Styr sobered. ‘She’s just a girl.’
‘She’s also the daughter of a powerful warrior,’ Ragnar pointed out. ‘She’d make a good match with you.’
His friend let out a sigh. ‘I know it. My father and her father have already discussed a betrothal. I suppose it will happen when she comes of age.’ He didn’t sound at all enthused about the idea.
‘But you don’t want her?’ A flare of hope kindled inside Ragnar, although he knew it was unlikely the outcome would change.
Styr’s expression remained neutral. ‘There’s nothing wrong with her. And there are years yet, before I’ll wed.’
Before he could speak again, Elena returned. Her face was flushed and she appeared upset. ‘Styr, my father wants you to come and dine with him.’ She nodded towards the open door and his friend waited a moment.
‘We’ll walk together, then.’
‘Go on without me,’ Elena asked. ‘I need to speak to Ragnar for a moment.’
After he’d gone, Elena’s face revealed her disappointment. ‘I—I was wrong. I wanted you to come with us, but—’
‘Your father refused, didn’t he?’ Ragnar kept his expression shielded, making it seem as if it didn’t matter.
‘He said I could bring you food. Outside,’ she said quietly. Shaking her head, she added, ‘This isn’t right. You should be a welcomed guest, the same as any other man.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He knew his place, even if she’d wanted him to rise above it. ‘Go and join Styr. I’ll return home.’
He started to walk back, but Elena hurried forwards and blocked his path. ‘No. It does matter.’ Her green eyes held anger and she put her hands up to stop him. ‘You’re going to be a strong fighter one day. One of the best men we have.’ Her hand reached up to touch his arm and the touch of her fingers was a gentle warmth. ‘My father will welcome you at his table, soon enough.’
Her faith in him strengthened his resolve to make it so. He wasn’t the man her father would ever choose. But perhaps, if he fought hard and made himself into a man of worth, he could change the opinion of others.
‘I’ll come to his table, one day,’ Ragnar promised. ‘But only if you’re there.’ He reached out and squeezed her hand, before turning away. The startled look in her eyes turned to embarrassment.
One day, he swore, everything would change.
Chapter Seven
Present day
Elena walked down to the shoreline, her mind feeling uneasy. Despite the terrible storm, the sun glittered upon the sea.
She shielded her eyes, watching from her place on the sand, when she caught sight of a ship in the distance. It was a small fishing vessel, carrying only a few people. Her heart pounded at the sight of it, though she could not say why. It was not Styr’s ship—the Danes had taken command of that.
But there were few ships in this region. In the four days since she’d arrived, she hadn’t seen any.
Until now.
She strained her eyes, trying to see who it was, but the sunlight blinded her. One of the men was wearing chainmail and his hair was the same colour as Styr’s.
Was it her husband? Had he come in search of her? Her heart was pounding and she grasped her skirts, running towards the shore.
The winds had picked up, and before she could get a closer look, they had sailed past the small green island where she’d first landed with Ragnar. It was too late to signal to them.
She should have called out to them. Though it might not have been Styr, she’d done nothing except run.
Perhaps you don’t want him to find you, came an insidious voice inside her. Perhaps you’d rather leave him.
No. Not now, when she was finally going to have a child. His child. She owed it to Styr, to tell him. It would change everything.
And what if it doesn’t? the voice asked. What if he still finds you cold?
She didn’t mean to be. Truly, she wanted to be an affectionate wife, one who brought him comfort. But Styr hadn’t wanted to wed her. He’d obeyed his father and agreed to the arrangement. And in spite of the years between them, he’d never claimed to love her. No matter how she tried to keep his home clean or prepare his favourite foods, it wasn’t enough.
A splinter of anger irritated her mood. She’d tried to change herself, to be the woman she thought Styr wanted. The thought made her weary, for she didn’t want to go back to being that wife.
