Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) (6 page)

She took a delicate sip, mindful of her alcohol-induced confession to his brother the night before. She would not make that mistake again. She had only tasted wine twice before in her life when her father had attempted to impress a high status guest. This wine was delicious, much better than she’d had at home. But again the memory flashed of blood spurting from the foreign sailor's headless body. Selia's throat contracted, causing her to sputter and nearly choke.

Alrik frowned as he rubbed his thumb across the mark on her neck left by the tip of the dagger. Selia's heart did a strange flip-flop inside her chest. Was he actually concerned for her wellbeing? No, he was more likely angry at the idea of someone damaging his property. Or maybe he wasn't interested in having a wife whose beauty was flawed by a scar.

He dragged his thumb against her flesh, down her throat and across her collarbone. His hand was hot against her skin. "So," he said slowly, "What did you and Ulfrik find to talk about all day?"

She drew her brows together as she translated the words. Her own mind had been consumed by thoughts of the battle at sea and her brief stint as a hostage, and she had assumed his would be as well. But no, he had obviously moved on to the more important issue of whether or not his wife and his brother were overly interested in each other.

Selia wasn't sure how to answer. "Norse . . . words," she said hesitantly.

After a moment, Alrik threw his head back and laughed. She released a relieved breath.

"Ulfrik says you're quite the quick learner." He took a long drink, watching her over the rim of his cup.

Selia smiled. "I want to speak . . . for you happy—happiness."

He put his hand on her thigh, and she could feel the heat of it even through the fabric of her gown. Again he drew her in with his hypnotic gaze. She was still more than a bit afraid of him, but when he was this close to her she felt so strange, completely overwhelmed by his physical presence. Like a bug caught in a spider's web, waiting for the inevitable, poison bite. No, not just waiting for it.

Wanting it.

Alrik leaned in close to her. She smelled the briny scent of seawater on him, and she shivered when the damp strands of his hair brushed her cheek.

"There are many things I can teach you, little one,” he whispered. “Things that will make me very happy."

Chapter 8

The next several days passed pleasantly enough as they sailed along the Irish coastline, stopping to trade at ports along the way whenever the mood struck Alrik. He seemed in no great hurry to get home. Selia kept herself occupied learning Norse from Ulfrik during the day, and learning the intricacies of intimate expression from Alrik at night. Just a short time ago she would have been shocked and repulsed at the various ways two people could join their bodies. How quickly Alrik had changed her opinion on the unavoidable necessity of bedding one's husband.

Selia had made a vital discovery as well; Alrik's desire for her gave her a surprising power over him. Her marriage had made her the property of her husband. But she learned she could bring the big man to his knees with just a word or a touch. Selia took a wicked satisfaction in it.

Her lessons in Norse were also coming along well, and she now understood most of the conversations she heard aboard the ship. As a consequence of spending so much time together, Ulfrik's Irish had also greatly improved. They had fallen into an easy and unexpected friendship, and Selia looked forward to the time she spent with her husband’s brother. The other men were still uncomfortable around her, however. Most of them wouldn't even look at her, much less speak to her.

On the morning she had wandered off to bathe, Alrik had gone into a jealous rage, convinced one of the men had taken her into the woods. Ulfrik had calmed his brother down, but not before Alrik threatened to kill any man who so much as looked at his wife. The Finngalls took this threat seriously, and they now avoided Selia at all cost. But they couldn't stop the wind from carrying their words to her ears.

She learned quite a bit about her new husband and his brother from these snippets of conversations.

From the way the men talked, it was clear Alrik’s jealous behavior made them uneasy. They thought he was besotted with his wife, which she could only conclude was not befitting a man of his standing. There seemed to be more to it than that though, from the way they spoke in hushed whispers of Alrik's father, Ragnarr.

She also heard the word 'curse' mentioned more than once. She didn't know what this word meant but had a strong suspicion it wasn't a compliment. She didn't dare ask Ulfrik about it, in case he took offense at the disparagement of his and Alrik's father, if indeed it was meant as such.

Ulfrik seemed to be genuinely well liked among the men, although the nickname they called him, ‘Ulfrik Child Lover,’ gave her pause. It was always said behind his back, and always with a slight snicker. Many of the men had a nickname, and she was not surprised to learn Alrik's was ‘Blood Axe.’ Most of the nicknames had to do with either the person's prowess in battle, or a unique physical characteristic.

Except for Ulfrik.

At first, Selia worried the men had the wrong idea about her Norse lessons with Ulfrik, but after hearing the nickname several times in reference to things other than her, she decided it must be related to something else. Again she was hesitant to ask Ulfrik about it directly, as it appeared to be an insult. How exasperating that the only source of her information was also the subject of the gossip she wanted to ask about.

She found Ulfrik to be an interesting person. During battle he had been as much a bloodthirsty Finngall as the other men, yet otherwise he seemed slightly removed from them. Different, although she couldn't put her finger on the reason. He worked beside them, he slept beside them, and he killed beside them. He made jokes with them and laughed at theirs. Why couldn't she shake the suspicion that Ulfrik felt like an outsider?

