‘Wait,’ he commanded. It took no longer than a few seconds before the merchant caught up to them, holding two pies.
‘Your silver?’ he asked.
Styr paid the man one coin and handed Caragh both pies. She had no chance to ask any questions, before the man took the rest of his pies and disappeared among the people.
‘You don’t think he knew anything about your wife?’
Styr shook his head. ‘He would have said anything he thought we wanted to hear.’
Caragh started to give him one of the pies, but he refused. ‘You’re hungry,’ she insisted. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’
‘Not as hungry as you.’
But Caragh broke off a piece of the steaming pie, touching it to his mouth. ‘I will enjoy mine more, if I know that you aren’t hungry.’
He accepted the bite of food and finally took the pie. Caragh found a stack of wine barrels on the other side of the square and asked for a moment to sit down.
Her shoes were so worn, she could feel the rocky soil beneath her soles. It wouldn’t take long to wear holes through the weak leather, and already she felt the swelling of blisters.
But the rest made it easier to endure. Styr leaned beside one of the wine barrels, while she finished as much as she could. When her stomach could hold no more, she gave the rest to him.
‘Don’t you want to save it for later?’
She shook her head. ‘I know the past few days were hard on both of us. And you need your strength.’ Her gaze slid over to his muscled arms, and his expression shifted, as if she’d physically touched him. Though he said nothing, his eyes passed over her. And this time, his hunger had nothing to do with food.
Her body was well aware of the direction of his thoughts, though he had spoken not a word. Against her will, a shimmer of interest echoed in her body. She imagined his hands upon her, his forbidden touch shattering every last defence.
God help them both.
‘Th-thank you for letting me see the market,’ she said, sliding down from the barrel. ‘We should go back and find out what we can about Elena and Brendan.’
Styr inclined his head, and they returned to the marketplace, asking several other merchants about what they had seen. None had any information, but they suggested asking another man whose stall was closest to the slave market.
Strangely, Caragh didn’t recognise the man’s wares. She stared at the selection of ivory and polished wood, along with vials of oil.
‘We’re not stopping here,’ Styr said, trying to move her on. But her curiosity was heightened. The man’s eyes lit up when he saw the two of them. He was one of the Norsemen, shorter than Styr, but barrel-chested.
‘For you, lady.’ He offered her a tiny vial, contained in wood. ‘Try it with your lover.’
Her cheeks went crimson, and she shook her head. ‘But he’s not my—’
‘We’re leaving,’ Styr repeated, gripping her hand.
The merchant grinned at him and spoke words in his language. Styr argued back, shaking his head in refusal. Whatever it was the merchant wanted him to buy, Styr was having none of it.
‘But what is he selling?’ she asked. ‘I don’t recognise his wares.’
‘Your brothers wouldn’t want you here,’ he said.
His declaration only heightened her interest. She ignored his wishes and moved in closer. Styr was trying to hide something, and she couldn’t think of what.
‘Please,’ the merchant insisted. ‘Take the oil. But if you wish to buy this, other women will tell you of the pleasure you will know.’ He held out an ivory cylinder with a rounded, ridged top.
The moment she saw it closer, Caragh frowned. As the merchant instructed, she held it in her palm, still unclear on what it was.
‘Use the oil, lady.’ He began to explain more, but his Irish was broken, and he switched back into the Norse language, making it impossible to understand.
When she shook her head, the merchant took her hand and curled it over the ivory. He showed her how to move it up and down, and when she glanced at Styr, his shoulders were shaking, his mouth tight.
‘What’s wrong?’
He lowered his head, looking away. The man was laughing at her. And she had no idea why. Handing back the ivory cylinder, she saw lengths of silk in many different colours. ‘And what are those for?’
‘Tying up your lover,’ he explained.
A snort erupted from Styr, and finally he burst out in a broad laugh. Caragh’s face turned scarlet, as she suddenly understood what the man had been selling. Not only chains to tie up a lover, but the ivory cylinder was a perfect replica of a man’s—
Oh dear God.
