Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (22 page)

Chapter 27

Ainnileas adapted easily to the family of Finngalls. As Selia had expected, within a few days it was as though they couldn't imagine a time when he hadn't been there. She watched with skepticism as her brother charmed them all. How long could he keep this up? What would happen when they saw through his ruse? Her task now would be to try keeping the foolish boy safe when it happened.

Ainnileas and Ulfrik continued to go out fishing together daily, and would bring back nets full of fish for the thralls to smoke for the gathering. Ulfrik, whose emotions were normally so subdued, now laughed and joked easily with her brother, bantering back and forth with him in Irish as though they had been friends for ages.

To make matters worse, Ulfrik was avoiding her again after their uncomfortable conversation behind the house. This bothered her more than she cared to admit, and the sight of him having such a good time with her brother was like salt in the wound. She had been replaced. Ulfrik now had a friend whose company he could enjoy without fearing he might get killed for it.

Alrik had gone hunting with Olaf the day she had fought with him. He left without saying goodbye, but she refused to worry about him. The tension in the house had eased with his departure, and Hrefna and Ingrid happily continued in their preparations for the gathering. The girl had rushed through the task of sewing Ainnileas' new set of clothes, and had been grinning like a fool ever since presenting him with the folded parcel.

Ingrid had done a sloppy job on the clothing and didn't have enough sense to be embarrassed by it. If Ainnileas possessed any prudence, he would realize the girl's poor skills as a seamstress were a direct indication of her unsuitability as a wife.

But no, he had been pleased with the gift, and wore his new Finngall outfit with pride, crooked stitches and all.

Selia took great care in the construction of Alrik's clothing. If his daughter thought she could ensnare Ainnileas in a Finngall spell done with careless, childish stitches, then certainly Selia could do her one better. As she sewed, she held an image in her mind of Alrik's beautiful smile, the one he bestowed on her so rarely. She imagined his anger and mistrust wiped clean. She repeated the words under her breath with each stitch.
Love me.
And if her mind wandered, as it sometimes did, she ripped out the tiny, perfect stitches she had just made and started again.

If this was what her husband called manipulation, then so be it. He had left her no other choice.

There was a noise outside that sounded like someone shouting from far away. Selia put down her sewing, cocking her head to listen. Hrefna sat up straighter and made eye contact with Selia.

The noise came again. Olaf's voice. The women leapt to their feet, racing for the kitchen door, with the others following behind. Selia threw open the door and clapped a hand over her mouth as she saw Olaf and Alrik emerging from the woods. Alrik had one arm slung across Olaf's shoulders and the other hand pressed into his side, where a dark stain of blood had seeped from his shirt and down his left leg, disappearing into his boot.

She sprinted to them. Several thralls ran to help as well, and as Selia reached them, two male thralls were taking Alrik under the arms. Olaf slumped to the ground, exhausted.

"What happened?" she cried.

Alrik was deathly pale, almost gray, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on her. But it was Olaf who answered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "A boar."

Hrefna pushed forward through the small crowd, lifting her nephew’s hand away to examine the wound. His shirt was encrusted with blood and stuck to his skin, and as she raised it a trickle of fresh blood dribbled down his hip.

There was a deep gash in his side just above his left hipbone, thick with blackened blood. Selia bit back a scream. How could a wound such as that be anything but life-threatening?

Yet Hrefna remained calm. She ordered the thralls to carry Alrik into the house, and to bring fresh water. “You know better than to hunt boar,” she said to her husband in a stony voice.

Olaf looked miserable. “We had been tracking a deer when we came across fresh boar tracks. We decided to go after it instead.”

They made their way down the hill, the thralls carrying Alrik between them. Selia turned to Olaf. “The boar did this?” she said, motioning to the wound.

Olaf nodded. “It charged me. Alrik shoved me aside and managed to spear the beast. But not before it gouged him.”

Hrefna's eyes narrowed as she listened, and she muttered something under her breath. Was she angry at Alrik, Olaf, or both?

