Michelle Willingham

by To SinWith a Viking

  ‘There are other things you possess that could be used to bargain for your men,’ Ivar said.

  Styr knew exactly what the man was implying. ‘No.’

  ‘Leave the woman in my care,’ he said quietly. ‘If she allows me to grant her my attentions, I would give her everything she desires. And your men can go free.’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave a dog in your care, Nikolasson,’ Styr retorted. Before he could say anything further, Caragh emerged from behind the screen.

  The women had dressed her in a vibrant red gown, with gold brooches fastening the shoulders of a white apron. Her hair was still wet, but they had braided it back with silver combs tucked within the single plait. A golden torque adorned her throat, and when the light illuminated her face, he was struck by the sight of her wearing such finery. She moved slowly, to avoid revealing her limp.

  Ivar rose from his place, not bothering to hide his appreciative smile. Caragh held herself with poise, but when she sent him a quiet look, he saw the shadow of nerves.

  ‘You are breathtaking, kjære,’ the Norseman remarked, offering her his arm. He brought her to a low table and bade her sit upon a silken cushion. Styr didn’t know what possessed him, but he took his place on Caragh’s opposite side.

  Ivar sent her an amused look. ‘Your protector is like an older brother, isn’t he?’

  ‘He isn’t my brother.’ Her voice held the coolness of anger, but Styr wondered if she understood the game she was playing. Nikolasson wasn’t a man who would let a woman tease his interest without responding.

  Styr reached for her hand under the table, gripping her fingers in a warning. But Caragh jerked her hand free of his, sending him a look that would have frozen water.

  ‘I like you, Caragh Ó Brannon,’ Ivar admitted. ‘You are very much like the women of my homeland.’

  ‘I’m not nearly as tall as they are.’ She accepted the goblet of wine he offered and took a sip.

  ‘But you are beautiful and spirited.’ He cut off a piece of roasted mutton and offered it to her. ‘I am eager to learn more about you.’

  Styr had no doubt of that. But he wasn’t about to leave Caragh with him. ‘We were discussing my men,’ he said. ‘Negotiating for their freedom.’

  ‘What else can you offer in return?’ Though the words were directed to Styr, Ivar’s gaze drifted lower, over Caragh’s body.

  ‘She is not part of our negotiation,’ he said, tightening his palm upon Caragh’s hand.

  Ivar gave a shrug, and offered his open palm to Caragh. ‘You have captured my interest, lady. Should you desire to be...friends, you have only to say the word. And if you want me to free those men, I would do as you ask.’

  ‘She is not interested,’ Styr retorted.

  But Caragh lowered her head in agreement. ‘I would like you to free his men. Because it’s the right thing to do—not because I ask it of you.’

  The Norseman eyed her again, withdrawing his hand. ‘If I did this, you would be in my debt.’

  ‘I am not the sort of woman who offers her favours in exchange for men’s lives.’ She crossed her arms, revealing her dissatisfaction at the idea.

  Good. Nikolasson deserved that response, and Styr was glad to see her rejecting the man’s advances.

  ‘That was not what I meant,’ he corrected. ‘I would merely like to make your acquaintance. Perhaps bring you gifts that would complement your beauty.’

  ‘I am not beautiful,’ she answered. Though some women might have said it in a teasing manner, Styr realised that she believed it. As if she had been told by someone. The thought irritated him.

  ‘Then you are blind,’ Ivar responded. He reached out for her palm, and Caragh hesitated before giving him her hand. She eyed him for a moment, confusion clouding her gaze. When she glanced back at Styr, he looked away.

  Yes, she was beautiful. But more than that, she was strong. She’d fought to survive, and her bravery was greater than any woman he’d ever known. Beneath her fragile beauty lay a woman who had endured more than most.

  Yet it was her compassion that lifted her above her kinsmen. He didn’t doubt that the Irish would not have taken him prisoner. Men like Kelan would have enjoyed killing him. Styr was alive, because of her.

  And yet, you want to kill her brother, his conscience reminded him.

  ‘What has brought you to our city?’ Ivar asked. ‘Was it your...protector?’

