Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (14 page)

Chapter 23

Selia stood with Ulfrik in front of the doorway of the new house, dressed in her warmest gown, cloak and fur boots, as a fading winter sun dappled through the dark branches above. Her insides trembled with anticipation, along with a bit of fear. She drew in a shaky breath as Ulfrik smiled down at her.

Everyone they loved stood nearby, the boys and Eydis, Ainnileas and Ingrid, Bahati and Catrin. Eithne remained slightly removed from the group, pale and stony-faced, but no longer protesting. Only Father Oengul had declined to observe the handfasting, an ancient pagan ceremony. The priest had wished them well beforehand but said it wasn’t fitting for him to attend.

Ulfrik turned to her, clasping both of her hands within his large palms. His skin was warm, reassuring, and his firm grasp stopped her fingers from trembling.

He and Ainnileas had spent most of the day together moving the furniture and household supplies into the new house, finally hanging a metal plaque in the form of a twisted dragon above the door. Ulfrik explained the plaque was a house blessing to keep them all safe. The carved runes reminded Selia of the ring she’d left in the hole in Norway.

Ainnileas had helped Ulfrik rehearse the words he would need to remember for the ceremony. The words were very old, a remnant of a time when the land was wild and words could bind a spell for good or for ill. It was important he say them correctly.

“Are you ready?” Ulfrik whispered to her now.

Selia looked intently at him. “Yes.”

Such a kind face he had. His usual mask was gone, replaced by an expression of happiness, of anticipation. She smiled at him and he grinned back at her.

Ulfrik shifted his grip to hold her left elbow with his right hand. Selia curled her fingers around his arm. With his free hand, he drew a length of cord from the pouch at his waist.

“I love this woman,” he said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, although he didn’t take his gaze from Selia’s. “And wish to handfast with her. Who would give her to me?”

“She is free to choose, although she has my blessing,” Ainnileas said, a smile on his lips as he regarded Selia.

Ulfrik’s gaze held such tenderness. “Do you come to me freely then, Selia, daughter of Niall? Will you have me for your husband?”

Selia’s heart beat a rapid rhythm. “Yes.”

Ulfrik seemed overcome with emotion. His eyes met hers as he spoke. “Selia Ní Murchu, I take you for my wife. I give my vow freely to bind my life with yours in happiness and in sorrow, to share all things with you, and regard you above all others. From this day forward.”

Selia felt a lump in her throat as Ulfrik spoke her name in Irish, rather than following the Norse custom of calling her
Niallsdottir
. She swallowed, holding his gaze. “Ulfrik Ragnarson, I take you for my husband. I give my vow freely to bind my life with yours in happiness and in sorrow, to share all things with you, and regard you above all others. From this day forward.”

Grasping one end of the cord, he slowly wrapped it around their arms, elbow to elbow, crisscrossing over their forearms. Selia watched his face as he drew the cord snug. Her heart nearly burst with love for him.

Ulfrik reached the end of the cord, knotting it with the end he held between the fingers grasping Selia’s arm. “As our hands are bound together, so are our lives now bound together as one. From this day forward.”

Selia remembered the abject terror of her bloody wedding to Alrik. She remembered the atmosphere of resentment and hopelessness at Ingrid’s marriage of necessity to her cousin Bolli. Though both of those weddings were lawful in their own right, neither ceremony had seemed as genuine as this handfasting felt to her now.

Ulfrik was her husband; one with her, heart and soul. Forever.

“From this day forward,” she whispered.

Ulfrik gazed upon the face of his love, her expression so open, so trusting. He shifted his arm where it was tied to hers, pulling it down carefully to grasp her hand without coming free of the bindings that held them together as husband and wife. Leading her to the front door of the new house, they stepped over the threshold together. Her slender fingers tightened in his hand.

Neither stumbled. The look of relief on her face as she smiled up at him nearly broke his heart. She still feared some retribution from a jealous god, then, whether it be Odin or the God of the White Christ.

Everyone followed behind, stepping into the spacious main room of the house, cheerfully lit by the large hearth as well as torches along the walls. The pungent scent of new wood was sharp in the air as Ulfrik gazed with satisfaction at the snug home he’d built for Selia and her family.