The thralls laid Alrik's semi-conscious form atop two tables the thralls pushed together. Hrefna took her scissors to cut the ruined shirt from his body. She set a wet cloth over the wound to soften the dried blood as Selia threaded a thick needle. After Hrefna carefully wiped away the blood, they leaned over to examine Alrik.

There was a gash as long as Selia’s palm where the flesh had been laid open, which grew deeper until it ended in a sinister-looking puncture wound. Her own skin crawled when Hrefna stuck her finger inside the dark hole. Alrik grunted. Selia took his big hand in hers, as much for her own comfort as his.

To her surprise, his eyes fluttered open. He gave her a faint, wry smile before addressing his aunt. "Stop poking around in my gut, woman, and sew it up." The weakness in his voice belied the attempted bravado.

Hrefna's eyes flashed as she finished her examination. She reached for the needle Selia held out. "I should just let you bleed to death, you fool. Will you never learn? Would you make your wife a widow before-" She stopped herself, looking at Selia across Alrik's body before quickly averting her gaze. “Well, before you have even been married a year?" She jabbed the needle into his skin.

Selia paled. Hrefna had nearly given away her secret. Had anyone caught the slip? As casually as she could, she glanced at the others in the room. No one but Ulfrik was paying any mind. She saw the question in his eyes and turned away.

Alrik grunted again, either from the pain or because he was simply fed up with his aunt. "I think I would rather bleed to death than listen to your harping for another minute," he muttered, which brought more jabs from the needle.

"Wasn't it enough you almost got your brother killed the last time you went boar hunting, you stupid—"

"Enough, Hrefna," Olaf said. "This was an accident, as much my fault as his."

She glared at him until he reddened. "I will hear nothing from you, Olaf Egilson." Her voice held ice. "I know whose idea it was to go after the boar. I also know who
should
have had the good sense to say no."

Selia smoothed Alrik's damp hair away from his forehead. His eyes were closed again and the skin of his brow burned under her hand. Her belly tightened in fear. "He is very hot."

"I know, child." Hrefna looked grim. "I will make him some willow bark tea in a moment."

Unfamiliar with the word in Norse, still Selia knew what would be used for pain or fever in Ireland, and had seen the herb among the medicines in Hrefna's well-stocked shelves. She ran to the kitchen. When she found what she sought, she returned to the main room, holding it out for Hrefna's inspection. "Is this willow bark?"

“Yes.”

Quickly, Selia returned to the kitchen to make the tea. She could do something useful, at least—anything to take her mind from the fear that threatened to paralyze her. Alrik's wound looked severe, but sometimes worse than the wound itself was the fever that came afterward. Her hands shook as she stirred the fire to bring the water to boil faster.

There was a noise behind her, and she turned to see Ulfrik standing in the doorway. Selia blinked back her tears. She would not cry in front of Ulfrik.

"Hrefna said to put some feverfew in the tea as well," he said, using the Irish word for it so she would know what he meant.

She wasn't as knowledgeable of feverfew, and eyed the containers of herbs with uncertainty. Many of them looked very much alike and she didn't want to make a mistake. He reached over her to pull out the herb, and she blushed as he handed it to her. He took a step back but kept his gaze on her.

She expected him to leave once his duties as translator were complete, but he remained in the kitchen. What did he want? Selia turned to pour off some of the boiling water, but her hands were shaking so badly that she spilled several drops on her finger.

She jumped back with a curse. He took the pot from her hands to pour the water into the cup. "Are you with child, Selia?" he asked abruptly.

Busying herself with wrapping a wet rag around her finger so she wouldn’t have to look at him, she mumbled, "I don't think that's any of your business."

He shrugged. "You're right, it's not. I just thought you might be, since your brother is in such a hurry to get you out of Norway. I take it Alrik doesn't know yet."

Ainnileas. That fool had done exactly as she had feared, and had tried to involve Ulfrik in his mad plot to steal her away. Ulfrik now had information about her brother that could prove deadly if Alrik found out.

"Please," she whispered, "don't tell Alrik."

"Don't tell him what? That you're carrying his babe, or that your brother wants him dead?"