She dropped it as if it were a hot coal, hurrying away from the merchant. Styr followed, but he never stopped laughing at her. ‘Are you still wondering what he was selling?’
‘I cannot believe anyone would sell such things!’ she said, horrified that she’d actually touched the ivory shaft. ‘Why would anyone want them?’
He leaned against a wooden cart, and she glared at him while he continued to laugh. ‘Should I buy you one?’ he smirked, starting to walk back.
‘No!’ She’d never been so humiliated in all her life. ‘And you can stop laughing at me.’
He did, but a dangerous smile spread over his face. ‘You’re too innocent, Caragh.’ But his hand came around her shoulders, as he led her away from the market.
It was the gesture of a friend, of a man who was no longer threatened by her. This was the first time she’d ever seen him smile or laugh, for he’d always been so angry, so intent upon finding Elena. But for the briefest moment, she saw the anger and frustration slip away. She found herself drawn even more to this man, although his good mood was at her expense.
‘I would prefer that we forget about this,’ she said quietly.
His expression turned mischievous, his eyes almost sensual. ‘Some women have no man to share their bed. Such things have their uses.’
‘Not for me. And you didn’t have to laugh.’
‘The look on your face was worth a thousand silver coins, when you realised what it was.’ His arm remained around her shoulders, and for a moment, her traitorous mind imagined that they were more than friends. She’d never done anything except kiss a man, but after viewing the merchant’s wares, she wondered what else happened between a husband and a wife. She knew how children were made...but was there more?
Styr’s hand moved away from her shoulders, once they were further away. He guided her out of the market, admitting, ‘I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.’
‘Not even with Elena?’
His expression shifted, his smile fading. ‘No.’
She didn’t know what to say, for fear of transforming his mood into sadness or anger. Instead, she let her fingers brush against his, and he took her palm, threading their fingers together.
They walked past the marketplace, and for the first time, he didn’t pull away. The warmth of his hand upon hers was comforting, and for a moment, she imagined that they were friends. When he wasn’t so angry, it was easy to be around Styr.
And far too easy to let down the guard around her heart.
Iona’s words came back to haunt her: You will find your happiness, when you learn to walk away from what was never meant to be.
Was this what the old woman had meant? That she needed to leave Styr and protect her heart? The more she thought of it, the more she saw the truth in Iona’s words. If she allowed herself to be friends with Styr, the dangerous attraction might transform into other feelings. Feelings of jealousy, feelings that would remind her of how Kelan hadn’t wanted her.
She let go of his hand, focusing her concentration on the rising pain upon her feet and the blisters through her worn shoes.
As they continued on, Styr spoke with several more merchants, but no one seemed to have seen his wife. Caragh offered to ask among the women, but he refused to leave her side for a moment.
‘It’s not
safe for you to be alone, without a guard.’
She acceded to him, for he knew the customs of the Norse better than herself. Then, too, more than a few of the men had eyed her, only to be deterred by Styr’s presence.
* * *
‘What if Elena isn’t within the city?’ she asked, after they had finished searching the marketplace.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It seems likely, but without finding my ship—’
When he didn’t finish the sentence, she took a breath. ‘There is another place we should search.’
He knew, without asking, what she meant. They continued a little further and Styr asked a bystander where they could find the slave markets. The man pointed them in the right direction, and she saw the tension in his face. If Elena had been sold as a slave, she could be anywhere...even brought to distant lands. He might never find her.
A hollow feeling took root within Caragh, suffusing her with guilt. For if Styr never saw his wife again, his marriage was essentially over.
He could be yours, the voice of sin whispered.
She lifted her gaze to his sun-darkened hair and his brown eyes. There was no man as powerful and strong as this one. And when he’d touched her, it was as if her body craved more than he could give.
