Michelle Willingham

by To SinWith a Viking

  He risked a glance at the slaves, before meeting Caragh’s pleading gaze. She laid her head upon his chest, closing her eyes. ‘Please. For my sake, I beg of you—save his life.’ Her hands dug into his tunic, her mouth tight with fear. ‘I know you still hate him for what he did. But he is my brother.’

  ‘Elena jumped into the sea because of him.’ Styr made no effort to conceal his anger and frustration. The boy had brought harm upon his loved ones. He deserved nothing at all.

  ‘She escaped,’ Caragh argued. ‘We don’t know what happened that day. Brendan might have tried to help her.’

  She reached up, her palms on either side of his face. ‘He doesn’t deserve a death like this one.’ Her hands were cool against his cheeks, and her blue-violet eyes were wet with tears. ‘If I mean anything to you at all...if we have become friends, I ask you to save him.’

  Her plea for mercy slipped past his stony resolution for vengeance. His gaze lingered upon her mouth, remembering all that never should have happened.

  ‘For me,’ she whispered.

  He didn’t say anything at all, his mind turning over the quandary. A woman’s desires shouldn’t matter. But Caragh had suffered more than most women. She’d had no one to take care of her, and she’d been strong through the worst of circumstances. After all that she’d endured, he didn’t want to see her look upon him with eyes of hatred.

  Her brothers were arguing with the council, but he could see they were making little progress. Every minute that passed was a minute that brought Brendan closer to death.

  He took Caragh’s hand in his, leading her to stand before Ivar. The man’s dark eyes assessed both of them, and clearly he’d overheard their conversation. ‘Do you want me to intervene on her behalf?’ he asked.

  ‘I want you to guard her while I speak with them,’ Styr corrected.

  Ivar gave his vow, but before Styr could leave, Caragh threw herself into his arms. ‘Thank you,’ she wept, gripping his waist. ‘I won’t forget this.’

  He stared back at her, knowing that it was not at all a gesture of mercy. And he couldn’t stop himself from caressing her hair.

  The blinding smile she sent him was enough to stop his heart cold.

  * * *

  ‘Will they release my brother?’ Caragh asked Ivar.

  The Norseman’s arm moved over her shoulders in protection, as he held her hand. ‘It’s unlikely. They require nine slaves for the sacrifice. I would offer one of mine in their place, except—’

  ‘Except the newer slaves are Styr’s men,’ Caragh finished. She understood now, that Styr was not only negotiating for her brother; he was also fighting to save the lives of his own kin.

  ‘I want to move closer,’ she said to Ivar.

  ‘It isn’t safe. You should remain here, far away from the sacrifice.’

  She pressed her hands upon his chest, pleading, ‘This is my brother. Don’t ask me to stand back and watch him die. If Styr cannot save him...’

  ‘We will do what we can,’ Ivar said, ‘but it may be too late.’

  Already, the first thrall had been set on fire, his screams agonising among the throng of people who silently watched. Prayers rose to her lips, for mercy.

  ‘They will slit the throats of the others,’ Ivar said. ‘That slave attempted to run away, to avoid his fate. Those who agree to die as a sacrifice will have the death of honour. It will be quick, and this night, they will dine with the gods in Valhalla for their bravery.’

  Panic caught up in her throat, as she saw the terror in Brendan’s eyes when he was brought to stand beside the rest of the men. He’d made many foolish mistakes, but he didn’t deserve to die for them.

  A tear broke free as she saw the second slave die. Styr was speaking to the men, along with her brothers. She could not hear their words, but when she saw him strip away his armour, handing it to Ronan, her pulse quickened.

  He wasn’t planning to take Brendan’s place, was he? Bile rose in her throat at the thought of Styr falling beneath the blade, or worse, his body turning black in the flames.

  She closed her eyes against the image, wanting to believe it would not happen. He had a wife to save, along with his men. He wouldn’t sacrifice himself, would he?

  ‘Take me closer,’ Caragh demanded. Before Ivar could protest, she faced him squarely. ‘Unless you believe yourself incapable of protecting me?’

