A Flame Put Out by Erin S. Riley Page A

dirt. I took pity on Gunnar, cleaned him up, and had Olaf take him home.”
    Hrefna shrugged. “I almost wish Alrik had killed him, as coldhearted as that sounds. That man is crafty and unpredictable, and I don’t like him knowing about you and Geirr.”
    “Then why did you let him in the house?”
    The woman gestured wearily. “Child, Gunnar’s men are like a pack of wolves. They will sniff and circle and pace, but they will not attack unless their leader signals them to. I knew Gunnar felt indebted to me for my small kindness to him long ago, and I counted on him honoring that. Which he did. If I would have denied him our hospitality, the respect he felt for me would be finished, and he would have had no qualms about sacking the house and carrying you and Geirr off, or worse. Do you understand?”
    “Y-yes.” Selia’s mouth dried up in a sudden panic. She herself had not once but twice insulted Gunnar. And that man had been holding Geirr—a man who clearly would take immense pleasure in inflicting pain or humiliation on Alrik. He could have dashed the infant’s head in without a second thought, and thrown the tiny body out into the snow.
    Hot rage arose in Selia. “Ulfrik should have known not to bring him here.”
    “Yes,” Hrefna agreed. “Which makes me wonder why he did.”

Chapter 8
    Time passed with no sign of Alrik’s ship. The Finngalls’ fall trip was usually shorter than what they planned in the spring, due to the unpredictable nature of the sea so late in the season, so there could be no good excuse for why the men hadn’t returned.
    The apprehension Selia felt was mirrored in Hrefna’s eyes, and even in Ingrid’s. The girl of course couldn’t care less about her father. Her fears were for Bolli and Olaf.
    Hrefna refused to speak of the delayed return of the ship. After the severity of the autumn storms, the sea had calmed and remained as placid as a lake. The woman could easily have said the men were delayed because there was no wind for the sail and they were too tired to row. She could have said Alrik decided to winter over in Dubhlinn.
    But Hrefna voiced no hollow reassurances. It seemed clear she believed the ship had been lost.
    The unrelenting nausea that had plagued Selia for many moons began to ease, although she found her constant worry was just as much a suppressor of her appetite as the sickness had been. But their lives revolved around food nevertheless. In preparation for the long winter, the women spent a good deal of time making cheese and butter, as well as smoking, salting, and drying meat and fish. This could have been left to the thralls with minimal overseeing by Hrefna, but Selia sensed Alrik’s aunt needed something to occupy her mind other than spinning and weaving.
    Selia took it upon herself to walk through the forest whenever the weather permitted, on a stated purpose of stockpiling firewood for the winter. She carried a small dagger with her for safety—although Ingrid scoffed that she was more likely to stab herself than to kill any animal hungry enough to attack such a scrawny meal—and promised Hrefna she would stay close to the house. But as soon as she was out of sight, she always climbed the steep hill that overlooked the fjord, to scan the sea for any sign of the ship.
    This was one of the few places where she allowed her tears to fall freely. Ingrid had caught her crying, once, when Selia had thought she was alone in the kitchen, and the girl had proceeded to unleash a torrent of condemnation on her. In her opinion Selia was a stupid, foolish girl, not only feeble-minded but spineless, wasting her tears on a man who would rather bed the thralls than lie with her.
    Selia, too exhausted and depressed to argue, had only cried harder, and Hrefna had come into the kitchen and slapped Ingrid to make her stop ranting.
    But it was the last time Selia would cry in front of Ingrid, and so she saved her tears for the darkness of her bedchamber or for her trips to