"Selia. Do you want to stop?"

She blinked at him. How long had her mind been wandering? "No," she said. "I'm sorry, I was . . ." She trailed off, not knowing the correct Norse word.

"Daydreaming," he offered. "Wool gathering."

She turned away, laughing, and out of the corner of her eye saw Mani Nefbjornson picking his nose. Selia nudged Ulfrik with her foot, eager to change the subject. "Mani Nose-Picker," she whispered.

His gaze was dispassionate as he took in the sight of his comrade, but she wasn't fooled. She had discovered his sense of humor early on, quite by accident, when he had made a quiet reference to Rodrek Sialfson as ‘Rodrek the Fragrant.’ Rodrek was one of the few men on the ship who didn't bathe on a regular basis. The smell of his crusty boots caused her eyes to water whenever he walked past.

Selia was in awe of Ulfrik's ability to keep his face expressionless when he wanted to, and it took her several seconds to grasp he was joking. She had bitten her lip to keep from laughing out loud, but a strangled snort escaped anyway. He did smile at her then, and since then they had been secretly making up silly nicknames for the men. He was better at it than she was. Somehow the fact he could keep his face completely straight while saying something ridiculous made it even funnier.

"You can do better than that, Selia Wool-Gatherer," Ulfrik said now, without taking his eyes from Mani. "Try again."

She thought hard. It was unfair to do this in Norse. She
could
do better if she wasn't trying to make jokes in a foreign language. Selia broke the rules by speaking in Irish.

"Mani Cavern-Explorer." She leveled him with a smug smile, and it was Ulfrik's turn to laugh so hard he nearly choked. Triumph at last.

The evening was clear and mild. After their nightly sojourn into the woods, Selia and Alrik returned to the beach. They lay on his cloak under the stars, a good distance away from the rest of the group as the men drank and prepared supper. She heard their disembodied voices as they spoke to each other, but it was too dark to see anyone clearly.

Alrik was in a foul temper which even the use of her body had not dissipated. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. She had hoped to return to the group but he refused, grumbling he was not in the mood to be sociable.

Gazing up into the inky darkness, she nudged him as she saw a shooting star. "Look!" She pointed, hoping to distract him.

He rose up on his elbow but looked at her instead of the night sky. "Selia. What were you and Ulfrik laughing about today?"

So that was it; he was jealous. She should have known better than to make Ulfrik laugh so hard. She had taken his unflappability as a personal challenge, and had been so pleased with herself when he had broken. Now she would pay for it, it seemed.

"Nicknames," she told Alrik, too afraid to lie to him.

"Nicknames?"

"Yes. I saw Mani pick his nose, and I called him 'Mani Nose-Picker," she whispered.

Alrik gave her a look of disdain. "Did anyone else hear you?"

"No."

"Mani is one of my best warriors. He has brought great honor to my war band. You disrespect him with your laughter."

She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"I should have known better than to think Ulfrik Child Lover could be trusted to teach a
child
anything but jokes."

Selia felt a hot flush creep over her face. It was several seconds before she was able to speak. "I'm sorry," she said again. "It is . . . my fault."

His face still looked stony, so she stroked his hand until he met her gaze.

Alrik's expression didn't soften as expected. "Your Norse is much improved, Selia, and Ulfrik is needed on the ship—"

She cut him off quickly with a kiss. "Forgive me, Alrik. Do not be angry. I cannot stand it." She smiled at him, slow and sweet.

"Selia—"

"Why do they call Ulfrik 'Child Lover?' Does he have childs?"

"Children," he corrected her. She had used the incorrect word on purpose in an attempt to distract him. She nodded in innocence as he continued. "He doesn't have children. He just likes them too much."

Selia's jaw dropped. A man who lived on the outskirts of Baile Átha Cliath had been burned alive inside his house because it was rumored he had a sinful attraction to young boys.

Surely not Ulfrik—?

Alrik burst into laughter. "No, not that. He's just squeamish about killing them. In battle."

Selia blinked in confusion. She sat up with her heart hammering in her chest, unable to take a deep breath.

"You, you are Alrik Blood Axe. You kill . . . children?"

His hesitation told her it was true. He frowned as he reached for her, but she smacked his hand away. She tried to stand but Alrik grabbed her.

His face was very close to hers as he spoke. "Yes, I kill children." His eyes narrowed to slits. "Everyone does but Ulfrik. You kill the ones you have no use for—the old ones, the sick ones, and the children. There is a word for a man who cannot kill, and it is 'woman.' Would you rather be married to a woman, Selia?"

The bile rose in her throat. If she needed a reminder of what she had married, this was it. She had watched Alrik kill grown men, had seen him drenched in blood as he severed a man's head from his body. Although she would never be able to condone such brutality, she had reluctantly accepted it as part of the Finngalls' violent culture. But Selia had not allowed herself to consider the possibility that her new husband's savage nature would be equally applied to women. Or children.