Ainnileas came forward to congratulate them. He held his sister close for a long while, her face nestled against his shoulder. Ainnileas made eye contact with Ulfrik above her curly head.

“You are my brother now,” Ainnileas affirmed.

Ulfrik nodded in agreement, unsure of his ability to speak at the moment. He owed Ainnileas so much. Without his suggestion of a handfasting—a pagan Irish ceremony Ulfrik hadn’t been familiar with—he and Selia would most likely still be sneaking off into the bushes. Although the handfasting hadn’t changed Oengul’s opinion and Eithne’s assertion that the two were sinning as long as Alrik remained alive, still the ceremony had given Selia the legitimacy she needed to assuage her guilt. Ulfrik was forever grateful to her brother.

Ingrid stepped forward. Ulfrik assumed she meant to pull Ainnileas away as she so often did, but instead she drew Selia into a clumsy hug. Selia regarded her with bewilderment.

“Congratulations,” Ingrid said gruffly. “I am happy for you.” She met Ulfrik’s gaze. “For you both.”

“Thank you, Ingrid,” Selia said in a guarded voice.

“Who knew of such a wedding ceremony?” Ingrid continued, now staring intently at Ainnileas. “One neither Norse nor Christian, but which could unite the two.”

Ainnileas’ face grew red. Before he could respond, the boys charged in to hug Selia, loud and boisterous. Bahati, whose patience was clearly wearing thin, wiggled her way into the crush. She grasped Selia’s face with both hands.

“My friend,” she whispered. The woman said something in Tamazight, her native language, the exotic words flowing from her tongue like honeyed mead. Finally, she placed a kiss on Selia’s forehead.

Selia beamed at the blessing. Bahati turned to Ulfrik, her face arranging into its typical scowl as it did whenever she looked at him, though it seemed to hold less heat. “Remember my warning, Northman,” she said.

“I won’t forget it,” Ulfrik replied evenly. He was growing on the woman, he could tell.

But the woman he
wasn’t
growing on was Eithne. She stood near the door, appearing as though she were about to cry. Selia noticed her too, and Ulfrik saw a troubled expression cloud her features as she averted her gaze.

Ulfrik straightened resolutely. He had to find a way to mend this rift between Selia and her old nursemaid.

Bahati had prepared a wedding feast, with only a bit of help from Ingrid and the little girls. There was fish stew, cheese, and fresh crusty bread, along with a delicious concoction of baked apples drizzled with some of the honey Ulfrik had procured in Dubhlinn. Ulfrik and Selia sat at the table with their hands still tied, laughing at the awkwardness of dining and drinking with one hand each. After they had all eaten their fill, Ainnileas drew out his whistle.

He launched into a melody, lively and boisterous, yet somehow a bit sad. The children laughed and clapped, and Geirr jumped up to dance. Ulfrik smiled as his son leapt about, enjoying the music. Selia had told him the child had a scar on his thigh from a burn received as a tot, but one would never know it from the way Geirr moved.

Ulfrik had a vague memory of dancing with his mother and his sister Dagrun on a day Alrik’s mother had been away from the farmstead. Treasa’s tinkling laughter reached through his memory, soft and sweet as a summer’s breeze, making him feel for a moment as if his mother truly was at his wedding, enjoying the sight of her grandson as he danced.

The two girls followed suit, twirling beside Geirr, gowns fanning about their feet as they stepped lively. Faolan only watched the others, looking a bit embarrassed for them.

Selia hummed along to the tune as she kept time with her foot. Studying her, Ulfrik saw the excitement in her eyes and the delicate flush that colored her cheeks. She wanted to sing, it was obvious. Ulfrik squeezed her hand, and as she turned her regard to him, he motioned his head in Ainnileas’ direction. “Sing,” he mouthed to her.

She smiled. As Ainnileas came back around to the refrain, Selia stared intently at her brother. Ainnileas stared back, and it seemed to Ulfrik the twins shared some unspoken decision. With a look of anticipation, Ainnileas paused, took a deep breath above his whistle, then launched into the song anew.

Selia began to sing. Ulfrik had forgotten how lovely her voice was; rich and resonant, yet able to reach the high notes with a sweet, yearning clarity that gave him gooseflesh.

