Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (12 page)

“We were looking for you.” Subdued, Faolan’s voice dropped. “We went up to see if you were with Bahati, so Eydis came with us to play with Catrin. But no one was there.”

She leveled her gaze at them, from one to the other. Geirr squirmed under the scrutiny. “So you decided to look for me at the edge of the cliff?” Selia asked.

“I just wanted to see what it looked like.” Geirr met her eyes with tears in his own. “I’m sorry.”

Selia sighed, shaking her head at her son. Perhaps Ulfrik was right—this was not Odin’s doing, but simply another foolish, impulsive decision on the part of her children. Regardless of who was their father, Alrik or Ulfrik, they were still both grandsons of Ragnarr, a man known throughout the Finngall world for his reckless behavior.

Alrik had offered neither child constructive male guidance. It was time for that wrong to be righted. Selia would make sure of it. “You endangered Eydis, too,” she admonished them. “Go out of the cave now. But do not leave the clearing. You can speak to Ulfrik about your punishment.”

“Punishment?” Faolan protested. “I didn’t do anything—”

“Yes. You’re both too old for this to go unpunished. I know Geirr made the choice to look over the edge, but Faolan, I’ve watched you egg your brother on to see what he’ll do. You both need to learn a lesson.”

The boys stood, scowling at each other. Selia waved them out as she leaned back in her pallet.

“Is that seemly, Selia?” Eithne questioned with a frown. “To let Ulfrik decide their punishment?”

Selia met the woman’s gaze. “Ulfrik is Geirr’s father. He is Faolan’s uncle, not to mention the closest thing to a father Faolan will ever have again. So yes—I think it’s quite seemly. Because obviously nothing I’ve tried has helped.”

“But what if he hurts them?”

“I know beyond a doubt Ulfrik would never hurt them. He is nothing like Alrik.”

Eithne chewed at her lip, unconvinced. As she reached for Selia’s skirts to examine her, the baby kicked hard.

Selia felt weak with relief as she cupped her belly. The babe was unharmed. She hadn’t realized until just that moment how much she loved the tiny life growing inside her. So thankful the child had been spared, she couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Never mind, Eithne,” she managed. Selia reached out to stop the woman’s hand. “The babe lives. I just felt him move.”

Chapter 20

Ulfrik didn’t depart for Dubhlinn the next day, or the day after. Although Selia insisted the bleeding had stopped and she was fine, he feared to leave her. He wanted nothing more than to hold her close and feel the reassuring beat of her heart against his. He wanted to lay his hand on the small, hard swell of her belly and wait for the babe to kick.

He hadn’t felt the movement himself yet, but he could always tell by Selia’s expression whenever it happened. A tiny, secret smile would cross her lips, maternal and achingly beautiful. The connection he felt to Selia and her child was so strong, he frequently forgot the babe wasn’t his own.

But Eithne hovered, insisting Selia rest on her pallet. The frustration of not being able to speak to the woman he loved without Eithne in earshot was maddening.

So Ulfrik put the boys to work. He and Ainnileas labored to complete the roof of the house, a task too dangerous for two small boys to be of much help. Instead, Ulfrik had them begin constructing a stone fence around the new house. If the boys couldn’t be trusted to mind the rules about not going near the cliff’s edge, then they could stay within the confines of a fence. And the added safety would help ease Selia’s mind once the new babe began walking, anyway.

Ainnileas stood atop the ladder in the misty rain, holding a fresh bunch of shingles. His gaze followed the boys as they staggered into the clearing below, each with an armload of stones. Snorting behind his hand, Ainnileas turned to Ulfrik, perched on the roof.

“This is torture for them, you know. I wonder about you sometimes, Ulfrik. You are much darker than you let on.” By the tone of his voice, Ainnileas was only half joking.

“Torture that they must carry the stones? Or that they must walk close to the cliff to get them?”

“Well, both,” Ainnileas laughed. “But I was thinking more along the lines of forcing them to build their own prison.”

Ulfrik wiped his damp hair from his eyes as he smiled down at his friend. “Just because a prison is built does not mean it must be used for that purpose,” he pointed out. “Sometimes the building of it is enough of a lesson.”

