A Flame Put Out (3 page)

Ingrid, frantic, eyes wild, cried incoherently. She appeared to have pulled out fistfuls of her own hair. Ainnileas’ body language was more subdued. Although he held himself in a slightly defensive posture against a sudden attack from Ingrid, the expression on his face seemed to be one of pity. Grainne stood closest to the water, veering back and forth between her son, the mad Norse girl, and the small Irish boat on its way to grant her freedom.

Ainnileas’ gaze landed on Selia. “What are you doing here?”

“Alrik knows what you tried to do,” she said, gasping for breath. “He won’t let you come back to Norway, and I needed to see you one last time—”

Ainnileas looked up sharply as Alrik crashed through the brush. “Why did you bring him here, Selia? Now he’ll think I planned this!” His gaze flickered toward Ingrid where she crouched in the sand, sobbing.

Selia turned as her husband rushed toward her brother with his sword drawn. “No, Alrik!” she cried. “He had nothing to do with this!” She stood in front of Ainnileas to block the attack.

Ainnileas pulled the dagger from his belt and shoved Selia aside. Grainne screamed.

There was a blur of motion as Ingrid launched herself at her father. She grabbed his sword arm so tightly that she came off her feet as he tried to shake her loose. “This is your fault!” she screamed. “Ainnileas won’t have me because of you!”

Alrik’s eyes were lit up like the devil himself as he glared at Ainnileas. “Is it not enough that you meant to steal my wife from me, but now you would steal my daughter as well?” he snarled.

“No!” Ainnileas shouted, gripping his dagger. “I do not want Ingrid.”

The girl wailed again. “He loved me until you ruined it! You ruin everything!” she screeched at Alrik.

He grabbed Ingrid by the hair to pull her free of his arm, letting her dangle for a moment before dropping her unceremoniously on the ground. “You are an embarrassment to me, daughter,” he sneered down at her. “This boy is a coward and a deceiver, and yet you throw yourself at him like a whore. As long as there is breath in me, I will never give you to him.”

Ingrid cried out as though she were in physical pain as she collapsed onto the sand. Alrik motioned to Olaf, who came forward. “Take her back to the horses until the ship is gone,” he ordered. “Restrain her if you must.”

Olaf hoisted Ingrid to her feet. She put her head into his chest, sobbing. He held her for a moment and spoke softly to her, then half-led, half-carried the girl up the hill toward the house.

Grainne and Ainnileas stood close together, watching Alrik. He gave them both a scornful look before turning his gaze to the small boat. The sailors had tied it loosely to the dock but appeared fearful to get out, and so they sat in the boat as it bobbed like a cork in the water.

“Get in the boat, woman,” he ordered Grainne, pointing with his sword. “My wife would say goodbye to her brother, but not to you.”

Selia had told him, without going into detail, how there was no love lost between her and Grainne. If she never saw her mother again it would not be a hardship.

The woman shared a sneer between Alrik and Selia. “You are dead to me, child,” she said in a harsh whisper, spitting on the ground. “The flames of hell will rise up and devour you—”

Ainnileas made a cutting motion with his hand. “Enough. Just get in the boat, Mother.”

She did so, muttering under her breath all the while, and Alrik turned back to address Ainnileas. “Listen well, boy. You will never see Selia again. If you attempt to return to Norway, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Ainnileas remained motionless, and Alrik turned impatiently to his wife. “Tell him in Irish—”

“I understand,” Ainnileas retorted, visibly bristling.

Selia stepped between them and frowned at Alrik until he moved aside. He cursed as he sheathed his sword. “Then say your goodbyes,” he commanded.

She touched her twin’s cheek with a rueful smile. “I love you, my brother.” She used the language that was theirs alone.

His face crumpled as he pulled her to him in a fierce embrace. “I can’t leave you with him.”

“Yes you can,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “You only see the bad in him, everyone does. But I can see the good. He loves me, and I love him.”

“He’ll end up killing you, you foolish girl. Even Ulfrik said so—”

She shook her head. “Do not speak that name to me. He is a liar
.
Everything he said was a lie.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Did he do something to you, Selia?”

“No,” she retorted. “But if you ever see him again, don’t believe a word he says. Promise me.”

Her brother nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for trying to take you back to Buadhach. I’m sorry for everything. Now I’ve lost you, and I’ve lost Ingrid too.”

“You do love her, then.”

