* * *
Styr awoke at dawn, surprised that he’d slept as late as he had. It was as if all the exhaustion of the past few weeks had caught up with him. Last night, he’d dreamed nothing at all, finding a peace.
But in the morning, he sensed the phantom fragrance of Caragh, as if she were still here.
He never should have bent his head to her breast, but he’d been unable to stop himself. She’d been so close, almost agonised in her need. And when his touch had brought her such a violent release, he’d revelled in it. If he could have spent the rest of the night watching her come apart, he would have savoured every moment.
Just the memory of last night brought him a physical ache, and he adjusted his erection within his hose, donning a padded tunic and chainmail to hide what he could. He crossed the sleeping camp, staring at the hills and wondering if he would find Elena this day.
When he reached Caragh’s tent, he opened the flap and ducked inside. She was still asleep, her hand half-open as if waiting for him to hold it. Instead, he reached into his pouch and withdrew the ivory comb. He laid it in Caragh’s palm, and the moment he did, she awakened.
Her face flushed, as if in memory of last night. When her hand curled over the comb, she asked, ‘What is this?’
‘A gift for you.’
She turned it over, examining the ivory. ‘It has a woman’s face upon it.’
‘The goddess Freya,’ he explained.
Her violet eyes met his, a sadness descending over her mood. ‘This was meant for her, wasn’t it?’
He made no denial. ‘I want you to have it.’
She sat up, and her gown slipped, baring one shoulder to him. At the sight of her skin, desire welled up once again. But the look on her face spoke of a woman who held regrets.
‘I don’t want a gift to remember you by,’ she admitted. ‘I’d rather have you.’ With her knees drawn beneath her, she looked like an innocent girl. ‘You’re going to find her today, I know it.’
He nodded. ‘I need to talk with her.’
‘I want to believe that we can be together,’ she said. ‘That I can love you.’
Her words held an emotion he’d never guessed, and he moved closer, needing to touch her. But she shied away, turning her face. ‘I’m afraid, Styr. You’ve been with her for so long. When you see her again—’
He cut her off, embracing her. ‘Don’t.’ At this moment, he couldn’t say what would happen. But he let his actions speak for him, drawing her against him. ‘Wait for me here while we search. And when I return to you, we’ll go back to Gall Tír. We’ll start over.’ He took the comb from her and drew it through her long brown hair. The ivory contrasted against the dark strands, and when he glimpsed the carving of Freya, he believed there was a reason why he’d never conceived a child with Elena. It was never destined to be.
Caragh took the comb from his hand and returned it to him. ‘Give her the comb, the way you intended to. And don’t return to me until you are free.’
The solemnity on her face proclaimed her resolve. ‘My men will guard you.’
But Caragh shook her head. ‘No. My brothers are waiting for me. I’ll return home with them.’
Styr frowned, for he’d not bothered to look out from the shore. He left her tent, shielding his eyes against the sun. Just as she’d predicted, a small fishing boat lay anchored a short distance away.
‘I knew they wouldn’t let me go,’ she admitted from behind him. ‘My brothers are too protective. And I suppose they were right to come. It’s probably best that I don’t meet your wife.’ She drew a brat over her head and shoulders, wrapping the wool around her against the chill.
He hadn’t thought of it, but likely it would be terrible if Elena and Caragh shared the same vessel for travelling. Better if he gave command of his ship to Ragnar and let him take Elena and his men home again. Or anywhere else they wanted to travel. Then he could return with Caragh and her brothers.
‘I’m going to begin searching for them,’ he said. ‘Stay here, and don’t leave until I return.’
She nodded, and at the sight of her worry, he bent and kissed her cheek. ‘It will be all right. I promise you.’
But as he took his leave of her, a sense of dread filled him at the thought of what he must say to Elena.
* * *
‘Let go of me,’ Caragh demanded.
Onund had gripped her by the arm, holding her fast. ‘You are commanded to stay here until he returns. You may not follow them.’ His expression was like granite, his bearded face shielding any trace of sympathy.
His imperious attitude darkened her mood, and she tried to pry his hand away. ‘I won’t interfere. They won’t even know I’m there.’ She craned her neck to meet his eyes, hoping he would understand. ‘I just want to see them together.’
If she could see the look in Styr’s eyes when he saw his wife for the first time, she would have the answer she needed. She would know.
Onund loosened his grip upon her. He stared at her as if trying to discern her purpose. ‘I saw him watching you. And I saw him go to your tent this morn.’
She shielded her feelings from him. ‘He did nothing to dishonour his marriage.’ Though she wondered if that were true. In the end, he’d hungered for her, and she’d writhed at the touch of his mouth upon her bare breast. Even now, the memory sent a ripple of desire through her.
‘Their marriage is a shadow,’ Onund admitted. His expression narrowed upon her, as if trying to read her thoughts. ‘It was duty that kept him at Elena’s side. He should have put her aside long ago, choosing another woman to give him sons.’
