he cared nothing for the girl, and the babe was most likely not his anyway. The word of a thrall could not be trusted, and Hrefna had seen Ulfrik sniffing around the girl more often than not. He seemed to have an affinity for the slaves, especially the Irish ones.

But the irony of the situation wasn't lost on Selia. She and the slave girl might both be carrying a child of Alrik's. As much as he tried otherwise, he seemed destined to repeat the sins of his father.

Selia gritted her teeth. She would not die a tragic death at the hands of her husband. Muirin must leave the farmstead; that was the only option at this point. And not return.

There was no light coming in from the smoke hole, and although it was the middle of the night, Selia knew she would not be able to go back to sleep. She dressed quickly, then slipped out to the barn.

There was a crick in Selia’s back from sitting on the short, uncomfortable stool, and she was doing her best to stretch as she heard the barn door open. Muirin walked toward the sheep, feeling her way in the semi-darkness. She seemed confused when she couldn't locate the pail.

"Muirin," Selia said, causing the girl to scream and jump back in fright.

"M-mistress?" She squinted toward where Selia was sitting.

"Yes. I've been waiting for you for hours." She motioned for Muirin to come and sit next to her.

The slave’s eyes grew wide at this. She stepped forward nevertheless, as one who knew disobedience was not an option. She was trembling as she sat down.

Selia watched her. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just need to know what happened between you and Alrik. That's all."

"Please." Muirin’s voice was so soft, Selia had to lean forward to hear her. "If I'm late again, Mistress Hrefna will be very angry—"

Selia cut her off. "I've already milked them all." She waved a hand to the sheep. "So we have plenty of time."

The slave squirmed on the stool. "He . . . might not like me to talk to you."

"I can handle him," Selia said with more conviction than she felt. Muirin blinked at her as though this were the most foolish thing she had ever heard. Selia forged on. "I want the truth. Is Alrik the father of your child?"

The girl flushed. "I don't know, honestly I don't, Mistress. But Ulfrik said he is willing to claim it."

Of course he was. Should Selia expect anything less from him? He had been cleaning up after his brother for years.

But Muirin was hiding something—that was obvious. "Tell me how this happened," Selia insisted.

The girl chewed at her fingernail for a moment. "I was living in Bjorgvin. At the brothel. The master, Alrik . . . he bought me. I think he was lonely. He told me his wife had died and I reminded him of her. He brought me here. Everything was fine at first, but then . . ." Muirin stopped as if lost in the memory. Her luminous eyes glittered with tears as she looked at Selia. "Are you sure you want to know this?"

"Yes," she replied.
No,
her mind whispered.

Muirin swallowed. "He changed. He would hurt me . . . or just humiliate me. Usually when we were alone, but sometimes Ulfrik saw, too. Ulfrik said something to him about the way he was treating me . . . and the master got so angry. He accused Ulfrik of wanting me for himself. He said I belonged to him, and if his brother wanted me it could only happen if he was there, too. Because I was his property. It was as if he taunted him, to prove that Ulfrik was no better than he was."

Selia wrinkled her brow. "I don't understand."

The slave averted her gaze. "I had to lie with them both," she said. "At the same time. So you see why either one of them could be the father of my child."

A chilled sweat broke out over Selia’s body. This was worse, much worse than she could ever have imagined. What had possessed her to come to the barn this morning? Some things were better left unknown.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," Muirin appealed. "You said you wanted to know."

"Yes, I did say that," she croaked. "Please, finish."

"After that night, the master didn't want me anymore. It was as though he was satisfied he had been able to dishonor his brother. He told Ulfrik he was done with me, that Ulfrik could have me as much as he wanted. Then soon after, they left to go a-viking . . . and you came back with them."

Selia closed her eyes and sat in silence for a moment. She felt dirty, covered in a filth she wouldn't be able to wash off. But there was one more question, the question that continued to gnaw at her. "Muirin . . . did you ever love him? Alrik?"

The girl paused and looked away. "Yes, perhaps at first. I thought I did."

The barn was suddenly stifling, thick with the musky odor of sheep. Selia stood, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, but the slave laid a timid hand on her arm to stop her.

"Mistress, you must understand I am unable to refuse my master if he comes to me. Ever."

Selia understood the implication. If Alrik changed his mind and decided he wanted Muirin again after all, there would be nothing the girl could do about it.

With a shaky breath, Selia willed herself not to vomit.

Alrik remained gone for several more days. Selia burned for him, both wanting him and despising him, sometimes at the same time. How could she still care for a man such as Alrik? Yet more proof of her own flawed nature. As if she needed any.

Ulfrik had been avoiding her since Ingrid's announcement about Muirin. He had been her nearly constant companion on the ship as he helped her with her Norse, and Selia found she now missed her friend with a surprising intensity. Hadn't they shared a connection, an affinity of sorts? But perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps their conversations and laughter had been only a mild diversion for him, a way to pass the time as they sailed.

