Read the book: «Forbidden Nights With A Viking»
Forbidden Nights with a Viking
To Sin with a Viking
Michelle Willingham
Enslaved by the Viking
Harper St. George
Taken By the Viking
Michelle Styles
Defiant in the Viking’s Bed
Joanna Fulford
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
To Sin with a Viking
AUTHOR NOTE
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Enslaved by the Viking
Introduction
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Taken by the Viking
Excerpt
Author Note
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Defiant in the Vikings Bed
Back Cover Text
Introduction
AUTHOR NOTE
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Extract
Copyright
To Sin with a Viking
AUTHOR NOTE
Sometimes arranged marriages in historical romance end in happily-ever-after. And sometimes two good people are never meant to be together. I wanted to explore the idea of a marriage between a husband and a wife who want to make it work but are unable to connect. And what will happen to them when they meet their true soul mates?
This duet of books, beginning with TO SIN WITH A VIKING, explores that theme without trespassing into the realm of adultery. Both Styr and Elena Hardrata deserve a happy ending…but it will not be with each other. Styr is taken captive by Irishwoman Caragh Ó Brannon, and the forbidden attraction between them is searing. He must decide whether to maintain his loyalty to a wife who is heartbroken in their marriage or whether to reach out to the woman who has taught him how to love. Elena’s story will follow, when she is rescued by fellow Viking Ragnar Olafsson.
I hope you’ll enjoy these Irish-Viking stories. If you want to read more about my Hardrata heroes, Styr is the ancestor of Tharand Hardrata, the hero of THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE, and later of Kaall Hardrata, hero of The Holly and the Viking in WARRIORS IN WINTER.
You’re welcome to visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details about my books. I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com or via mail at PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, USA. I can be found on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans and Twitter at www.twitter.com/michellewilling.
About the Author
RITA® Award Finalist MICHELLE WILLINGHAM has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com
Chapter One
Ireland—ad 875.
The tribe was slowly starving to death.
Caragh Ó Brannon stared at the grain sack, which was nearly empty. One handful of oats remained, hardly enough for anyone. She closed her eyes, wondering what to do. Her older brothers, Terence and Ronan, had left a fortnight ago to trade for more food. She’d given them a golden brooch that had belonged to their mother, hoping someone would trade sheep or cows for it. But this famine was widespread, making anyone reluctant to give up their animals.
‘Is there anything to eat, Caragh?’ her younger brother Brendan asked. At seventeen, his appetite was three times her own, and she’d done her best to keep him from growing hungry. But it was now evident that they would run out of food sooner than she’d thought.
Instead of answering, she showed him what was left. He sobered, his thin face hollow from lack of food. ‘We haven’t caught any fish, either. I’ll try again this morning.’
‘I can make a pottage,’ she offered. ‘I’ll go and look for wild onions or carrots.’ Though she tried to interject a note of hope, both of them knew that the forests and fields had been stripped long ago. There was nothing left, except the dry summer grasses.
Brendan reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Our brothers will come back. And when they do, we’ll have plenty to eat.’
In his face, she saw the need to believe it, and she braved a smile she didn’t feel. ‘I hope so.’
After he went outside with his fishing net, Caragh stared back at the empty hut. Both of their parents had died last winter. Her father had gone out to try to catch fish, and he’d drowned. Her mother had grieved deeply for him and had never recovered from the loss. She’d given her own portion of food to Brendan numerous times, lying that she’d already eaten. When they’d discovered the truth, it had been too late to prevent her death.
So many had succumbed to starvation, and it bled Caragh’s conscience to know that both of her parents had died, trying to feed their children.
Hot tears rose up as she stared at her father’s forge. He’d been a blacksmith, and she was accustomed to hearing the ring of his hammer, watching the bright glow of hot metal as he shaped it into tools. Her heart was as heavy as the anvil, knowing she would never hear his broad laugh again.
Though his boat remained, she didn’t have the courage to face the larger waves. Her brothers knew how to sail, but none of them had ventured out again after his death. It was as if evil spirits lingered, cursing the broken vessel that had returned without their father.
She wished they could leave Gall Tír. This desolate land had nothing left. But they lacked the supplies to travel very far on foot. They should have gone last summer, after the crops had failed to flourish. At least then, they would have had enough to survive the journey. Even if they now travelled by sea, they had not enough food to sustain them beyond a day.
The hand of Death was stretched out over everyone, and Caragh had felt her own weakness changing her. She could hardly walk for long distances without growing faint, and the smallest tasks were overwhelming. Her body had grown so thin, her léine hung upon her, and she could see the thin bones of her knees and wrists.
But she wasn’t ready to give up. Like all of them, she was fighting to live.
She picked up her gathering basket and stepped outside in the sunlight. The ringfort was quiet, few people exerting the energy to talk, when there was the greater task of finding food. Her older brothers weren’t the only ones who had left to seek supplies. Most of the able-bodied men had gone, especially those with children. None were expected to return.
A few of the elderly women nodded to her in greeting, with baskets of their own. Caragh thought of her earlier promise, to find vegetables, but she knew there was nothing out there. Even if there was, the others would likely find it first. Instead, she made her way towards the coast, hoping to find shellfish or seaweed.
She stopped to rest several times when her vision clouded and dizziness came over her. The water was nearly black this morn, the waves still and silent. Her brother was standing along the shoreline with his net, casting it out into the waves. He waved his hand in greeting.
But it was the sight of the longship on the horizon that evoked fear within both of them. The vessel was large, a curved boat that could hold over a dozen men. A massive striped sail billowed from the mast, and a single row of white and red shields hung over the side. In the morning sun, a bronze weathervane gleamed upon the masthead and a carved dragon head rested at the prow. As soon as she spied it, her heartbeat quickened.
‘Is it the Lochlannach?’ she cried out to her brother. So many tales she’d heard, of the barbaric Vikings of the Norse lands who ravaged the homes of innocent people. If their ship was here, they had less than an hour before the nightmare began. Gooseflesh prickled upon her skin at the thought of being taken by one of them. Or worse, being burned alive if they attempted to seize her home by force.
‘Go back to our house,’ Brendan commanded. ‘Stay inside, Caragh, and for God’s sake, don’t let anyone in.’ He pulled in his fishing net and hurried back towards the ringfort.
‘What are you going to do?’ She caught up to him, afraid he was about to do something foolish.
Her brother’s grey eyes turned cold. ‘They have supplies, don’t they? And food.’
She was horrified at his sudden thoughts. ‘No. You can’t try to steal from them.’ The Norsemen were ruthless warriors who would murder her brother without a second thought.
‘They’ll try to raid the fort. They’ll be gone while I take what’s on board their ship.’
‘And what about the rest of us?’ she demanded. ‘If we’re fighting for our lives, we might all be dead by the time you return. If you return,’ she added. ‘No, you can’t do this.’
Her brother entered their father’s hut, searching for a sword among the blacksmith tools. ‘If you’d rather, go and hide in the forest. Climb one of the trees as high as you can and wait until it’s over.’
‘I can’t abandon the tribe.’ There were elderly folk remaining, who were too weak to fight. Though her own strength was waning, she couldn’t turn her back on their kinsmen.
Her hands were trembling, the fear rising up from inside. Brendan took her hand and squeezed it. ‘If we don’t take their supplies, we’ll die anyway. Either today or a fortnight from now. We both know it.’
She did. But she didn’t like stealing. Though she’d lost nearly every possession they’d owned, she still had honour. And that meant something.
‘We could ask,’ she said. ‘If they see how little we have, they may share with us.’
Her brother’s expression darkened. ‘Since when do the Lochlannach possess mercy?’ He belted the sword at his waist. ‘Gather the others and take them from here, if you wish. Leave the ringfort unprotected, and perhaps they’ll take what they want without hurting anyone.’
She stared at him, her thoughts caught in a tangled web of fear. ‘Don’t go, Brendan. The risk is too great.’
‘Don’t be afraid, a deirfiúr.’ He bent down and kissed her forehead. ‘I’d rather die in battle than die the way our parents did.’
She could see that no argument would influence him. But perhaps she could speak to his friends. He might listen to them, though he paid no heed to her warnings.
All she could do was try.
No man ever wanted to admit his marriage was dying.
Styr Hardrata stared out at the grey waters cloaked with mist, watching over his wife Elena. She stood with her hands upon the bow of the ship, her long red-gold hair streaming behind her in the wind. She was beautiful and strong, and he’d always been fascinated by her.
But that strength had now become a coldness between them, an invisible wall that kept them apart. She blamed herself for their childlessness, and he didn’t know what to say. He’d tried everything until now, she grew sad every time he tried to touch her. Lovemaking had become a duty, not an act of passion.
Though he’d tried to ignore her growing reluctance, he was tired of her flinching whenever he tried to pull her near. Or worse, feigning pleasure when he knew she no longer wanted his touch.
The slow burn of frustration coiled inside him. This was a war he didn’t know how to fight, a battle he couldn’t win. Styr approached the front of the boat and stood behind her. He said nothing, staring out at the grey waves that sloshed against the boat.
‘I know you’re there,’ she said after a time. But she didn’t turn around to look at him. There was no smile of welcome, nothing except the quiet acceptance she wore like armour.
He didn’t know how to respond to her coolness but said the only thing he could think of. ‘It won’t be long now before we arrive.’ And thank the gods for it. Their ship had been plagued by storms, and he hadn’t slept in three days. None of them had, after the strong winds had threatened to sink the vessel. His mind was blurred with the need to find a pallet and sink into oblivion.
In fact, the moment his feet touched ground, he was tempted to lie there and sleep for the next two days.
‘I’ll be glad to reach land,’ she admitted. ‘I’m tired of travelling.’
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she didn’t turn to embrace him. She held herself motionless, staring out at the water. In time, he lowered his hand, suppressing the disappointment.
In truth, Elena had startled him when she’d agreed to leave Hordafylke and journey with him to Éire, for a new beginning. Though their marital troubles had worsened over the past year, he wanted to believe that she wasn’t ready to give up yet. He held on to the hope that somehow they could rekindle what they’d lost.
Styr waited for her to speak, to share with him the thoughts inside, but she offered nothing. He considered a thousand different things to say to her, questions about what sort of house she wanted to build. Whether she would want a new weaving loom or perhaps a dog to keep her company when he was fishing at sea. She loved animals.
‘Do you—?’
‘I’d rather not talk just now,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve not been feeling well.’
The words severed any further conversation attempts, and he stiffened. ‘So be it.’ He went to the opposite end of the boat, needing to be away from her before he said something he would later regret.
Disappointment shifted into anger. What in the name of Thor did she want from him? He wasn’t going to lower himself and beg for her affections. He’d done everything in his power to make her happy, and it was never enough.
Frustration surged inside him, though he knew it was unwarranted. She was tired from the journey, that was all. Once they built a new home and started over, things might change.
The shores of Éire emerged on the horizon, and he stared at the desolate, sun-darkened grasses. Though he’d heard tales of how green the land was, from this distance, it appeared that they were suffering from a drought.
His friend Ragnar stepped past the men rowing and stood beside him. ‘I still don’t know why you wanted to settle here, instead of in Dubh Linn,’ he remarked, pointing towards the east. ‘The settlements there are a hundred years old. You’d find more of our kin.’
‘I don’t want Elena surrounded by so many people,’ Styr admitted. ‘We’d rather begin anew, somewhere less crowded.’ As they drew nearer, he thought he glimpsed a small settlement further inland.
Ragnar sat across from him and picked up an oar. Styr joined him, for the familiar rowing motion gave him a means of releasing physical frustration. He was glad his friend had decided to journey with them, along with a dozen of their friends and kin from Hordafylke. It made it easier to leave behind his home, when his closest friends were here. He’d known Ragnar since he was a boy, and he considered the man like a brother.
‘Has she said anything to you about this journey?’ Styr asked, nodding towards Elena. She, too, had known Ragnar since childhood. It was possible that she might confide her thoughts in someone else.
Ragnar sobered. ‘Elena hasn’t spoken much at all. But she’s afraid—that, I can tell you.’
Styr pulled hard on the oar, his arms straining as the wooden blades cut through the waves. Afraid of what? He would protect her from any harm, and he was more than able to provide for her.
‘What else do you know?’ he demanded.
‘The men are tired. They need rest and food,’ Ragnar said. His friend’s face mirrored his own exhaustion, after they’d been awake for so long.
‘I wasn’t talking about the men.’
Ragnar rested the oars for a moment, sympathy on his face. ‘Just talk to Elena, my friend. She’s hurting.’
He knew that was the obvious answer. But Elena rarely spoke to him any more, never telling him what she was thinking. He couldn’t guess what was going on inside her head, and when he demanded answers, she only closed up more.
He didn’t understand women. One moment, he would be talking to her, and the next, she’d be silently weeping and he had no idea why. It made him feel utterly helpless.
As their boat drifted closer, he eyed Ragnar. ‘I’ve been saving a gift for her. Something to make her smile.’ He’d bought the ivory comb in Hordafylke, and the image of Freya was carved upon it. When he showed it to his friend, Ragnar shrugged.
‘It’s a nice gift, but it’s not what she wants.’
Though his friend was only being honest, it wasn’t what Styr wanted to hear. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think we wanted to be childless all these years?’ His temper broke out, and his words lashed out louder than he’d intended. Elena was holding on to her waist, and she didn’t glance back at either of them. He didn’t doubt his wife had overheard their argument. But as cool-headed as she was, she’d never confront him.
‘I’ve made offerings to the gods,’ he admitted, dropping his voice lower. ‘I’ve been a good husband to her. But this curse is wearing on both of us. It has to end.’
Ragnar stood, preparing to lower the sail. ‘And if it doesn’t?’
Styr stared at his hands, not knowing the answer to that. But he strongly suspected that there was nothing he could do to make his wife happy again. He stole a last look at her, and at that moment she turned back. Her pale face was shadowed, her eyes holding such pain, he didn’t know how to heal it.
In the end, he busied himself with the ship, unable to bridge the growing distance between them.
The Lochlannach were here. Caragh’s heart beat so rapidly, she could hardly breathe. There were a dozen men walking through the shallow water, and their size alone dwarfed her kinsmen. Battleaxes and swords hung from their waists, while they carried round wooden shields. Several of the men wore chainmail corselets and helms with narrow nose guards. One man was taller than all the others, possibly their leader. His eyes narrowed upon the ringfort, and Caragh remained hidden behind a pile of peat bricks.
She’d managed to evacuate most of the people, aside from Brendan and his friends. The young men worried her, for they seemed intent upon attacking the Lochlannach. If they did, doubtless they would be slaughtered in the attempt.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she approach them and find out what they wanted? Their leader drew closer, and he was so tall, he stood a full head above her brother Brendan. He had fair hair bound back, and his shoulders were broad, like a man accustomed to hacking his way through a battlefield. His cloak was black, and a golden brooch fastened it on one side. Beneath it, she caught the glint of chainmail, though he wore no helm. There was no trace of mercy in his visage, as if he’d come to plunder and take everything of value.
She tried to calm the wild beating of her heart, but in the distance, she spied her brother moving behind the men. Four others were approaching from opposite corners, intending a surprise attack.
Why wasn’t Brendan moving towards the boat? With horror, she realised that he’d changed his intent. No longer was he planning to raid their supplies.
It seemed her younger brother and his friends were planning an attack of their own. Caragh swallowed hard, praying for a miracle. If only her older brothers were here to stop him. Or any of the other men. She had to do something to protect Brendan, but what?
She started to rise from her hiding place, when suddenly, she spied a female standing back from the men. Her skirts were sodden from walking through the water, and she stared at the ringfort as if she were nervous.
If these men had come to raid, they would never have brought a woman along. Who was she?
Caragh had no time to consider further, for her brother and his friends made their move. Within seconds, they surrounded the woman, dragging her away from the other men.
Her scream cut through the air, and the Viking leader charged after the young men. The other Lochlannach followed, but their movement lacked energy, as if they had not fought in some time. The leader showed no weakness at all, and a roar erupted from him as he ran, his battleaxe unsheathed.
He was going to kill them.
Caragh bit her lip so hard, she tasted blood, when the Viking was surrounded by her kinsmen. He swung his battleaxe, his chainmail shirt outlining immense muscles and a honed body well accustomed to fighting. The blade sank into one of the young men trying to hold him back.
She closed her eyes tightly, her blood pulsing so hard, she felt faint. Although the Norseman was outnumbered, the young men’s efforts would come to naught. They would die for this—Brendan among them.