His answer startled Caragh, for she’d not known that the others were aware of their marital difficulties. Nor had she realised the emphasis the Lochlannach placed upon bearing children.
‘Whatever choice he makes, I want him to be happy,’ she told Onund.
The man folded his arms across his chest, and Caragh doubted if he would allow her to take a single step inland. ‘Styr needs sons,’ he repeated. Taking her hand, he led her through the sand towards the hills.
As they approached the top, he added, ‘You will remain hidden.’ Onund reminded her, ‘You cannot reveal yourself. No matter what you see.’
‘I won’t,’ she swore. Grateful for his assistance, she walked alongside him. Styr had gone with a handful of men earlier, tracking the path of Ragnar and Elena. There was no way of knowing how far they’d gone or whether they would find them.
But with every footstep closer, her dread heightened. Within her bones, she sensed that Styr would never leave Elena behind.
Onund led her through the meadows, towards a river that wound through the land. Traces of smoke from a fire revealed the presence of a campsite.
‘Stay back,’ Onund warned. There was a small copse of trees, hardly more than a dozen, nearby. He guided her there, and when they reached the edge, he warned, ‘Not a word. You don’t reveal us, or Styr will have my head for it.’
She nodded, crouching low. Her stomach burned when she saw Styr speaking to another man who she supposed was Ragnar. Their features were similar, though Ragnar’s hair was a darker gold blended with brown, and he was shorter.
There was a tension between them, though she didn’t know what they had said to one another. Styr was eyeing his kinsman with suspicion, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
Then, a moment later, the woman emerged from within a crude shelter. Her face softened with relief at the sight of Styr, and she looked as if she wanted to embrace him.
The ugly claws of jealousy sank into Caragh, though she knew Styr was bound to Elena and had shared her bed. The image of the two of them together made her lungs constrict, and she gripped her skirts at the thought.
‘Do you want to go?’ Onund whispered, seeming to read her thoughts.
Caragh didn’t move. She was waiting to see if Styr would deny Elena, if he would tell her the truth of what had happened between them. Instead, she saw the woman offer a te
ntative smile, her hands moving to rest upon her womb.
Then the shock of disbelief upon his face.
And she knew. Without a single word from either of them, she knew that after so many years of trying for a child, it had come to pass. Styr would never leave his wife and unborn child. Not for a woman he’d known in so short a space of time.
The pain was a physical blow, drowning her. Caragh took a breath and nodded to Onund. She didn’t want to hear any words or excuses. Right now, she wanted her brothers to bring her home. Somewhere she wouldn’t have to see Styr or his wife again.
She’d been a fool to let herself be caught up in the dreams of a life with him. Last night, she had gone to him, and he’d warned her to leave.
She should have gone.
Caragh hurried through the field, not caring if anyone saw her or not. Onund kept up with her pace, and when she reached the shore, her lungs were burning, every part of her grieving.
‘Will you help me go to my brothers?’ she pleaded. ‘Their ship isn’t far.’
‘My orders were to keep you here.’ But the man’s face held sympathy, for he knew the humiliation inside her.
‘Don’t make me stay.’ The tears burned against her cheeks, and she picked up her skirts, prepared to swim if she had to. ‘I already know the choice he’s made. And it isn’t me.’
‘It’s possible you could be his concubine,’ Onund countered. ‘If you conceive a son, he might put her aside.’
Caragh wiped the tears from her face. ‘That isn’t the life I want.’
Footsteps drew closer, and she saw Styr standing at the rise of the hill. His eyes locked with hers, and she saw the regret in them.
Caragh hurried to the furthest edge of the shore, raising her hand to wave at her brothers. Surely one of them might see her and they would bring the boat in closer. The desperate need to leave superseded all else.
But Styr was already overtaking her.
‘Caragh,’ he began. She didn’t turn around, trying not to reveal the desolation on her face.
‘She’s carrying your child, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ There was no joy in his voice, only a grim resignation. ‘It happened before we left for éire. I knew nothing of it.’
‘It doesn’t matter when it happened. You have to stay with her now.’
His silence was the answer she feared. When he came forwards, his hands rested upon her shoulders. ‘I am a cursed man. I should be overjoyed at this blessing. And yet, it is another set of chains.’
She turned around, and he didn’t hesitate to pull her into an embrace. ‘I can’t turn my back on them.’
‘I know.’ It should have consoled her to know that he, too, was unhappy about it. But there was no means of changing it. Their child had been conceived before they’d set sail. She had no right to ask him to leave Elena, and she would not do it.
Her brothers’ boat was drawing closer, and Styr cupped her cheek, wiping a tear away. ‘I can’t say the words I want to say.’
‘Go back to her,’ she bade him. ‘Not once did you dishonour her.’
‘I dishonoured her a thousand times in my mind,’ he said. ‘And the gods have punished me for it.’