She felt sick. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself as he continued in a quiet voice. "Do you want to leave, Selia? Now would be the time to do it. He will be bedridden for a while, if he even survives this."

"Stop, Ulfrik."

"If he knows you're with child he'll never let you go. It will be too late when Ainnileas' ship returns—"

She cut him off. "My brother has no idea of what he speaks. I told him I wouldn't leave. You must promise me you won't say anything to Alrik. Please."

He met her pleading gaze for a long time before he spoke. "I don't want to see Ainnileas hurt any more than you do. But I can't allow you to get hurt either. Let me help you."

Selia's lip quivered as she stared at him. "No," she said quietly. "I will not leave Alrik."

Ulfrik said no more and silently stirred the tea. His face was blank, unreadable. "This is ready." He held out the cup to her, then strode across the room.

As he neared the doorway leading to the main room, he faced her. "Don't worry about Alrik, Selia—he'll be all right. He always is."

Chapter 28

Alrik's wound festered despite his aunt’s tireless attentions. He lay in the bed, drifting in and out, mumbling incoherently as he burned and shivered.

Selia did not leave his side as he grew more and more ill. She made him as comfortable as she could, bathing his feverish body in cool water and refreshing the blankets as they grew damp with his sweat. She helped Hrefna change the poultices and strip the pus that oozed from the inflamed wound, and most of the time managed to restrain herself from vomiting.

Although Hrefna attempted to remain calm, it was clear she was becoming more desperate. The gathering was in four days’ time, and Selia assumed it would be cancelled, or at least postponed, due to the accident. But Hrefna surprised her by refusing to do either. Instead, she concocted a foul mixture consisting of curdled sheep's milk, urine, and honey, then poured it over the wound.

She slaughtered a lamb, using the warm blood to draw runes on Alrik's body and on the floor surrounding the bed, while murmuring healing incantations. Normally suspicious of such things, Selia took great comfort in this. Her Christian prayers—whispered under her breath when she was alone with her husband—seemed hollow somehow.

Alrik would be furious if he knew she was praying to the White Christ on his behalf. God was probably no fonder of Alrik than he was of Him. So if Hrefna thought lamb's blood could save Alrik's life, then Selia was willing to slaughter the entire herd.

His aunt continued talking to him even though Selia was sure he couldn't hear her. “Your men will arrive soon for the gathering. Won’t you feel foolish if you are lying in bed like an old woman when they get here? Be a man and rise to be the Hersir for your war band, Alrik! They need a strong leader, not a weakling who takes to his bed with a tiny scratch.”

"Stop, Hrefna," she finally protested. Why did the woman continue to berate him while he was so helpless? It seemed wrong.

"I'm giving him something to focus on, child," Hrefna whispered. "Otherwise he might let himself slip away."

Slip away. Dead
. Selia choked back a sob as Hrefna wrapped up the smelly remains of the poultice, then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Dead. She should prepare herself for the very real possibility that Alrik might die and leave her a widow. A widow carrying his child. She rubbed her hand over her belly as if she could offer comfort to the babe who grew inside and might soon be fatherless. How could she possibly raise an infant alone?

She supposed Hrefna would help her if she stayed here with the Finngalls. But would she even want to stay without Alrik? If she instead went home to Ireland with her brother, would he still try to marry her off to Buadhach?

Alrik stirred, becoming agitated the higher his fever climbed. She wrung out a cool cloth to place on his forehead. He said something unintelligible as his eyes stared into nothingness.

She put a hand to his hot cheek. "Shh."

"Selia . . ." He spoke so clearly that her heart leapt.

"I am here, Alrik."

But he wasn't looking at her; the Selia he was speaking to was in his fevered mind only. "I didn't know." His restless head would not be still on the pillow. "Odin gave you to me . . . you were only a child, how could I have known . . ."

He began to thrash about with more energy than Selia had seen from him during his illness, and nearly fell from the bed. She cried out, trying to restrain him. The noise and touch must have registered in his mind, because his wild gaze landed upon her as he sat up, gripping her shoulders.