She turned her back on Alrik Blood Axe and curled up into a fetal position, choking back her tears. More than anything, she wanted to be home.

Alrik's mood remained foul that night. He kept his distance from the men, clenching his hands and muttering to himself. Selia sat with her knees drawn up and her cloak wrapped tightly around her body in an attempt to fade into the background. She held her gaze on Alrik as he paced like a caged animal. Someone was going to get hurt tonight, and she could only pray it wouldn't be her.

The men were restless as well; they too could sense Alrik's volatile temperament had reached a dangerous level. They gave him a wide berth and lowered their eyes. The normally raucous laughter and bawdy jokes of the evenings were subdued this night. No one wanted to be the man who pushed Alrik beyond the pale.

Only Ulfrik dared approach him. He did so with an air of indifference, sipping from his cup, as if accustomed to the task of having to talk his brother back from the brink.

"What is wrong?" he asked quietly, looking at the fire instead of directly at Alrik.

"That's none of your concern."

Alrik's voice had an edge to it that made Selia fear for Ulfrik's safety. He wouldn't hurt his own brother, would he? Ulfrik took a few steps away from the fire, motioning for him to follow. He pulled out his sword and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Alrik.

Selia stared, openmouthed. Surely Ulfrik didn't mean to fight him? No one in their right mind would even consider doing such a thing with Alrik in the state he was in.

Alrik grunted, turning away, but then Ulfrik held out his broadsword and pressed the tip of it into his brother’s shoulder. Alrik whirled and pulled out his sword in one quick, angry motion.

Selia clapped a hand over her own mouth to keep from screaming. She had no desire to watch Ulfrik die tonight.

Apparently, he had the same thought. "Left hand, Alrik," he said. "Unless you do want me dead."

Alrik's eyes blazed like the devil incarnate. He ripped off his cloak, slung it aside, then tossed the sword over to his left hand. "Ulfrik Child Lover," he snarled as he picked up his shield.

"So this is about me, then?" Ulfrik eyed his brother warily.

Alrik lunged toward Ulfrik without answering. Ulfrik parried the blow with his shield, pushing him back. And again. And again. They did this over and over, like a perilous dance, until they were both sweating and grunting with exertion. Was this Ulfrik's plan, then—to exhaust Alrik until his anger dissipated?

The brothers circled each other, eyes locked. Alrik abruptly spun, sword raised, and slammed it into Ulfrik's shield with such force that the clearing rang with the impact.

The wooden shield splintered apart, and a large chunk of it fell away from the metal band that encircled it. The edge of Alrik's sword met Ulfrik's shoulder, drawing a dark line of blood against his blue shirt.

Selia could take no more. She ran to them, grabbing Alrik's arm in an attempt to restrain him, but he shook her free and she fell on her backside. He stood over her with his sword in his hand, eyes so wild she feared he didn't even know it was her.

"Stop! Don't hurt him because you're angry at me," she cried out in Irish, too distressed to remember to speak in Norse.

A murmur went through the men, as several quietly inquired what she had said, and someone translated, just as quietly. A man laughed. His rough whisper could just be heard above the others.

"I think she's bedding them both."

A stunned silence spread over the group. The joke, meant for only one or two men, had been heard by all.

Alrik turned to face them and his gaze locked onto Skagi Ketilson, the man who had spoken. The color drained from Skagi's face, causing the red scratch marks left by Selia's fingernails on the day of her abduction to stand out in stark contrast against his white skin.

Alrik lunged toward Skagi with his sword still drawn. Ulfrik tackled his brother, and at his urging several men were able to disarm Alrik while he was down. But Alrik somehow managed to pull Skagi to the ground by the legs.

The men unsuccessfully tried to restrain their leader as he climbed on top of Skagi and began pummeling him with his fists, to the sickening sound of cracking bone.

An uproar exploded, the men trying to pull Alrik away. Skagi screamed and his father, Ketill, implored Alrik to stop. But he was a man possessed. As Selia scrambled to her feet, Alrik continued to hammer away at Skagi and at anyone else within distance. Several of the men, including Ulfrik, suffered a bloody nose or a rapidly-swelling eye.

Selia gasped as she caught a glimpse of Alrik's face. The whites of his eyes were visible all around the irises, like a mad dog. He looked wild, feral . . . inhuman.
Berserker,
a voice whispered in her head.

Eithne’s stories were true, after all.

No.
No.

Berserkers were what the Finngalls called the ‘shape-shifters.’ These warriors would be struck with fits of uncontrollable rage that caused them to kill anything in their path, including their own kinsmen, until their lust for blood had been slaked. Although some stories asserted these men could actually turn into wolves at will, other tales claimed they instead channeled the spirit of the animals—retaining the form of a man but possessing the strength and soulless ferocity of the wolf.