A Flame Put Out (7 page)

Ulfrik professed to love her; that everything he had done was to keep her safe. Selia rubbed her belly. All her actions had also been meant to keep her own child safe. Could distasteful deeds be justifiable if performed in the name of love?

Selia startled as she heard a stifled female scream coming from another part of the house. She sat up in bed and shook Hrefna awake.

“What?” Hrefna mumbled. Then they both heard the shouting of men and a sudden ruckus, followed by a piercing cry from Geirr. Wearing only her shift, Hrefna leapt from the bed to race from the room. Selia followed close behind as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

Lit by the dim light of the hearth, two men were in a heated argument. Ulfrik and Einarr. Several other men restrained them as they lunged toward each other, snarling insults. Hallveig stood in the doorway of Selia’s bedchamber clutching the wailing babe, and Hrefna rushed up to the slave woman.

“What happened?” she demanded, taking Geirr from her and examining him closely.

The frightened thrall stammered, “I was half asleep after nursing, and someone crept into the room and climbed into bed with me. I thought it was Selia or you, come to check on Geirr. But then I felt a man’s hands on my body, and I panicked. He was drunk and I was afraid he would smother the babe, so I screamed for help.”

Hallveig cast her eyes to the floor, obviously upset to have caused such a scene. Hrefna patted her on the shoulder as she attempted to quiet the babe.

Einarr and Ulfrik were still shouting and struggling to get at each other. Einarr had a bloody nose but was so drunk he didn’t appear to feel it, and when he saw Selia out of the corner of his eye he stopped his slurred ranting to leer at her. His eyes wandered from her loose curls to her bare feet and back up again, the hunger on his face unmistakable.

Selia clutched the blanket tighter around her, and Ulfrik’s eyes flashed with fury as he lunged again for Einarr. “Do you expect anyone to believe you were only after the thrall, you shameless bastard? I ought to run you through right now—”

“Ulfrik!” Gunnar shouted, scowling into his cousin’s face. “Enough. No harm was done to your brother’s wife.” The emphasis on the word ‘brother’ was not lost on anyone. He continued in a lower voice. “By your reaction, one would think your own wife had been dishonored.”

Ulfrik clenched his jaw with such force that his teeth ground together audibly. Enraged as he was, his sudden resemblance to Alrik was uncanny, and both Selia and Hrefna gaped at him. Shaking with the effort it took to contain himself, he spoke in a rasp. “If you do not remove this white-livered man from my sight, Gunnar, I swear I will kill him.”

The crowd of men reacted visibly. To call a man white-livered was to call him a weakling and a coward. When he was teaching her Norse on the ship, Ulfrik had told Selia this was the reason the Finngalls dubbed the Christian son of God the ‘White Christ,’ as they considered a religion based on forgiveness pathetic. As far as the Finngalls were concerned, a society who worshipped a God who refused to fight back deserved everything it got.

Ulfrik’s insult to Einarr would not be forgotten.

But the man was so drunk it was doubtful he could lift his sword. “I’ll run you through, Oath Breaker,” he bellowed, and lunged toward Ulfrik. Einarr staggered and nearly fell, and the men holding him by the arms had to hoist him back to his feet.

“Not tonight you won’t,” one of them laughed.

Gunnar eyed Ulfrik for several long moments before turning to his wife’s brother. “Einarr, although you were only after the thrall, the woman was not yours to take. You have disrespected Hrefna Erlandsdottir with your lack of manners, and she is a fine woman who gave us shelter in the storm. You will sleep outside for the remainder of the night.”

Einarr gave a drunken snort. “Where?” he demanded.

“I believe Hrefna suggested the barn.” He steered the man toward the door. Einarr snarled over his shoulder at Ulfrik, just as Gunnar shoved him outside. He slammed the door on Einarr’s protests.

“I apologize on behalf of Einarr Drengsson,” Gunnar said with a nod in Hrefna’s direction. He gave Ulfrik a fulminating glare as he passed him on his way to his bench. “
And
on behalf of Ulfrik Ragnarson.”

