A Flame Put Out (6 page)

He went still and quiet, until she finally brought her gaze to meet his.

Ulfrik’s face had shuttered. “My brother is a spiteful bastard, but I wouldn’t have expected
you
to go along with something like this—”

She cut him off. “Alrik did nothing out of spite. This is his child and he claimed it.”

At his narrowed gaze, she squirmed, willing him not to read her mind.

“Why are you doing this, Selia? Not that long ago you were eager for me to take Muirin and the child away. Now you’re willing to raise a child that isn’t yours, and probably isn’t even Alrik’s. Do you hate me so much that you would steal my child from me?”

She clutched Geirr to her breast. “I didn’t steal your child. When Muirin was dying she told me the babe was Alrik’s. She only let you believe it was yours because she was in love with you.”

Ulfrik didn’t take his eyes from hers. “I can tell you’re lying, Selia.”

“Why?” she retorted. “Because you’re such an accomplished liar yourself?”

Ulfrik leaned in, thrusting his face so close to hers that she took a step backward. “It would be unwise to anger me. Do you realize how easily I could take both you and the babe right now, and sail off with Gunnar?”

She swallowed. “Alrik would find us,” she whispered, “and he would kill you.”

“He could try,” Ulfrik retorted.

“I would kill myself before I would go anywhere with you.”

He blew his breath out forcefully as he rose to his full height. “Why can’t I just be through with you, Selia? Why do I keep doing this to myself?” he muttered. “All I wanted was to make you happy. And I could have, if you had only given me the chance.”

Ulfrik slumped on the bench behind them, looking forlorn. A tiny flicker of sympathy arose in her, unbidden. Once, he had been her only friend and confidant. He’d understood her in a way no one else ever had, maybe not even Ainnileas. She thought of how patient he had been as he taught her Norse, and their games of tafl, and the laughter they had shared.

Her heart gave a bit as she met his gaze. How could she hate him? He was still Ulfrik. He was still her friend. Tentatively, she opened her mouth to speak. Then she saw a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes as though he sensed her uncertainty.

Selia’s mind suddenly flooded with the memory of those blue eyes glinting in the same way just before he had kissed her. She fought back a flush, remembering the unwilling response of her body.

No.

What was she doing? Ulfrik tried to manipulate her, exactly what he had done to her before . . . what had ultimately led to the incident at the cove.

She hardened her resolve and her voice. “I won’t fall for your tricks again, so you can stop.” She shifted the heavy Geirr to relieve her numbed arm from carrying him for so long, reluctant to put him down with so many men milling around.

“Tricks. You think it’s a trick, when I tell you I love you?” he asked. “Is it a trick when I tell you I think of you endlessly? The scent of your hair, the sweetness of your mouth, and the softness of your skin—”

“
Stop
,” she growled. “You have no right to say those things to me.”

“If I’ve done anything to hurt you, I will be sorry for it until my last breath. But mark my words, Selia. Alrik won’t live forever. The instant he dies, I’ll be there waiting.”

She blinked at him as her mind sorted his vow. Surely he wasn’t threatening to harm Alrik? Her grip must have loosened on Geirr, because suddenly the babe was lifted from her arms.

Startled, she looked up to find Gunnar One-Eye holding the infant against his burly chest.

“Irish is such a beautiful language,” Gunnar said to her in perfect, unaccented Irish.

Selia gasped. How much of the conversation had he heard between her and Ulfrik?

“So very soft,” he added. “Not unlike its women.”

He
had
heard. Selia’s cheeks grew hot in mortification. She wanted nothing more than to run into the bedchamber and hide, but she couldn’t leave Geirr in the hands of this man. “Give him back to me. You’ll wake him up,” she said, hating that her voice shook.

The despicable man cocked his head at the babe. “He’s already awake. He looks just like you, Ulfrik, except for the eyes,” he said with a crude wink in Selia’s direction. Obviously he assumed the child was hers+, and from the conversation he had overheard thought the babe was the product of an affair between her and her husband’s brother.

She straightened her shoulders and looked directly into Gunnar’s disfigured face. “That child is not my son. His mother is dead.” She spoke coldly.

Ulfrik stood, peering over Gunnar’s shoulder at the babe. “He has Muirin’s eyes. She did have beautiful eyes.” He reached over to stroke the child’s hand, and Geirr wrapped his chubby fist around Ulfrik’s finger.

“Hmm,” Gunnar mused. “What a shame I didn’t get to meet her.”

Something snapped inside Selia, and her body nearly vibrated with fury as she hissed, “Oh, you met her—you murdered her family and you sold her into slavery. You have
no right
to touch her child. Give him back to me now.”