She couldn’t stand aside and let it happen. Caragh slipped back into the blacksmith’s hut, searching for a weapon she was strong enough to wield. Precious time slid away and she tried to lift her father’s hammer, without success.
Something. Anything. She whirled around, and this time, she saw a wooden staff in the corner. Although it was heavy and thick, at least she could lift it.
She rushed out of the hut, only to find that several more of her kinsmen had returned from their hiding places, and had surrounded the Lochlannach. Older men charged forwards with their own weapons, and several lay dead. Others had managed to subdue several of the enemy men, tying them up as hostages.
But it was the Viking leader who held her attention now. He’d torn his way free of the people and was running after the woman, blood lust in his eyes.
Straight towards her brother.
Caragh didn’t think, but raced after him, her lungs burning as she ran. She didn’t know what she could possibly do to stop the warrior, but she gripped the wooden staff in her hands, praying for strength she didn’t have. Her terror seemed to slow, magnified by the need to save Brendan. Her brother had seized the woman with both hands, leaving him powerless to defend himself.
‘Brendan, let her go!’ she shouted, but he didn’t. The Viking raised the battleaxe above his head, prepared to strike.
Without knowing where her strength came from, Caragh swung the staff at his head. The man turned at the last second and the staff caught him across the ear. He dropped hard, the axe falling from his hand. The woman screamed, reaching towards him as she cried out words in an unfamiliar language.
Caragh felt the woman’s pain, and she met the woman’s eyes with her own, wishing she could make her understand. She’d had no choice in this.
Chapter Two
Styr awakened, feeling as if someone had crushed his head. When he tried to sit up, a rush of pain poured through him.
It was eerily quiet, and it took him a moment to reassemble what had happened. He smelled a peat fire, and when He tried to sit up, he realised that his wrists were chained behind his back, around a thick post. He was now a prisoner.
Where was Elena? Had they taken her, too? His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he struggled to stand. There was only a woman standing on the far end of the room, watching him with wariness. He listened hard for the sound of his language, for any evidence that his kinsmen were alive. But there was nothing.
He knew the Irish language, after his father had taught him many foreign tongues. As a voyager, Styr knew how valuable it was, and he’d mastered several languages as a boy. But he asked the woman no questions, not revealing his ability to understand her words. He might learn more about Elena and Ragnar, if he pretended he knew nothing.
‘Where have you taken the others?’ he barked out, using a Norse dialect he knew she wouldn’t understand.
She flinched at his tone and remained far away. Good. In the shadowed light, he couldn’t quite make out her features, but it surprised him that her family had left her here alone with him. Where were the other men? Why was there no one else to guard him?
He began examining his bonds more closely. They had chained his arms behind his back, around a thick beam on the opposite wall. He guessed the circumference of the beam was the width of his thigh, for when he leaned his weight against it, it did not budge.
‘Let me go,’ he demanded, still using the Norse language. To emphasise his words, he strained against the chains.
When the woman stepped into the light, he was shocked by what he saw. Her face was terribly thin, her eyes sunken from lack of food. The bones of her wrists were narrow, and though he recognised her as the one who had struck him down, he couldn’t imagine how she’d done it.
There was no possible way she’d had the strength to move him here and put him in chains. She looked as if a strong wind would knock her over.
Her eyes were a strange blue, so dark, they were almost violet. Her brown hair hung to her waist, unbound except for a small braided section at her temples.
She might have been beautiful, if she’d had enough to eat.
He found himself comparing her to Elena. His wife was nearly as tall as he was, with long reddish-blonde hair and eyes the colour of seawater. Their families had arranged the marriage in order to ally their two tribes together. Although she was a quiet woman, the first few years had been good between them.
A chill took hold within him as he wondered what they’d done with her. Was she alive?
But demanding questions of this waif would accomplish nothing. Better to bide his time and gain her trust. Perhaps then he could get her to unlock his chains, and he’d slip away into the night.
‘I can’t understand your language,’ she admitted, drawing nearer. She was far shorter than Elena, and the top of her head only reached his shoulders. ‘But I’m sorry for all of this. I just…wanted to protect my brother.’
He said nothing, staring at her. The young woman’s voice revealed her fear, but there was also a sweetness to it, as if she were trying to soothe a wounded beast.
‘My name is Caragh Ó Brannon,’ she informed him. Touching her chest, she repeated, ‘Caragh.’
Styr said nothing at all. If she wanted his name, then she’d have to set him free first. He sent her a hard look, willing her to release him.
‘If you’ll allow it, I can tend your wound,’ she offered. ‘I truly am sorry for hitting you. I was afraid I’d killed you for a moment.’ She lowered her gaze, wringing her hands together. ‘That’s not the sort of woman I am.’ Her mouth tightened, and she sighed. ‘I don’t know why I’m even speaking to you, for you can’t understand a single word.’
It didn’t seem to stop her, though. Caragh began talking in a stream of conversation, and Styr was so taken aback by her ceaseless speech, he had trouble following some of her words. She kept apologising while she found a basin of water and a bowl of soup. Then he came to understand that it was her way of hiding her fear. By talking her enemy to death.
When she stood an arm’s length from him, Caragh stopped mid-word. Her eyes stared at him with regret, and she set down the bowl of soup at his feet, along with another basin, presumably for his personal needs.
‘I’m sorry to keep you like this,’ she said quietly. ‘But if I let you go, you’ll kill my family.’ Her eyes drifted downward again. ‘Possibly me, as well.’ She dipped the linen cloth into the water and hesitated. Water dripped down into the bowl, and she admitted, ‘I probably shouldn’t have taken you prisoner. But if I hadn’t, you’d have gone after my brother again.’
It disconcerted him that he’d been captured at all. If he and his men had been at their full strength, it never would have happened. The lack of sleep had slowed their reflexes, making it difficult for them to respond to the surprise attack.
Caragh reached out and touched the cloth to his temple, washing away the dried blood. The gentle gesture was so unexpected, he gaped at her. She was intent upon her work, though from the slight tremor in her fingers, he sensed her fear of him. The cool water soothed the swelling, but he spoke no words.
Why would she bother tending his wound? He was her enemy, not her friend. No one had ever touched him in this manner, and he couldn’t understand why this waif would attempt it. Either she had a greater courage than he’d guessed, or she was too foolish to understand that a man like him didn’t deserve mercy.
‘I wish you could understand me,’ she murmured, while a water droplet slid down his cheek. She was staring at him intently, her blue eyes so dark, he found himself spellbound. When her fingers touched the drop of water, an unbidden response flared inside him. Styr moved forwards, stretching the chains taut.
Forcing her to be afraid.
She jerked back, stammering, ‘I—I’m sorry. I must have hurt you again.’ She pointed towards the bowl of soup on the ground. ‘I haven’t much I can feed you, but it’s all there is.’ She shrugged and retreated again, nodding for him to eat.
Styr eyed the bowl of watery soup and then sent her a questioning look. Exactly how did she expect him to eat with his hands bound behind his back?
She waited for a moment, ladling a bowl for herself. With a spoon, she began to eat slowly, as if savouring the broth. ‘Don’t you want—?’ Her words broke off as it dawned on her that she would have to feed him if he was going to eat at all.
A slow breath released from her. ‘I should have thought about this.’ She stood and reached for another wooden spoon. For a moment, she studied him. Her mouth twisted with worry, but she picked up the bowl again.
Styr could hardly believe any of this. Not only had she treated his wounds, she’d offered food and was about to feed it to him.
For a captor, she was entirely too merciful. And it enraged him that he was trapped here with a soft-hearted woman attempting to make the best of the situation while Elena was out there somewhere. He had to escape these chains and find his wife.
Regret stung his conscience, for he’d failed to protect Elena. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead, and guilt weighed upon him. What if another man had violated her? What if she was suffering, her body ravaged with pain?
Styr ignored the soup and called out in a hoarse voice, ‘Elena!’ There was no reply. Again and again, he shouted her name, hoping she would hear him if she was within the ringfort. Then he called out to Ragnar and each of his kinsmen as he tried to determine if he was the only hostage. Or the only one left alive.
‘They’re gone,’ Caragh interrupted when he took another breath. ‘I don’t know where, but the ship isn’t there any more.’ Her face flushed and she admitted, ‘Brendan took the woman hostage. I saw your men lay down their weapons, but I don’t know what happened after that.’
Her gaze dropped to the ground, and he suspected she was withholding more information. He turned his gaze from her, so she would not know that he’d understood her words.
Turbulent thoughts roiled within him, igniting another surge of rage. Where was his wife? Was she still alive? And what of his men?
When Caragh dared to touch a spoonful of broth to his lips, he used his head like a battering ram, sending the bowl flying. She paled and retrieved the bowl, wiping up the spilled soup.
In fury, he kicked at the wall, smashing the wattle and daub frame until he’d created a hole in the wicker frame. He roared out his frustration, straining against the manacles in a desperate need to escape. Over and over, he pulled at the chains, trying to break them.
And when he’d failed to free himself, he cast another look at Caragh. She’d picked up the remains of his soup and added it to her own bowl. When he stared at her, she showed no fear at all. Only a defiant look of her own, as if he ought to be ashamed of himself.
Caragh slept fitfully, awakening several times during the night. Dear God in Heaven, what had she done? Imprisoning the Viking had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, she regretted it. She shouldn’t have saved his life. He was planning to kill Brendan and had already killed two others. He didn’t deserve to live.
It was several hours before dawn, but she rose from her pallet and tiptoed over to the fire, adding another peat brick. A flicker of sparks rose up, and she stoked the flames to heat the cool interior. In the faint amber light, she studied the Lochlannach man who lay upon the earth.
She had removed his cloak and brooch, not wanting him to use the pin as a weapon. He wore a rough linen tunic beneath the mail corselet protecting his chest, while his fair hair was tied back in a cord. His face was strangely compelling, even in sleep. She sat upon a footstool and studied him.
Though he was harsh, his body strong from years of battle, she couldn’t deny that he was handsome, like a fallen angel. None of the men she’d met over the years even compared to this man’s features.
He was the sort of man to carry a woman off and claim her. Without warning, her mind conjured the image of kissing a man like this. He would not be gentle but would capture her mouth, consuming her. A hard shiver passed over her, for she’d never before imagined such a thing. It was madness to even consider it.
But she’d glimpsed the fury on his face when the woman was taken. He’d fought hard for her, striking down any man who threatened her.
Caragh studied his profile in the firelight, wondering what sort of man he was. Was he a fierce barbarian who would kill her as soon as she freed him? Or did he possess any honour at all?
In his sleep, he moved restlessly, and she realised he was exposed to cool air from the wall segment he’d broken. Though it was summer, the nights were often cold, and no doubt he was feeling the chill. The practical side of her decided that he ought to be uncomfortable for smashing the wall.
Wouldn’t you have done the same thing, if you were a captive? her conscience argued. Wouldn’t you have done anything to escape?
She might have. But he’d killed her kinsmen. He deserved to suffer for it.
They took his woman. He was trying to pro tect her.
He’d called out the woman’s name, Elena, for a long time. Likely she was his wife or possibly his sister.
That was what plagued her most. If their situations were reversed, and she had been captured, her brothers would have slaughtered anyone who dared to harm her. She couldn’t fault this man from trying to guard a family member.
But if she hadn’t intervened, he would have killed Brendan. And if she released this man now, he would hunt her brother down and exact his revenge.
Worry knotted her stomach, for she didn’t know where Brendan was. Her last fleeting vision of him was when he’d kept his blade at the woman’s throat, dragging her backwards towards the ship. Caragh had been so busy securing her own prisoner, she’d only caught glimpses of what was happening around her.
One of the older men had helped her to drag the prisoner away from the others, for she’d been too weak to do it herself. After she’d chained the Viking, she’d returned outside, only to find the man’s body cut down by a sword. Her stomach wrenched to think that he’d died because he’d tried to help her.
In her mind, she reconstructed bits and pieces of what she remembered. Brendan with his hostage…and the Lochlannach had dropped their weapons on the sand before they’d waded into the water.
Though a few of Brendan’s friends had joined him, they were outnumbered. Even weaponless, Caragh didn’t doubt that their enemy intended to ambush her brother, reclaiming the ship and the woman. They needed no blades to kill Brendan.
It had been impossible to help him, without drawing the Lochlannach back on herself and the others.
Why had he lured them away from Gall Tír? It was reckless and dangerous.
Unless Brendan was trying to lead the enemy away in a desperate act of bravery.
She closed her eyes, steeling herself against the possibility that her brother was already dead. Hours had passed, but he hadn’t returned at all. She could only pray that he was still alive.
Disbelief and fear welled up inside her. All of her brothers had abandoned her. She hadn’t argued when Terence and Ronan had gone, confident that they would return with the promised supplies. But now, it had been nearly a fortnight, and there was no sign of them.
What if none of her brothers returned? What if all of them were dead?
The idea of being alone, with no one to protect her, was terrifying.
With a heavy heart, she searched inside for the right decision about what to do now. She couldn’t release her prisoner. If she did, she had no doubt he would strike her down. His dark, callous eyes bespoke a ruthless nature. There was nothing tame about him, and she saw no alternative except to keep him chained until her older brothers returned.
If they returned.
She closed her eyes, forcing away the thoughts of doubt. No, Terence and Ronan would come back. They had to.
Caragh picked up a woollen brat that she used as a winter wrap and tiptoed over to the section of the wall that the man had destroyed. She reached up to secure it over the hole, using it to block the wind.
When she turned around, she saw him staring at her. She pressed her back against the broken wall, just as he rose to his feet. His eyes were a dark brown, and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. But she wouldn’t make the mistake of trusting him. She inched further away until he spoke a word she didn’t understand.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
His gaze followed her, and he paused a moment. ‘Water.’
It startled her to hear her language spoken by this man. ‘You know Irish?’
But he only repeated, ‘Water.’
Caragh went to fill a wooden cup with water, and she felt his eyes watching every move. When she drew close, she hesitated, not wanting to be so close to him after he’d already spurned the bowl of soup. But with his hands chained behind his back, there was no other alternative.
She swallowed back her apprehension and raised the cup to his lips, tilting it slightly. He drank, and in the shadowed light, she saw the rough stubble of facial hair. It was the same light blond colour as his hair, and when she lowered the cup, her eyes were drawn to his mouth. His lips were firm, a slash of a mouth that she doubted had ever smiled. In his dark eyes, she saw a worry that mirrored her own.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded in her language.
Caragh stepped back from him. ‘So you do know Irish.’ It meant he’d understood every word she’d spoken.
‘Where?’ he repeated. The ice in his voice held the promise of vengeance, and she retreated further. Though he could not harm her while he was in chains, she didn’t doubt that he’d kill anyone who threatened the woman called Elena.
Her face paled, but she repeated what she’d said before, ‘I told you already. I don’t know.’ She tried to calm the roiling fear in her stomach, admitting, ‘Brendan took her as a hostage and set sail.’
Frustration drew his face taut with silent rage. ‘I have to find her. Let me go.’ His command was spoken in a steel voice, one meant to be obeyed.
Though she understood his need, she couldn’t possibly free him from the chains. ‘I can’t release you,’ she protested. ‘You’ll kill me if I do.’ In her mind, she envisioned him taking his chains and wrapping them around her throat.
‘I don’t usually kill women. Even the ones who try to crack my skull.’ He tested the post, straining against his bonds.
‘I’m sorry for your wound, but I had to protect Brendan,’ she argued.
‘And I had to protect my wife.’ He half-snarled the word, his rage erupting. ‘She’s an innocent. She did nothing to you.’
‘The men were wrong to attack,’ she admitted, crossing her arms. ‘I tried to stop my brother, but he wouldn’t listen.’ Though it wouldn’t make any difference, she offered, ‘We were starving and needed supplies.’
‘And you thought you’d take them.’ Bitterness clung to his tone, and he let out a cynical breath of air. ‘We would have shared what we had, if you’d asked.’
‘Attacking you was never my idea,’ she insisted. It shamed her that this man thought of her as nothing but a thief, when she wasn’t.
‘Let me go, Caragh.’
‘Not yet, Lochlannach,’ she countered. Frowning, she added, ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘I am Styr Hardrata. My wife is Elena.’
‘I saw her with the others. She’s beautiful.’ Caragh returned to the cold pot of soup and moved it closer to the hearth to warm. ‘Be assured, my brother doesn’t plan to hurt her. He’s only seventeen…and thoughtless, I’m afraid.’