  His gaze hardened. ‘Of course you will be safe.’

  Caragh took his hand in hers. ‘Then bring me to where I may watch what is happening.’

  Ivar clasped her palm and guided her through the throng of people. In the distance, she heard the hollow beating of a round drum. Styr was stripped down to his hose and nothing else. In one hand, he gripped a battleaxe, while in the other, he held a round shield with a metal boss. Across from him stood another Norseman.

  ‘What is he doing?’

  ‘He has offered to fight,’ Ivar answered. ‘If he defeats his opponent, that man will take his place as the sacrifice.’

  ‘And if he loses?’

  Ivar met her eyes with a steady resolution. ‘You know the answer to this already, Caragh.’

  She squeezed his hand, her heart beating so fast, she could hardly breathe.

  ‘What is this man to you, Caragh?’ Ivar asked. ‘Does he have a prior claim?’

  Inwardly, her mind was crying out with fear. No, there was no claim. She should feel nothing at all for this man. Especially when he was one she would never have. He loved his wife and honoured her. Every touch between them had been of her own doing.

  But she found herself nodding. ‘I do care for him.’

  Ivar’s hand came up to cup her chin. ‘He is not worthy of you, kjære. You should have a man who worships you.’

  ‘There is no man who feels that way for me.’ At Ivar’s piercing gaze, she predicted, ‘Not even you.’

  He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. ‘Have you thought about my offer?’ He reached out for her hand, holding her fingers gently. ‘You hold the power to free his men.’

  ‘I can only think of my brother now,’ she answered honestly. But Ivar’s suggestion made her aware that she would owe Styr a debt which could never be repaid. He was risking his life for a boy he despised.

  From across the space, his eyes met hers for the barest flicker of a second. As if to remind her that this was not his choice. Not his battle to face.

  He was doing this for her, because she’d asked it of him. And in his eyes, she saw the strength and determination to win.

  In that moment, her heart was impossibly lost. She could no longer deny that she was in love with a man who could never belong to her. Tears heated her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. Instead, she drank in the sight of him, trying to remember every line of his face, every feature.

  She gripped her hands together, willing herself to meet his last look.

  ‘He is a fool, kjære, if he does not see the woman before him.’ With a dark smile, Ivar bent down and brushed his lips against hers. ‘You will soon learn, that I can give you far more than Hardrata ever could. Perhaps that might one day be enough to win a smile.’

  She said nothing, turning all of her attention to the fight. In the morning sun, Styr’s hard body revealed his battle skills. Upon his torso were carved the deep lines of muscle. Not only in his strong arms, but also in his abdomen.

  He moved like a predator, attacking his opponent with a skill she’d never imagined. His long blond hair hung over his shoulders, and upon one upper arm, she saw the gleam of a golden armband.

  The enemy Norseman slashed his blade towards Styr, and he blocked it with his shield, his battleaxe arcing towards the man’s head.

  Ronan and Terence stood by her brother Brendan, who was still chained. His dark hair was matted with blood, his bones showing against his pale skin. Before Caragh could take another step forwards, Ivar held her back. He kept one arm around her waist, the other just above her breasts. ‘No closer,’ he warned.

&n
bsp; In his arms, she watched as Styr dived to the ground, narrowly avoiding the sword. The tip of the blade caught his arm, drawing blood. At the sight of it, the people began to shout, calling out for more blood.

  A cry caught in her mouth, though she pushed it back. She couldn’t understand what terrible Fate had led her to love this man. But the thought of Styr dying sent a phantom pain into her own body.

  The drumbeat intensified, mirroring her heart. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and when his enemy let out a roar, plunging his sword, she gripped Ivar’s arm, her nails digging into his skin.

  Styr raised his shield, and his enemy’s blade embedded within the wood. He ripped back the shield, disarming the man, and within seconds, his enemy lay upon the ground.

  Her knees went weak, and when Ivar let her go, she couldn’t stop herself from running. Not to her brother, who was already unchained and guarded by Ronan.

  But to Styr.