The man stared down at her wide-eyed like a fool, as though completely unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a way. She took advantage of his shock by yanking Geirr from his arms.

Gunnar’s face grew stony as he looked over at Ulfrik. “Are you going to let a little Irish girl decide who can and cannot hold your son?”

Ulfrik’s gaze locked with Selia’s. “He’s not my son after all. He is Alrik’s.”

Chapter 6

Selia managed to successfully avoid Ulfrik while she helped Hrefna prepare the meal, although she could still feel his watchful regard. Hallveig came in to feed Geirr, and Selia handed him over with firm instructions not to put the babe down or let any of the men hold him.

When it was time to eat, she hesitated to sit at the head table with Hrefna, Ulfrik, Gunnar, and Einarr. She had never met a more vile man than Gunnar, and Einarr was a very close second. She’d had her fill of leering stares for the night and no desire to attempt polite conversation for Hrefna’s sake. Not to mention having to face a room of bare-chested men, since their clothing was still damp. Forced to dine, eye level with their tattooed, scarred, and hairy midsections would be more than unbearable.

Ulfrik and Einarr sat on one bench and Gunnar and Hrefna the other, so she would have to sit next to someone she detested, either way. She shifted from one foot to the other, seriously considering feigning illness to avoid the entire situation. Her hand went to her temple, rubbing slowly.

Before she could announce she had a headache, Einarr stood with a smile and fetched her, placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on the small of her back.

“Come, little cousin, sit next to me.” He steered her to the bench, then sat her in the middle, next to Ulfrik. Einarr crowded the other side of her, much closer than necessary. With the semi-naked bodies of two large men bracketing her, Selia felt near to suffocating, trapped in a prison of male bone and sinew.

Hrefna leaned in toward her. The room was filled with the good-natured shouting and laughter of the men, and she had to raise her voice to be heard. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“My head pains me. I think I will go lie down,” she replied, and began to rise from the table.

“You really should try to eat something first, Selia. To keep your strength up,” Hrefna said with concern.

She stared at Alrik’s aunt, willing her to understand that her condition was not a topic she cared to discuss in the presence of these men. Although she recently had to let her gowns out in the waist and bust, her condition wasn’t obvious when she was fully clothed. She’d prefer to keep it that way while Gunnar and his crew were here. The humiliating situation of carrying Alrik’s babe while caring for his child by a thrall would surely be pounced upon by Gunnar One-Eye.

“Have you been ill?” Einarr asked, tearing off a hunk of warm bread and eying her as he chewed.

“No,” Selia answered curtly. She looked directly at Hrefna as she spoke, and although the woman appeared a bit perplexed by her shortness, she didn’t press the issue.

Gunnar leaned in with an unpleasant smile. “What part of Ireland are you from, Selia?”

She paused. It was a simple question and not posed threateningly, but she was loath to answer him. She had insulted this man when he had been holding Geirr, and she had a sense that Gunnar Klaufason was not a man who let insults slide off his back. Selia did not want him to know where she was from, and where Ainnileas and Eithne still resided.

“She is from Árd Srátha,” Ulfrik answered casually, then took a long draught of ale. As angry as Selia was with Ulfrik, she felt a glimmer of gratitude as he lied for her.

“Humph,” Gunnar grunted. “I would have guessed Baile Átha Cliath by her accent.” He looked down his nose at Selia, one black eyebrow cocked.

She kept her rebuttal at a single, “No,” picking at her stew for a moment before adding, “How is it that you speak Irish so well?” Perhaps a change in subject was in order.

Gunnar smiled. “My mother was Irish. The granddaughter of the great Irish chieftain Cian Ó Riain. Ulfrik’s mother and my mother were sisters.”

Here was an unexpected bit of information. That would make Ulfrik and Gunnar cousins. It did explain Ulfrik’s surprising willingness to sail with a man known for being the most brutal Vikinger in all of Norway. He was family.

But Selia’s blood ran cold upon realizing Gunnar was half-Irish. This was exactly why she would do anything to avoid a similar situation with her own child. What could be worse than teaching her child the language and customs of her homeland, only to have him grow to manhood and return to that homeland to raid and kill?

Unconsciously, her hand snaked up to her belly to cover it in protection; then as she realized what she was doing, she dropped her hand back into her lap.

“How does your mother feel about what you do?” she inquired, trying to keep her voice from shaking with emotion.

Gunnar regarded her with his icy-violet gaze. “She died when I was a boy. But she did marry a Vikinger, so I doubt she would be surprised to know she had raised one as well.” He uttered a sardonic laugh.