But it was wrong to even think of it. She closed her eyes, forcing back the dishonourable thoughts. A man like Styr deserved to be with the woman he loved. Not her.
The longer they walked, the more her feet began to ache. Caragh hid her discomfort, for it was not only Elena they needed to find; it was also Brendan.
She’d not seen any sign of her brother at all, and more and more, she was wondering if he’d gone elsewhere.
They walked through a maze of streets, past livestock and throngs of people. Caragh didn’t know how they would ever find anyone in a place as large as this. She was accustomed to a small ringfort with only a few dozen inhabitants. Here, there were hundreds. Perhaps even a thousand.
She gritted her teeth against the swollen blisters on her soles, not wanting to reveal any weakness. When they reached the interior of the city, she saw the auction block and the chained rows of men and women. Most were Irish, but there were a few Norse men and women among them.
Although it was cold outside, the men were mostly naked, wearing only a cloth around their waist to cover themselves. She supposed it was to reveal their physical strength. The women wore a shapeless brown léine, their hair hanging loose. When she saw a few boys awaiting their turn to be sold, her heart twisted at the sight. What had happened to their families? And why would anyone want to sell a child?
Styr went to ask one of the Norse men about Elena, but Caragh couldn’t tear her gaze from the young boy. He reminded her of Brendan, years ago, when both of them had played together as children. Though her brother had made terrible mistakes in the past few days, he was still her kin. And his life depended on what had happened to Elena.
When Styr returned, his face was grim. ‘They were here, a few days ago. My men were, at least. But not Elena. They didn’t see a woman.’
‘Perhaps they were lying.’
‘No. They had no reason to lie about her.’
His hands clenched into fists with a palpable frustration. Though he steeled his expression, she knew he feared the worst.
‘She’s not dead,’ Caragh assured him.
‘You don’t know that, any more than I do.’ He gripped her hand in wordless command not to speak of it before he led her away from the marketplace. Caragh cast one last look at the young boy, wishing she could save him.
But she could not delay any longer. Styr’s pace had hastened, his long legs striding forwards as he moved northwest.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, biting her lip against the pain of her blistering feet.
‘I learned where one of my men was sold. He’s still within the city, and I plan to speak with him and find out what happened to Elena.’ He kept a tight grip upon her hand, guiding her through the narrow streets, across a bridge that spanned the River Liffey.
‘How far away is he?’ she asked, praying it could not be much further.
‘Another hour. Unless we hurry,’ he told her.
Caragh glanced up at the afternoon sun, which was starting to descend. ‘We have to be back by nightfall. My brothers will—’
‘I don’t care about what your brothers want,’ he snapped. ‘You were the one who insisted on coming with me. And if night comes before we get back, so be it. I will find my wife, no matter how many hours it takes.’
Though he sounded impatient, she didn’t miss the note of fear in his voice. ‘I hope we do find them. But could we rest, for just a moment?’ Her lungs were burning from exertion, and her feet were slick within her leather shoes.
He did stop walking, but appeared annoyed at the delay. Caragh moved down to the river bank and removed her shoes. She dipped them into the cool water, and the relief was immediate. He drew closer and when he saw her feet, his demeanour changed. ‘When did your feet start bleeding?’
‘An hour ago.’ She washed away the blood, letting the cool water soothe the swollen skin. ‘I’ll be all right in a few minutes. Why don’t we eat and then we can continue?’ It had been hours since they’d broken their fast with the meat pies, and she was hungry again.
Styr ignored her suggestion and picked up her shoes. He turned them over, revealing the holes within the leather. ‘You’re not walking in these.’
She shook her head at that pronouncement. ‘I’ve no other choice.’
‘I’ll carry you.’ He gave back the shoes and pulled one of her feet from the water. Though it was dripping wet, he dried it upon his hose and examined her blisters. When his thumb brushed against a sensitive place, she flinched.