‘He plans to ransom them or sell them as slaves, doesn’t he?’
She hadn’t thought of that, but it was doubtful. ‘I don’t know what he plans to do.’ Truthfully, she doubted if he’d considered any of his actions, it had all happened so fast. ‘All I know is that I can’t free you until my older brothers are here. Once they are, then you can go as it pleases you.’
‘And I’m supposed to stay here and ignore what’s happening to the rest of my family? You expect me to wait and do nothing?’
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I won’t let you hurt my brother.’
His dark eyes gleamed in the stillness. ‘If she’s harmed because of what he did, I’ll kill him. Be assured of it.’
She believed him. There was a darkness in this man, a soulless being who wouldn’t falter when it came to retribution. It didn’t matter that Brendan was young and foolish. In the Viking’s eyes, she saw the promise of vengeance.
Her hands were trembling as she ladled more soup into a bowl. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘What I want is to be released.’ He glared at her, and she tightened the hold upon her fear.
Ignoring his demand, she said, ‘I have very little food. If you want to eat, I will share what there is. But if you’re going to push it away, tell me now, and I’ll keep it for myself.’
He said nothing for a time, staring towards the fire. ‘I suppose I’ll have to keep up my strength for the day when you set me free.’
‘I regret hurting you. But I had no choice.’ She picked up the bowl with both hands, steam rising from the soup. It felt as if she were nearing a dragon as she approached the warrior.
He waited, and when she stood before him, he said, ‘You look as if you haven’t eaten well in weeks.’
She hadn’t but didn’t say so. ‘There was a drought, and we lost a good deal of our harvest last summer. Many died during the winter, and it’s too early to harvest this year’s crops.’
Caragh raised the bowl to his lips, and this time, he drank. The soup wasn’t good, watery with only a bit of seaweed. But there was nothing else.
‘What of your animals?’ he asked. ‘Sheep or cattle?’
She shook her head. ‘They’re gone. My brothers went to trade for more food.’ To him, it might seem that they’d done little, but she knew the truth. They’d given up most of their possessions for food. ‘Believe me when I say there is nothing to eat,’ she continued. ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’
‘You live near the sea,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s no reason for you to starve.’
But it wasn’t that easy. ‘The fishermen left, months ago, and took their boats with them,’ she explained. ‘We can only get the smaller fish near the shore. It’s not enough.’ She didn’t mention her father’s boat, for they had not touched it in months. The others, too, had left it alone.
Styr’s hard gaze fastened upon her. ‘There is no reason to starve if you know the ways of the sea.’
When she took the bowl away, she noticed that the side of his face was swollen red and would likely be bruised black and blue by morning. Seeing his wound bothered her, for it was her fault he’d been hurt.
Caragh went to fetch a linen cloth, soaking it in more cool water. Without asking his leave, she went and touched the sore spot, bathing it to prevent the swelling from growing worse.
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Do you always strike your enemy and then tend his wounds?’ His eyes held suspicion, as if he weren’t accustomed to anyone taking care of him. It made her feel foolish, and she pulled the cloth away.
‘I’ve never taken a man prisoner before.’ Her cheeks burned, and she retreated, wishing she’d never dared to touch him. Everything about this man threatened her, from his fiercely handsome face, to his raw strength. It was like chaining a predator, and she needed to remember that he was not to be trusted.
‘How long before your brothers return?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘They’ve been gone a fortnight. I have no way of knowing when they’ll be back.’
‘And if they don’t return?’
Caragh shook her head, not wanting to imagine it. Inwardly, she tightened the invisible bands around her fear and frustration. Ronan and Terence had sworn to return, and she believed they would.
But it was Brendan who gave her the greatest cause to fear. Her younger brother hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions, and he might pay the price with his life.
Returning to the far side of the hut, she washed out the bowl and set it to dry. Her voice was quiet, but she admitted, ‘If they don’t return, I’ll let you go. It would be more merciful for you to kill me than to starve to death.’
He sat down, leaning back against the post. and though she was desperately tired, Caragh sat beside the fire. Absently, She picked up a comb and began to run it through the long dark strands, hoping to calm herself. She was aware of him watching her, but she tried to ignore his gaze.
‘Why did they leave you here?’ he asked. ‘Don’t your brothers believe in protecting their women?’
She pulled at the comb, not looking at him. Aye, she did feel uncertainty at her future and a sense of hurt that they’d gone off without her. But she wouldn’t reveal it to him. ‘I can care for myself.’
‘Can you?’ He eyed her, and beneath his gaze, she felt embarrassment at her thinness.
‘I haven’t given up hope. My brothers will return, and—’
‘—and you’ll starve in the meantime.’ His scorn irritated her, for he behaved as if she weren’t lifting a finger. ‘The women of my country would be out hunting for food, scouring the land instead of waiting at home.’ He gave a shrug, and his diffidence infuriated her. ‘But then, you’re Irish.’
How did he dare to mock her, when she’d given up her own share of food on his behalf?
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.
He only sent her a sardonic look, as if she could guess which insult he’d implied. Aye, she might not be a sword-wielding warrior, but she wasn’t weak. Not by half.
She glared hard at his unsympathetic face, wondering how he dared to criticise her. ‘What would you have me do, were you in my place?’
‘Leave. Find a man to protect you and care for you if your brothers won’t take the responsibility.’
‘Sell myself, you mean.’ Though he might be right, she hated the thought of giving her body in exchange for survival. She’d rather die.
‘You wouldn’t have to sell yourself,’ he said. His dark eyes fastened upon hers, his voice deepening. ‘Most men are weak when it comes to women in need. And you’ve a fair enough face.’
Though his words were spoken with no innuendo, she felt herself blushing. It wasn’t at all true. The men in her tribe wanted a demure, modest woman who rarely talked. Not one who spoke her mind and questioned everything.
‘I’d rather survive using my wits,’ she admitted. She stepped backwards, adding, ‘And if I’m to find any more food for us in the morning, we should both get some sleep.’
‘If you set me free tonight, you won’t have to feed me at all,’ he pointed out.
She ignored the suggestion. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Because you’re too afraid?’
‘I captured you, didn’t I?’ she shot back. ‘I doubt if any of your women could say the same.’
‘Only because I was unconscious,’ he admitted. ‘In my homeland, many wanted to capture me, but only one other succeeded.’
His wife, he meant. Caragh crossed her arms and stared at him. ‘She must have the patience of a saint, then.’ Putting up with a man of such arrogance would be a true test of any woman.
‘She likes me well enough,’ was his answer. But she caught a sense of brooding in his tone. Almost a reluctance to speak of Elena.
‘I hope you find her,’ Caragh said quietly, ‘and that she’s unharmed when you do.’ It was the truth. She’d seen the agony on the woman’s face when Caragh had struck down her husband. She didn’t want to be the cause of any suffering between them.
Styr stood up again and stepped forwards, testing the length of his chains. ‘Oh, I will find her,’ he warned.
His brown eyes turned foreboding with a violent edge. ‘But I’m not going to wait around to be murdered by your brothers. One morning, you’ll awaken, and I’ll be gone.’
Chapter Three
The hours spent alone were gruelling. Not only was Styr’s stomach snarling from lack of food, but Caragh had been gone from sunrise until evening. It was as if she were seeking revenge for his earlier remark about the women of his country. This time, she had indeed left him alone all day. He’d used the time to study his chains, trying to determine how the manacles were fastened. It seemed they were attached with iron pins, ones that could only be removed with a hammer and an awl.
He’d tried to kick at the support beam to loosen it, but to no avail. His wrists were bloody after trying to squeeze his hands through the manacles, and again, it was no use.
Never in his life had he been any man’s captive, let alone a woman’s. Though Caragh might eventually free him, it wouldn’t be soon enough to suit him. Elena was at the mercy of those men, and although they’d had their marital troubles, she was still his wife. He was bound to protect her, and he couldn’t stop until he’d freed her.
The image of Elena’s face haunted him with the fear that she’d been dishonoured or hurt. A man protects his woman, his father had said, time and again. He is merciless to those who threaten her.
Styr turned to face the top of his post. There was a way to free himself, if he was willing to destroy Caragh’s dwelling. He studied the structure, at the way the beam supported the house. It was possible…
Where was Caragh now? Was she even planning to return? His mouth was parched with thirst, and the water in the bucket on the far side of the room seemed to taunt him.
The door swung open, and a younger man entered the hut. His mouth curved in a sneer. ‘So, this is Caragh’s new pet. I heard she captured a Lochlannach.’
Styr said nothing at all, pretending he didn’t understand a single word. Even so, he adjusted his stance, in case he needed to fight.
‘Why is she keeping you here? Does she need a man that badly?’ His enemy circled him, as if taking his measure. From his stance and the possessive tone, Styr suspected the man desired Caragh, but she’d spurned him.
‘She shouldn’t have kept you alive, Loch lannach.’ Rage coloured the man’s voice as he unsheathed a blade. ‘You killed our kinsmen.’
Styr never took his eyes off his enemy, for he had only one opportunity to save himself. He gathered up the chains until there was no slack and they were locked tight against the wooden beam.
The man raised his knife, the blade slashing downwards towards his heart. Styr gripped the post and swung his legs out, tripping the man. The edge of the blade caught his leg, but the cut was shallow.
He locked his legs around the man’s neck, squeezing until the man began to choke. A coldness settled within him, with the bitter resignation that he had no alternative—it was this man’s life or his own. Seconds ticked by and his enemy’s muscles grew limp.
A moment later, the door flew open. Caragh ran forwards. ‘No! Release him!’
Styr held on until the man lost consciousness. ‘Would you have rather he killed me?’ He struggled to his feet, ignoring the blood that ran down his leg.
She paled at the sight. Her gaze shifted to the other man, and her emotions held a trace of regret.
Taking the fallen knife, she hid it among her possessions, leaving both of them weaponless. When the man started to revive, Caragh helped him to his feet. Quietly, she ordered, ‘Leave my home, Kelan.’
The look in the man’s eyes was murderous. His voice was hoarse as he gritted out, ‘Why did you save him? He doesn’t deserve to live, Caragh.’
‘Go,’ she repeated. ‘He is my prisoner, not yours.’ Though she kept her voice calm, Styr sensed her unease with the man.
Kelan’s gaze swept over her, lingering over her body. ‘You’re not safe with him.’
She shielded her thoughts, her violet eyes growing cold. ‘It’s no longer your concern.’
A dark flush came over Kelan’s face. ‘He slaughtered our kin, or did you forget?’
‘Our brothers attacked them first,’ she reminded him.
‘You’re defending a murderer?’ The disbelief in his voice held venom. ‘He’s worth nothing at all, Caragh.’
She gave no reply but opened the door in a silent command to leave. Although the man obeyed, Styr knew it was only a matter of time before Kelan attacked again. And next time, he might not be able to save himself. His earlier resolve to free himself was now critical.
Caragh closed the door and lowered her head for a moment, not facing him. Her shoulders slumped, and he realised she was trying not to cry. The weight of the world seemed to bear down on her, and he saw her swipe her hands across her eyes before she turned to face him.
Her gaze drifted to his wounded leg. ‘He hurt you.’
Styr shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Just a slight cut.’ But despite his insistence, she was already reaching for water and a cloth to tend it.
She was entirely too soft-hearted. Too trusting and naïve, especially with a man like him who knew nothing of forgiveness.
‘Who was he to you?’
Her mouth tightened, but she shrugged. ‘He’s a member of our clan, that’s all.’
‘No. He was more than that.’ Styr hadn’t missed the underlying tension between them.
Caragh let out a sigh. ‘He wanted to wed me once. But I refused him.’ Before he could voice another question, she met his gaze squarely. ‘And I don’t want to talk about it any more.’
As soon as she touched his thigh with the damp cloth, he reflexively jerked.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll try to be gentle,’ she assured him. But it wasn’t the touch of her hands against the knife wound. It was the sudden softness of female fingers, perilously close to his groin. Though he told himself that the sudden response would have happened to any man, he felt himself tightening with an unwanted arousal.
Styr gritted his teeth, pressing his temple against the post to evoke the harsh pain of his head wound. He needed something to distract himself from Caragh’s hands. He could imagine her palm sliding up his inner thigh, cupping his arousal. Elena had never done such a thing but usually lay beneath him while he’d joined with her.
Sometimes…he wished she would have touched him in return. To know that she desired his attentions instead of accepted them.
He let out a hiss of air as Caragh finished cleansing the wound. ‘It doesn’t need to be stitched,’ she agreed. ‘You were right.’
Thank God for that. She stepped away, but as she did, he spied the redness around her dark blue eyes and remembered that she’d been crying.
‘You were gone a long time,’ he said. ‘Did something happen to upset you?’
She shrugged. ‘I walked for miles, but there was still no food.’ Her eyes gleamed again and she admitted, ‘I was angry with myself. There was a rabbit, but my stone missed him. I couldn’t catch him while running because I lost my breath.’ Her features tightened with anger. ‘We’re going to run out of food tonight.’
The desperation in her voice affected him more than he wanted it to. He should ignore it for, once she was out of food, she’d have to free him.
But he heard himself saying, ‘You live by the sea. You won’t run out of food.’
‘Our nets have been empty for some time now.’
‘Go out further,’ he said. ‘The large fish are in the deeper waters.’
‘I can’t.’ She trembled a little, as if too afraid of the sea. There was danger in the deepest waves, true, but Styr revelled in the adventure of sailing. Harnessing the wind was like trying to steal the power of the gods. Even during the wild storm on the journey here, he’d welcomed the reckless force of the waves. It was freedom in its purest form.
‘You also need bait,’ he continued. ‘Go out to the beach with a torch. Look for crab along the shoreline. Search near the seaweed.’
‘I haven’t seen crab in weeks. There aren’t—’
‘Trust me,’ he insisted. ‘More of them come out at night. You’ll need them for the fishing lines.’
‘I shouldn’t leave you here alone. Kelan might return.’
He sent her a disbelieving look. ‘I can defend myself, Caragh. Or did you forget that I defeated him even while I was chained?’
She ignored him and let out a rough sigh. Opening her basket, she revealed a bunch of clover and changed the subject. ‘I’m afraid this is all I could find. I have enough grain for us tonight, but that’s all.’
‘So you’ll run out of food and starve to death, without a fight. You won’t even try.’ He stood up, hoping to provoke her anger. In her eyes, he could see the hopelessness, the physical weakness dragging her lower.
‘It’s not about trying.’ She dropped the basket and confronted him. ‘Do you think I haven’t scoured the shores, looking for food? Don’t you think all of us have tried?’
‘I think you’d rather wait on your brothers to save you than try to save yourself.’ He deliberately spurred her temper, knowing it would overcome the fear. Rage was the best weapon against the suffocating doubts.
‘Perhaps I should have let Kelan kill you,’ she muttered. ‘Then there’d be one less person to feed.’
‘You haven’t fed me today,’ he reminded her. ‘And from the look of it, you haven’t eaten, either.’
And at last, her fury got the best of her. Tears of frustration streamed down her face. ‘I haven’t eaten for nearly a fortnight, save a few greens and a soup that’s mostly water. I can’t remember the last time I had meat, and I’m so hungry, I can hardly walk anywhere without getting tired.’ She tore down the woollen cloth from where it covered the hole in the wall.
‘Then you had to come and destroy the only home I have.’ She wrapped the brat around her head and shoulders, holding on to herself as if she could hold back the emotions. ‘I don’t know what to do any more. It’s frustrating to have nothing to show for my efforts.’
He said nothing at first, for this woman wasn’t his responsibility. She’d taken him prisoner, and there was no reason to offer his advice.
But when he saw her shadowed face, he could think only of his wife. Was Elena hungry, as well? Was anyone watching over her? Or had they turned their backs on her?
If Caragh died, none of the others would free him. She was his only hope of escaping. And the only way to do that was to gain her trust.
‘Set me free, and I’ll help you get food,’ he said at last. ‘Then you can guide me to find my wife and kinsmen.’
She shook her head slowly, a rueful smile on her face. ‘You’d only abandon me here, as soon as I let you go.’
Of course she would believe that. But he wasn’t about to spend any longer, waiting until her brothers arrived. He would keep trying to free himself, no matter what he had to do.
Caragh took a branch from her supply of kindling and made it into a torch, lighting it in the fire. ‘I suppose I could try to look for crab for a little while. Wait here, and I’ll return within the hour.’