He averted his gaze toward the beach path Ingrid had taken. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Not if Alrik had anything to do with it. “No,” Selia sighed. “It doesn’t.” She stroked his chin where a few more dark hairs had sprouted recently. Her brother was turning into a man overnight. “I’m sorry too, Ainnileas. I know you can’t understand why I’m staying in Norway, but I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”

“I already have,” he murmured, then pulled her close again to kiss her on the forehead. “I love you, Selia.”

She slid her arms around him and held on, choking back a sob. Ainnileas finally stepped away from her with a sad smile. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve as he turned to climb into the boat next to Grainne.

Hot tears streamed down Selia’s face as she watched the boat slowly make its way toward the ship. Although Grainne refused to look in her direction, Ainnileas didn’t take his gaze from hers. As she watched them climb up into the ship, Alrik took Selia by the arm, ready to leave.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Not until the ship is gone.”

He grimaced but released her arm. The ship’s sails unfurled with a flutter, catching the wind. Ainnileas stood white-faced as he gripped the rail, his gaze locked with Selia’s.

The craft sailed out of the bay and disappeared into the cleft in the cliffs. A cry escaped Selia’s lips as she stared at the empty space where the ship had been. Her brother was gone.

“It’s time to go, little one,” Alrik said quietly, reaching for her hand. His eyes had lost their blaze of fury, and now studied her with something approaching compassion.

Selia met his gaze briefly. This was it, then; her decision was permanent now. She would never leave Norway. She nodded, sniffling, and placed her hand in his to return home.

Chapter 3

Selia awoke at dawn. She lay quietly for some time, listening to Alrik breathe beside her. The seasons had shifted from late summer to autumn, and the light had begun to change as well. The darkest part of the night now lasted longer than it had during the summer.

At her request, Alrik had postponed his fall trip to Ireland for as long as possible. But the time had come; the war band would leave tomorrow morning. The sea could be unpredictable this late in the season, and if they waited any longer the men might have to winter over in Dubhlinn.

Selia stared at the form of her sleeping husband in the semidarkness. She studied him, memorizing the curves and planes of bone and muscle, burning the image in her mind until he returned. Her eyes focused on the pulse in his neck, beating almost imperceptibly. He was a huge man, stronger than any she had ever known, yet she could not fool herself into thinking he was impervious to the ravages of battle. A well-aimed blade could still the Hersir’s pulse just as easily as it could that of any other man.

Aside from the occasional, mild mood swing, he had been surprisingly stable since she had returned to him. She suspected it was because both Ulfrik and Ainnileas were gone, and therefore he had less to be jealous of. He was still the same Alrik after all—selfish enough to be resentful of any competition for her affections, even those of a platonic nature. In that way he was very much like a child, overwhelmed with the intensity of his need for her.

He had gone to Bjorn’s for the blacksmith to sharpen his weapons, and while there had run into Ketill. Upon Alrik’s return home he had shared with disdain that his brother had left Ketill’s farmstead and had gone to Bjorgvin to join with Gunnar One-Eye’s crew.

Selia had startled at the name. Gunnar One-Eye was the warlord who had raided Muirin’s village in Ireland, selling her into slavery. Gunnar had the reputation of being the single most violent and bloodthirsty of all the Vikingers in Norway, which of course infuriated Alrik.

Gunnar concentrated his efforts on slave-trading. He chose only the most beautiful, exotic specimens to sell at a high price as concubines. Everyone else he killed, which rubbed against Alrik’s practical nature. A homely, yet strong-backed slave could fetch a reasonable price at market. Alrik had grumbled that Gunnar’s methods were wasteful and smacked of laziness.

She was shocked that Ulfrik would join with such a man, but then again she had been fooled by Ulfrik before. His gentle nature had been nothing but a ruse. Every kindness he had shown her had been a deception to lure her away from Alrik. Why should this new evidence, that he wasn’t the man he pretended to be, surprise her?

The light from the smoke hole intensified as the sun rose, and Selia watched as the blaze touched Alrik, giving his skin and hair a golden glow. She reached for his face, unable to resist, and drew her fingers over the glittering hairs of his eyebrow.

He squinted in the sunlight, his irises a ghostly blue. “What are you doing?” he mumbled. The heavy muscles rippled under his skin as he stretched.

Her breath caught in her throat at the beauty of him. She felt tears prickling in her eyes and she blinked them away. “I am looking at you, Alrik. I love you so much it hurts.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry it’s so painful for you.”

“Do not laugh at me,” she said hotly. “I could not bear it if you got hurt again. I do not think I could live without you.” She rolled over to stare at the rafters.