The children stopped dancing, and all eyes turned to Selia as they listened to the story in song, a fairy king who fell in love with a human woman, stealing her away to be his bride. Selia’s soft voice grew more sure as she sang, expressing the woman’s melancholy at being taken from her home, and the fairy king’s patience as he tried to win her heart. The king, realizing he loved her too much to keep her against her will, told his human lover she was free to return to the mortal world. It was only then the woman realized she loved the fairy king, and decided to stay and be his queen.

Selia finished the song with a confident smile. Ulfrik squeezed her hand, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “That was beautiful,” he whispered. “I want to hear you sing every day.”

Her face was radiant. But the soft sound of someone crying interrupted whatever she was about to say. They turned to see Eithne sitting in the corner, sobbing into her apron.

Selia jumped up to go to her, forgetting she was still tied hand to hand with Ulfrik. He hurriedly rose and they both went to Selia’s nursemaid.

“Eithne, please don’t cry,” Selia begged. She slipped her free arm around the woman’s ample shoulders.

Eithne only cried harder. “Oh, my girl,” she sobbed. “My sweet girl. My only wish was to see you happy again. And now you are.”

“Yes, Eithne. I am happy at last.”

The woman took in a shaky breath, mopping her ruddy face. Her expression was conflicted as she studied Selia. It was clear she struggled greatly between her desire to see the woman she loved as a daughter happy again, and her conviction that same woman was committing a mortal sin. She gave Selia a watery smile, then cast her gaze to the floor.

Selia kissed her cheek. “I love you, Eithne. You know I always will.”

Chapter 24

Ulfrik finally led Selia into the bedroom. With the merriment of Ainnileas’ whistle still audible through the log walls, he closed the door softly behind him and drew the latch to lock it. He set a candle upon the small table next to the makeshift bed he’d made, nothing more than a wooden platform big enough to hold their two sleeping pallets, side by side.

Selia giggled. “Hmm, Ulfrik. I thought you meant this room to be my bedchamber. I wonder why I would need to latch my door?”

He kept his face unreadable as he looked down at her. “Well. A man can dream, can he not?”

Selia shoved at him playfully. “I should lock
you
out.”

“Are you forgetting there is a window in this room?”

Laughing, Selia gripped the neckline of his shirt to pull his face down to hers. “You’re very sure of yourself, Ulfrik Ragnarson. Or should I say, Ulfrik the Devious?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling serious. “No. I’ve never been sure of myself around you, Selia,” he replied quietly. “My name might as well be Ulfrik the Besotted Fool.”

Her smile faded as her silvery eyes searched his. Selia’s fingers slid to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Her mouth was soft, sweet with the taste of the honeyed bridal ale, as heady a sensation as he’d ever known. He brought a hand to the small of her back, pressing her closer with a groan.

His other hand was still tied to hers. It was maddening to not be able to hold her the way he wanted to. For so long he’d wanted to see her body, completely unclothed and lying in his bed. The quick trysts in the woods had never been enough. He wanted all of her. But he couldn’t undress her without first untying the handfasting cord.

Ulfrik pulled away from Selia’s mouth for a moment. “When can we take this off?” he muttered, nodding toward their binding.

“Not until after.”

“I want to see you, Selia.”

“We have a fresh candle and a locked door. You will see me, Ulfrik. But we can’t untie the binding until after the first time. So go quickly, and get it over with.”

Her wanton expression elicited a direct response from his manhood. He braced an arm under her hips and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. Ulfrik laid her upon it, arranging their tied arms above her head so he could balance his weight on his forearm instead of on her slight body.

Ulfrik pulled up her skirts, sliding his hand along her thigh, as Selia reached between them to untie his breeches with her free hand. Pushing his breeches down lower on his hips, her fingers found his manhood and Ulfrik nearly lost control.

“Selia,” he growled, pulling away slightly.

“No.” She continued her maddening touch. “I want you now, Ulfrik.”

He willed himself to stay in control. He would give Selia a wedding night to remember. Easing back enough so she couldn’t push him beyond the point of no return, he kissed her slowly, moving from the sweetness of her lips to her warm neck, biting down just a bit.