“As I said—dark. Anyone else would put them over his knee and be done with it.”

“And they might end up with boys maimed or killed with their next thoughtless act. Or, end up with grown men like Alrik. This is the only way, Ainnileas.”

Ainnileas handed him a few more shingles. “But I still can’t understand why you’re having them go to the cliff to fetch the stones.”

Ulfrik shrugged. “It will teach them to be trustworthy. You’ll see.”

He realized this decision had struck everyone as unusual. To send the boys up the path alone, to fetch a few stones at a time from the crumbling wall of the ancient fort, seemed contrary to the purpose of keeping them safe.

But it was the only way. To walk close to the scene of the crime dozens of times—hundreds of times—and choose to
not
go near the cliff, would teach them they were able to achieve control. They needed to prove to themselves as much as to everyone else that they could be trusted, even in the face of temptation.

Ainnileas and Ingrid didn’t understand this line of reasoning. Neither did Eithne. But Selia did. Despite her obvious concern for their safety, instead of protesting when he told her what he proposed to do with the boys, she’d nodded thoughtfully. Ulfrik had seen the trust in her eyes. She knew the opportunity for Faolan and Geirr to learn to become good men was growing shorter and shorter, and she trusted Ulfrik to help them.

Ulfrik slipped slightly as he reached for more shingles, catching himself before he fell. Building a house in bad weather was difficult, and the roof had seemed to take forever. But they were nearly finished. Ulfrik had done what he’d set out to do, and built a solid, comfortable house for Selia and her family. It only lacked one thing.

He would return to Baile Átha Cliath to obtain the piece he’d commissioned from Naithi. A quick trip, gone before dawn and back by nightfall. Then the house would be ready.

Ulfrik laid the last shingle in place, smiling in satisfaction. He would leave tomorrow, and with any luck they could move in the following day.

“It wasn’t easy,” Naithi said, walking to the shelf to fetch one of the bins. “I followed the markings you left for me. I hope it is what you wanted.”

Naithi unwrapped the plaque and handed it to Ulfrik, watching his face for approval. Ulfrik’s gaze traveled over the beautiful piece of metalwork, made from thin strips bent into an elaborate knot and finished with a dragon’s head at the top. All along the knot, meant to be the body of the beast, were the runes Ulfrik had specified—the charm that would keep the house and all its occupants safe.

Protection to all

Who dwell inside.

Strength of body

Strength of mind

And peace reside within.

A fiery death

Of dragon’s breath

To those who would do harm.

Ulfrik smiled at the blacksmith. “Yes. It is exactly what I wanted.”

Naithi was visibly relieved. “This was the most difficult piece I’ve ever attempted,” he admitted. “But I enjoyed the making of it immensely. It is a house blessing, you say?”

“Yes. Ainnileas and I finished the dwelling just yesterday.”

Naithi quieted, appearing deep in thought. He gazed up at Ulfrik. “There was a time many years ago when I fancied Selia,” he began. “I had hoped to talk Niall into accepting my marriage proposal. The night she was taken, the night Niall died, I vowed I was finished with Finngalls forever—I would never do business with any again. You are the first since that night, Ulfrik Ragnarson. And I am happy to know you. I am happy Selia is with a man worthy of her.”

Ulfrik found himself moved by the blacksmith’s words. “Thank you, Naithi. It is my good fortune to count you as a friend. I give you my word you will never come to doubt my friendship—if there is ever anything you require of me, do not hesitate to ask.”

“And I would say the same to you.”

Ulfrik pulled out the bag of silver to pay Naithi, but the blacksmith raised his hand in protest. “No. Put your silver away. The plaque is my gift to you, and to Selia. I wish you both good fortune and happiness.”

Ulfrik hesitated. The intricate metal work would have taken many days to complete. But the look on Naithi’s face confirmed the sincerity of his words. Ulfrik returned the bag of silver to his pouch.

He clasped the man’s arm warmly. “Farewell, my friend. And thank you.”

Ulfrik returned to the small harbor, lost in thought. The day had grown dark in the brief time he’d been in Baile Átha Cliath. The gray sky spit a mist of icy rain down upon the earth, but Ulfrik was warm enough in the thick wool shirt and cloak Selia had made for him.