What did she really know about Ulfrik, anyway? Apparently much less than she thought she had. Although she could accept-barely-the fact of her husband’s unnatural desires, she couldn't stomach the thought of his brother agreeing to the act Muirin had spoken of. But why? He was a man, no better than any other.

Yet she could not shake her disappointment in him. That he had been keeping his distance from her seemed a clear indication of guilt.

Despite the master’s absence, the rhythms of the farmstead continued smoothly. Everyone, from Hrefna down to the lowliest thrall, carried on with their work, unperturbed. Alrik was frequently gone on raids, and when he was home they were all accustomed to him disappearing for days at a time. The farm did not need him to survive.

Although the slaves did most of the manual labor, no one was exempt from work. Ulfrik and Olaf were gone most of the day, busy overseeing fence repairs and checking on the livestock. Selia and Hrefna stayed at the house, spinning wool, weaving, and sewing. This took up an enormous amount of time. Hrefna was not only responsible for making the clothes for everyone in the house, but the sails for the dragonship as well.

In Ireland, most people possessed only one or two outfits of clothing. Here it was much different. The Finngalls seemed enamored with clothing, the men as well as the women. Hrefna had no less than seven gowns, each more colorful and beautifully trimmed than the next, and she changed her clothes daily. Alrik, too, had several complete changes of clothing in one of his trunks.

When Hrefna realized Selia had only one gown and one shift, she was shocked. Declaring such an oversight simply would not do, Hrefna made Selia’s wardrobe a priority.

So the days passed rather quickly as Selia worked beside the woman. Selia told stories of her early life, of Ainnileas, Niall, and Eithne. Hrefna particularly liked to hear of Ainnileas' silly antics and frequent jests. But although she trusted Hrefna, she could not quite bring herself to reveal Niall was not her natural father.

Hrefna also shared confidences, of how much she missed her daughter Kolgrima as well as her grandchildren. A woman’s lot included being apart from her own children.

To Selia, it seemed unusual to have only one child. All of the families she had known were big—many with half a dozen or more children. When she asked Hrefna about this, the woman smiled sadly.

“I had five more children after Kolgrima. But they all died, every one. They came too early no matter what I did, and they died before they could even take a breath.”

Selia sucked in her own breath at this, and her hand fluttered over her belly for a moment before she could stop herself. She looked up at Hrefna to see if she had noticed, but the woman was staring at the loom, lost in her own grief.

“Oh, Hrefna. I am so sorry.”

Hrefna nodded. “I finally consulted a cunning woman. She told me I was cursed, and there was no cure for it. No child from my womb would be birthed healthy. So she told me the ingredients for a tea to keep Olaf’s seed from taking hold.”

Selia did her best to hide her shock. She had never heard of such a thing. Wasn't it blasphemous, trying to control something which was surely in the realm of the divine?

But the Finngalls had no concept of sin. If their gods allowed them to divorce, perhaps they allowed them free will in this matter, too.

"You know, Selia," Hrefna said thoughtfully, "you might want to consider taking that tea yourself."

"What?" she sputtered.

"My dear child, you are very small. And Alrik’s children are very large. His first wife was a good-sized woman, but even she had difficulty birthing his babes. The last one nearly killed her. Eydis so wanted to give him a son. I understand you love him, Selia. But I think that having a child by Alrik might not be in your best interests."

Selia was speechless.

Hrefna patted her hand, misinterpreting her hesitation. "Just consider it. That is all I ask."

"Hrefna," Selia whispered, blinking back tears, "I think I am already with child."

"Oh." Hrefna eyed her with a grave expression. "Does he know?"

She shook her head.

"Then it's not too late. There are things that can be done, if you like."

Selia didn't try to hide her shock this time. To contemplate such a thing . . . “No, Hrefna. I could not do that."

"I guessed as much. I just don't want to see any harm come to you. I like you, dear child."

Selia sank onto the bench, dropping her face in her hands. How had her life become so complicated? Not only was she not expected to live through delivering her babe, but her husband had most likely gotten a slave girl with child as well. Her husband who was, by his aunt's own admission, dangerously unstable. And currently missing.

Hrefna sat next to Selia and curved her arm around her shoulders, making soothing noises. That was all it took for the dam to break, and before she knew it she was sobbing against Hrefna’s neck. The older woman held her until her sobs turned to hiccups, and then she wiped Selia's face on a corner of her gown.

Selia stared at the floor, sniffling. Lately, her emotions were so hard to control. What must Hrefna think of her? If Selia wanted to be viewed as a woman and not a silly child, surely this was not the way to do it.

"Hrefna," she mumbled, "do you think this will turn out like it did for Evja and Treasa?"

"What?" Hrefna took her by the chin, giving her a stern look. "Of course not. I told you Alrik cares nothing for that thrall."

Unconvinced, Selia persisted. "Does Muirin look like Eydis?"