Chapter 7

Selia remained sleepless for the remainder of the night. There was an odd energy in the air that refused to dissipate even after the howling wind and pelting rain finally stopped. The house seemed eerily quiet after the constant noise of the storm. Finally, a streak of thin, pale light from the smoke hole in the roof revealed dawn’s arrival. Blurry-eyed, she arose from the bed and dressed.

She jumped in surprise as she opened the door to find a pair of male legs stretched out across the floor in front of Hrefna’s chamber. Ulfrik, wrapped in his cloak, lay with his head pillowed by his arm. Even in sleep he frowned, as if dreaming of the previous night’s events.

Ulfrik had chosen to protect her from any further mischief from Gunnar’s men. She studied him for a moment before stepping over him, headed out the kitchen door on her way to the privy. She glanced around in the watery morning light, watchful for Einarr, but he was nowhere to be seen. As drunk as he was last night, he would probably have to be carried onto the ship when they departed.

The foggy dampness of autumn had given way to an early winter. The morning was clear and very cold, and the rain had turned to snow sometime in the night. A glittering blanket of white dusted each dark, slender tree, giving the forest an unnatural stillness. She hurried from the kitchen to the privy, crunching through the snow with every step of the warm fur boots Hrefna had made for her.

Back in the house, she stirred up the coals in the kitchen hearth, and added a small pile of sticks to get the fire going again. As Selia blew into her fingers to warm them, she felt a presence behind her. She turned to find Ulfrik standing in the doorway.

“What do you want?” she whispered in Irish.

“You shouldn’t be outside alone,” he admonished her. “Einarr can’t be trusted.”

Selia busied herself with the fire so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “And you can?”

He remained silent, but she could feel his gaze on her. “You’ll end up being the death of me, Selia,” he finally murmured. “I almost killed my own cousin over you last night. You love a man who doesn’t deserve it, you tell me you care nothing for me, and you conspire to keep a child who very well could be my son. I want nothing more than to wash my hands of you.” His voice grew tight. “But yet I cannot. You consume me in a way no woman ever has.”

Selia’s cheeks burned. She stirred the coals of the fire to gather her thoughts. “Whatever you feel for me, I did not wish it so. You were my only friend, like a brother to me. I missed Ainnileas so much . . .” She met his heated gaze squarely. “If I ever did anything to lead you to believe I cared for you in that way, then I’m sorry.”

Before he could reply, Hallveig entered the kitchen, carrying Geirr. They had fallen into the routine of Hallveig giving the child his morning feeding before she handed him off to Selia. Then the thrall could do her work without having to take Geirr outside with her.

But she hesitated when she saw Ulfrik in the kitchen with Selia. “Mistress,” she said, “would you like me to keep him a while longer?”

“No.” Selia took the babe from Hallveig. Typically she was less than enthusiastic about handling Geirr, but this morning she was glad for the distraction of the child. If he screamed or spit up on her, it would be a perfect excuse to end this unsettling conversation.

The thrall hurried out the door, no doubt anxious to see her own child. Selia examined Geirr. Rosy-cheeked and content from his morning milk, he stared up at her with a solemn expression, studying her face. This wouldn’t last long. As soon as he realized who was holding him he would begin to fuss as he always did. She tensed, waiting for it. The child had a singular hatred for her.

But for reasons unknown, this morning was different. Geirr focused on her intently, then without warning broke into a wide, toothless grin. Caught off guard, she smiled down at him. “So, you’ve decided you like me?” she asked the babe. “Or is this a trick so you can vomit in my hair again?”

Ulfrik was suddenly next to her, standing much too close as he gazed at the child. “Let me hold him, Selia,” he said, the longing in his voice tangible.

But she hesitated to hand over the fragile bundle. Distressing visions danced in her mind; of Ulfrik dashing the babe against one of the stout wooden beams of the kitchen, or running off to the ship with him, to sail away with Gunnar. She hugged Geirr tighter and forced the images away. What on earth was wrong with her?

“Do you think I would hurt him?” he asked quietly. “I am Ulfrik Child Lover, remember?”

She knew only too well how he had received that nickname. It was anyone’s guess how he managed to sail under Gunnar One-Eye, a brutal man who surely took pleasure in the slaughter of children. But she pushed the thought from her mind. What Ulfrik Ragnarson did or didn’t do was no concern of hers.