As if he had a choice.
He leaned back against the post, determined to do anything necessary to make his escape.
Styr tested the chains behind his back, lifting the manacles as far up as he could, to his shoulders. He leaned against them with his full body weight, stepping against the post. Though his wrists burned from the effort, he walked backwards up the post, lifting the chains with every step. After falling back down several times, he realised he had to keep the chains taut. Inch by inch, he guided himself up, gritting his teeth against the ache. It was the thought of freedom that pushed him past the edge of pain, while he twisted the chains and continued higher.
The support beam reached up to the ceiling. Slowly, he pulled himself up, until his shoulders touched the thatch. Sweat beaded against his forehead as he fought to keep his balance. If he could just lift his arms a little higher, he could raise the chains over the top of the post. It was attached to the roof, but the other beam was thinner, perhaps the width of his wrist.
Every muscle in his body cried out with agony, but he pushed past the pain. he would endure this for Elena’s sake.
His shoulder nearly dislocated when he shoved the chain over the top of the beam. He hung, suspended, from the smaller piece of wood, and his body weight strained against the beam.
Come on, he pleaded. Break.
He gulped for air, swinging against the wood while he feared it was his wrists that would break. In his mind, he pictured the face of Elena and her haunted sadness.
She needs you.
With a Herculean effort, at last the smaller beam cracked and he fell to the ground against his knees.
He couldn’t move, and for a long moment, he rested his cheek against the earthen floor. His wrists were slick with blood, and they throbbed with pain.
But he’d done it. He was free to move, free to leave this place. Though his hands were still bound in chains, no longer was he confined to Caragh’s hut.
Styr rose up to his knees, letting out a shuddering breath. It was better to wait until morning to go after Elena. This land was unknown to him, and he needed to plan his journey.
That meant gathering supplies and food—if there were any to be had. He sobered, for he’d travelled enough to know that he couldn’t go off blindly trying to track down Elena and Ragnar. Since they’d gone by boat, they could be anywhere along the coast.
He needed a ship of his own, to travel the same path. And he needed to break free of these chains.
Slowly, he stood, eager to escape the confines of this place. He struggled to open the door, but when he stepped outside, he breathed in the scent of freedom. All was quiet, the night cloaking the sky with darkened clouds. In the distance, he spied the flare of a single torch.
Caragh.
He gripped the chains to hold his silence as he tiptoed into the night. Soundlessly, he made his way towards the beach where he saw her staring intently at the sand. Alone, with no one to help her.
In her face, he saw the dogged determination to survive. It was breaking her down, but she kept searching. He’d known men who were quicker to give up than her.
She walked alongside the water, the torch casting shadows upon the sand. In the faint light, her face held a steady patience. Her skin was golden in the light, her brown hair falling over her shoulders in untamed waves.
She was far too gentle for her own good. What kind of a woman would capture a Norseman and then give up her own food? Why would she bother treating his wounds, when he’d threatened her?
And why was there no man to take care of her? No husband or lover…unless Kelan intended to offer his protection. From her coolness towards the man, she wouldn’t want him near.
Styr remained in the shadows, even knowing that he shouldn’t be here. He ought to be studying the perimeter of the ringfort, searching for hidden supplies or information about these people.
Instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off Caragh, as if she were the vision of Freya, sent to tempt him. Like the women of his homeland, she possessed an inner strength he admired. Though Fate had cast her a bitter lot, she’d faced the grimness of her future.
Taking him prisoner had been the action of a desperate woman, not a cruel one. He knew within his blood, that if he left her now, she would starve to death.
He shouldn’t care. Because of her, he’d been helpless to look after his wife and his men. He owed her nothing.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Perhaps it was the way she’d tended his wounds…or the way she’d wanted to protect her brother. He understood loyalty to family.
He cursed her for weakening his resolve, but he couldn’t leave until she had enough food to survive a little longer. Turning his back, he returned to her shelter, his mind filling up with plans of how to gain a boat.
Once he’d found fish for Caragh, he’d have his own supplies, too. Then, he could go out in search of his wife.
Caragh sat upon a large stone, watching the sand for any sign of movement. Styr had claimed that she might find crabs at this time of night, but she doubted there would be anything.
His accusation stung, that she would rather wait on her brothers than try to save herself. Of course she’d tried to survive. she’d done everything she could to find food.
Every breath was a fight to live, and she’d grown accustomed to hunger. The emptiness inside her was a constant reminder of how capricious Fate could be. But the Lochlannach’s words had bruised her feelings.
The familiar dizziness blurred her vision, and she took slow, deep breaths to keep from fainting. In time, the ringing in her ears stopped, and she concentrated on the water once more.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she raised the torch. She was startled to realise that Styr’s prediction was right. There were crabs underwater at night. Quickly she reached for one and placed it in her basket. Though it was too tiny for meat, if she caught enough of them, they could make a good soup.
One by one, she saw more crabs and added them to her basket, feeling her spirits lift.
After another hour passed, she decided she’d caught enough. Though there were only a dozen, they would provide sustenance. She smiled with relief, covering the basket to protect her catch.
It was late, but she was so hungry, she hardly cared. Right now, she wanted to boil some of the crabs for food. Hurrying back, she opened the door and saw the Viking exactly where she’d left him. When he spied her, his eyes seemed to say: I told you so.
‘You were right,’ she admitted, revealing the crabs she’d caught. But she hardly cared what he thought. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. ‘I’ll boil these and make a soup.’
The Lochlannach shook his head. ‘Don’t. You’ll catch fish if you bait lines with the crab tonight. Put them where the tide comes in and you’ll have bass or flounder in the morning.’ He gave her further instructions about the kind of fishing lines she needed and the hooks.
Caragh put up her hands, not listening. ‘No. We should eat now. I know you must be as hungry as I am.’
‘We’ll eat the grain tonight,’ he corrected. ‘Fish in the morning.’
‘If there are any fish.’
‘There will be,’ he promised. ‘I was right about the crabs, wasn’t I?’
She eyed her basket in dismay, wanting so badly to eat them. But they were no bigger than the palm of her hand…and the promise of large fish made her mouth water.
‘I’m afraid of losing the crabs,’ she confessed. ‘What if I bait the lines and get nothing for my trouble?’
‘It’s possible,’ he told her. ‘But I’ve spent my life living off the sea. I know how to catch fish.’
Caragh regarded him. If so, then it might be their salvation. She’d never been able to catch anything but small fish in the shallow water.
She pulled out some of the fishing lines belonging to her brother and Styr repeated his instructions, explaining how she should pierce the shell with the hook.
‘Set out the lines,’ he said. ‘And in the morning, you’ll see.’
He appeared confident that it would work, but Caragh wasn’t so certain. The sea was unpredictable, and more often than not, she’d caught nothing.
She placed the bait and the fishing lines in her basket, walking slowly past Styr. His demeanour was stoic, almost arrogant in his belief that she could not fail in this. But when he turned to look at her, there was a slight shift in his expression, almost as if he held empathy towards her.
His dark eyes held a steadiness, willing her to believe in this. A tightness seized up in her chest, for she desperately wanted to hope. Her gaze passed over his wounds. The cut upon his leg didn’t seem to be bleeding any more, but his head wound was still swollen.
‘Thank you for helping me,’ she said. ‘I pray that this will work.’
In the dim light of her house, she noticed a difference in his posture. There was something unusual about the way he was sitting.
Frowning, she started to approach, but he said, ‘Go and set the lines before your torch dies out.’
‘All right.’ She reached for her basket and the torch, adding, ‘If I do catch any fish, I promise I’ll free you in the morning.’
He sobered, giving a single nod. Though she didn’t know if it was safe to make such a vow, she was a woman of her word. And their lives depended on catching these fish.
Styr crept outside, shadowing Caragh. Immediately, he noticed that she was choosing the wrong location for her lines. No fish of any size would swim near the pools where she’d set the bait. He remained hidden, watching as she moved from one line to the other. In all, she set out a dozen, in various locations along the shallow waters. He waited until she was further away and then knelt down, using his shackled hands to pick up the first line, moving it out into deeper water.
Thor’s blood, he shouldn’t be interfering like this. But there was no choice. He needed supplies and food before he could go after Elena.
The tide was going out, and Styr crouched down, searching for a place where the line would lure larger fish. Though his hose grew soaked, he waded towards a sandbar. He gripped the baited line behind him, searching until he found the right place. Luck was with him, and his foot pressed against a stone, one large enough to hold the line. Kneeling down in the water, he manoeuvred his hands until he was able to secure the line with the stone.
When he turned back, he was startled to glimpse the outline of a boat, anchored near the shore. Caragh had said nothing about it, claiming that the fishermen had taken their boats with them. This one was set apart from the settlement, almost as if someone had tried to hide it.
But now, he had a means of leaving this place. A way of retracing the path of his wife and kinsmen. Thank the gods.
With a quick glance, he saw that Caragh was starting to return. Styr rose from the water and hurried towards the shore. He melted back into the shadows, running towards her hut. Though a close glance would reveal that he was no longer bound to the post, he hoped he could feign sleep. His clothing might dry by morning, though it was doubtful. He leaned against the post, curling his body to hide his chains.
Within minutes, the door creaked open. ‘Styr?’ Caragh whispered.
He didn’t answer, hoping she would go to sleep and leave him alone. The wind blew against his back, making his wet clothing more uncomfortable.
With his eyes shut tightly, he ignored the footsteps approaching, willing her to leave him alone. Before he realised what was happening, she had laid his cloak over him. The wool was warm from where she’d set it by the fire.
Her scent clung to the cloak, and it rendered him motionless. No one had ever done anything like this for him. He doubted if she’d even realised the significance. Kindness came to Caragh as naturally as breathing.
He closed his eyes, damning himself for a fool. There was no way he could leave her behind now, even if they did catch fish. It would haunt him for the rest of his life if she starved to death.
Whether or not she wanted it, he was going to take Caragh with him when he went in search of his wife.
Someone had to look after her.
Chapter Four
There were no fish. Caragh cursed and stared at the empty hook on the seventh line she’d checked. Seven crabs…all gone. Her mind bordered on hysteria, for if she hadn’t listened to the Lochlannach, she could have had crab meat last night, instead of cooked grain. Furious tears rose up, but she refused to weep. It would do no good at all.
The eighth and ninth lines were empty, as well. When she reached the tenth, she sat down upon the rock, almost trembling with the knowledge of what she would find. Or wouldn’t find, in this case.
‘Did you catch anything, a chara?’ An elderly female voice broke the stillness and she spied frail Iona, standing on the beach.
‘No.’ She picked up the tenth line, and saw a crab still dangling from the hook. ‘But take this.’ She unhooked the crab and held it out to the old woman. ‘It’s not much, but perhaps it will help a little.’
Iona smiled and shook her head. ‘You’re a dear one, Caragh, but no. I see what’s before me, and my days are numbered. Why waste it upon an old crone like me, when it’s a young woman like you who needs it more?’
Caragh ignored her and moved forwards, pressing the crab into her hand. ‘Boil it and you’ll have meat and broth. Please.’ She folded the old woman’s fingers over the crab, and a softness entered Iona’s eyes.
She raised her hand to Caragh’s forehead. ‘You’re a good child. How I wish you and Kelan had wed.’
The smile froze upon her face. Once, the handsome man had made her laugh, spinning stories that had made it easy to be with him. She’d believed that the rest of their days would be filled with happiness. But he’d tossed it aside for someone else.
Iona wanted to believe that her son was a good man, but Caragh wasn’t about to disillusion the older woman. Too late, she’d learned that Kelan had a wandering eye. On the day they were meant to wed, he’d left her standing alone, humiliated before her friends and family. And when she’d sought him out, she’d caught him with another woman. The bitterness of that day hadn’t diminished, even after a year.
‘He still wants you,’ Iona said. ‘You should forgive him for his mistakes.’
Caragh said nothing. She’d loved Kelan, only to have it thrown back in her face.
Iona’s gaze grew distant, staring suddenly at the waves. ‘You’ve a rough journey ahead of you. And your heart will break.’
The eerie tone in the woman’s voice curled into her spine. Iona spoke like a soothsayer, her voice faraway as she continued. ‘But you’ll be stronger for it.’ Her clouded eyes narrowed. ‘The path before you will only end in disappointment.’
‘You’re not making me feel better,’ she told Iona with a dark smile, ‘if that was what you were trying to do.’
‘I say what I see,’ Iona countered. ‘And you will find your happiness, when you learn to walk away from what was never meant to be.’ With that enigmatic message, the old woman returned to her home.
Caragh rubbed her arms as the sea wind swept across the sand. She was cold and hungry, and her stomach wrenched with the pain of emptiness. Ignoring the last two fishing lines, she strode back to her home, planning to tell Styr exactly what she thought of his advice. Baiting the lines with the crabs had given her nothing at all.
She pushed the door open and her heart nearly stopped when she saw him standing a short distance away from the post where she’d chained him. ‘How—how did you get free of the post?’ His hands were still chained behind his back, but no longer was he confined to the place where he’d been.
‘I told you I would free myself,’ was his nonchalant answer. ‘Did you find any fish?’
She stared up at the post and saw the broken beam near the top. How he’d ever managed to climb that high, sliding his chains over the top, was beyond her ken. ‘No. There was nothing.’
‘You didn’t put the lines in the right place.’
‘I did!’ she insisted. ‘I spread them all over the shoreline.’
‘You put them in places where the water was too shallow.’
‘And how would you know?’ She had a suspicion that he had been free, long before this morning.
‘Because I followed you last night.’ He moved in, and when he stood before her, she felt intimidated by his immense height. Simply to look into his eyes meant craning her neck back.
‘I changed one of your lines,’ he said. ‘Did you check that one?’
She shook her head. ‘But all the others—’
‘The others would have been washed away by the tide. Or the smaller fish would take the crab.’ He used his shoulders to push the door open, waiting for her to lead.
But she didn’t move. ‘If you freed yourself already, then why are you still here?’
‘I’m not free.’ His voice grew harsh, his expression filled with frustration. ‘You still have to remove the manacles.’
She said nothing, unable to trust him. He led the way outside, changing the direction to walk along a rocky ledge that extended out beyond the shore. ‘There.’ He nodded towards the sea, but she could not see what he was referring to. ‘Wade into the water and you’ll come upon a sandbar. I secured the line under the water.’
‘I’m not going out there,’ she insisted. ‘The tide has come in.’
‘Do you want fish or not?’
She stared at him, not knowing whether or not he was serious. The idea of wading into the water didn’t appeal to her, though the early summer air was warm. ‘How do I know you’re not lying to me?’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said and stepped into the water up to his knees. Wading through the waves, he continued towards the sandbar, his arms still bound back by the chains.
He turned back, but Caragh still didn’t move. ‘Do you see anything?’
‘Come and find out for yourself.’ His expression was unreadable, and though she didn’t at all want to get wet, she stepped into the frigid water, wincing at the cold.
When she reached his side, he said, ‘Reach into the water near my foot. I’m standing on the stone and you can lift it to grasp the line.’
His muscular thigh was close to her, and she brushed against his calf as she reached for the stone. Beneath it, she felt for the fishing line, and was startled to realise that there was something at the other end of the hook. Something was fighting hard, and in her excitement, she pulled against the line. Moving backwards, she gripped it steadily as she approached the shallows.
‘Styr, we have a fish!’ She couldn’t tell how large it was, but joy brimmed up inside her. When at last she pulled the fish from the water, she found that it was not large, only the length from her wrist to her elbow. But it was food.
She laughed, holding the fish and imagining how good it would taste. Thank God.
The Viking emerged from the water, and she hugged the fish to her, not even caring how foolish it was. For now, she had hope of surviving a few more days. But a moment later, her elation dimmed.
‘What is it?’ he asked, walking alongside her towards the hut.
‘I—I should share this with the others,’ she admitted.
He sent her a hard look. ‘Did they ever share anything with you?’
‘It isn’t right to have so much and not offer it to anyone else.’ She thought of Iona and some of the other elderly folk who remained.
‘We aren’t going to eat all of it,’ he told her. ‘Half, maybe, but we’re using the rest for more bait.’
She stared at him, incredulous. ‘We lost most of the bait last night. I’m not using this fish, only to lose half of it.’
He waited beside the door, and his expression was unyielding. ‘I allowed you to try it your way, last night. But it’s clear to me now that you need my guidance.’