  Caragh shook her head. ‘I came to search for my brother.’ Before Ivar could ask anything else, she described Brendan, asking, ‘Did you see him among the others?’ Her face revealed her worry, and she added, ‘He’s only ten and seven.’

  ‘A young man, then. Not a boy.’

  It was exactly what Styr had been thinking, but it was clear she still thought of him as a child.

  ‘I need to find him,’ she said. ‘It’s why I journeyed here.’

  ‘There is a gathering in the morning,’ Ivar said. ‘I could ask among my friends, if they have seen him.’

  Her face lightened with relief. ‘Would you? I have no idea where to begin, and if you would be able to help...’

  A slow smile curled over Ivar’s face. ‘I would, yes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed, smiling warmly at the man.

  Didn’t she understand what was happening? Irritation tensed within him, for Styr knew exactly what Ivar wanted from her. But Caragh seemed innocent of the man’s interest. Or possibly she welcomed it. Tension coiled inside him at the thought. He didn’t want anyone to pursue her or to—

  —touch her.

  He shut down the thought, feeling as if someone had driven a fist into his stomach. It shouldn’t matter. Caragh was free to make her own choices, and he had no say in them.

  Yet jealousy slipped under his skin, digging into his raw mood. He resented the unwanted emotion and tightened the control inside him. There was no reason to be angry with Ivar. The man had done nothing to Caragh, and if she were interested in his advances, why in the name of Thor should he care?

  Leave it alone, he warned himself. Think of Elena. Your wife.

  But as he shut out the images of Caragh with this man, the memories of his wife that surfaced weren’t the happy ones.

  He’d made love to Elena, reaching to pull her warm body against his. He’d wanted her to embrace him, to lie beside him when they both fell asleep. Instead, she’d slid to the furthest side of the bed, never looking at him. Almost as if she were ashamed of what they’d done. Or worse, that she hadn’t enjoyed any of it.

  A dark chill centred within his heart, and he rolled away from her. ‘You’re unhappy, aren’t you?’

  Her silence was answer enough.

  ‘I’ll make an offering to Freya—’ he began, only for her to cut him off.

  ‘It would do no good at all, and you know it. We’ll never have a child.’

  He rolled over, staring at her huddled figure. ‘Don’t. We’ll keep trying.’

  ‘We already try every day,’ she complained. ‘I’m weary of it, Styr. I don’t want to try any more.’

  At last, she turned to face him. In the moonlight, he saw the streaks of tears running down her face. ‘Do you know what it’s like, being the only married woman without a child? Year after year, I see them, and I see their pity.’

  ‘Then we’ll leave. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I don’t know what I want any more,’ she’d said.

  But he’d known the truth. She didn’t want him any more. He’d steeled himself against her rejection, hoping that distance and time would solve the rift that had formed.

  Perhaps when he found her, she’d be glad to see him. It might heal their problems, giving them a new start. He wanted to believe it.

  Styr glanced over at Caragh. In her eyes, he saw the reflection of the woman his wife had once been. Beautiful and alluring, with a glimpse of hope in her eyes.

  He wanted to see Elena like this again. No longer living a life where she was tormented by her barrenness. He wanted
to see her smile, to see happiness again, instead of failure.

  It had grown late, and he needed to send word to Caragh’s brothers. ‘Might I use one of your thralls to send a message?’ he asked Ivar. ‘One familiar with this city, who can find Caragh’s brothers?’

  ‘You could accompany the thrall to locate her brothers,’ Ivar suggested to Styr.

  In other words, give the man time alone with Caragh.

  ‘What sort of protector would I be, if I did that?’ he demanded.

  The Norseman shrugged, as if unconcerned. ‘She knows I will not harm her. Don’t you, kjære?’

  ‘I have known you for only an hour,’ she countered. ‘It is too soon to tell.’

  Ivar appeared amused by her response. ‘So be it, then. I have yet to prove myself to you.’ The look in his eyes spoke of a man eager to do so.

  ‘Styr will remain as my guard, while you send your man to the harbour at Dubh Linn,’ she said.