She moaned and arched up toward him. Ulfrik shifted again, hampered by their tied arms. He pushed her gown up higher to bare her belly, and kissed the small, firm mound of it. He kissed lower, parting her thighs.

His slow enjoyment of her body seemed to drive her mad. She gripped his hair with her free hand as he continued his loving assault on her womanhood, at last drawing a shuddering release from her that left her panting.

“Ulfrik,” she gasped. “Please . . .”

All thoughts of restraint fled his mind. Without taking his eyes from her face, Ulfrik sheathed himself inside her. Selia’s mouth opened in a moan, her tongue visible behind her pink lips, sending Ulfrik past sanity. He found the rhythm he knew would finish things quickly. She gripped him with her free hand, urging him on, and he finally buried himself deep as his body shuddered with pleasure.

Ulfrik let his breath out and met her gaze guiltily, feeling like a boy barely into manhood. Certainly not how he’d envisioned his wedding night with Selia.

She laughed at his expression, pushing at his chest until he rolled off her. “Now, our handfasting has been consummated.” Selia sat up to pick the knot loose, then unwrapped the cord from their arms. She smiled down at him as the flickering light of the candle bathed her in a halo of gold. “You are my husband.”

He gazed at her, committing the moment to memory. The enchanting curve of her mouth, the gleam in her luminous eyes, the riot of ringlets springing from her head in disarray. At last she was his wife. Selia belonged to him, and he to her. He was the luckiest man who’d ever lived.

Selia arose from the bed, and Ulfrik leaned on one elbow to watch her. Standing in front of the candle, she undressed slowly, first removing her shoes, then untying her woolen stockings from above her knees to remove those as well. She pulled her gown over her head and dropped it to the floor, followed by her thin shift.

Ulfrik sucked in his breath at the sight of her. Selia finally stood nude before him, gloriously beautiful, her body as slender and perfect as a willow branch from the top of her head to the tips of her dainty toes.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes traveling over her lovely form, bathed in candlelight. Ulfrik reached for her reverently, his hands seeming too big and rough for such delicate beauty. He stroked her slender throat and the hollows of her collarbones, down the fine white skin of her bare arms, then back to her breasts, high and round. Her nipples hardened under his touch, making her gasp as his thumbs traced them into stiff peaks. Her waist tapered in still, despite the babe she carried, and Ulfrik cupped the swell of her belly. The skin of her lower stomach was lined with stretch marks, faded silver in the diffuse light. Selia drew back slightly as he ran his fingers across them.

Ulfrik kept her from stepping away. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Every part of you is beautiful, Selia. And I will never tire of looking at you.” He pulled her into his lap, enveloping her in his arms.

They made love well into the night. As the candle sputtered and went out, Selia drifted off to sleep against his chest. Ulfrik lay for a long time, stroking her curls. A feeling of peace, such as he’d never known before, cloaked him. If he died tonight, he would die a happy man.

He slept deeply, without dreaming, but later woke to the feeling of a cold breeze on his bare chest. Ulfrik cracked open his eyes, taking in the sight of Selia standing at the window, looking out at the moonlight. She was wrapped in a blanket, her back to him. A soft sob reached his ears.

She was crying. Why? Apprehension gripped his gut. Was she having second thoughts? Had Eithne’s concerns finally hit home? Or, worst of all, did she still have feelings for Alrik?

Ulfrik rose from the bed and stood behind her. “Selia.” He touched her bare shoulder where it peeked from the blanket. “Why do you cry?”

She turned to him, smiling through her tears. “You made a window for me.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“You’ve been making windows for me ever since I met you. But I didn’t notice. I didn’t allow myself to notice.”

Ulfrik pulled her close. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It
does
matter. I treated you so badly. I should have gone with you when I carried Faolan in my belly.”

“It doesn’t matter, Selia,” he insisted. “We are here now. You are safe, the boys are safe. We are wed.”

“But you can never go home again, Ulfrik. You will never see Norway again. You will probably never see anywhere but this island again. Because of me.”

Ulfrik had told Selia how Gunnar had forced him to return with him to the tavern in Dubhlinn. He hadn’t gone into great detail, unwilling to frighten her further. When he’d had an opportunity to escape, Ulfrik had sailed far down the coast of Ireland to be sure he wasn’t being followed, before turning toward home.