His guidance? He spoke as if he were a sea god, able to control the elements. ‘And what do you suggest?’ She swung the door open, not even certain if he would follow. Caragh reached for a knife, preparing to clean the fish.
‘I saw a boat anchored off the shore last night,’ he said. ‘We’ll use it to catch enough fish to store over the next few months. And then we’ll take the boat when we search for my wife and kinsmen.’
We? her skin went cold at the thought. She wasn’t about to go with this man on a boat. He would take her as his hostage, sailing far away from here.
‘I’m not going with you.’
‘Oh, yes, you are.’ His voice turned commanding, and he stood above her, using his physical presence to intimidate her. ‘I’m going to exchange your life for my wife and companions.’
She stared back at him. ‘Not if you’re my prisoner.’
His face tightened, and his dark eyes flared. ‘I freed myself already, søtnos. And I can find a way out of these chains. With your help—’ he leaned in, his warm breath against her cheek ‘—or without it.’
Styr broke his fast with the meagre portion of baked fish that Caragh had shared with him. The other half of the fish lay upon the board where she’d cleaned it. As he’d ordered, she’d kept the scraps.
Though she didn’t want to go out on the boat with him, he knew she would. He’d whetted her appetite with the small fish, and she’d surprised him when she’d cooked a delicious meal, seasoning the fish with herbs and salt. Yet, neither of them was satisfied by the small amount of food, and he pressed her further.
‘Miles off the coast, you’ll find the larger fish,’ he promised. ‘We’ll get more bait and then catch enough that you won’t be able to eat any more.’
She stared down at her empty plate, her mood melancholy. He’d thought she would be eager to go out, but instead, she appeared to dread it.
‘We will return by nightfall,’ he swore. ‘I give you my word.’
She still wasn’t answering, and he moved to sit across from her. Waiting for her to speak. To say something.
But just like Elena, she was closing off her thoughts. She didn’t want to go, and she didn’t trust him at all. He couldn’t fault her for that, but already he’d spent two nights here. The fierce need to find his wife and kinsmen went beyond longing. He had to save them and bring them back.
‘Bring the fish and all of your family’s fishing supplies,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll go out now.’
She stood, taking a moment to wash the wooden platter they’d shared for the fish. Then she went by the fire and he saw how the damp gown hung against her knees.
‘I’m afraid,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been months since I went on a boat.’
He sensed there was more to it, but he didn’t press her. ‘Change your gown, and bring a warm wrap,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll stand outside and wait for you.’
Caragh lifted her dark blue eyes to his, nodding. ‘I will go. But only because I believe you can help me get the fish I need. And because the others need your help, as well.’ She reached out to touch his arm, and the coolness of her fingers sent a shock of sensation through him. ‘If we do catch fish, then I will go with you to help find your wife.’
‘First, remove my chains,’ he ordered quietly. ‘You gave your promise.’
Her violet eyes met his, uncertainty lining her face. ‘Not yet,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps tonight.’
His rage magnified, that she would not keep the vow. ‘You said you would free me, if we caught fish. And so we did.’
She gripped her arms, her gaze lowering to the ground. ‘Only one.’
He moved in so close, she was trapped against the back of the wall. Her hands moved up to press him back, but he didn’t move. ‘You try my patience, woman.’
‘I’m not your woman.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed. But her hands moved over the chainmail hauberk, and though it was only her effort to break free, a sudden vision flashed into his mind…of her hands continuing to move lower.
Damn her for conjuring such images.
‘Your brother took Elena. And he will suffer for it.’
She took a breath, her expression turning serious. ‘Promise me, you won’t kill Brendan. He’s just a boy.’
Styr stepped back, releasing her. ‘If she is unharmed, then I might let him go. But if she has endured any pain at his hands, I will make no such vow.’ When he reached the door, he turned back. ‘Nor will I spare him, if you don’t remove these chains.’
He stepped outside, not waiting for her answer. The day was a clouded grey, and rain was likely. Still, he would not delay any longer. If he could have left now, he would have. He hated being at the mercy of someone else, locked up in chains that prevented him from going after Elena.
And worse, having no supplies to take along. Without his ship, he had none of his wealth, nothing save the clothes on his back and the battleaxe that had been taken from him.
After several minutes, the door opened. He turned and saw Caragh approaching with two baskets in each hand. She wore a gown dyed a rich blue. Though it was a simple long-sleeved garment, the colour contrasted against her dark hair, bringing out the violet-blue of her eyes.
An uneasiness slipped over him, for she appeared beautiful. Styr gave her a nod, revealing nothing of the wayward thoughts inside him.
‘That gown is too fine for fishing,’ he said. ‘You should choose another.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s the only other gown I have.’ A hint of sadness passed over her face as she added, ‘I should have given it to my brothers to be sold.’
Without explaining herself, she led him further down the beach until he saw the small boat anchored a short distance out. The mainsail was tied up, but the vessel appeared to be intact.
‘If you don’t free me from the manacles, you’ll have to do all the work,’ he pointed out. ‘I won’t be able to help you.’
She sent him a sidelong glance as if she hadn’t thought of that. But in the end, she shook her head. ‘I’ll manage.’
Styr stepped into the water and turned his back to her. ‘Climb on my back, and you won’t have to get wet again.’
A look of startled surprise crossed her face. ‘That’s kind of you.’
She ducked beneath his chained arms, wrapping her arms around his neck with her legs around his waist as he walked from the shore to the boat. Though it was awkward with his chained manacles, he was aware of how light her body was. She was too thin.
He would take her out to find more fish today, no matter how long it took. No woman should ever face starvation, and he was determined to see her enjoy a true meal this night.
Styr climbed back to the stern, taking command of the rudder while she drew up the anchor. They sat beside one another, each with an oar, as they rowed out to sea. Though he had enough slack in the chains to move his arms, it was difficult for him to row with his hands behind him. He changed his position on the bench to face backwards, half-crouching as he pulled the oars behind him. Though it was awkward, Caragh lacked the energy and knowledge to manage it alone.
Silence descended between them, and as the land grew more distant, Styr ordered her to unbind the mainsail. He directed her how to tie it down, gathering the wind, and her hair streamed past her face as she obeyed.
His thoughts turned dangerous as he saw the curve of her body and her slender hips. she was so unlike Elena. While his wife had a muscular, toned body, Caragh’s was delicate.
But she did possess curves where he shouldn’t be looking at all, curves that seemed impossible, from her thinness.
He drew his thoughts back to Elena, hoping she was all right. The urge to find his wife was strong, along with the frustration at being unable to pursue them. The wind blew against his face, the familiar freedom easing his dark mood. The vessel had picked up speed, and he directed Caragh on how to adjust the sail. But even after she’d obeyed him, he could see the fear in her eyes.
‘You don’t like the water?’ he questioned.
She shook her head. ‘My father drowned last winter. This boat came back to the shore, but he was gone.’ She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. ‘My brothers believe it’s cursed.’
‘I’ve been on boats all my life,’ he said. ‘You’ve nothing to fear.’
Though Caragh nodded, he could see that she didn’t believe it. She moved closer to him, sitting a few feet away while the boat continued south. ‘Why did you come to Éireann?’
The reasons were too many to name. To save his marriage. To escape the conflict surrounding his brother’s leadership as jarl. And the truest reason of them all—to journey across the sea to foreign lands, experiencing a way of life different from his own.
He met her gaze and shrugged, unwilling to say the reasons. As a distraction, he ordered her to cast the weighted net over the side of the boat, letting it drag along the bottom while the boat continued to sail.
‘You don’t like to share anything about yourself, do you?’
Her pointed question tightened his frustration. ‘Why should I? This isn’t a journey among friends. I’m helping you get food because I’ll need it when I search for my wife and kinsmen.’
Caragh studied him. ‘You’re right. This is a trip of necessity. And I don’t suppose a Lochlannach like yourself would ever be a friend to someone like me.’
Her posture had stiffened, and he knew he’d offended her. But he had to draw a clear line between them, to ensure that she saw him for what he was—an enemy.
‘Pull up the net,’ he commanded. She reached for it, but her thin arms had difficulty pulling the heavy net. She strained against it, using her body weight, but it did little good at all.
‘I’m beginning to think I should have unchained you,’ she mused.
Styr balanced himself and came close. With his back to hers, he said, ‘Hook your arms around mine, and then grasp the net.’
She hesitated. ‘What are you planning to do? Cast me overboard?’
‘If I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done it long before now,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m going to help you bring in the net.’
With his legs spread out for balance, he waited until she drew her arms within his. Then as she grasped the net again, he leaned back, pulling her body off her feet as she held on. Despite herself, she began to laugh. ‘Well, that’s one way to catch fish, I suppose.’
As he’d hoped, she was then able to pull the net back into the boat. There were only small fish within the net, but he found a few oysters as well, which Caragh saved.
Over the next hour, he instructed her on baiting the hooks and setting the fishing lines. The activity seemed to take her mind off her fear, especially when they caught a few small fish. But the longer he watched her, the more his chains irritated him. He wanted to control the sails, to command the sea and catch the fish. Standing around in chains only simmered his resentment more.
After she let down the fishing line, Caragh tucked a strand of hair over one ear, suddenly appearing nervous around him. ‘Will we catch any more, do you think?’
He shrugged and stared at the horizon.
She sent him a look and then deepened her voice, as if mimicking him. ‘You couldn’t catch a minnow, Caragh, as weak as you are.’
In her own voice, she continued the singular conversation. ‘I know that, but I am trying.’
‘Not enough,’ she countered, pretending to be him. ‘And if you don’t catch a fish, I’ll toss your useless body overboard and sail away.’
He stared at her in disbelief of what she was doing. ‘You’re mad,’ he muttered.
‘And you’re in a foul mood,’ she shot back.
‘Because you’ve chained me. Do you think I should be happy about this? Do you think I should be talking with you about fishing and the weather? I’m still your prisoner because you won’t trust me.’
‘I have no reason at all to trust a man who wants to kill my brother,’ she countered.
‘I might not kill him.’
‘Might not? If anything at all happened to Elena, he’ll take the blame for it.’
‘And it would be well deserved.’ He knew Caragh wanted to protect the boy, but seven and ten was old enough to understand the consequences. ‘He can’t hide behind your skirts for what he did.’
She glared at him. ‘And now you understand why I’m reluctant to release your chains. The moment I do, you’ll go after Brendan.’
‘He will answer for what he did, Caragh.’
She stared out at the calm waters of the sea, dismay lined upon her face. ‘Then I have no choice but to come with you. For nothing I say will change your mind.’
‘I am a man of actions, not words.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Imitating his voice again, she added, ‘Warriors don’t talk, Caragh. They kill people. And I’m quite good at killing things.’
‘Good at killing things who talk too much.’ But there was a glint of humour in his eyes. The line was starting to pull, and he went to stand against her. His back pressed against her own, to lend his strength.
Caragh linked her arms with his and gripped the fishing line, leaning back. ‘Something is biting.’
Styr pulled hard, helping her with the fish. The line moved violently and Caragh gasped as it cut into her palm.
‘Don’t let the line go,’ he commanded. ‘Keep a steady pressure upon it.’
He continued pulling, and Caragh began talking again, encouraging him to help her. At last, she guided the line into his hands and used a hand net to bring the fish into the boat. It was a large flounder, the length of her arm.
At the sight of the fish, she let out a cry of exultation. ‘We did it! Styr, we have food!’ She was laughing and crying at the same time. Her joy was so great that she threw her arms around his shoulders, embracing him hard.
He stood motionless, startled by her. The reckless gesture was something Elena never would have done, and he didn’t know how to respond.
But his body knew. Though the embrace was brief, he’d felt the touch of her breasts against him, her hips pressing close. The spontaneous affection meant nothing, but it was as if she’d awakened a part of his spirit that had been shielded for a long time. It was rare that anyone had touched him in such a way, and he was so taken aback, he returned to his seat at the rudder.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’ve never caught a fish this large before.’ Her face was flushed with excitement as she stored the fish in a corner of the boat.
Styr grunted a response, and ordered her to set out another line. She did, and while she worked, her joy spread over her face. The sunlight gleamed upon her brown hair, and when she looked back at him, her smile slid beneath his defences, diminishing his dark mood.
He turned his gaze back to the sea, a sense of guilt permeating his conscience. It had been a long time since any woman had smiled at him. Especially when he’d done so little to deserve it.
‘Are you still afraid of the sea?’ he asked.
Caragh shook her head, her smile remaining serene. ‘I suppose it’s not so terrible. The weather was bad that day, and my father never should have gone out.’ Her gaze drifted towards the water, and she let out a sigh. ‘I miss him terribly, and it hurts to think of losing him.’
She glanced back at him and sent him an apologetic smile. ‘I shouldn’t have touched you, I know. It was too impulsive of me.’
He said nothing, half-afraid she would see how it had affected him. If he weren’t bound to Elena, he might have enjoyed the embrace, pulling her closer. But honour demanded that he leave this woman alone, that he lock away any attraction he might feel.
She knelt down on the boat, the blue dress damp from the sea. ‘This fish means life,’ she admitted. ‘It may seem like nothing to you…but it’s everything to me.’
‘It’s enough to last us the journey, if we preserve it.’ He needed the reminder of his purpose, and she nodded.
‘We’ll find them, Styr. And perhaps, when you return, we can make peace between our people, even after all that’s happened.’
‘No,’ he responded. He couldn’t remain here, not so close to Caragh. The contrast between this woman and his wife was dangerous, for although he’d done nothing wrong, he sensed that staying near her would be unwise. ‘We’ll settle elsewhere.’
Her expression dimmed, and she turned her attention back to the fishing lines.
They caught five more fish before returning to shore. Caragh was exhausted, but her spirits had never been more joyous. There was food, such as she’d never seen in months. Not only enough for herself, but also enough to share with the others. The sun had drifted lower in the sky, and Styr shadowed her as she brought the largest flounder back to her home. Though she doubted if anyone would try to steal the fish, she also knew that many had become desperate—particularly Kelan. She hoped to ease their hunger by gifting them with some of the extra fish they had caught.
One by one, she visited the other families, and seeing their elation at the food lifted her mood even higher. Iona’s husband Gearoid gave her a small keg of mead in thanks. Though she protested, he refused to take no as an answer, and balanced it on his shoulder as he struggled to bring it to her home. Styr was waiting by the fire, and when the old man saw him there, he blinked.
‘Are ye well enough, Caragh?’ Though he kept his tone calm, she didn’t miss the worry in his eyes. None of them had agreed with her decision to chain Styr; they’d wanted him dead.
‘I am fine. And were it not for this Lochlannach, we’d still be hungry this night.’
Gearoid didn’t seem comfortable leaving her, but Caragh opened the door and walked out with him.
‘He hasn’t done anything to harm me,’ she reassured him. ‘I promise you, I am safe.’
It was stretching the truth, but she didn’t want the others to be afraid. ‘Go back to Iona and enjoy the fish,’ she urged.
‘If you have need of us, you have only to ask,’ he said. With a squeeze of her hand, he hobbled back to his wife.
After he’d gone, Caragh returned and set to work cleaning the fish as best she could. It was work she didn’t mind at all, and she carefully saved the scraps, which could be used for stews or soups. Her joy was so great, that when she set several chunks of fish over the hearth to bake, she returned to her father’s work space.
She stood in the darkened space, breathing in the ashen scent of the forge. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine her father’s presence and his hearty laugh.
Am I making a mistake, Father? she wondered. Do I dare take the risk? She reached for an awl and her father’s hammer, wondering what to do. Styr had proven himself this day, taking her out to find fish. They’d caught enough to survive a little longer…or to travel in the search for Brendan.
In her heart, she knew the Viking had saved her life. And for that, he deserved his freedom.
Don’t let him hurt Brendan, she prayed inwardly. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the hammer and awl, returning to her hut.
Styr was seated near the fire when she returned, and as soon as he spied the hammer and awl, his eyes lit up.
‘I owe you my thanks,’ Caragh said, ‘for helping me to find fish today. And in return, I will keep my promise to remove the chains.’ She watched him, meeting his eyes with her own. ‘I ask only that you grant me my brother’s life in return. Show him mercy.’
Styr gave her no answer, but she could only pray that he would spare Brendan. Crossing behind him, she reached for his wrists. Upon his skin, she saw dried blood and heavy bruises. Clearly he’d tried to free himself and had suffered in the process.
She hammered at the pin that bound the manacles closed until his first hand was free. Then the second.