A former Vikinger dressed as an Irishman. The thought still made him chuckle.

He noticed too late the men who stood on the dock next to another, larger boat. Gunnar. With a half dozen of his men.

Ulfrik stopped, refraining from reaching for his dagger. Gunnar couldn’t know he’d killed the three men assigned to find him. To reach for a weapon at the sight of his cousin would appear suspicious.

Gunnar regarded Ulfrik with his single, violet-blue eye. “Cousin,” he said. “You are not an easy man to find.”

“I was unaware you still wanted to find me,” Ulfrik replied curtly.

Gunnar smiled. “Oh, I think quite the opposite is true.”

“What is it you want, Gunnar?”

“I want you to tell me where Inga is.”

Ulfrik narrowed his eyes at him. “I’ve already told you—I do not know any woman named Inga.”

“
Ingrid
, then. Ingrid Alriksdottir. Your niece.”

Ulfrik kept his face impassive. “I haven’t seen Ingrid in ages.”

Gunnar strode over to peer up at Ulfrik, his intense gaze searching for the truth. Tiny specks of sleet clung to his black eyelashes, and Ulfrik focused on those instead.

The sky grew darker as the wind picked up, now blowing the icy rain sideways. None of the men moved.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Gunnar. I am bound to you no longer,” Ulfrik stated. “I am a Vikinger no longer. Let me go in peace.”

Einarr Drengsson stepped forward. “We can see from your clothing you are a Vikinger no longer,” he sneered. “Have you lost your balls as well as your taste for blood? Would we find a woman’s slit where your manhood used to hang?”

Ulfrik refused to be baited. “I have no use for you or for your insults, Einarr. Let me pass.”

Einarr spat upon the ground. “Search him, Gunnar,” he prodded. “See what he has in his pack.”

Gunnar nodded to the other men. Ulfrik didn’t resist as two came forward to grab his satchel. They dumped its contents roughly upon the ground. Food, a flask of ale and another of water, and the wrapped metal plaque.

Gunnar knelt to pick up the plaque. He examined the runes, chuckling as he read the charm. “Dragon’s breath?” He looked at Ulfrik for an explanation.

“I married an Irish girl this winter,” Ulfrik said. “It is a blessing for our house.”

“What is this girl’s name?”

“Eithne.” It was the first Irish name that came to mind.

“Daughter of whom?”

Ulfrik scowled at Gunnar. “That is none of your concern.”

“Is she from Baile Átha Cliath? Dubhlinn?”

“Also none of your concern.”

“I find it odd you refuse to tell me of your new wife’s family.”

“Do you find it so odd, cousin? I’ve cast aside my old ways and have started anew. I told you—I am a Vikinger no longer. I will not have you and your war band appear upon my father-in-law’s doorstep to confirm what I’ve told you is true.”

Gunnar seemed to consider this. He chewed his cheek thoughtfully, studying Ulfrik.

“He’s lying,” Einarr snapped.

Gunnar shot Einarr a silencing look, then turned back to Ulfrik. “Do you know what happened to three of my men? They followed you, a moon’s span ago. And did not return.”

“No.”

“Show me your weapons.”

Ulfrik drew his cloak aside to reveal his sword and dagger. The wind changed sharply once again, whipping his cloak out behind him, and the ice felt like needles against his face and neck. Gunnar leaned close to look at the weapons, confirming they didn’t belong to any of the three men Ulfrik had killed.

“And your pouch,” Gunnar said. “Hand it over.”

Ulfrik untied the pouch from his belt, then passed it to his cousin. There was nothing inside but the small sack of silver.

Gunnar threw the pouch and the silver back at him with a frown. The ice beat down upon them, chilling Ulfrik to the bone, as his cousin stared at him unblinkingly.

“Well then, Ulfrik Ragnarson. Perhaps you are telling the truth after all. I wish you well with your new wife, the mysterious Eithne. But you can’t risk life and limb by returning to her in this weather. Unless she is nearby?” After Ulfrik’s silence, Gunnar continued. “No? Then I’m sure you’ll be happy to come with us. I have food, ale and a warm hearth to dry your boots upon until this storm passes.”