‘If we want to be back by nightfall, I’ll have to walk.’ She reached for her shoes, and reluctantly, he returned them. Though her feet ached, she limped along for a time.
Then, without warning, he lifted her into his arms. He strode up the river bank, moving deeper into the city.
‘Styr, no. This isn’t necessary.’
It was as if she hadn’t spoken a single word. Doggedly, he continued, his gaze studying every street. ‘It’s only another mile past the river.’
‘It’s too far to carry me,’ she said. ‘Truly, you shouldn’t bother.’
‘Caragh, my dog weighed more than you do.’ He shifted her in his arms, and his remark bruised her feelings. She didn’t say anything, but it made her conscious of how much weight she’d lost. How tired she’d become over the past few months. Even when they’d caught the fish, she’d been unable to eat more than a small portion.
The famine had changed her, and not only physically. She was conscious of food in a way she’d never been before.
‘I know what I look like,’ she said quietly. ‘I know I’m too thin.’
He slowed his pace and eased her back to her feet. Caragh faced him, holding up her arms. ‘I never wanted to be like this. But don’t speak as if the way I look was my choice.’
‘It wasn’t.’ He let out a slow breath. ‘But your brothers shouldn’t have left you there. They should shoulder the blame for what you suffered.’
‘They knew I couldn’t make the journey to find food.’ She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘And perhaps it...was my fault. I gave Brendan my share of food on occasion.’ Her voice grew distant as she remembered her brother’s desperate hunger.
‘Then he was weak for taking what belonged to you.’
‘He didn’t know.’ She walked gingerly, adjusting her gait to avoid stepping on her blisters. Styr remained at her side, keeping his own pace slow. ‘I told him I had eaten already. Sometimes I told him it was extra food.’
The ache of hunger had dulled until she didn’t feel it. And watching her brother suffer was so hard, especially when she could do something to change it.
Her mother had done the same thing, and after seeing her brother’s fierce hunger, she’d understood w
hy...even if it wasn’t right to starve herself.
But now, she’d paid the consequences for her actions. She was fully conscious of her thinness, and it bothered her to be seen like this.
Styr stopped walking, and he unwrapped a bit of dried fish from their supplies. ‘Eat this.’
‘But you—’
‘Do it,’ he commanded. ‘And I swear on the bones of Thor, that you won’t go hungry again. Not like the past few months.’
‘And how will you do that, when my brother stole your ship? You’ve no more coins than I.’
‘There are ways,’ he said enigmatically, taking food for himself. He made sure that she ate a goodly portion of fish and bread, before lifting her in his arms again.
‘Styr, I don’t want to be carried.’
‘You slow my pace when we walk,’ he countered.
And with no other choice, she let him. While he continued through the streets, she rested her cheek against his chest. In his arms, he made her feel safe, as if she could cast off her worries and rely on him.
But the lurking fear for her brother remained. What had happened to Brendan? Was he alive? And would Styr harm him? And what of Elena?
He spoke of Elena like a man who would never stop searching. But there was something else beneath his resolution. Almost a sadness, a frustration she didn’t understand.
‘When you find your wife, I’ll stay away from both of you,’ Caragh offered. ‘I wouldn’t want her to think that I...came between you in any way.’
His pacing slowed, and he adjusted her position for a moment. ‘She knows I would never dishonour our marriage.’ But again, there was a grim quality to his tone. She didn’t know what to make of it.
‘That’s good, then.’ She waited for him to continue on, pushing back her doubts. ‘I imagine she will be overjoyed to see you.’
But the look on his face didn’t agree with the words. Instead, he shrugged.
‘Likely she’ll blame me for being unable to guard her.’ He continued walking, though his pace was not nearly as swift. ‘She would be right.’
She reached up to touch his cheek, forcing him to look at her. ‘It wasn’t your fault. And I believe, when you find her, she will be so happy to see you, everything will change.’
Michelle Willingham Page 11