Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (4 page)

Chapter 4

Alrik’s laugh was triumphant. Selia tore her gaze from the body of the priest to gape up at him. His eyes blazed even in the dim light, making him look like the devil himself. He turned to Ulfrik and motioned to the door.

"Get out, brother."

Ulfrik didn’t move. "What? Here?"

The edges of Selia’s vision went dark as she realized what was about to happen. Her marriage would be consummated with the eyes of a dead priest staring at her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything but the body of Father Coinneach. She looked around, panicking, and caught the gaze of Ulfrik.

He took his cloak off and shook it out over the body of the priest. Alrik smirked at him. “You’re soft, Ulfrik. You always have been. Like a woman.”

“Look at her. Look at your wife. She’s terrified.”

Alrik shrugged. “She got what she wanted." He pushed Ulfrik through the door, then turned to Selia. His smile looked feral.

"Come here, my little wife."

She hesitated, still staring at the body of Father Coinneach, now covered by Ulfrik’s blue cloak. Selia had an irrational thought of Ulfrik sitting outside without it, cold and shivering in the night air. She felt her lip tremble.

Selia knew full well what was about to happen. She had wanted Alrik, indeed had been so carried away with desire for him that she had nearly given him her maidenhead this morning in the woods. She had brought this nightmare upon herself.

This man’s rage, what happened when the animal inside him was unleashed . . . she had no wish to experience it again. But she couldn’t bear thought of his murderous hands on her. What to do? Fight, or allow the marriage to be consummated? Fighting might make him angry enough to hurt her. Perhaps kill her. And his brother was most likely just outside the door, to catch her if she ran. She was trapped.

Selia blew out a breath, steadying herself. If he wanted to kill her he would have done it already. He was calmer now, but the rage had come upon him so quickly. To refuse him now would only anger him further. She approached her husband, keeping her gaze to the floor.

Shaking, she pointed to the kitchen area in the back of the house. ”There,” she said. Selia could not commit the sacrilege of allowing her marriage to be consummated in the same room with the body of her priest. Would Alrik understand that? Or even care?

He studied her for a moment. Then he smiled the same hard smile he had given her in the woods, and led her through the doorway into the kitchen. Selia nearly sobbed with relief. He had a trace of compassion, after all.

Alrik took her to a nearby table, then lifted her at the waist and sat her upon it. He hooked a finger under her chin to tilt her face, and brought his mouth down upon hers in a deep, rough kiss.

He kept one hand on the small of her back while his other wandered down her body. Pulling her gown up with an impatient grunt, he ran his hand over her bare leg, nudging her knees farther apart with his own.

Selia jumped when she felt his hand on her thigh. He wound his other hand in her hair to force her head back as his lips moved down her neck. She shivered to feel his breath against her flesh.

"I have no wish to hurt you, little one," he whispered.

The words might have been kind coming from someone else. But the man she had found so handsome now seemed like nothing more than a terrifying stranger—hard, angry, and devoid of compassion. She had married a Finngall, a wicked heathen. His hands could snap her neck so quickly she would be dead before she even realized it. Like Father Coinneach.

Selia didn't struggle as he leaned her back against the table. She took a deep breath, gripped the edge of the table with both hands, and braced herself. She prayed it would be over quickly.

Although she sensed gentleness did not come easily to this Finngall, he had been truthful, at least, in his desire not to hurt her. His body was large and heavy, and Selia closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at him as he entered her. There was a moment of pain but she refused to cry out. She bit her lip hard and tasted blood, willing her mind to drift.

Just when she thought she could take no more, Alrik groaned, then finally collapsed on top of her in a heap of muscle and sweat. It was over.

Selia opened her eyes. Pinned to the table, she couldn’t move under his suffocating weight. She felt numb from the waist down. Was it supposed to feel like this? Maybe she would bleed to death on the table.

He shifted to look down at her, his silky hair falling around them like a curtain. "Next time won't be so bad." He gave her a sly smile. "You might even come to enjoy it."

He obviously meant to do this to her often. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. Alrik pulled away from her to refasten his breeches, looking very pleased with himself. At least his mood had lightened.

Selia brought her legs together. Her hips felt odd, loose and disjointed. She tried to get down from the table and instead fell to the floor.