  Blood ran freely down one arm, and perspiration gleamed upon his skin. But Caragh ignored all of that and embraced him hard, not bothering to hide her tears.

  ‘Thank you for saving him,’ she whispered.

  His arms came around her in a tight embrace, a shocking response. She’d expected him to push her away, or to turn cold. Instead, she rested her cheek against his chest, shutting out the world for a moment in his arms. She blocked out the sounds of death and sacrifice, finding sanctuary in him.

  Let go, her mind commanded. He is not yours.

  Dimly, she was aware of him taking her away, of her brother speaking. And of Ivar’s silent reproach.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’ve done for us.’

  ‘Go with them,’ he commanded, guiding her towards her brothers.

  ‘What about you?’

  He cleaned and sheathed his blade, saying nothing at all. In his brown eyes, Caragh saw the promise of farewell. She guarded her heart, refusing to beg for more than he could give. For she knew already that their paths would soon part.

  Her gaze met Ivar’s, and she knew that there was one way to settle the debt with Styr. With one nod, she gave the promise the Norseman wanted. She would offer herself, in return for Styr’s men. And the gleam in Ivar’s eyes revealed his satisfaction.

  She tried once more to prolong this moment with Styr. ‘What about your arm?’

  He simply reached for his padded tunic and ignored the minor wound, lifting his chainmail armour over it. ‘Go,’ he repeated.

  With one last look at him, she obeyed.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon by the time Styr returned to Ivar’s house. Though he’d located his ship, he lacked the men to take it back again. And he still had a score to settle with the Norseman.

  As he walked past the rows of longhouses, a strange sense of danger descended upon him. Though he could see nothing out of the ordinary, he kept one hand upon his battleaxe. His eyes moved over each of the people, though he tried to dispel the suspicions.

  He saw a woman wearing the Norse garb of his homeland, and a trace of homesickness caught him. Already he missed the snow-capped mountains and the dark blue fjords that spanned between them. He half-wondered if he would ever go home. And whether Elena would be with him.

  He tried to envision his wife’s face...but instead, he kept thinking of Caragh. She had thrown herself into his arms, repeating her gratitude to him. And like a fool, he’d held her.

  Gods, but he was weak. Like a man starved for affection, he’d stood there and gripped her slight body against his own. It was wrong, in the very deepest sense. And were it not for his men and her brother Brendan, he would stay far away from the house of Ivar Nikolasson. Only temptation awaited him within the walls.

  He needed to find Elena and mend his broken marriage. Perhaps the distance over the past sennight would make her fly into his embrace, the way Caragh had done.

  But he couldn’t imagine it. Elena was cool towards him, not at all affectionate. If he found her, she would be grateful. She might even smile. But he couldn’t fool himself into thinking she would want his touch.

  Styr let out a breath of air, and walked towards the door of Ivar’s house. He entered and saw half a dozen of his men waiting. Though he’d promised to free them earlier, when Caragh’s brother had been found, he’d been unable to keep that vow.

  That would change today. ‘Gather any of your belongings. We leave this night,’ he said to Onund. Though he wasn’t certain how he would coerce Ivar into agreeing to it, there had to be something he could do.

  But Onund only bowed in agreement. ‘We have been granted our freedom already. Because of her.’ He nodded towards a table at the far end of the room.

  Several female slaves were lined up before Caragh, holding lengths of silk and golden armbands. Gifts from Ivar, no doubt.

  A tightness rose up in his chest at the sight of her. She wore a gown he’d never seen before, a deep green that rivalled the hills surrounding Hordafylke. The slaves had bound back her brown hair in braids, leaving some to fall across her shoulders. Upon her fingers, she wore silver rings and they had pierced her ears to wear more jewellery.

  When she lifted her eyes to his, there was nothing but sadness within them. She knew, as he did, that soon enough he’d never lay eyes on her again. By wearing Ivar’s offerings, she had given her unspoken agreement to the man’s courtship.

  Styr knew why his men were now freed and anger prickled his scalp, at the thought of the price she must have paid. Striding across the room, he came to stand before them. To Caragh, he spoke only one word. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s the only way I can repay you for saving Brendan.’