Styr drew his hands in front of him, flexing his wrists, as he breathed with relief. ‘Thank you.’
Having him unchained made her suddenly more aware of his presence. Though she didn’t believe he would harm her, she couldn’t stop the prickle of uneasiness. She busied herself with cooking the fish, remarking, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t left yet.’
‘As I told you, I’m taking your father’s boat in the morning,’ he said. ‘And you’re coming with me.’
She made no refusal, for she wanted to protect Brendan. ‘I won’t go as your hostage.’
His gaze turned harsh, but his eyes seemed to warn her that he would use her in any manner necessary.
Caragh’s hands trembled as she gave him his portion of fish. Fool, she cursed herself. This man wasn’t safe. He might have helped her to get food, but he could not be trusted.
But she forgot about her uncertainties, the moment she tasted the delicate white fish. ‘Oh heaven,’ she breathed, eating the first piece so fast, she nearly choked on it. The second piece disappeared nearly as fast, and she cooked more portions, knowing that Styr was as hungry as she was. To pace herself, she poured each of them a cup of mead, and the sweet, honeyed taste was delicious. Even though she knew it was unwise to drink it quickly, she couldn’t stop herself.
‘Slow down,’ Styr ordered. ‘Or you’ll make yourself sick.’
She did, concentrating on the drink instead. It made her head feel lighter, and a pleasant airiness seemed to surround her. ‘Did you get enough to eat?’
He nodded, leaning back beside the fire. ‘If you salt the remaining fish, we can preserve it for a few days.’
She nodded her agreement and went to cut the remaining fish into pieces the size of her hand, salting them heavily and covering them. As she worked, a dizziness made her unsteady on her feet. The room seemed to be a faraway place, but she took another sip of mead.
When she had finished preserving the fish, she washed her hands and walked unsteadily towards the fire.
‘How many cups of mead have you had?’ Styr asked, frowning.
‘Two. Perhaps three,’ she answered.
‘You shouldn’t have anything else to drink,’ he said, taking the cup from her. ‘You’ve already had too much.’
A lazy smile curved over her. ‘It tasted so good.’ When he drank the rest of her mead, her gaze settled upon his mouth. My, but he did have a wonderful mouth. So firm and fierce. It was a shame that a man like this was already wed. It would be interesting to kiss him.
‘Are you as wicked as the other Lochlan nach?’ she asked, warming her hands before the fire. ‘Do you pillage the homes of people, taking their women?’
His gaze turned enigmatic. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you could…if you wanted to.’ Her head was still buzzing, but she found herself saying whatever words came to her mind. A startled laugh broke free. ‘But this time, I took you.’
He looked irritated at her reminder, but she added, ‘You weren’t nearly as bad a man as I thought you were.’
‘Don’t.’ He cut her off, reaching out to grasp her chin. Though his gesture was meant to be threatening, it didn’t hurt. ‘Don’t try to pretend I’m harmless.’ His hand moved back to grasp her nape, and a thousand tremors poured through her skin. There was power in his touch, a ruthlessness that held her spellbound.
Her traitorous mind suddenly imagined more than a kiss. She envisioned his bare skin and what it would be like to run her fingers over him. With his hand still tangled in her hair, she reached out and rested her hands against his chest.
Chapter Five
Styr didn’t move. He knew Caragh wasn’t thinking clearly, that her actions were dictated by the mead. But when she rested her head against his chest, a part of him wanted to hold her. He wanted to feel a woman’s arms around him, to inhale the delicate scent of her skin.
His heartbeat pounded beneath her fingertips, his treacherous body responding to her nearness.
Gently, he extricated her and stepped back. ‘Did you get enough to eat?’
A soft smile transformed her face. ‘For the first time in months. Yes, I did.’ She busied herself with clearing away their wooden dishes. But although Caragh washed and put them away, she did not clean every part of the dwelling or straighten the furnishings. Instead, she sat by the fire, smiling at him. It occurred to him that never had Elena stopped to relax after a meal. She spent her time cleaning, straightening, and scouring their home.
Caragh drew up her knees by the fire, her face golden in the light. All the while, his mind replayed the image of her hands touching him, her face pressed against his heart. The hunger for affection roared through him, and he cursed the instincts he couldn’t control.
It had been so very long since Elena had reached out to him. Time and again, he’d tried to tempt her, even to hold her, only to be pushed away. Her resentment at being childless festered like an open wound, one that wouldn’t heal.
Sometimes, he wished they could start over. That there was a way to be friends again, with no tension between them. The last time that had happened, they had been hardly more than adolescents. Once they’d been betrothed, Elena had grown more serious, putting all her concentration on becoming a good wife. And she’d refused to accept their failure to have children.
When she’d finished putting away the food, Caragh asked, ‘What would you like to do now?’
Her voice held energy, a restlessness that conjured up memories of bare skin, and what it was to touch a willing woman, burying himself deep inside her yielding flesh. He felt himself harden, and he cursed himself for drinking too much mead.
Odin’s blood, but he needed to stay away from this woman. He had no doubt that the goddess Freya had set him upon this path, to test his willpower. But no matter how this woman tempted him, he refused to betray Elena.
‘We should get some sleep before our journey on the morrow,’ Styr told her, tossing another peat brick on the fire. He moved to the furthest side of the room, intending to block her from his mind.
‘I can’t sleep,’ Caragh protested. ‘It’s still so early.’ Without asking his consent, she went to a trunk on the far side of the room and returned with a board. ‘Don’t go to bed so soon,’ she pleaded. ‘We could play a game.’
‘I don’t play.’ He’d gambled before with dice, but it wasn’t a pastime he’d engaged in very often.
Caragh moved towards his pallet, giving him no means of escape. She set the wooden board on the ground between them, and he recognised it as a variant of duodecim scripta, a game he’d known from his homeland. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘My brother won it off a traveller from Burgundy.’
The board consisted of two opposing rows of black triangles with game pieces made of bone. The dice were carved from antlers, and she gave him his pieces, explaining the rules which were similar to those he already knew.
‘You must move the pieces to your home ground and afterwards, you can begin removing them. Whichever of us removes all the pieces first will win.’
He took a sip of his mead, watching as she set out her own pieces. A long lock of dark hair hung over one shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed from the drink. Her blue eyes held merriment and a trace of wickedness as she said, ‘Are you prepared to lose, Lochlan nach?’
His sense of competition sharpened, and he took the dice from her, his hands brushing against her warm fingers. ‘And what if you lose?’
‘Then I’ll have to pay a forfeit. Just as you will.’ When she leaned on one arm, the neckline of her gown slipped down one shoulder, revealing bare skin. Styr dropped the dice rapidly, wrenching his gaze away as he moved the first game piece.
‘And what could you possibly offer me?’ His instincts heightened, wondering what she would say.
‘Your weapons and your cloak,’ she offered. ‘They are mine now, since I took you prisoner.’
‘And what would my forfeit be, if by some miracle of the gods, you were to win?’
She smiled. ‘More food for me and my people.’
Her honesty diffused his tension, as he realised that she was respecting the boundaries between them. Earlier, when her hands had touched his chest, she’d looked like a woman waiting to be kissed.
By the gods, if he were unwed, he’d have taken her. He’d have captured her mouth, pulling her slender body to his and exploring those curves with his hands.
Tasting and touching her until she broke forth a throaty moan.
Odin’s blood, but the sexual abstinence was taking command of his senses. When he found Elena again, he intended to coax her back into desiring him. His blood was hot, his needs making it impossible to think clearly.
With effort, he wrenched his mind back into reality. ‘Where do you think your brother took Elena and the others?’
‘Possibly Áth Cliath. Or Dubh Linn,’ she admitted, moving her own piece. ‘He’s been there before with my father, when he was a boy. But even if he did, I’m not certain what he planned to do with his prisoners. He might have released them along the shore.’
Styr didn’t believe it. If his kinsmen had let themselves be taken captive, it was for Elena’s sake. More likely they had killed Brendan and the other Irishmen. He moved his pieces again, taking one of Caragh’s. ‘We’ll sail at dawn to find them. Enough time has been wasted.’
He made his next move, but she captured his piece, taking it for her own. ‘Your wife is unharmed,’ she promised. ‘I believe that.’
Releasing a slow breath, she contemplated her next move, while he rolled the dice. As they played, she kept his goblet full of mead, and he used it to drown out the voices of betrayal in his mind.
Caragh was winning the game, and her smile was triumphant as she moved the piece again. In the golden firelight, her face was haloed, her blue eyes filled with excitement. Her gown mirrored the intense colour, and it made him frown when he made his next move.
‘You said you kept this gown, when you should have sold it. Was there a reason?’
‘I was to be married in it.’ She rolled the dice, considering where to move the next piece.
‘What happened?’
She captured another piece of his and shrugged. ‘I found Kelan sharing another woman’s bed.’ Though she spoke in a calm tone, he caught the note of anger in her voice.
‘You’re well rid of him,’ Styr said. He couldn’t imagine Caragh betrothed to a man like that. It explained Kelan’s jealous behaviour, but he didn’t know why she would have agreed to wed him in the first place.
‘Perhaps.’ She shook her head, her lips drawn in a line as she studied the board.
There was no perhaps about it. Why would Caragh lower herself to a man like that?
She removed one of her pieces from the board. ‘My brothers were angry and wanted to kill Kelan for me. I refused to allow it.’
His estimation of her brothers rose a notch. ‘He hasn’t given up on you, has he?’ He took one of his own pieces off the board.
‘No. He wants my forgiveness, but I can’t bring myself to forget what he did. He said he loves me, and it was a moment of weakness.’
Styr snorted. ‘Loves you?’ He moved another piece across the board and shook his head. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
‘Once, I did.’ Her face furrowed, and she slid a game piece to a darker triangle. ‘Don’t you love your wife?’
‘Love has nothing to do with marriage. I owe her my protection, and I intend to find her.’ The idea of love had been beaten out of him as a boy. His parents had trained his brother and him to be a future jarl, as was their duty, but there was no love involved in his upbringing.
Absently, he reached a hand up to his chin, fingering the scar where his father had struck him. He’d learned not to weep or show any sign of emotion. Emotions were for the weakminded, and they never served a man well in battle.
Styr moved another game piece, not wanting to reveal more. The truth was, he did care about Elena. He’d wanted her to be happy in their marriage, although when her barrenness was evident, she’d begun refusing him. She didn’t love him, if she ever had—that was clear enough. But now, it was rare to see her smile.
Divorcing her was possible, but he didn’t want to admit his own failure. And she’d agreed to come here, which meant she wasn’t entirely ready to give up on their marriage. What kind of man would he be if he’d taken her from her homeland, only to leave her?
No, somehow, they would solve the problems between them.
‘Elena has been a good wife to me,’ he admitted. ‘I respect her.’
But Caragh’s expression held confusion, as if she didn’t understand. ‘Was your marriage arranged?’
He nodded. ‘I agreed with my father, that the match was a strong one. Her family approved of it, as well.’ It was only Elena who had seemed intimidated by the marriage. She’d hardly spoken to him after their betrothal.
Now, he wondered if she had objected to it. No one had said anything to him in the past…but had they forced her to wed him? He frowned at the thought.
Caragh removed another piece, leaving only two remaining. ‘It hurt, when Kelan turned to another,’ she continued. ‘I caught him embracing her and—’ she closed her eyes ‘—touching her.’
‘It’s good that you didn’t wed him.’
‘I can’t help but think that I should have done something differently.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I might have a husband and children now, if I had. Maybe if I hadn’t talked so much, or maybe if I tried to be more careful with the way I looked.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Caragh.’
She shook her head, not listening. ‘Then why am I still alone?’ Heartbreak resonated in the words.
Styr rolled the dice again, taking a sip from his mead. It was clear that love did matter to a woman like Caragh. He was tempted to speak words of reassurance. To tell her that those men were fools not to want her. But he kept silent, not wanting her to suspect his own thoughts.
Her blue eyes watched him, as if trying to discern an answer. To avoid it, Styr took his final piece from the board.
‘You win,’ Caragh conceded, drawing her knees up beneath her gown. ‘I suppose I’ll have to return your cloak now.’
‘No, the battleaxe,’ he corrected. ‘Put my cloak over the wall I damaged.’ If they were staying, he might consider repairing it. But it wouldn’t matter, once they were gone.
Caragh yawned and began to put away the pieces. Styr helped her, and when the game was put away, she turned abruptly and nearly stumbled. He caught her, to prevent a fall, but her hands rested upon his forearms a moment too long.
‘Your wife is a fortunate woman,’ she murmured, her gaze upon his. Her violet eyes were studying him in a wistful way that was far too dangerous. The warmth of her hands upon him was more welcome than it should have been. Styr felt the touch sinking into him, like a balm. He shut down the thought immediately.
‘Caragh, don’t. You’ve had too much to drink.’
She nodded, pursing her lips. ‘I have, yes. But, for a moment…you looked as lonely as I feel.’ She closed her eyes a moment, as if gathering courage. ‘And I wondered if everything was all right between you and your wife. You looked sad, for a moment.’
Styr put her hands aside and walked away. ‘What’s between Elena and myself is no concern of yours.’ He didn’t care how hard his words sounded. The reason for their estrangement had everything to do with her inability to conceive a child, nothing more. Once she became pregnant, all would be well again. He believed that.
He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. The more time he spent around Caragh, the more he found himself wanting to ensure that she was protected, that she had enough to eat. If his thoughts towards her were of a sisterly nature, it wouldn’t bother him so much. But they weren’t. He admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, much as he hated himself for it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re right. It has nothing to do with me.’ With that, she retreated to her pallet and pulled a coverlet over her body.
Styr stoked up the fire, watching the sparks float into the air. The mead had discoloured his judgement, and he didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.
He was lonely.
And he would be a liar if he didn’t admit he’d considered ending his marriage. For all he knew, the fault could be his, and perhaps he had been the one cursed with the inability to have children. What right did he have to bind Elena into a marriage where she would never have a child, when he knew how desperately she wanted one?
The thoughts plagued him as he returned to his own bed, wondering what would happen when he found her once more.
The sound of the door opening awoke him from sleep. Styr stared into the shadows, the faint glow of the peat fire offering the only light.
The intruder didn’t speak, but crept towards the food Caragh had preserved in baskets. Styr had a strong suspicion of who the thief was. He watched the man as he took the basket, sneaking outside again.
Without a warning to Caragh, Styr reached for the battleaxe that she’d returned to him last night. Following the intruder, he caught up to the man and saw that it was Kelan, as he’d suspected.
‘Drop the basket,’ he commanded.
Kelan spun, and the flash of his blade gleamed against the morning fog. He dropped the basket, advancing upon him.
‘Are you that dishonourable, that you would steal food from a starving woman?’ Styr demanded. ‘When she shared what she had with you?’
‘She shared with you as well,’ the man accused. ‘And you’re nothing but a murderer. That makes her a traitor to us.’ He sliced his knife through the clouded air, circling him.
Styr dodged the blow, swinging with his own weapon. He heard the sound of a door striking against the frame, Caragh calling out to him.
‘Please don’t fight,’ she begged, as Kelan moved in with his blade.
‘He’s a thief, Caragh,’ Styr countered. ‘I should have killed him when I had the chance.’
She darted forwards and seized the basket. Styr blocked another blow with the axe and struck out at the man, his fist connecting with Kelan’s jaw. In his enemy’s eyes, he saw desperation and the mark of a coward.
Caragh came closer again, pleading, ‘Stop this. I don’t want either of you to be hurt.’
‘I suppose you’re sharing his bed, aren’t you, Caragh? Whoring yourself to the enemy.’
She stumbled back, her face flushed. ‘I’ve done no such thing. He was my prisoner, until last night.’
‘I suppose he was glad to be chained up, for your use,’ Kelan taunted. When she covered her mouth with her hands, appalled, he backhanded her, sending her to the ground. Reaching for the basket of fish, he started to flee, but Styr dived upon him. He ignored the knife and rolled with his enemy on the ground, determined to protect her.
Fury raged through Styr. Kelan was a dishonourable thief, one who ought to be punished for his deeds.
He raised his battleaxe, prepared to slice the man’s throat, when suddenly, strong arms dragged him backwards. Two men, with strength to equal his own, hauled him away from Kelan. Though Styr tried to break free, they held him back.
‘Kelan was trying to steal food from me,’ Caragh explained to the men. She stood before them, and from their physical resemblance, Styr guessed who they were.