"You look at me with those eyes. Always judging me."

She squirmed as his hands squeezed harder. "Stop, Alrik."

"I didn't know, Selia!" He let out an anguished sob as the strength drained from his body. He slumped back in the bed, and his eyes closed again. Although he continued muttering to himself, it was nothing more than the senseless ramblings of a fevered brain.

The sudden burst of energy had depleted him, and he now looked as pale and still as death. Even his breathing had slowed to the point that his chest seemed to barely rise. She watched for several minutes, counting between breaths. They got slightly farther apart each time.

She shook his arm. "Alrik." There was no response.

Selia sat on the edge of the bed next to him, lifting his hand to her cheek. It was strangely comforting, and she closed her eyes for a moment as she felt his hot skin on hers. "I love you." She placed a soft kiss on his palm and watched his face for some sort of reaction, no matter how small.

Nothing.

Alrik wanted a son. If he didn't have a male child to become Hersir after him, it would be up to one of his men to take his place, which would lead to infighting and needless bloodshed.

Three times Eydis had been confined to her bed, only to present her husband with a daughter. According to Hrefna, the only time she had delivered a son, in between Ingrid and the two younger girls, the child had been stillborn.

Selia placed Alrik’s heavy hand on her belly. The fevered heat of his skin radiated through her gown and into her own body, as though she held a smoldering log against her. She put her hands over his, pressing in until she could feel the hard resistance of her womb, deep inside. "Alrik," she said again. "Your child—your
son
—grows inside me. Do you feel it?"

She watched him carefully, looking for a facial twitch or a change in his breathing, but there was none. "I need you, Alrik. The child needs you. Who will teach him how to be a Finngall? Ainnileas is not a warrior. You must wake up or your son will be a whistle-playing boy who does not know how to hold a sword."

Whatever hope she had that her words would find their way to him, giving him the strength he needed to pull himself out of the fever, dissolved as she watched his expressionless face. He had lost weight during the days of his illness, and his cheekbones were sharp, the sockets of his eyes sunken. His features looked as if carved out of stone. She had a compulsive urge to touch him, to feel the give of his skin and the muscle and bone beneath. To make sure he was still a living, breathing man, and not a statue. Or a corpse.

She sat for a few moments longer, then lay down next to him with her head in the crook of his arm. His body was so hot she began to sweat, and her tears and perspiration mingled with the dampness already on his chest. But Selia would have one more night in his arms, at least, before he died.

Hours later, she awoke in the dark room, chilled to the bone. Her clothes felt as clammy as if she had been caught in a sudden rain shower and had not changed out of them before climbing into bed. The candle had burned out, leaving the room in blackness, and she fumbled in blind confusion for the covers.

Alrik's skin underneath her cheek was as cool as marble. Stifling a scream, she reached in the direction of his face to feel for his breath. Instead she made contact with something soft and squishy-most likely his eye-and was rewarded with the sound of a grunt of pain, followed by a curse.

"Alrik!" Selia cried. "You are awake!"

"I am now," he grumbled.

A laugh so full of relief it tinged on hysteria bubbled up from her as she fumbled in the darkness, running her hands over his face and his damp hair, assuring herself that he was indeed alive.

He twisted his head impatiently. "What are you doing?"

With a hand on each side of his face, she lowered to kiss him. She made contact with the coarse hair of his beard first, and then found his mouth. "You are not dead."

"No," he agreed. "I'm not."

"I must tell Hrefna." Selia wriggled away and was out the door before he could protest.

The woman was asleep near the hearth, slumped over the table with her head in her arms. The embers of the fire lit up her red hair, making her seem very young from a distance. Her face, however, looked drawn and exhausted. Poor Hrefna. This ordeal had been just as difficult for her as it had been for Selia.

She touched Hrefna's shoulder and whispered her name.

Startled, Hrefna stared up at Selia with anguish in her eyes, no doubt fearing the worst.

"No, Hrefna," she said quickly. "He is awake!"