When she glanced behind, she saw Ragnar leaning against a large boulder, his leg wrapped in bandages. His expression was unreadable, but she grew aware of the way his muscles tightened against the tunic he wore. He’d always been a strong warrior, stronger even than Styr. Though he lacked high-born blood, he’d been one of the greatest fighters in their tribe.
A cold chill caught her as she remembered the terrible price he’d paid for that honour.
‘What is it, søtnos?’ Ragnar asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen an evil spirit.’
Elena pushed away the memories, blurting out, ‘I saw a ship just now.’ She pointed out towards the waves, and even as she stared out at the grey water, she questioned what she’d seen. Yet, after all these years, she knew her husband’s profile. There was a strong chance that it had been him.
‘Was it our ship?’ Ragnar asked. He leaned in, his interest suddenly piqued. ‘Did our men escape from the Danes?’
She shook her head. ‘It was a fishing boat.’ Taking a deep breath, she added, ‘But one of the men looked like Styr.’
Ragnar started to rise to his feet, but she shook her head. ‘It’s too late. They’ve already sailed east.’
‘Do you want to search for him?’
‘No.’ She closed her eyes and went to sit beside him on the rock. ‘I should have shouted. I should have run into the water and made noise to get their attention. But instead, I just watched them leave. I don’t know why.’
That wasn’t the truth. She knew why she’d stood there—because she’d been too startled to respond in time. It had seemed impossible that it could be her husband...and yet, she couldn’t let go of the thought. Styr wasn’t the sort of man who would turn his back on her. He would find her, no matter how long it took.
What she didn’t understand was the sense of foreboding that had caught her. Dread mingled with anticipation, and those were the wrong things she should be feeling. If it had been her husband, shouldn’t she be overjoyed?
Her hand moved down to her middle and the old fears rose up to taunt her. ‘Do you think I’m a cold woman? The way Styr does?’
‘He doesn’t think you’re cold,’ Ragnar responded. ‘He knew you were upset about not having children and he didn’t know how to make you feel better.’
She took a deep breath, willing back the feelings of insecurity and doubt. ‘I want to believe that this child will improve our marriage.’
Ragnar eased himself to stand, putting little weight upon his leg. ‘It’s a lot to ask of an infant.’
‘Maybe. But if it doesn’t help...’ She rubbed her arms, so afraid of the alternative. For so long, she’d rested her hopes upon a baby. And now that it had come to pass, she ought to feel happier than she did.
Sometimes it didn’t feel real. It was as if she’d only imagined the pregnancy, but she couldn’t deny that she’d missed her monthly and would likely miss it again in another fortnight.
Ragnar’s gaze passed over her body once more, but she couldn’t read the thoughts within him. It was as if he knew something she didn’t.
‘Let’s go back and eat,’ he suggested. ‘You can think about what you want to do.’
But she had already made her decision. ‘We won’t leave yet. Not until you’ve healed.’ The Irish had no horses to make the journey easier and it was unfair to ask him to walk such a distance.
‘The wound will be fine in a few days,’ he told her. ‘It’s already closing up, if you want to see it.’ A hint of amusement crossed over him. ‘And the healer took out all the garlic, so it isn’t so bad any mo
re.’
She started towards him, but then a sudden shyness overtook her at being so close. You’re being foolish, she told herself. It’s a wound, nothing more.
But when she knelt down before him, she was intensely aware of Ragnar’s body. His muscles were visible beneath the tunic he wore and his thigh was strong and powerful. A few days ago, she’d cut away his leggings near the wound. And when she touched his thigh, Ragnar gave a slight intake of breath. Though her hand was not upon his bare skin, her imagination suddenly conjured the image of touching him. And the forbidden nature of her thoughts sent a sudden tingle of arousal through her.
Her breasts rose up against her gown and between her legs, she began to ache. As she began to unwrap the bandage, she was deeply aware of his masculine scent. It was leather mingled with salt and a hint of pine. It made her want to rest her cheek against his heart, burrowing against him.