She handed Geirr over, watching Ulfrik for any sign of deception. But his face was gentle as he held the child he believed to be his son. Geirr pondered the new face quizzically, with one eyebrow cocked. Selia had frequently seen just that expression on the faces of both the sons of Ragnarr.

Geirr offered a gummy grin—he was in rare form this morning—and Ulfrik responded with a low chuckle. Selia was struck with a wave of remorse so strong it took her breath away. Regardless of how she felt about Ulfrik, she found herself questioning the wisdom of the bargain she had struck with Muirin.

“Ulfrik,” she began, “I’m sorry.”

He held her gaze firmly. “Muirin never told you Alrik was the father, did she?” he asked.

“Not outright,” she whispered, shifting from one foot to the other under his intense scrutiny. “She said she couldn’t be certain. But when the babe came as he did, I thought he must be Alrik’s. So I asked him to free Muirin and claim the child. Muirin agreed to it, to secure a future for her son.”

Ulfrik thought for a moment. “This child is at least half Irish. If he’s mine, then he’s more Irish than he is Norse. Did you not think of that?”

She looked away without answering. In her desire to protect her own offspring from following in Alrik’s footsteps as a warlord, she’d not considered Geirr’s heritage. Ulfrik’s words hit home. Muirin’s child could have more Irish blood flowing through his veins than did the babe growing in Selia’s belly. How could they ever know for sure? Would her actions send Geirr the man out on a massacre to her homeland, slaughtering his own people? In attempting to protect her unborn child from such a future, she could very well have made things worse.

Sudden shame cut through Selia like a hot knife.

“No,” she whispered. “Or maybe yes. I don’t know. Lately I’ve been making one bad decision after another, it seems.” Starting with events at the cove.

Ulfrik shifted the child in his arms. The expression on his face made her think he’d guessed her thoughts. “Selia.” He paused. “I need to tell you how sorry I am for what happened at the cove. I came to you with honorable intentions. Whatever else you think of me, please don’t think
that
.”

She studied him. It was impossible to tell if he was lying.

“And I should have told you the truth about your mother. About Alrik. I thought at the time I was doing the right thing.” He stared down at Geirr. “I was protecting this child, Selia. Alrik would have killed Muirin if he knew I told you. He would have murdered the child out of spite.”

How was she supposed to respond to this? Was he manipulating her again, knowing she also felt protective of Geirr? Selia turned away. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Ulfrik. I don’t think I can ever trust you again. When I look at you all I see are lies.”

Silence hung heavy in the room after her vow. He studied the babe, as though memorizing Geirr’s features. Then he sighed, “I understand.”

Ulfrik handed Geirr back to her, his face expressionless as he stood. “I do not want to hurt you any further. I am leaving and I will not return unless you wish it.”

A wave of relief washed over her. “I will not wish it,” she said quietly.

“But if you need me—if Alrik hurts you—”

“That won’t happen.”

“You haven’t seen what he’s like during the winter,” Ulfrik cautioned. “You may yet change your mind.”

She shivered as he urged, “Listen carefully, Selia. If you need to get away, go to my house and dig next to the rock you were sleeping against at the cove. I buried your bride price there after Ainnileas returned it. Take it to Bjorgvin and you can buy passage out of Norway. But don’t go back to Ireland because that’s the first place he’ll come looking for you.”

She trembled in earnest now. “Stop, Ulfrik.”

He started to reach out for her, then dropped his hand to his side. “I know you don’t trust me. But I swear to you on my life—if you ask for my help, I won’t expect anything in return.” He paused for a moment. “If you ever need me, go to Ketill and ask him if he’s heard from me. He’ll know what that means. He’ll send word and I’ll come for you.”

There was a stirring from the main room as the men arose and began preparations to depart. Ulfrik stroked a gentle finger over Geirr’s downy head. His hand brushed Selia’s, his calloused skin lingering on hers just a moment too long.

Her heart hammered in her ears as he made eye contact with her, his face only inches from her own. “Goodbye, Selia,” he whispered, then turned away to join Gunnar and his men.

The house was very quiet after the men departed. Even Geirr slept soundly following the excitement of the night before. He lay upon one of the benches next to where Selia and Hrefna worked the looms, making faces in his sleep. Selia kept one eye on him, worried he might try to roll over and fall out.