He caught her gaze as he rose up on his elbow. “Do you think I want to leave you, Selia?” He drew his thumb across her bottom lip. “Do you think I can bear the thought of being apart from you again?” He ran his hand down her throat, over her breast, finally resting on her pubic bone. The rough skin of his hand left a trail of heat where he had touched her.

He flashed his devilish smile and bent to kiss her. A small noise escaped her lips as Selia opened herself to him, unable to resist him any more than a moth could a flame.

She felt his erection pressing into her leg, but he didn’t enter her immediately. Alrik instead worked his way down her body, kissing, licking, and occasionally biting, until she felt she would explode. She grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to pull him on top of her, but Alrik took her wrists, pinning them by her sides as his mouth moved over her belly, and lower.

“Please, Alrik . . .” she begged.

He laughed, biting her inner thigh, and Selia squirmed to no avail. “Soon,” he said. “I will give you something to remember while I’m gone.”

His silky hair brushed against her sensitive skin as his mouth moved with maddening precision. She arched toward him with a moan. He lingered slowly, unusual for him, and she was vaguely amazed he had held himself back this long. He continued his torture until Selia’s body shattered with pleasure, and she lay dazed.

Alrik smiled at her, proud of his achievement as always, and finally moved on top of her. But he entered slowly, with incredible self-control, and she looked up at him in confusion.

“Alrik,” she panted, “What are you doing?”

“I thought you would like this.” His jaw ground audibly with the effort of holding back.

So he was doing this for her, as a gift before he left. Selia’s heart nearly burst with love for him even as her body rebelled. She had become so accustomed to his primal intensity that nothing else would do.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face down so he was forced to look at her. “No,” she whispered. “I want you . . . I want all of you. Do not hold back, Alrik.”

There was a flicker of astonishment in his eyes before they shuttered over and he allowed himself to let go with a groan. Selia cried out, swept away by the intensity of his passion. She was his willing vessel, opening her very soul to his thrusts, and her body trembled as he buried himself inside her with one final grunt.

He didn’t move for a moment and she could feel his heart pounding against her cheek. She clung to his broad back, missing him already. He shifted his body again so he could look down at her.

“You . . . prefer it that way?” There was doubt in his voice.

“Yes.” How could he not know that already? Couldn’t he tell from her body’s response to him that she did? “I love you, Alrik. When you are careful, it feels like it is not you.”

He shook his head as though unconvinced. “I thought women preferred the other way.”

Selia smiled up at him as her face heated. Why did she feel so shy? She ran her fingers through his hair, twining a lock of it around her finger. “Not me. I like it.”

She craved the strength and power of his body. She craved the unpredictability of the beast that raged within him. How had he not known this? Had he thought she had been doing him an act of kindness by allowing him to ravage her, instead of understanding she wanted him just as much as he wanted her? His expression changed as realization dawned on him.

He gazed down at her in silence for several moments, looking as stunned as she had ever seen him. “You were truly meant for me, Selia,” he marveled. “Now I understand why Odin put you in my path.”

“Yes,” she agreed, with some reluctance. It was better not to argue with him when he spoke of his conviction that she was some sort of prize or reward from Odin. This belief made her uncomfortable, and not just because it went against her Christian upbringing. If she had been compelled by Odin to fall in love with Alrik, then did that mean she had no free will, no choice in the matter? Was her love less genuine if it had been forced by a heathen god?

Alrik lay back on the pillows, appearing lost in thought. Selia suddenly felt cold, as though he had already left her alone in an empty bed. She nuzzled her face into his warm neck and inhaled his scent.

“Promise you will come back to me, Alrik. Promise.”

“I promise, little one. Not even the gods themselves could keep me from you.”

Ingrid was still asleep—as usual—when Selia went out to the kitchen. Hrefna was nowhere to be found, which was more unusual. Maybe Hrefna and Olaf were doing the very thing she and Alrik had been doing only moments ago. Or maybe . . . maybe Hrefna had been called to the slave quarters? The thought sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine.

She hummed to herself as she began the makings of the morning meal when Olaf hurried past her on the way to the privy. “Oh,” Selia said, feigning nonchalance. “Is Hrefna still asleep?”

Olaf ran his hand over his bald head in the manner of one who is still surprised his hair was gone. “No, one of the thralls came for her in the night,” he replied. “Muirin’s time is at hand and she is having trouble.”