He laughed as he pulled her to her feet. "Can you walk? Or do you need me to carry you?"

She flushed. "I walk."

They had to step over the priest's body once again to get outside. Alrik did it without pause, as if he maneuvered over a rain puddle. Selia crossed herself when Alrik's back was turned.

Holding in a sob, she stepped around the body of the man whose death she was responsible for.

They rode for what seemed like hours, every jolt of the horse a fresh assault to Selia's aching body. She smelled the sea and heard the sound of water in the distance, so it seemed they were following the coastline. But she couldn't see anything past Alrik's arm when she tried to look.

Finally, the men turned the horses toward the sound of the sea. A group of about two dozen Finngalls sat around a blazing campfire in a small cove, with the dragonship beached behind them. Alrik called out as they approached. A few men began to cheer, then the others joined in. The cove rang with their harsh Norse voices.

Alrik dismounted, tall and proud, and lifted Selia from the horse. She was suddenly surrounded by large, loud men, peering down at her in blatant curiosity. Although she didn't understand all of their words, by tone and body language she deduced that her husband was the leader of this rough group of men.

The musky male scent of the Finngalls was sharp in the air. They all seemed to be speaking at once in their guttural language, which, if she closed her eyes, sounded almost like dogs barking. Or wolves. She remembered Eithne's story and shivered.

Selia took a few steps backward and tripped on someone's foot. Ulfrik. He patted her on the shoulder, just once, then dropped his hand back to his side.

A bald, ruddy-faced man with a blond moustache introduced himself as Olaf Egilson. He pressed a cup of something into Selia's hands which she accepted with gratitude, and gulped. Unfortunately it wasn't water, but very strong ale. She coughed and sputtered, bringing a round of laughter from the men.

The Finngalls continued to congratulate Alrik, commenting on Selia’s beauty as well as her diminutive size.

“Is she even as old as Ingrid?” someone called out with a laugh.

Alrik frowned at Selia. "How old are you?"

She hesitated, not knowing the Norse counting words. She turned to his brother. "I'm eighteen," she said in Irish. Ulfrik looked at her for a long moment before translating.

The men laughed about this, and she heard the name ‘Ingrid’ mentioned again. Who was this Ingrid? A girl at home Alrik was already betrothed to? Selia swallowed the rest of her ale and didn't resist when the bald man refilled it.

The group moved back to the fire as another man asked Alrik to tell the story of what had happened after leaving Niall's house. Selia recognized him as the eldest of the three Finngalls who had been with Alrik and Ulfrik when they had taken her. Those three were the last to see her family.

She turned to Ulfrik and studied him for a moment until he looked down at her. He seemed kind enough, knocking her to the ground notwithstanding. And he spoke Irish.

"I'm sorry I hit you," she said.

He rubbed his jaw with a wry smile. "So am I."

She smiled back at him. "Will you ask that man if my family is all right?"

Ulfrik motioned her to a spot away from the group of men. Selia sat with Alrik's cloak wrapped around her against the night air while she waited for his brother to return. The ale was making a warm spot in her belly and she began to feel drowsy.

Ulfrik returned and sat down next to her with his own cup of ale. He took a long drink before speaking to her. "They are unharmed."

Selia sighed in relief. "Thank you."

Ulfrik nodded and they both watched Alrik regale the men with the tale of Selia's capture and the visit to the priest. She looked away as he described Father Coinneach's ghastly death throes. Shouting and cheers erupted from the men, and Selia shuddered.

"He'll be congratulating himself all night," Ulfrik muttered under his breath.

Selia didn't understand the Norse word 'congratulating.' “What do you mean?”

By his reaction it was clear he hadn't meant for Selia to hear him. After a brief hesitation he replied, “I don’t know the Irish word.” Ulfrik glanced over at the group of men to be sure he wasn't being observed, then mimicked Alrik, puffing his chest out and patting himself on the back.

Selia giggled as she watched him. She suddenly missed Ainnileas very much. It was something he would do, and Ulfrik's playacting was a harsh reminder that she would never see her brother again. Her laugh turned into a stifled sob and Ulfrik stopped.

"What is it?" he asked in Irish.

"I miss my brother. You . . . you are like him, a bit."

"You are twins, are you not?"

Selia nodded as she drained her cup. She hadn't eaten all day and the strong ale was going to her head.