‘Take your belongings and leave the ringfort,’ the taller man commanded Kelan. ‘If you set foot upon Gall Tír again, your life will be the forfeit.’
The man’s face was murderous as he stood. But he moved towards his own home within the ringfort. Caragh’s shoulders lowered with relief when he’d gone.
‘Let the Lochlannach go, Ronan,’ she ordered, reaching past Styr to hug the taller man. ‘Terence, you, too. He was only defending me.’
Her brothers, he guessed. And from the dark look in their eyes, they were wondering whether or not to kill him. Behind the men, he spied two horses burdened with large bundles that likely contained food and supplies.
Caragh came to stand beside him. ‘This is Styr Hardrata.’ Though her words were steady, Styr caught the warning flash in her eyes. He couldn’t quite tell what she wanted, but held his tongue.
‘And why would my sister be harbouring a Lochlannach?’ Ronan demanded. ‘Were you attacked?’
Styr gave no answer, but nodded to Caragh, letting her give what explanation she would.
‘Brendan attacked them when they arrived a few days ago,’ she explained. ‘He and his friends were planning to steal their supplies.’
Styr eyed the two brothers, and the taller man stared back, his face set in a grim line. ‘Where is he now?’
Caragh shook her head. ‘I don’t know. We were going to search for him today, in Father’s boat.’
Ronan expelled a curse, and then his gaze tightened upon his sister. ‘We?’ From the dark look in his eyes, Styr knew what the man was thinking.
‘Yes.’ Caragh lifted her chin as if to defy her brother. ‘At first, Styr was my prisoner,’ she confessed. ‘But…now, he is…’ She faltered as if searching for a reason.
Desperate, she caught his gaze and abruptly moved her arm around his waist. She managed a smile for her brothers, as if her action were explanation enough.
The touch of her arm around him sent up a flare of warning. Styr didn’t know what her intentions were, but the unexpected touch was far too familiar. She was trying to make her brothers believe that there was more than friendship between them, and the gesture bothered him.
Worse, he was acutely aware of the soft heat from her skin, the scent of her hair. He tensed, as if that could stop him from feeling anything at all. Frustration coiled inside him, but he didn’t push her away. Not until he understood what she was trying to do.
‘But now?’ Terence repeated, eyeing his sister with distrust. The man rested his hand upon the sword hanging from his scabbard. Though he kept his tone calm, his grey eyes held a warning. ‘Give me a reason why I should spare the life of a Lochlannach.’
Caragh took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. She didn’t look at Styr, but neither did she release him. ‘Now, he has come to mean far more to me.’ She tightened her grip around Styr’s waist, as if pleading with him not to speak. ‘Don’t harm him, Terence. You saw for yourself, how he defended me.’ Her hand moved up to rest upon Styr’s heart, her fingers grazing the skin beneath his throat.
That was all it took for his body to respond to her. His heartbeat quickened, and he loathed himself for the involuntary reaction. Gently, he removed her hands and remarked, ‘I don’t need your protection, Caragh.’
There was a glint of approval in Ronan’s eyes. Styr suspected he might be the leader of the tribe, from the way he stood back, assessing both of them. He was taller than his brother, with dark hair like his sister. His beard was sheared close to his skin, and there was a leanness to him, as if he, too, had suffered from the famine. Even so, from the protective nature of the man, Ronan wouldn’t take kindly to anyone speaking against Caragh.
‘Why did you come here?’ Terence demanded. The shorter man was thin, like his brother, but still heavily muscled. There was a hint of darkness to his tone, as if he were trying to provoke a fight.
‘We came to trade, and to settle here before your brother attacked us.’
Terence smirked. ‘Then you were defeated by adolescent boys. I’d have liked to see that.’
Styr’s hand shot out and gripped the man’s throat. He squeezed just hard enough to make his point. ‘My men hadn’t slept in days, after the storms at sea. They were not at their full strength.’
‘Let him go, Lochlannach,’ Ronan ordered. The point of his blade rested at Styr’s throat. ‘We have more questions that need answering.’
Styr loosened his grip, though he stared hard into Terence’s eyes with a silent threat of his own. When he released the man, Terence stepped back, rubbing the skin of his throat.
‘You said you were going to search for Brendan,’ Ronan interrupted. ‘Where do you think he sailed?’
‘Caragh thinks he may have gone to Áth Cliath.’ He made no mention of Elena’s capture, for he was still uncertain of Caragh’s intent. He doubted if her brothers believed her suggestion that they were more than friends, because the men were staring at him with distrust. Yet, despite the fact that he’d nearly strangled Terence, they viewed him with a wary respect. Like him, they were warriors. And they now knew that he could defend himself.
‘Is this true?’ Ronan asked of his sister. ‘How long has Brendan been gone?’
‘It’s true,’ she admitted. ‘He’s been gone a few days now. We were going to begin our search today.’
‘And who else was going to accompany you?’ Terence asked. ‘You weren’t planning to go off with this Lochlannach on your own, were you?’
A flash of anger darkened Caragh’s face. ‘And what choice did I have? You and Ronan left me here alone. I didn’t know when—or even if—you were coming back.’
‘Brendan was supposed to defend you,’ Terence countered.
‘And a fine job he did,’ she shot back. ‘He and his friends stole a ship and disappeared.’
Ronan came forwards, his expression sombre. ‘We never intended to be gone longer than a sennight. I’m sorry if Brendan failed in his duty to you.’ His gaze shifted to Styr. ‘How many were killed in the attack?’
‘Two of yours,’ Styr said. He crossed his arms and warned, ‘If your brother was foolish enough to take only a few men with him, it wouldn’t surprise me if my men feigned capture and took back the ship. There were more of my men than yours.’
Caragh paled. ‘Do you think Brendan is still alive?’ There was a stricken note in her voice, as if she hadn’t wanted to believe otherwise. Styr gave no answer. If he’d been among his men, he wouldn’t have hesitated to lash back at those who had dared to threaten Elena. It was possible that his men had already killed her brother.
‘We’ll know when we find my ship,’ was all he could say.
‘We will accompany you,’ Ronan said. He took a step forwards, resting his hand back on his dagger. ‘We’ve brought back more grain and other supplies that will serve us well for the journey. I’ve also arranged for more sheep and cattle to arrive later.’ He sent a pointed look towards his sister. ‘Caragh, you will remain here.’
‘No, I won’t.’ She moved between them, her face flushed. ‘The last time you left, I nearly starved to death. If it weren’t for Styr, I’d have run out of food.’ She continued talking, jabbing her finger at her older brother. ‘I’m weary of staying behind, and I won’t do it. I trust him, more than I do either of you, to find food. He helped me find crab, and fish, and—’
‘I thought you took him captive?’ Terence interrupted.
‘I did. It took almost an hour to get him chained up. Seon helped me, but they killed—’ Her words broke off, and she took a deep breath to hold back the emotion.
Terence sobered at the mention of the old man, and Caragh composed herself. ‘Enough of this. What matters now is finding Brendan.’
‘There’s also the problem of you spending several nights alone with this man,’ Ronan pointed out.
Caragh’s face turned scarlet, and Styr stiffened, waiting for her to confess that he was married and nothing had happened between them. Instead, she reached up to touch his face. ‘Don’t harm him, Ronan. He’s a good man. One who has defended me, given me food, and one who…I have come to care for.’
Styr froze in place as Caragh came up before him, standing on tiptoe. Before he could protest, she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him lightly. What was she doing? He couldn’t—
Every thought deserted him when she deepened the kiss, daring more. He understood that this was a false kiss, one meant to reassure her brothers that he wasn’t going to harm her. It was a ruse, and that was all.
The softness of her lips upon his were innocent, unknowing of the ways between a man and a woman. It startled him, and instinct warned him to break it off. But the gentle kiss reached inside his stony heart and breathed life into him.
He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had affected him in this way. His body and mind were at war, his honour caught up in the softness of a woman’s mouth.
Caragh was trying to deceive her brothers. He understood that this kiss was only her effort to spare his life, though he didn’t need her protection.
She continued kissing him, but a dark rage blistered inside him, that she would try to use him in this way. Did she honestly believe that he would betray Elena for a woman he hardly knew?
She wanted him to kiss her back, to continue the deception. But if he kissed her back, he intended it to be on his terms—not hers.
Caragh wasn’t about to let her brothers slaughter the Lochlannach. The kiss was a reckless act, one meant to fool them into believing she and Styr had come to love each other.
But Styr was standing there in shock, not at all returning the kiss. Her brothers were going to see right through it, to know that she was making this up. His life blood would be upon her hands, and he wouldn’t be able to save Elena.
This means nothing, she willed to him silently. Kiss me back and help me deceive them.
She opened her mouth, wondering if he would ever play along with this. Without warning, his hands seized her face, his mouth conquering hers. Heat poured through her, his tongue sliding within her mouth. She couldn’t breathe from the intensity of the desire that poured through her.
It was dark and punishing, a man who refused to be bent to a woman’s will. And God help her, she had no choice but to surrender. His lips were hard, his tongue invading her mouth with a forbidden power that weakened her knees.
At this moment, she forgot about her brothers standing there. She forgot about honour and promises, completely captivated by the forbidden kiss.
She clung to Styr, knowing her legs would never support her. The kiss was carnal, as if they had already been illicit lovers. And when he broke free, his eyes held fury.
Her lips were swollen, and Caragh no longer knew what to say. Silently, she apologised, but his eyes were upon her brothers.
‘We’re leaving now,’ he said. ‘If you want to bring your supplies and join us in searching for your younger brother, I’ll prepare the boat.’
Caragh’s heart was pounding, her breathing unsteady as he strode off towards the shore. He was livid with her for daring to kiss him, for forcing him into this position.
She shouldn’t have done it. She’d only meant to fool her brothers, to give them a reason to leave Styr alone. Instead, she’d forced the Lochlannach into a betrayal he hadn’t wanted. Likely he despised her, and she desperately wanted to beg his forgiveness.
‘Come with us, if you like,’ she said to her brothers, trailing after Styr. She stopped only once to pick up the basket of preserved fish and a container of water, hurrying down to the shoreline.
‘She’s lying,’ Terence predicted. ‘If our sister is in love with that Lochlannach, then I’ve grown a pair of wings.’
Ronan studied Caragh and the way she’d run after the Viking. She was wanting to protect the man, but for what reason, he couldn’t fathom. It had been almost a year since he’d seen his sister show any interest in a man. Kelan had broken her heart, and she’d shunned any of the others who might have taken the man’s place.
Until now. Whether or not there was anything between them, there was no doubt the kiss had affected Caragh.
‘I want to watch them together,’ Ronan mused. ‘She should marry. It’s been too long since Kelan.’
‘But a Lochlannach?’ Terence eyed the man warily. ‘They’re not to be trusted. And did you forget, he nearly killed me just now?’
‘If that were his intent, you’d be dead,’ he countered. ‘You shouldn’t have taunted him.’ Ronan would have done the same, had he been in the Viking’s place. ‘When Kelan tried to steal, he fought on her behalf. I saw him go after the man.’
‘And you want our sister with a man who can’t control his temper?’
‘He was controlling it,’ Ronan said. ‘Just as he did when he threatened you.’ At his brother’s grimace, he continued, ‘I want her with a man who can defend her. I don’t doubt this Loch lannach would protect her from every harm.’ He handed the horses to Terence. ‘Bring our supplies and leave the animals with Iona. We’ll accompany our sister to Áth Cliath, as she suggested.’
His gaze passed over Caragh and Styr, who were standing near the boat. His sister had been unhappy for too long. Although he didn’t believe there was anything between them, his sister had defended the man. She did care about his welfare, whatever the reason.
Terence walked at his side along the shore. ‘You don’t think he’ll harm her?’
Ronan shook his head. ‘I won’t pass judgement over him until I’ve watched them together. But if he isn’t to be trusted, we’ll leave him behind in Áth Cliath.’
His brother shot him a sidelong glance. ‘You’re matchmaking, aren’t you?’
Ronan stopped walking, holding his brother back while he studied Caragh and the Loch lannach. ‘Only if he’s worthy of her.’
‘If he’s not, there might be an “accident”,’ Terence suggested.
Ronan absently rubbed his beard, staring at the two of them. Whether or not his sister realised it, the Viking never took his eyes off her. The man most definitely had feelings towards Caragh, but Ronan couldn’t guess whether it was lust or something more.
‘We’ll know within a day,’ he predicted. ‘Give them a moment before we join them.’
As he observed the pair of them, he saw the way his sister was looking at Styr. It had been a year since he’d held her while she’d wept upon the evening of her wedding. The day Kelan had ruined by abandoning her, for love of another. He’d watched his sister retreat into herself, spending all of her time with the elderly folk of their tribe. She’d thrown herself into service, as if trying to escape her own life.
And when their parents had died, she’d not allowed herself to grieve, but instead had taken responsibility for Brendan.
Caragh needed a life of her own and a man to give her a home and children. If this Loch lannach could bring back the sister he loved, so be it.
But if he dared to break her heart, Ronan wouldn’t hesitate to tear the man apart.
Chapter Six
‘Don’t ever try something like that again,’ Styr warned. His fury was teetering on the edge, barely contained. While it may have been only a kiss, one meant to fool her brothers, the dishonourable act enraged him. How did she dare to throw herself at him, pretending that they were lovers?
Caragh blanched at his tone, apologising quietly. ‘I know my brothers. They drew wrong conclusions from Kelan’s words. I was afraid they would harm you.’
‘I can defend myself,’ he reminded her. Using his full height, he glared down at her. ‘I have no need to justify my actions to them. You took me prisoner. I was only trying to return to my wife.’
He saw her flinch at the mention of Elena. Good. She needed to remember that he wasn’t a man she could use upon a whim.
You didn’t have to kiss her back, his conscience reminded him. You could have pushed her away.
And that was the splinter that dug into his guilt, blistering his rage. If he hadn’t dared to continue the deception, he would never have known what it was to be kissed by Caragh. He had reacted on impulse, only to be stunned by the physical response he’d never anticipated. But there was no one to blame, save himself.
Right now, he wanted to plunge his head into icy seawater, to clear away the confused thoughts. He wasn’t a man to be unfaithful. In all his five years of marriage to Elena, never once had he looked at another woman. Honesty and loyalty meant everything to him. He would never forsake his wife, no matter how one woman’s kiss had affected him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘but my brothers aren’t forgiving. They won’t harm you if they believe that we mean something to one another. That you are a man of honour.’
‘I am a man of honour,’ he shot back. Though it didn’t feel like it now. He turned his back on her and waded into the frigid sea, welcoming the wind that tore through his chainmail corselet, soaking his hose against his skin.
But Caragh’s kiss haunted him, in the way her soft lips had melted into his, like a taste of sweet honey. She’d lost herself, clinging to him when he’d kissed her back.
While Elena had accepted his embraces, she’d always seemed uncertain—almost unwilling to kiss him. He’d tried to be gentle, but he’d never been able to fully enjoy himself, for fear of hurting her.
Whereas this woman had eagerly opened to him, her tongue touching his. Her breasts had pressed against him as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, yielding sweetly.
No doubt it was the celibacy coming back to haunt him. He’d left Elena alone for a time, while they’d prepared for the journey. She’d suffered such terrible seasickness, he hadn’t bothered her then, either. Over and over, he replayed the image of his wife’s face and the sadness in her eyes. And he cursed himself for daring to kiss another.
Styr busied himself with preparing the boat, needing the activity to push away the errant thoughts. No longer would he think of how good it had felt to be in Caragh’s arms. He would maintain his distance from her, and lock away the dark cravings she’d evoked.
When she climbed aboard the ship, her skirts were sodden. He should have offered to carry her, but he had been unable to touch her. His willpower was shredded to a weak thread.
She set the basket on the far end, choosing a seat on the opposite side of the boat. When her brothers joined them, he learned that Terence was accustomed to sailing. The man took the side rudder to steer them east while Styr took his place with the oars. He pulled hard, letting the mindless exertion consume him.
Ronan took the place behind him, rowing in rhythm. ‘I don’t believe that either of you are in love,’ he said, beneath his breath.
‘You’d be right,’ Styr admitted, keeping his voice low. It was a relief to admit the truth to the man. Glancing behind him, he added, ‘Caragh took me by surprise with that kiss.’
‘Our sister has a soft heart, and she thought we were going to kill you for sharing her hut.’ Ronan pulled hard against the oars. ‘It’s still a consideration.’
Styr said nothing, knowing there was no good reply to that.