  After Ivar summoned a thrall to send the message, she described the appearance of her brothers. ‘I promised to meet them at nightfall,’ she said. ‘Please hurry and bid them come here.’

  To Ivar, she added, ‘Might we share your house this night for shelter?’

  ‘I would welcome your presence.’ With that, Ivar lifted her palm to his mouth, brushing a kiss over her skin.

  Styr stood, unable to bear the sight of them a moment longer.

  * * *

  A warmth flooded over Caragh’s face at Ivar’s mouth upon her skin. The man was older, but he had a charisma about him that drew her in. His face bore a few scars, yet they seemed to add to his features instead of making him seem a threat.

  Caragh glanced over at Styr, sensing that his mind was elsewhere. He eyed the doorway where the thrall had departed, as if he wanted nothing more than to leave her here. His wife was still missing, and there was no way of knowing whether or not she’d drowned.

  She voiced a silent prayer that Elena was alive. Not only for the sake of her brother, but also for Styr. In his posture she saw the tension and worry, a man haunted by a fate beyond his control.

  While Ivar went to speak with one of his slaves, she walked quietly towards him, for the need to ease his pain could not be denied. ‘There is still hope for Elena. After we find Brendan, we’ll journey along the coast. I’ll do all I can to help you.’

  Styr’s mood was unreadable, his silence widening the invisible distance. She reached out to touch his arm, hoping to reassure him. His hand covered hers, tightening over her fingers. ‘Your brother must answer for what he did.’

  She didn’t know what to say. His face might as well have been cast from iron, for there was no mercy in his countenance. ‘What he did was wrong, yes. But will you not forgive him for my sake?’

  His masked emotions curled into a dark look. ‘I’m not a man who knows how to forgive. It’s not in my nature.’

  A thousand pleas rose to her lips, but she doubted if he would listen. Instead, she went to stand directly before him. His hand was still covering hers, so she kept it and took his other hand in hers. Warm palms enveloped her hands, and she lifted her gaze to his, silently willing him to relent.

  But instead of softening his vengeance, her touch had an entirely different effect upon him.

  To her shock, Styr pulled her close. His breath warmed her ear. ‘Don’t trust the Norseman, Caragh. He may seem as if he’s being kind, but he wants you in his bed.’

  The words seemed to rush over her skin, pouring forbidden images into her mind. An unexpected vision sprang into her mind, of what it would have been like to lie with a Norseman like Styr.

  He would likely take whatever he wanted, his hot skin fused upon hers. His mouth would plunder, his hands conquering her bare skin. At the very thought, an ache resonated between her legs, her breasts growing sensitive against the red garment.

  He’s not for you and never will be.

  His gaze lingered upon her for a moment longer, as if he could read her thoughts. Caragh didn’t realise she was holding her breath until he left her side to join Ivar.

  The Norseman had brought out a set of dice, carved from bone. Although she’d watched men play before, there was an undercurrent between these men, one she didn’t understand.

  * * *

  After several tosses of the dice, Styr was winning. Slowly, the pile of coins beside him grew, and Ivar’s mood darkened. Caragh moved closer, and her presence seemed to intensify the game.

  ‘Would you like to increase the odds?’ Ivar asked, his gaze never moving from her face. She wasn’t certain if he was speaking to her or not.

  ‘What odds?’ Styr answered.

  ‘One roll of the dice. The winner with the highest number gets a kiss from her.’ Ivar’s expression turned heated, and it took an effort not to look away. He was giving her a chance to refuse, but Caragh couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  The truth was, she wanted to kiss Styr again, no matter how sinful it was. Her skin tightened at the thought, even though she knew he wouldn’t want to. Even suggesting it was wrong.

  But the temptation was too great to deny.

  She offered a slight nod of acceptance, while Styr answered, ‘No.’

  The satisfied smile of Ivar revealed that he’d wanted a reason to kiss her, and she’d given him the means to try.

  To her left, she glimpsed Styr’s fury. The rage was palpable, as if she were committing an unforgivable sin.

  But when Ivar won the toss, she wasn’t prepared for the black look on Styr’s face. Nor was she ready for the unexpected heat of Ivar’s kiss that captured her lips. He didn’t hesitate to reveal his desire, palming her spine and drawing her close as he kissed her. But when he tried to slip his tongue inside her mouth, she pulled back.