Despicable bastard.
Selia could feel herself heat with anger, and wanted very much to fling her bowl of stew into his good eye.

Ulfrik set his cup down on the table with a clatter and turned to her, giving her the shrewd expression she knew all too well from playing tafl with him. He had obviously figured out what her interest in Geirr was.

Selia cringed.

“So, Selia,” he began, “how will you feel when the sons you bear Alrik grow up to raid your people? How will you feel knowing they are half-Irish Vikingers like Gunnar . . . and like me?” Ulfrik’s voice was calm but she could see the anger in his eyes.

She fidgeted under his gaze. Hrefna was staring at her too, with a shocked expression on her face. Selia turned to avoid the woman’s reproachful eyes. “I do not know. I have not thought about it,” she hedged.

“Surely you have,” Ulfrik pressed her. “Alrik will need a male child to succeed him as Hersir. A child who isn’t born of a thrall.” When she didn’t answer, Ulfrik turned to Hrefna. “Did my brother free Muirin before she gave birth?”

Hrefna hesitated. Her gaze flickered to Selia, then back to Ulfrik. “Yes,” she said finally.

“And whose idea was that, I wonder?” he asked, with a hard look at Selia.

A sudden flash of Muirin’s glassy stare, frozen in death, swept over Selia and forced tears to form that she hastily blinked back. Muirin had been more than willing to exchange her child for her freedom, Selia reminded herself. So why did she feel so guilty?

Einarr drew his pale eyebrows together and glared at his cousin. “You’re upsetting her,” he said, reaching around her to shove Ulfrik’s shoulder. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

“Poor girl,” Ulfrik mocked. He took another deep pull of his ale, draining it, then held his cup out. One of the thralls came around to refill it. Selia glanced at Einarr and flashed him a small but grateful smile.

Which was a mistake.

Einarr grinned down at her and patted her hand where it lay in her lap. He kept his large hand on hers under the table as he spoke. “Selia. I’m curious to know how you ended up married to Alrik. A pretty little Irish girl like you, married to someone like him, seems unlikely. Was it a love match, or arranged?” His thumb stroked her hand in a slow circle. “I imagine the wedding night was interesting, to say the least,” he added.

Hrefna gasped and Ulfrik paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. Gunnar burst into laughter. Selia jerked her hand from Einarr’s, her cheeks hot with mortification.

Hrefna recovered first. “I don’t think that is any of your business, Einarr Drengsson.” Ice coated her voice.

“Forgive me.” Abruptly he changed tactics. “My question was misunderstood. I am having a somewhat difficult time finding a wife, as I know Alrik did. I just wondered if she knew her intended was a berserker, beforehand.”

Selia swallowed, her unwilling regard on the tattoo decorating his chest. Faded, it appeared to be stretched out of shape the same as Alrik’s. “No,” she said quietly. “I did not.”

The expression on Einarr’s face reminded her of Alrik’s, just before he pounced. Her instincts urged her to move away from him, but unfortunately that would press her up against Ulfrik. She was trapped.

“And you do not fear him? You are not afraid he’ll hurt you?” Einarr asked with a predatory smile.

She shrank into the bench. Ulfrik snorted into his ale but said nothing. He was either so angry at her over the situation with Geirr that he was unwilling to stop the insistent questioning by Einarr, or too drunk to care.

Taking charge, Hrefna slapped her hand down on the table. “Your questions are inappropriate. Storm or no, you will be sleeping with the goats tonight if you do not stop this immediately. Am I understood?”

“I was only—” Einarr began, but she cut him off.

“If you have questions about the details of Alrik’s marriage, I suggest you take them directly to him, rather than to his wife,” Hrefna snapped.

Selia could imagine the battle that would ensue if Einarr was stupid enough to confront Alrik. She shuddered to think of these two men attacking like wild beasts, tearing each other to shreds.

Einarr scowled into his ale, but Gunnar cocked his head at him, smiling. “I, for one, would greatly enjoy seeing Alrik Ragnarson again. I would like to thank him personally for his hospitality. What say you, Einarr—shall we return when our host is home, so you can get an answer to your question?”

Again, Gunnar spoke in a mild tone of voice, but Selia sensed the veiled threat. She suspected Hrefna did as well, as the woman’s face drained of color. Hrefna’s gaze caught Ulfrik’s and they exchanged a look that Selia didn’t understand.

Ulfrik placed his cup on the table. “No, Einarr,” he said. “As I told you earlier, any man foolish enough to show the slightest interest in the wife of Alrik Ragnarson has a death wish. I strongly suggest when we sail away tomorrow, you never return. Unless, that is, you are stupid enough to think you can challenge Alrik and win.”