Hrefna also kept to herself. Yet Selia could feel the woman’s questioning eyes on her as her fingers methodically wove the thin strands of wool. “Selia,” she finally said, in a hushed voice, so as not to wake the babe, “even though Ulfrik is not my nephew by blood, I care for him very much. I raised him from the time he was eight.”

Selia glanced up. Why did Hrefna feel the need to share this with her? “I know,” she replied.

“The boys were always so different from each other. Alrik was hotheaded and impatient, and Ulfrik was quieter. More thoughtful. Though Ulfrik looks exactly like Ragnarr, I assumed he was going to be the easier child to raise.”

“What? He looks like Ragnarr?” Whenever she had pictured Ragnarr in her mind’s eye, she had always envisioned a more deranged version of Alrik.

“Yes. He is the very image of his father. I believe that’s why Ulfrik keeps his beard so short, because Ragnarr always wore his own beard long. Alrik resembles his father too, of course, but if you look closely he favors his mother as well.”

Oh, my
. How difficult it must be for Hrefna to see the image of her sister’s murderer every time she looked at Ulfrik.

Hrefna sighed. “After a time I realized there was more to Ulfrik than I at first thought. An intensity he kept hidden. He wears a mask most of the time, so people don’t realize it’s there, but he feels his emotions with more force than anyone knows. He just keeps himself under control better than Alrik does.”

Selia nodded, trying to stay focused on her work. Couldn’t they talk about something other than Ulfrik? Even the wailing of Geirr would be a welcome interruption.

“Ulfrik is in love with you.” Hrefna’s bald utterance caused Selia to jerk and drop the strand of wool. “I’ve known this for quite some time. I always hoped he would take Muirin and the babe far away from here before Alrik saw it for himself.”

Selia drew in a sharp breath. Her first impulse was to deny the allegation, but then she thought better of it. What was the use? “I did not do anything to cause Ulfrik to care for me, Hrefna—”

“I know, my dear. I wasn’t implying that you did. But the way he behaved around you last night . . . he wasn’t trying to hide his feelings at all. It was clear to me, and to every one of Gunnar’s men, that Ulfrik is in love with you. And men do gossip, just as much as women do, although they won’t admit it.” Hrefna finished a line of weaving before stating, “I think if something happened between you two while you were apart from Alrik, you should tell him. Before he hears it from someone else.”

Selia felt suddenly lightheaded. Hrefna couldn’t have discovered anything about what happened at the cove. The woman might have a sixth sense that told her something was different, but she didn’t
know.

Struggling to clear the bile that rose in her throat, Selia sank onto one of the benches. “Nothing happened, Hrefna. I have never loved anyone but Alrik.”

Hrefna took a seat next to her. “You used to be comfortable around Ulfrik. But last night you were jumpy, like a scared little mouse. It was clear to me that something has changed between you two.”

Obviously, complete denial wasn’t going to work. Selia wiped her sweaty palms on her gown. “He . . . he wanted to marry me. To go to Ireland with me and my family. I told him no, and then I came home to Alrik,” she said.

Hrefna cleared her throat. “That’s it? Nothing else?”

She shook her head. “He stole a kiss. I spurned him. That was all. And this morning, he told me he was leaving and not coming back. So we will not have to worry about it anymore, Hrefna. There is no reason to tell Alrik anything.”

The woman nodded slowly, still uneasy. “I never should have let them in last night, knowing what kind of man Gunnar is. He and his crew are nothing but lawless pirates. If it weren’t for Ulfrik I would have left them outside and hoped they froze to death before they hacked their way into the house.”

She met Selia’s regard and sighed. “Truth be told, you are far too pretty for your own good, my dear, and Alrik is right to be jealous. If Gunnar gave the word, Einarr or any one of those men would think nothing of carrying you off, do you know that? As soon as I let them in I realized it was a mistake.”

Selia fought back sudden anger. She had been told all her life—mostly by Eithne—that her beauty was a dangerous thing, capable of arousing the lustful appetites of men. This had always struck her as tremendously unfair. Why should she be held responsible for the behavior of men who couldn’t control themselves?

“I cannot help what I look like, Hrefna,” she protested. “I did not
do
anything—”