Odin's Shadow (Sons Of Odin Book 1) (9th Century Viking Romance) by Erin S. Riley Page A
Authors: Erin S. Riley
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Adult, Historical Romance, Brothers, Ireland, secrets, Norway, Viking, 9th Century, Viking Ship, Hasty Marriage, Irish Bride, Viking Warlord Husband
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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
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
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