‘It’s a simple matter, Lochlannach,’ Ronan continued. ‘Hurt our sister, and we hurt you.’
‘I would expect nothing less.’ He understood a man like Ronan, determined to protect his sister. ‘But Caragh and I are hardly more than strangers to each other.’
‘Yet, she’s coerced you into helping her search for our wooden-headed brother Brendan, isn’t that right?’
‘My intent is to find my kinsmen, who were last seen with your brother,’ Styr told the man. ‘I hope, for his sake, that they are unharmed.’ Once they reached Áth Cliath, he would disassociate from Caragh and her brothers, searching for Elena. They could find Brendan, and that would be the end of it.
‘Brendan’s lacking in brains,’ Ronan said. ‘If you have brothers of your own, you’ll understand that.’
‘I had four sisters. One older brother.’
He stopped rowing and stared back at Styr. Crossing himself, he added in a loud voice, ‘My God, it’s a wonder you haven’t gone mad. Four sisters?’ He glanced at Caragh with a shudder.
‘Now what is the matter with sisters?’ Caragh demanded.
‘It would take years to name it all,’ Ronan shot back. ‘They cry for no reason. If you make a mistake, they’ll hold a grudge for the rest of your life.’
‘They talk too much and tell your mother everything you do,’ Terence joined in. ‘If you tie up the cat’s tail or put frogs in the garden.’
Caragh glared at him, and Terence continued. ‘But we do love you, Sister.’ He winked at her.
‘Four,’ Ronan repeated. ‘I’d have thrown myself into the sea, for certain.’
Styr couldn’t help but enjoy the man’s humour. There was an easiness about these men, a camaraderie like the friendship he had with Ragnar. ‘I often took the boat out to sea, on my own, to get away from them. It’s why I’m a fisherman.’
‘You don’t act like one,’ Terence countered. ‘I’d have taken you for a tribe leader, with your height and strength.’
Styr shrugged, not truly answering the question. He’d begun his trade as a fisherman, but after his father died, many had wanted him to usurp his older brother’s place as jarl. To avoid conflict, he’d chosen to leave Hordafylke and those who preferred his leadership had come along.
‘Go back and sit with our sister,’ Ronan suggested. ‘Terence can take a turn to row until we catch the wind.’
Styr preferred to remain where he was, but he saw Caragh huddled at the stern of the boat. She clutched her woollen brat over her hair, and her teeth chattered. When he moved to sit slightly in front of her, she kept her voice low. ‘I hope you find Elena.’
‘I won’t stop until I do.’ His purpose was clear, and he added, ‘If you see her—’
‘I’ll say nothing.’ She stiffened, trembling. In a whisper, she added, ‘What I did was a mistake. It will never happen again.’
The journey to Áth Cliath shouldn’t have taken longer than a day, but the winds had picked up intensity, the darker clouds sweeping across the sky. Caragh sat upon the floor of the boat, her hands clenched together. Though her gown had dried, she couldn’t stop from trembling. It wasn’t merely from the cold—her fears had multiplied as she thought of her father’s drowning.
A storm brewed, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to imagine a death at sea. The boat rocked against the waves, and she clung to the bench just in front of the stern, praying for calmer waters. Behind her, Terence held fast to the rudder.
‘Should we move in closer to land?’ he was shouting above the wind.
Styr made a reply, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar. The rain began to pound upon them, a piercing wet shower that made her grimace.
The swells broke over the top of the boat, spraying her with the water. Though it was still daylight, dark mists shadowed their surroundings, making it difficult to see the land. she heard her brothers calling out to Styr as they pulled hard on the sail. Risking a glance at him, she saw his muscles straining, his feet balanced across the boat.
She distracted herself from the fear by remembering those strong arms around her, his hands at her waist. And the shocking heat of his kiss…
Self-hatred and a flushed guilt spread through her. He hadn’t wanted to kiss her, and she’d forced it upon him. She’d never meant any harm by it, thinking it would only be a way of redirecting her brothers’ suspicions.
Instead, it had become something she’d never expected. Perhaps it was because it was forbidden to kiss a man already claimed by someone else. She’d mistakenly thought it would mean nothing at all to him.
Against his lips, she’d tasted his anger. The kiss had lashed back against her, almost brutal as he’d ravaged her mouth. But somehow, in the midst of it, she’d sensed a change in him. Her surrender had tamed the rising beast inside him, and though her heart had never ceased its pounding, she’d evoked a response from him.
She didn’t know what to think of that. Only that there was no sense in dwelling upon it. Soon enough, he would be gone from here, reunited with his wife.
And wasn’t that just her ill fortune? Every man that she’d come to care for had been in love with someone else.
Don’t think of him any more. He belongs to her and always will.
She wished that one day a man would love her for herself. And that he would never turn from her to choose another. Daring a glance at Styr, she closed off any feelings, knowing they could never be.
Another spray of water hit the boat, and now she was sitting in an icy pool. Gingerly, Caragh got to her knees, planning to sit on one of the benches. But without warning, a hard wave struck the vessel, and she lost her balance.
The world tipped on its rim, sending her flying backwards. She cried out and tried to grasp the edge of the boat, but she struck the waves, her mouth filling up with seawater. Darkness closed over her, the icy current submerging her beneath the depths.
Panic roiled inside her, and Caragh flailed her arms, struggling to break through the surface. Her gown was weighing her down, and she fought to reach the boat.
There was an enormous splash, and she saw Styr swimming towards her. He’d stripped off the chainmail corselet, his chest bare as he cut through the water. When he reached her, he seized hold of her waist. ‘Can you swim?’ he murmured against her ear.
‘I’m t-trying.’ Her limbs felt leaden from the cold, and he kept one arm around her, helping her back to the boat. When she gripped the side, he hoisted her up, and her brothers pulled her in. A moment later, he joined her.
Her teeth chattered and she shivered hard, in shock over what had just happened. The boat continued to toss in the wind, but this time, Styr held her steady.
Dimly, she heard something about moving inland, towards the shore, but her body was so cold, she hardly cared. Styr wrapped a blanket around her, but she couldn’t stop shaking.
‘Will you…hold me for a moment?’ she pleaded. It wasn’t merely the cold. It was the terror of slipping beneath the waves, being at the mercy of the sea. She could still taste the salt water, and the frigid water had nearly frozen the blood inside her veins.
Strong arms came around her, and she rested her face against Styr’s bare chest. Though he, too, was cold, the longer he held her, the warmer his skin became. She was acutely conscious of sitting in his lap, but he didn’t let go of her. He’d taken the blanket for himself, wrapping it around both of them.
‘Thank you for saving me,’ she said, her voice hoarse. The exhaustion of the day was dragging her down, her body so tired, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Styr made no reply, but she hadn’t expected him to. As she closed her eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder why it had been him to jump in after her, instead of her brothers.
He hadn’t hesitated, stripping off his armour before plunging into the sea. And now, as her body was starting to warm, he wasn’t pushing her aside as she’d expected him to.
Don’t, she warned herself. It’s nothing.
But his heartbeat pulsed rapidly against her cheek. And his hand came up to touch her wet hair, smoothing it behind her ear. Like a caress.
Though she hated the thought of losing his warm embrace, she said, ‘I suppose you should help my brothers with the boat.’
It was an offer to release him, a way of letting him go. She’d made him uncomfortable before, when she’d kissed him, and this was just as bad.
‘Your brothers are fine.’ His voice was brusque, as if he had no intention of letting go of her. He wrapped the blanket around her, and the gesture evoked her own guilt. She’d begged him to hold her, and he’d obeyed.
Shame slid over her when she raised her head to look at Terence and Ronan. They were staring at her with an unreadable expression. They didn’t know about Styr’s marriage…and she didn’t want them to.
The winds had died down, and though the rain continued, she no longer felt as if the waves were going to drag her under again. Gently, she pulled away from Styr, trying to calm the pulsing of her heart.
‘Are you all right now?’ Terence called out to her.
She nodded. ‘I’m just cold.’
‘We’re bringing the boat in, and we’ll build you a fire to get warm,’ Ronan informed her. He sent a grateful look towards Styr. ‘Thank you for saving our sister.’
The Lochlannach only tightened his hold around her and said to Caragh, ‘You’ll be all right in the morning.’
‘But the journey to Áth Cliath—’
‘—can wait a few more hours,’ he said. ‘You need to get warm, after what happened to you.’
She didn’t argue, but adjusted the blanket around him. Styr let her remain there a moment longer before he gave it back and went to retrieve his tunic. Her brothers spoke a few words to him before he returned to her. She couldn’t hear what they’d said, and the quiet expression on Styr’s face revealed nothing at all.
‘We’ll be at the shore in less than an hour,’ he said.
‘What did my brothers say to you?’ she asked.
But he would give no answer.
It was near midnight, Styr guessed, by the time they had anchored the boat and made camp upon the shoreline. Ronan and Terence built a fire for Caragh, and though it helped, she was still soaking wet. After her eyes kept closing, Styr helped them set up a tent for her. She moved inside and he brought her another dry blanket.
‘You should be warm soon enough,’ he told her.
‘Styr,’ she whispered, touching his shoulder. Though she’d only meant to stop him from leaving the tent, the slight gesture made him grasp her hand.
‘Sleep,’ he bade her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.
‘It wasn’t your fault you were swept overboard,’ he argued. She was so light from the hunger she’d experienced, it had been all too easy for her to fall back.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you. You’ve been nothing but honourable towards me, and I had no right.’
He stared at her, saying nothing at all. No, she hadn’t. And though he understood that she was trying to ease things between them, her brothers had complicated matters even more.
They’d thanked him for saving her life… and then they’d asked him if he would consider marriage to Caragh.
‘You saved her life,’ Ronan had said. ‘And she needs a strong protector.’
The instinct to blurt out no had risen to his lips, to confess everything about his wife. But he understood that they were speaking of alliances, of blending the Norse and Irish together. They respected his sailing and his fishing, but more, the two men had expressed their concern for Caragh being alone.
‘The only reason you’re coming with us, Lochlannach, is for her sake,’ Terence had said. ‘I’d rather leave you behind.’
For that reason, he’d kept silent about Elena. He needed this ship to travel east, retracing the path of Brendan, and he didn’t for a moment believe that Caragh’s brothers would allow it if they knew the truth. He would tell whatever lies were necessary to reach his wife.
In the end, he’d avoided answering Ronan and Terence, saying that he had to speak with Caragh first.
She was eyeing him now, her face flushed with guilt. ‘I—I’ve done nothing but treat you badly since you set foot on Éireann. And you’ve saved my life twice.’ Her hand tightened on his. ‘First, by helping me find food, and now, you’ve kept me from drowning.’ She took a deep breath, gathering up her courage. Dark blue eyes held a fragile trust, and she admitted, ‘If you weren’t already wedded—’
‘Don’t.’ He cut her off, his tone harsh as he released her hand. ‘Don’t say it.’ He wouldn’t allow her to speak of thoughts that had no place between them.
Caragh drew up her knees beneath the sodden gown, lowering her forehead.
‘I was going to say that I wish we could be friends.’
Styr remained silent, shielding his thoughts from her. Becoming friends with a woman like Caragh was dangerous.
‘You look as if such a thing would be impossible,’ she offered.
‘It is,’ he said. ‘Men and women cannot be friends.’
She looked taken aback, as if he’d struck her, but she ventured, ‘Why?’
Was she truly that naïve? He stared hard at her, willing her to understand the unspoken truth.
Caragh pulled the blanket around her shoulders, trembling as she waited for an answer. Her wet hair was darker, almost black against her pale skin. Her face was damp, her mouth drawing his attention.
‘I think you know exactly why we can never be friends,’ he said, not caring how harsh he sounded. Without another word, he left the tent, letting it fall closed behind him.
Styr’s harsh anger kept coming back, resonating within Caragh’s mind. Ever since she’d kissed him, he’d taken her actions the wrong way—as if she were threatening him.
She wasn’t trying to steal him away from his wife. Nothing could be further from the truth. Aye, he was handsome enough, but he was far too callous for her. Too demanding.
The longer she was around him, the more he made her heartbeat quicken, setting her nerves on edge. The memory of his raw kiss came rushing back, and her skin prickled with unease. No, she understood now, what he meant. They could never be friends, for she could feel his resentment. It bruised her spirits, for she’d never meant to imply that she wanted him.
The more she thought of it, the angrier she grew.
She peeled away the wet gown, even removing the damp shift until she was naked inside the tent. Carefully, she spread them out, hoping they would dry in the next few hours. Then she rolled up within the blanket, covering her body from neck to ankle.
With each minute that passed, she found it more difficult to sleep. She had never been in a position like this, as if she were a fallen woman trying to lure a man. Styr had saved her life, that was all. And she’d kissed him in an effort to save his. If she’d given the word, her brothers could have slaughtered him where he stood. Didn’t he realise that?
‘Caragh,’ came a male voice. It was Styr.
She bit her lip and tightened her hold around the blanket. ‘What is it?’
‘Your brothers sent you food.’ Without waiting for her to say a word, he entered the tent and set a folded cloth before her. For a moment, his expression tensed when he saw her clothing spread out.
‘Why didn’t they bring it, instead of you?’ she asked, keeping her voice low. He shrugged, but she already knew the answer. It was because her meddling brothers were starting to believe her false story.
Before he could leave, she released the storm of bitterness within her. ‘No, don’t go. Not until I’ve had my say.’
He raised an eyebrow at that, but she gripped the coverlet and raised her chin.
‘Whether or not we are ever friends, let me be clear that I didn’t kiss you because I wanted you. You saved my life, and I tried to save yours with my deception. I didn’t want my brothers to kill you. That’s all.’
‘They couldn’t have killed me,’ he responded.
‘You’re wrong. And though I’m glad you saved me from drowning, I’m angry that you think I have no honour at all.’ Her heartbeat quickened, and she continued talking, giving him all the reasons why she didn’t want him.
By the time she reached the fifth reason, she realised he wasn’t listening to her at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the back of the tent, as if he found it fascinating.
He could have left, she supposed. Instead, he’d remained without speaking a single word.
‘Well? Have you nothing to say?’ she prompted.
‘I have never met a woman who talks as much as you do,’ he said at last. His impassive expression irritated her even more.
‘Don’t tease me.’ She knew she talked a great deal, but it wasn’t her intent. It was simply the desire to fill the empty space, to blot out the discomfort he made her feel.
Styr pushed the food towards her. ‘Eat the fish. There’s bread, as well, that your brothers brought.’
‘Bread?’ She couldn’t control the delight at the thought of tasting bread again. She didn’t care if it was green with mould or the texture of rocks.
When she tasted it, she had to suppress her sigh of delight. She devoured the bread, nearly finishing the last piece, when she suddenly remembered that Styr might not have eaten, either.
‘Have you had anything to eat this night?’ She offered him the rest of the bread, in case he hadn’t.
Styr nodded and sat across from her. He waited for her to finish, and as the uncomfortable silence stretched on, she said, ‘Will you tell me about your wife?’
‘Why?’ His tone sounded disgruntled, as if he wanted to share nothing about Elena.
Because she thought the topic would put him at ease, truthfully. Instead, she said, ‘You miss her, don’t you?’
‘I want her to be safe. It’s different.’
Caragh frowned. ‘Tell me more about her. I know she’s very beautiful.’
Some of his frustration subsided, and he nodded. ‘She is.’ His expression relented and he admitted, ‘I used to tease her about her red hair. I didn’t like the colour when I was younger, and she was angry with me for saying so.’
‘I can’t imagine,’ she responded drily.
His mouth twitched. ‘She tried to cut off my hair while I was sleeping. I was nine years old at the time.’
She picked at the fish, savouring each bite. As she ate, she was careful not to reveal any of her nakedness. ‘What did you do?’
‘When I woke up, I caught her with a length of my hair. I tried to hit her, but my father caught me.’
‘Did he thrash you for it?’
Styr nodded. ‘And he cut off the rest of my hair in punishment. So that everyone would know I tried to strike a girl.’
Her amusement faded at that. ‘But you forgave her, didn’t you?’
He nodded. ‘When I was older.’
When Styr offered nothing else about his wife, Caragh asked another question, though already she suspected the answer. ‘Do you have children?’
‘No.’ The quiet answer held a grim ring to it, and she realised she’d touched upon a delicate subject.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.’
‘Be ready to leave at first light,’ was all he said, taking away the cloth that had contained her food.
The free sample has ended.