Stop this, her mind commanded her. But her breathing was unsteady, in spite of her willpower.
As she pulled back the bandage, she saw that Ragnar was right. His skin had grown together and, despite it being raw, she imagined within a few more days he would be able to put his full weight upon it.
‘It is better,’ she admitted. ‘And if we wait here a little longer, you’ll be able to walk on it.’
‘Do you think that’s wise?’ he said, his eyes narrowing upon her. Her face burned as she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. No, it wasn’t wise to be alone with him for that long. Not even if he’d once been her best friend. She could sense things shifting between them, the barrier weakening.
‘The Irish would be able to guide us back to the settlement,’ he continued.
Oh. Her embarrassment deepened at the realisation that he wasn’t at all speaking about the wisdom of being alone together.
Elena took a breath. ‘I believe it was Styr sailing past us. And it’s possible that he’ll start searching along the coast. It will make it easier for him to find us if we remain in one place.’
‘And what if he doesn’t return?’
She shook her head, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. ‘We can decide what to do later. But if we stay, you’ll heal. And then we’ll know.’
She drew his arm around her shoulders, helping him to stand up as they returned to the others. But even as Ragnar leaned against her, she felt sensitive to his touch. His arm around her was only for balance, but her mind was conjuring more vivid details. Worse, she remembered lying with him this morning. He’d been aroused by her and, though she knew it was a reaction any man might have in the morning, it made her uneasy.
Because of the way she’d responded: in kind. She’d softened against him, aching for a man’s touch.
His touch.
She told herself that it was only a natural reaction, that if it had been Styr, he’d have turned her on to her back and made love to her. Perhaps, now that she’d had so many weeks of distance from her husband, she was beginning to crave a joining. She’d been so caught up in her desire to have a child, it had taken away the pleasure of being with a man. That was what she needed—her husband to fulfil her needs.
But Ragnar wasn’t her husband. And she would have to spend a few more days alone with him. She would have to find a way to occupy herself, to drag her mind away from the forbidden thoughts.
When they reached the others, Ragnar stopped walking but didn’t take his hand from her shoulders. His dark green eyes moved over her as if he were drinking in the sight. Elena grew flustered, wondering if it was just her imagination.
‘The Irish have given us some of their supplies,’ he said. ‘Including one of their tents to take with us. We should be comfortable enough.’
Though he spoke in a nonchalant air, the idea of sleeping beside him another night was intimidating. She couldn’t say why, but perhaps it was because she’d slept in his arms last night. Her mind was conjuring up all sorts of strange imaginings.
Even though there was nothing wrong with sharing a tent with this man, she began to think that it wasn’t wise at all. He was a temptation and the thoughts within her were a betrayal of her husband.
‘I’m going to get the tent and work on our shelter again,’ she told him. ‘Why don’t you rest here?’ She needed to take her mind off the stormy thoughts brewing. Hard work was what she needed to stop thinking of this man.
* * *
Something had made her nervous. Ragnar couldn’t say what it was, but from the moment the Irish departed, Elena had begun finding ways to stay away from him. She’d gathered enough wood to build twelve bonfires, sticks of varying sizes, along with larger logs.
‘How many fires do you think we’ll need?’ he asked, when she returned with her sixth load of firewood.
‘This isn’t for a fire,’ she said. ‘It’s to improve our shelter.’
She set the load down and began sorting the wood according to size and length. Her hair had spilled free of the tight braids she usually wore and several locks hung against her face. Irritated, she shoved them out of the way, struggling to lift the heavier logs.
‘We’re only staying here a few days longer,’ Ragnar reminded her. ‘We’ll watch for Styr’s ship and if we see it, we’ll signal them.’ But she was behaving as if they were going to live here permanently.
She was focused upon measuring the wood and he saw her unwrap a small axe. Soon, she began the work of chopping notches from the larger logs. ‘I’d rather not sleep in the rain again,’ was all she told him. ‘The ground is still wet after the storm.’