Ulfrik paused again. He seemed to be the sort of person who thought things through very carefully before speaking. "What did your father mean when he called you the 'daughter of his heart?'"

“He’s not my real father,” Selia explained. Her own heart contracted at the thought of the man she called ‘
Dadai
.’ She would never see him again. “My brother and I were orphaned when we were very young. Niall found us wandering in the woods, and he took us in.”

Ulfrik's face remained expressionless. “How old were you when Niall found you?”

Selia shook her head. “About two years old, he believed.”

The firelight flickered in Ulfrik’s eyes. Selia hesitated when she saw the muscle in his jaw tighten.

Why had she told him so much? Tipsy or not, she had to be more careful. This man—no matter how kind he seemed—was Alrik's brother. His loyalties would lie with him. Alrik had paid an absurdly large bride price for her, with the expectation of obtaining the daughter of a merchant, not of an Irish peasant.

"Will Alrik be angry that Niall is not my real father?"

Ulfrik’s face was unreadable. "You might not want to tell him."

Selia swallowed. Yet another secret to keep from her new husband. She and Ulfrik sat in silence for a moment, watching the drama unfold across the fire.

She turned back to him. "Who is Ingrid?"

"Ingrid is Alrik's daughter," he replied, draining the remains of his ale.

Chapter 5

Selia woke just before dawn. Unaccustomed to sleeping outside on the cold ground, her night had been restless. She had been acutely aware of Alrik's large body pressed next to hers. He slept on his side with one arm pillowed under his head and the other thrown across Selia's body, the red cloak covering them both. She peeked at him to make sure he was still asleep.

Relaxed in slumber, there was a peace about him. Her gaze wandered over him in curiosity, taking in the pleasing outline of cheekbone and jaw, the full mouth, and the thick sweep of his brows. He was an undeniably handsome man.

His eyelashes were darker than his hair, golden blond, the same shade as his beard. Unlike most Irishmen, Alrik's cheeks were as smooth and hairless as that of a boy. His braided beard began only at the edges of his moustache. How old was he? Ulfrik had informed her that Ingrid was fifteen years old, so Alrik must be older than he looked.

Her first impression of his size had been correct, for he was by far the largest of the Finngalls in this group. Last night she had noticed he stood half a head taller than his brother Ulfrik and nearly a full head taller than any of the rest. And he wasn't gangly in the way of some tall men—Alrik was thickly muscled, lean and hard, with a latent power that was evident even as he slept.

One of his enormous hands was thrown possessively over her belly. His hands were weathered to a darker color, with rough, calloused skin and short nails. The little finger on his right hand was crooked, as though it had been broken and not set correctly. There was a scar on his hand which began at the base of the broken finger, snaking through the golden hairs up to his wrist. How many more scars were on his body, covered by his clothing? Violence begat violence, and Alrik was the most volatile person she had ever met.

This was her husband. No matter what misgivings she had about their marriage, she was bound to him for life. Why,
why
had she gone to Dubhlinn alone? It had only been two days since she had made that fateful decision, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Alrik mumbled in his sleep. His hand shifted, landing heavily on her bladder. Selia gasped and decided she couldn't wait any longer. She lifted the hand to slip out.

He rolled over onto his back but didn't awaken. All of the men had been drinking heavily last night, and all were still asleep. Selia headed toward the forest for privacy.

There was an uncomfortable sensation on the skin of her thighs as she walked, and as she finally squatted down to relieve herself she found she was covered in dried blood. She unsuccessfully attempted to scrub the blood off with a handful of dew-covered leaves. She needed water.

She headed toward the sea and within a few minutes of walking found a small, shallow inlet, partially secluded by rocks. As private a space for bathing as any she was likely to find. The water was icy, and Selia drew in her breath as she tested it with her hand.

Suppressing her natural fear of the water, she undressed and left her clothes on a massive chunk of driftwood, then wound her hair in a knot atop her head. Selia waded into the frigid water, waist deep, and scrubbed herself clean with wet sand. She splashed her face and rinsed her mouth, and then, gasping, crouched down in the water to rinse the sand off.

"Are you trying to drown yourself so soon?" Alrik's voice came from behind her.

She jumped, surprised how quietly he moved for such a large man. How long had he been watching her bathe?