Although the fever had broken, Alrik was still frighteningly weak. The women fussed over him, fluffing his pillows and changing the damp bedding, and although Alrik protested, he didn't put a stop to it. When he found out the gathering was still happening as planned, however, he came out of the bed of his own accord in an attempt to reach Hrefna.

"Get over here, woman, so I can wring your neck," he yelled, but teetered and fell back onto the bed.

His aunt raised her eyebrows at him. "Is that any way to speak to the person who brought you back from the brink of death?"

"Just what were you going to do if I had died after all?" he demanded. "Have the party to celebrate?"

Hrefna laughed. "We would have had your funeral, you fool."

Alrik glared at her, grumbling under his breath, as a thrall brought in a tray of food. The strong smell of liver assaulted Selia's sensitive nose as the servant passed by. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep the bile down. But it was too late, the damage had been done, and she streaked outside just in time.

When she returned, Alrik had finished the liver and was tucking into a bowl of what looked and smelled like blood pudding. Selia broke out in a trembling sweat but managed not to vomit again. She took a chair at the other side of the room, fanning herself with her hand.

He eyed her over the bowl for a moment, then turned to his aunt. Hrefna averted her gaze. Alrik snorted and looked back at Selia. "When were you going to tell me?"

She flushed. "I did tell you, last night."

"Last night?" He looked amused. "When I was insensate?"

"Yes. I told you not to die, because your son would become a silly boy like Ainnileas. He does not know how to fight," she explained. "He can only play his whistle."

Alrik burst into raspy laughter and stretched a hand out for Selia. She sat next to him on the bed. "You think it's a boy?" he asked.

She nodded. "Only a boy would make me so sick."

He laughed again, his beautiful smile making her knees go weak. Her blush deepened. Alrik sat up straighter, regarding her with interest.

He handed his aunt the empty bowl. "Hrefna, have the thralls prepare the bathhouse. I smell like a dead dog."

"That's not a good idea." She shared a frown between Alrik and Selia. "It's too far for you to walk, and I'm not sure if a . . .
bath
is safe for you so soon after your fever."

Alrik ignored her. He threw off the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. He had a bit of color in his cheeks now, either from his repast of blood and liver or from the thought of having his way with Selia in the bathhouse. Attempting to stand, he wobbled a bit before sinking back on the bed.

“Go on.” He waved Hrefna toward the door. “Let me know when the bath is ready.”

Alrik won in the end, as usual. Hrefna insisted two thralls help him walk to the bathhouse, which he allowed, but the minute they were inside he dismissed them. He bolted the door, turning to Selia with an expectant look on his face.

But he was pale and out of breath. She led him to the chair and bade him sit so she could check his wound. She frowned as she lifted his shirt. "You are bleeding, Alrik."

"I'm not leaving without a bath."

There was no point in arguing with him. Selia watched him for signs of pain as she carefully pulled his shirt over his head, but his face remained stoic. He had to stand so she could untie his breeches, and as she pushed them down over his hips his desire for her became very evident.

Selia suppressed a giggle. "Hrefna said you must rest."

"Hrefna does not concern me," he replied as he climbed into the massive wooden tub. He sank into the hot water up to his shoulders and closed his eyes. "Come here, little one."

She shook her head as she undressed, taking down her hair to wash it before the gathering. She combed her fingers through the thick locks and caught Alrik staring at her.

"You're beautiful, Selia." He spoke in quiet tones as he reached out to finger a tendril of her hair. "I have never seen such a beautiful woman."

She smiled. Her husband was not one to give compliments easily. "So I am a woman now, not a girl?" she teased as she climbed into the tub. She sat across from him, arranging her legs so as not to bump his wound.

He shrugged. "You are carrying my child. I suppose that makes you a woman." Alrik reached for her, pulling her close. Selia carefully straddled his right leg, staying far from his wounded left side, and put her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips to his warm skin, felt the pulse beating there, and sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens—God, Odin—that her husband’s life had been spared.

"I love you," she whispered into his neck.

"Good," he said, and she knew by the tone of his voice he was grinning. "Because you're going to have to do all the work. I can barely move."