She gasped. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know,” he said over his shoulder. “Hrefna hasn’t come back yet.”

Selia hurried to the slave quarters. Muirin was having trouble. What did that mean, exactly? Would the child be all right? Her hand hesitated briefly on the door, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her own unborn babe kicked inside her, and she caressed the swell of her belly before she walked in.

Muirin was in the back corner of the house, crouching naked on her hands and knees in a pile of straw. Hrefna wiped the girl’s brow with a rag as another thrall, Keir, knelt behind Muirin to rub her lower back. Muirin’s enormous belly seemed to undulate. Selia gaped for a moment, then dismissed it as a trick of the flickering light.

Muirin cried out; a loud, strong bellow that was surprising given her timid nature. Her face purpled with effort as she bore down, changing the sound into a grunt. Keir placed her hand between the girl’s legs. She held it there momentarily, then looked up at Hrefna as she shook her head.

As the pain passed, Muirin’s body sagged and her head drooped toward the ground. She appeared to almost be asleep. The thrall continued to rub Muirin’s back and speak soothing words to her, but Hrefna noticed Selia standing silently in the doorway. She handed the rag to Keir as she walked over.

“Is everything all right?” Selia whispered, unable to stop gawking at Muirin. The girl was clearly exhausted. Was this a normal part of childbirth or had something had gone awry?

The woman hesitated a moment too long. “Yes, my dear. Everything’s fine.”

Selia was unconvinced. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

There was another cry from Muirin, a higher pitched scream that made the hairs rise on Selia’s arms. Hrefna seemed uncomfortable. “This could take quite some time,” the woman whispered. “I was planning to pack supplies for the men. Maybe you could do that for me?”

It was obvious Hrefna wanted her away from the slave quarters. Selia studied her for a moment before looking back to Muirin.

“If the babe is coming now . . . then it is probably Alrik’s after all,” she said.

“Yes.” Hrefna nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Selia walked out without another word. She closed the door on the blood-chilling sound of Muirin’s screams as she headed back to the house.

A strange sense of calm enveloped her as she searched out Alrik. She found him on the dragonship with Olaf, examining the ropes in preparation for tomorrow’s journey. He was so busy with his task that he didn’t notice her standing on the dock. She watched him for several moments.

“Alrik,” she called. “I need to speak with you.”

He looked up and met her gaze. “I’m busy. We can talk later.”

“It is important. Please.”

Grunting his annoyance, he tossed the rope he was scrutinizing in Olaf’s direction. He jumped over the rail of the ship, landing on the dock just a few feet in front of Selia. She pulled him farther down the beach so they could speak privately.

“I don’t have time for this, Selia. What do you need?” There was an edge to his voice. Olaf must have told him about Muirin, and now Alrik probably thought she was angry at him again.

She looked up at him and took a deep breath. “Muirin is having her babe.”

Alrik gave a curt nod.

“The child is yours, then,” she prodded.

He frowned. “Yes. But that means nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“If you freed Muirin now, her child would be freeborn. If a boy-child, could he be Hersir?”

Hrefna had explained the difference between a freeborn man, and a freedman. A freedman, such as Ulfrik, would always be somewhat under the guardianship of the family who had freed him. In Ulfrik’s case, his brother. He was expected to ask permission before making decisions that a freeborn man could make alone, such as marrying or moving his household. He would also be expected to show deference to freeborn men, and could, by law, never be Hersir.

Ulfrik was older than Alrik, and therefore could have claimed the title of Hersir after Ragnarr, if only he had been freeborn. Alrik would have had a sound dispute to his brother’s claim, however, since he had been born to Ragnarr’s wife, and Ulfrik to his concubine.

Alrik stared down at her for a time before he spoke. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because . . .” she paused, cupping the curve of her belly protectively. “If I could keep this child from killing my people, I would.”

Alrik blew out a breath as if speechless, with a look on his face she had never seen before. It was clear she had deeply offended him.

“He can still learn to fight,” she said quickly. “He will still be a Finngall. But if he is your second son, perhaps he can learn a trade?”

Blacksmith, merchant, farmer . . . she didn’t care which. Just as long as his occupation didn’t require him to lead a bloodthirsty war band across the sea to slaughter her people.

He just blinked at her and remained silent.

“Besides,” she continued, now desperate, “Muirin is much bigger than I am. Her child will be large and strong. He will make a good Hersir.”

Alrik scowled. “It could be a girl. Then I would have freed Muirin for nothing.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It could. But so could my child.”