Selia had begged him never to return to Dubhlinn, and he’d acquiesced, at least for now. It wasn’t worth another encounter with Gunnar. Time only seemed to increase the man’s obsession with Ingrid instead of dulling it.

To go to Dubhlinn meant risking Gunnar’s madness. And a return to Norway ensured Alrik’s wrath. So they would stay on Oengul’s little island, away from anyone who meant them harm, until the day came where Selia and her family were permanently safe.

He bent to look into her eyes. “Home? My home is wherever I lie next to you, Selia. Whether here,” he motioned to their makeshift bed, “or in Ireland, or in Norway. It doesn’t matter. You are my home.”

Selia drew in a deep breath, giving him a wavering smile. Without another word, Ulfrik led her back to their marriage bed.

Selia finally slept. Ulfrik gazed at her for a time, her chest rising and falling with gentle breaths, her hand curled next to her face. He studied her profile, drawing his finger along the scar across her cheekbone. She was ashamed of the scar, and didn’t believe he could still find her beautiful. He would take it upon himself if he could, adding it to the dozens of scars on his torso, to leave her skin as flawless as it had been.

He’d questioned her about it more than once, but Selia always refused to provide any reason for it other than she’d fallen in the forest. Although Ulfrik knew she was lying, he’d stopped his probing as it clearly made her uncomfortable.

If he ever learned who had marked her face, the man was as good as dead.

Ulfrik pulled the blankets up around Selia as he rose. He latched the window against the cold, dressed quickly, and shut the door behind him on his way to the kitchen. The night of lovemaking had left him hungrier than he’d ever been in his life.

The house was quiet and dark, lit only by the glowing embers of the hearth. He made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find some leftover bread to break his fast. It was still too early for anyone to be up.

He was wrong. Eithne sat near the hearth, wrapped in a blanket. At first he thought she slept there, but the woman tilted her head as he walked past. Ulfrik hesitated, then returned to sit across from her.

“Good morning, Eithne.”

She nodded at him but responded slowly. “Good morning.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” Eithne’s purple-rimmed eyes told him she was lying.

Ulfrik didn’t press the issue. “I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve been troubled about something and I wonder if you could help me with it.”

Her brows arched up. “Me?”

“Yes. You seem like a woman who would know the answer.”

The plump matron shifted in her chair as she eyed him. “What is it?”

“You know I am a Christian now?”

Eithne studied him warily. “I know Father Oengul baptized you.”

The unspoken implication was clear; Ulfrik ignored it and pressed on. “Selia talks of sin. Is all sin the same? Or are some sins worse than others? I want to know how Christians feel about killing someone who deserves to die.”

Mouth agape, Eithne just stared. Her eyes darted to the door as if she contemplated escape.

Ulfrik forged ahead. “My brother did terrible things. He hurt Selia and he hurt Faolan. He killed the priest in Baile Átha Cliath because he refused to marry them.”

“Poor Father Coinneach . . .”

“Yes. The man bled out before Selia had even finished her vow.”

A look of uncertainty crossed Eithne’s face, and Ulfrik paused to let this information sink in. “Selia hasn’t told you everything, and she probably won’t,” he stated. “She loves you too much to frighten you. But what Alrik did cannot go unpunished.”

Eithne’s breath quickened and her hand fluttered to her throat. “So you will kill him?”

“He is dangerous. Alrik must die. But since I am a Christian now, I must know the consequences of killing my brother. That is why I need your help.”

“Murder is a mortal sin.”

“Worse than what you say Selia and I are doing?”

“Adultery? I’m not sure, especially if Father Coinneach was dead . . .” Her voice trailed off hesitantly.

“But if I kill him, I can marry Selia legitimately. So that sin would be erased, would it not?”

Frowning, Eithne shook her head. “You should ask Father Oengul. I am a simple woman. I do not have an understanding of these things.”

“Yes. I will do that. Thank you, Eithne.” Ulfrik let the conversation end.

He left Eithne at the hearth with an expression on her face that remained uncertain, her gaze fixed on the dark red coals of the fire, the last of the wood shifting and crumbling into ash.