Although Ulfrik had addressed Einarr, his words seemed to be meant just as much for Gunnar. The threat behind them was unmistakable. Gunnar raked his good eye over Ulfrik and leaned close. “One would think Alrik was still your Hersir, cousin,” he sneered.

“Then one would be wrong.” Ulfrik met the man’s stare. “But I know my brother well. He will fight to the death if his wife’s honor is disparaged.”

Gunnar glowered. “The business I have to settle with Alrik Ragnarson has nothing to do with his wife,” he rumbled. “But if it’s a fight he wants, I’ll be happy to oblige him.”

The words Ulfrik had spoken to Selia earlier came flooding back.
Alrik won’t live forever, and the instant he dies, I’ll be there waiting.
Was this part of his plan—to have another man kill Alrik, so he could then step in and take her for his own? Although it would seem to an outsider that he was discouraging Gunnar and Einarr from returning, nothing Ulfrik said could be taken at face value. It wasn’t much of a leap to imagine the master tafl player planting seeds of dissent, then standing back to wait for them to germinate.

A sickening fear gripped Selia’s belly as she stood. “You should have left them out in the storm, Hrefna,” she spat, then switched to Irish as she addressed Gunnar. “I find it highly offensive that you would come into Alrik’s house and make threats against him. You are a dishonorable man, Gunnar Klaufason. When you take your leave tomorrow, know that none of you will be welcomed back.” Selia gave Ulfrik a pointed look. “Ever.”

Gunnar’s face flushed blood red, and his fists clenched the edges of the table. Neither Hrefna nor Einarr knew enough Irish to understand what Selia had said, but it was clear she had reprimanded him, and they both reacted with stunned expressions.

Selia turned to Einarr, addressing him in Norse. “And you. I tell you now I have
no interest in any other man but my husband. I think you cannot find a wife because you are ill-mannered, not because you are a berserker.”

Einarr’s jaw dropped. “Allow me to apologize. I meant no offense,” he sputtered, looking very contrite. “Please forgive me.”

Selia glared at him for a moment, then gave him a terse nod. Anything to be through with this conversation. But as she stepped over the bench she saw his eyes widen at the brief flash of her ankle, and he smiled at her. Did this dim-witted man think she was playing games with him?

Disgusted, she strode into the bedchamber, shutting the door firmly behind her. Despicable Finngalls. What had Hrefna been thinking, letting them in the house? She lay on the bed and hugged Alrik’s pillow tightly to her body, breathing in through her nose, needing his scent. But he had been gone for so long, his pillow no longer smelled like him.

It smelled like nothing at all.

At Hrefna’s insistence, Selia slept with her that night, in order for Hallveig and Geirr to have Selia’s bed. Gunnar’s men took up every available bench in the main room, with overflow on the floor by the hearth, and Hrefna was concerned lest an overeager, drunken man take Hallveig by force. Selia wasn’t sure if the woman’s anxiety was for Hallveig’s sake or Geirr’s, since the potential rape of his nursemaid would leave the babe unsupervised. But she agreed to the change in sleeping arrangements without an argument.

Although more than ready for sleep, she lay awake, and tossed, longing for her own familiar bed and Alrik next to her in it. She missed him with a terrible, gnawing ache. The fact that Ulfrik, and now Einarr, resembled him to such a degree was like salt in her wound. It seemed wrong for them to be here and Alrik not. Selia cried hot tears of self-pity as Hrefna snored beside her.

Since seeing Ulfrik again, she’d had an unpleasant feeling deep in her gut which had nothing to do with her unrelenting nausea. It was an ugly sense of guilt that worried at her, and she couldn’t shake it no matter how hard she tried to rationalize her actions.

As angry as she was with Ulfrik, there was no denying she
had
claimed Geirr for her own selfish reasons, as a way to keep her unborn child from suffering the fate of Hersir. Although there was as much chance Alrik was indeed Geirr’s father, the fact remained that Ulfrik had been willing to claim him, and had returned to the farmstead accordingly. Alrik would not have thought to declare the boy as his own unless encouraged to do so, and Ulfrik probably knew it.

Hrefna had suggested Selia was ambivalent about her feelings for Geirr, and she supposed the same could be said about how she dealt with Ulfrik. He could not be trusted, yet she couldn’t bring herself to truly despise him. Even if his every kindness
had
been a calculated act meant to steal her away from Alrik, he had also saved her life as a child. Saved her from Alrik’s sword.