He sat down on the log next to her clothes and held out the red cloak. "Come out before you freeze to death."

Selia
was
shivering, so hard her teeth chattered, but she balked at the thought of walking out to him completely naked. She met his gaze. His smile was thin and hard, and she sensed anger behind it. At all costs, his anger must be avoided.

She lowered her gaze and walked to him, acutely aware of his eyes on her. Selia heard the sharp intake of Alrik's breath.

Selia did not consider herself shapely. Her breasts and hips were small, with a slender waist and limbs. There was a fragile quality to her body which she knew not all men appreciated. Alrik appeared to be one who did.

He wrapped the cloak around her to pull her to him. With him sitting and her standing, they were face to face, which seemed strangely intimate. His bright eyes burned into hers as she shivered.

"Your lips are blue," he murmured, rubbing his thumb across them. "What were you thinking?"

"Blood," Selia said through her chattering teeth. She looked down in the direction of the area in question, and felt herself flush even deeper.

"Yes, I imagine there was." He didn't sound the least bit remorseful. In fact, if the way he was looking at her was any indication, he wanted to repeat the act that had caused the blood in the first place. She blinked away the tears that welled up in her eyes.

Alrik put a hand on the small of her back to pull her closer. He let her hair loose, then slid his other hand up to cup her breast. His fingers dug in a bit too hard, and she cried out. He smiled his angry smile.

"Selia. Under no circumstances are you to wander away without me. Ever." His eyes narrowed darkly. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She looked at him with uncertainty, interpreting that he was angry at her but not comprehending all the words. It was of the utmost importance to know what she had done wrong so she could avoid doing it again.

Alrik gripped her shoulders. "You stay with me.
You stay with me,
" he said, shaking her slightly with each word for emphasis.

Selia nodded.

Relaxing his hold on her shoulders, he slid both hands under her buttocks and pulled her into his lap. Her legs dangled as she straddled him. She squirmed at the position, but he kept her still as he brought his mouth upon hers in a kiss, hard and possessive.

Selia sensed the animal within him coming to life. The heat rising from Alrik's skin warmed her cold body where he touched her. His hand was on her breast again, each tweak of his fingers causing an unexpected jolt of pleasure to course through her veins. Then he broke the kiss to lift her, bringing her breast up to his mouth, and suckled roughly.

The sensation was overwhelming. Despite her fear, there was an ache deep in her belly, a heaviness that called for release. How could her body desire him, how could
she
desire him, knowing what he had done last night?

Yet she gripped his shoulders, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he held her. His hair glittered like spun silk in the sun. She had a sudden urge to touch the silvery strands, to feel its texture. She did, cautiously at first, then with a moan twined her fingers into it and pressed his head to her breast.

Alrik looked up at her. She shivered at the beauty of his face, the beauty that masked the shadow inside him. But Selia's fear was gone for the moment, and she gave him a hesitant smile. Maybe he had been right last night . . . maybe she could grow to enjoy this after all.

He shifted her body and pushed his breeches down over his hips. She felt the hard, naked length of him as he pulled her back into his lap. She took in a shaky breath. His eyes were so blue, so mesmerizing. She tried to look away, but he held her chin so she couldn’t.

He filled her completely in one long, slow movement, then remained still for a moment as he watched her. She gasped, flushing. She had to close her eyes to steady herself.

Alrik brought his mouth to hers. The kiss deepened as he began to move inside her. His large hands tightened around her hips, digging into her flesh, and Selia held on as his thrusts intensified. He seemed to be everywhere at once, taking her, claiming her, overpowering her.

The sensation was extraordinary. Her fear and desire forged into a powerful, molten need that was unlike anything she had felt before. A current of pleasure rippled through her body with every thrust, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He moved faster. She gripped his arms, digging in with her fingernails. There was a buildup of tension in her belly, a feeling both terrifying and exhilarating, then a sudden release that shook her to the very core. With a sob, she pressed her face into his shoulder.

Alrik groaned. He crushed her against him as he thrust a last time. She melted into him, confused and exhausted. She could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

He finally grasped her shoulders so she was forced to look at him. He was achingly beautiful, face and lips flushed, eyes slightly hooded. She lowered her gaze. Looking at Alrik was like looking into the sun.

“I told you next time would be better,” he said.