  Her face flamed with embarrassment for what she’d done. She mumbled something about her brothers, and retreated from both of them, her mind caught up in a storm of uncertainty.

  Was she trying to prove something to Styr? For what purpose?

  He belonged to another woman and was devoted to her. Asking him to betray Elena was wrong. For he never would, and even if he were not wed, he certainly wouldn’t claim a woman like herself.

  Caragh rested her forehead against the wood, remaining in the shadows. If any of the slaves saw her, they avoided her presence. She wished she could be absorbed into the wall, for already she regretted the impulse. She’d made Ivar think she welcomed his interest, and she’d infuriated Styr.

  She was beginning to question her decisions, for she was now behaving like a desperate woman. Not at all like herself.

  A moment later, a strong body invaded her space, pressing her against the wall. From the moment he touched her, she knew it was not Ivar.

  Styr held her motionless, his powerful body entrapping her against the wood. The heat of his skin and the feeling of helplessness both attracted and frightened her.

  ‘Let me go,’ she demanded.

  ‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’ve just given him a reason to slip into your bed this night.’ His hands clasped her wrists, as if to mimic the way she’d captured him.

  Styr was behaving with jealousy, reacting with the force of a thunderstorm. She pushed back, her own anger rising up. ‘And why would you care? We both know there’s nothing between us.’

  But he didn’t let go of her. ‘Don’t push me, Caragh. If I weren’t here to defend you, he would take you.’

  His hands softened against her wrists, moving down her arms to her waist. ‘He could overpower you in seconds.’

  ‘The way you’re doing now?’ she challenged. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but she could feel the fire rising in him. Standing on the tips of her toes, she rested both hands on his face. ‘You may think you’re trying to protect me by proving how easy it is to claim someone as weak as I am.’

  With a hard shove, she broke free. ‘But all you’re doing is making me think you’re not as close to your wife as you say you are.’
<
br />   The look of shock in his eyes turned to vehemence. ‘You have no right to say that.’

  ‘And you have no right to treat me like this,’ she finished. When she’d freed herself from his grasp, she turned back. ‘I hope my brothers return soon. Because it doesn’t seem that I’m safe with you, either.’

  Chapter Nine

  A blade grazed the back of his neck.

  ‘I find that I’m not so willing to lend you my hospitality, Hardrata.’ Ivar held his knife steady. ‘Especially when you’re threatening one of my guests.’

  Styr said nothing, but lifted his hands up, allowing Caragh to escape. He made no denial of what he’d done, though it was meant to be a warning, not a threat. An innocent like Caragh had no idea what she’d done by kissing the Norseman.

  Did she genuinely want the man? Or did she have another motive?

  The blade left his neck, and he turned slowly. Caragh stood between them and explained, ‘He was not threatening me. Styr was warning me about putting myself in a position that could be harmful.’

  Her voice remained calm, as if nothing at all had happened. As if they’d never argued.

  Slowly, she took the knife from Ivar’s hands. ‘I know he was right. As a woman, I shouldn’t have gone off alone.’

  ‘No one in this house would harm you,’ Ivar said quietly. ‘Did he...bother you?’ From the grim tone of the man, it sounded as if Ivar wouldn’t have minded killing him.

  The feeling was mutual. Seeing Caragh yield to the Norseman, softening beneath his lips, had evoked a feral sense of possession. Styr couldn’t fathom why it would irritate him.

  ‘I am fine.’ She placed her hand upon Ivar’s arm and sent a glance back at Styr as if warning him to stay away.

  * * *

  Throughout the next hour, he said nothing at all while Ivar told Caragh stories of their homeland. The man wove tales of adventure, showing her treasures of silver and gold. Her eyes were bright with interest, and a smile lingered upon her mouth.

  Yet each time she glanced at Styr, he saw the unrest behind those violet eyes. She feared what he would do when they found her brother within the city. The truth was, he didn’t know. Instinct forced him towards a path of revenge, but when he thought of causing her anguish, his gut tightened.