  ‘By giving yourself to this man? What did you promise him? One night in your bed for each of them?’

  She paled at the accusation, but stood tall before him. Ivar crossed the room, already reaching for Styr. ‘I should cut out your tongue for speaking words such as those.’

  Styr caught Ivar before he could strike, holding him back. Yet, the man held fast with a strength that rivalled his own.

  ‘Stop,’ Caragh said quietly. ‘Ivar, let him go.’

  ‘She’s staying with me, Hardrata. But you won’t stay the night under my roof.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to.’ But he released the man and stepped back. Caragh lifted her hands, stepping between them. To Ivar, she said, ‘I need a moment to speak with him alone. Please.’

  Though Nikolasson looked as if he’d rather strangle him than let him have any time with Caragh, he relented to her plea. As if to soothe him, she added to Ivar, ‘He is leaving with my brothers.’

  Caragh walked to the furthest end of the longhouse, and with every step, the silver jingled as if she wore bells. When they were alone, she folded her hands before her. ‘You have your men now. And my brothers will accompany you on your search. Since you saved Brendan’s life, they owe you that debt.’

  ‘Do they know about her?’

  She shook her head. ‘I should have told them. But I’ll leave that to you.’ There was uncertainty in her voice, as if she held a thousand regrets.

  ‘Your brothers won’t allow you to stay here alone,’ Styr insisted. ‘And neither will I.’

  Her face held regret, mingled with a sad acceptance. ‘I’ve made my decision, Styr. And right now, I know you want to find Elena and go back to her.’

  It wasn’t the truth any more. Instead, he was fully aware of the sacrifices Caragh was making for him. He drank in the sight of her, of the brown hair the colour of polished wood. And those blue-violet eyes looking upon him, as if she wanted so much more.

  He didn’t move, didn’t breathe at all. Inwardly, he admitted the truth to himself—that he would miss Caragh. That he welcomed the warmth of her embrace and would savour the memory of each moment in her presence.

  His thoughts were on unstable ground, and he knew better than to voice the words rising up.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she admitted
. Before he could answer, she fled his presence, returning to her brothers.

  His gaze followed her, and he saw Brendan seated near Ronan and Terence. Seeing the young man was enough to remind him of his purpose. He needed to question Brendan, to understand what had happened on board the ship before they were taken by the Danes. He welcomed the familiar anger, needing it to push away thoughts of Caragh he didn’t want to face.

  The young man owed him restitution for putting Elena in danger. By Odin’s bones, he would get the truth.

  He crossed the room, shadowing Caragh until he came to stand before Brendan. As soon as the young man caught sight of him, all the blood drained from his face.

  Styr seized him by the throat and shoved him against the wall. Beneath his breath, he growled, ‘You have much to answer for.’ He pressed against the young man’s windpipe, making it clear how easy it would be to kill him.

  Within seconds, Ronan and Terence were dragging him back, and Caragh stood between them. ‘Styr, no,’ she pleaded, as if he were a wild beast, poised to strike.

  With all of his strength, Styr shoved back her brothers, unsheathing the blade at his waist and pressing it to Brendan’s throat. ‘You owe me the truth.’

  ‘Please,’ the young man beseeched him.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper only Brendan could hear. ‘Was this what you did to Elena?’ he demanded, drawing blood. ‘Did she beg you for mercy, the way you’re begging me now?’

  A hand touched his shoulder, and Caragh moved before him. ‘Let him go, Styr. He will tell you everything he knows.’

  When he released Brendan, the young man’s hands were shaking. He sank back down on the bench, struggling to draw breath.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Styr spied movement, and he spun, dodging Terence’s fist before it could clip him across the jaw. Before any of them could intervene, he cut them off. ‘You will do nothing to hinder my questions. I could have let your brother die today.’ He stared hard into Terence’s eyes. ‘He may be your blood, but he is to blame for the suffering of my people.’

  ‘You may question him,’ Ronan interrupted, coming to stand by his brother, ‘but you cannot touch him. He’s already hurt, and—’