But there was an undercurrent of tension within her. She was filling her hours with this task, behaving as if she was desperate for a distraction.
‘Where did you get the axe?’ he asked her.
‘It was a gift from the Irish, after I helped you get rid of the other Norsemen.’ She set it down a moment and regarded him. ‘You don’t think the invaders will come back, do you?’
‘No. You had them convinced that they would be cursed if they did.’ But it might be wise to investigate the surrounding area. Ragnar rose to his feet and hobbled towards Elena.
‘I don’t need your help,’ she protested, but that wasn’t why he was there. He reached down for two long poles and took them from her pile, then chose some smaller pieces that he could use to form crutches. Once she realised what he was doing, Elena gave him the use of her tools and said, ‘Wait here. I have something that will help.’
Ragnar began shaping the crutches, using notches to fit the top piece into the bottom poles. He tied them together with some strips of leather. After a short time, Elena returned with more leather and the leftover fur of a rabbit she’d skinned a day ago. ‘You can use this for padding,’ she offered, arranging the fur and leather on top of the crutches.
While she helped him, he ventured, ‘How are you feeling? Any sickness?’
She finished tying down the fur and shrugged. ‘The same, really. Sometimes I forget about the baby, because it’s still too early to feel movement.’ Her hand moved down to her womb and her face grew wistful. ‘I can’t wait to hold him for the first time in my arms. Or her.’
The joy on Elena’s face took away all of the tension in her and she smiled openly. By the blood of Freya, she stole his breath. Her sea-green eyes held him spellbound, while her fiery golden hair tangled around her face. He wished again that it was his unborn child, and not Styr’s, growing within her. But the child was a fervent reminder that she did not, and would not, ever belong to him.
Still, he thought it strange that she’d experienced so few symptoms. His sisters had shared with him their own woes, often in more detail than he wanted. Sometimes, he wondered if it was true at all that Elena was pregnant.
She believed it, and he would say nothing to diminish her joy. But it was so early...women often miscarried or discovered their mistake.
His conscience berated him for even thinking such a thing. Elena and Styr had waited a long time for a child. She wanted it desperately and regardless of the jealo
usy within him, he hoped all would go well. ‘I’m going to go look around the shore to see if there are any ships,’ he told her. He needed a few moments to clear his head and remind himself that he had to forget about this woman.
‘All right.’ But after he took the crutches, Elena turned back to her work as if it were the most fascinating task imaginable.
Though she behaved as if there was nothing wrong, he saw the dark flush against her cheeks. There was a barely discernible change in Elena, as if she, too, sensed that the next few days were going to test their honour.
Chapter Eight
She dreamed of him that night.
In her vision, the fires of a battlefield raged, while the scent of death hovered around them. Bodies littered the ground and the carrion birds swooped overhead. The Viking warrior rode towards her, searching. His helm covered his face and his armour was stained with the blood of his enemies.
He was like a god of war, coming to claim her.
The warrior’s eyes locked upon her as he rode through the carnage. He reached down and Elena went willingly, knowing that she was his prize of war.
Her heart pounded when he drew her up in front of him on the horse. From behind her, she could feel the iron muscles of his chest, the powerful thighs surrounding her legs. His body held the caged restlessness of a predator, and he rode hard across the field, taking her miles away from the battle.
Until they were alone.
The small thatched hut was hardly any shelter at all, but when she went inside, hot coals glowed in the hearth. The air was warm with anticipation, and his cold eyes stared at her with unfettered lust.
‘Remove your clothing.’
Fear balled in her throat, along with the need to refuse. But before she could speak, he turned his back and removed the iron helm, then his chainmail corselet and gloves.
Her pulse quickened at the sight of his bared skin, for she knew why she was here. What he wanted from her.
Elena turned towards the fire, her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.
To Tempt A Viking Page 8