He held her again, so tightly, she felt as though he wanted to absorb her into him. ‘May your child be born well and whole,’ she whispered. ‘A fighter, like his father.’
She stepped out of his embrace, walking towards the boat that drifted closer. And she refused to look back.
Chapter Thirteen
That night, Elena held his hand as they walked along the shore. ‘I’ve seen the woman before,’ she said quietly. Though her tone remained even, he knew she’d seen them embracing.
‘Caragh Ó Brannon,’ he admitted. ‘Brendan was her younger brother.’
‘She took you as her captive, didn’t she?’
He nodded, hardly caring what Elena suspected. Right now, he was haunted by the look in Caragh’s eyes when she’d learned of the baby. It infuriated him that he had come to resent this child. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair.
‘Do you...have feelings for her?’ His wife’s voice was heavy, filled with accusation. And what could he say? That he’d fallen beneath Caragh’s spell until he could think of no woman but her? That he didn’t want to remain here any longer, and it was killing him not to go after her?
‘Why would you ask me something like that?’ He avoided Elena’s question, adding, ‘I only knew her for a week.’
‘I have eyes, Styr. I saw you with her.’
‘She left with her brothers. I told her farewell.’ He shrugged it off as if it were nothing. As if the gnawing hole inside him didn’t exist.
‘You were embracing her.’
He spun, confronting Elena. ‘Nothing happened between us.’ Liar, his conscience retorted. He’d betrayed her in countless ways, worst of all last night.
His temper threatened to flare up, but he suppressed it. Hadn’t he stayed? Countless other men would have taken Caragh as a concubine, but he’d remained loyal to his wife.
‘Then why are you so angry?’ she shot back. Her eyes pierced through him, discerning the truth. ‘If she were nothing to you, you wouldn’t be acting this way.’
The familiar coolness slid over her expression as she collected herself. Styr had no response, for anything he said would reveal his frustration. Instead, he redirected the conversation. ‘I heard from Onund that you jumped from the ship to escape.’
She inclined her head. ‘We were attacked by the Danes and there was only one chance to escape. Ragnar helped me reach the shore.’
‘Both of you could have died,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t about to let myself be sold into slavery.’ Her green eyes welled up, and she admitted, ‘This might be the only baby I’ll ever have.’
He sobered, letting out a slow breath. For a long time, he didn’t speak but stared out at Caragh’s boat disappearing in the mist. Guilt filled him up, and he deserved the aching loss of her. Finally, he spoke. ‘Do you know how long I searched for you? I thought you had died.’
Elena stood behind him so he could not see her face. ‘I didn’t think they would let you live, either.’ She moved closer, standing by his side. ‘But I’m glad you returned.’
The awkwardness stretched between them, and he didn’t know what to say. He turned to walk back to the beach, letting her follow.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Several days. The Danes wounded Ragnar, but he kept me safe.’ A flush came over her cheeks at the mention of the man. ‘We found food and built this shelter.’
A memory flashed through Styr, of Caragh’s struggle to survive. She’d nearly starved without her brothers to help her, and he wondered if there were enough supplies to see them through to the harvest. He hadn’t forgotten her unbridled joy when he’d helped her find fish. Or the way she’d embraced him in her happiness.
It occurred to Styr that he hadn’t greeted his wife properly. Not once had he welcomed her with an embrace, when he owed her that. He turned, intending to take her in his arms, but when he reached towards Elena, she instinctively backed away.
‘What are you—?’ Then she seemed to realise his intent and apologised. ‘You caught me unawares.’ She leaned in, offering a slight hug. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. But the gesture rang false, as if she’d felt obligated.
To change the subject, he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
‘The same,’ she admitted. ‘I wouldn’t have known about the baby, if it weren’t for the fact that I haven’t bled in two moons.’ She reached down to touch her slim stomach. ‘It seems so strange to think of a child growing inside me.’
As she continued to talk about her pregnancy, his thoughts grew distant, his mood sombre. He wouldn’t abandon Elena now, not while she needed him. Perhaps when the child was born, it might mend their broken marriage, making it easier to care for her again.
But as he walked back with Elena, he co
uldn’t help but wish it was Caragh who was pregnant with his child.
Three weeks later
Elena wasn’t a fool. She knew her husband had feelings for the Irishwoman. Oh, he’d been polite and respectful, seeing to her needs and comforts. But he might as well be gone. At night, he lay beside her, but he never tried to touch her. He kept a slight distance between them, and the longer it went on, the lonelier it was.
At least she had the baby to console her. A third month had passed with no bleeding, and she was positive that there must be a child. But it bothered her that her body remained slender, her breasts the same size. Shouldn’t she be changing more than this? Instead, she felt nothing at all.
They had settled just south of Dubh Linn, near some friends of her mother’s, but the threat of the Danes lingered. Elena had never felt quite safe here, and she was grateful for Ragnar’s presence when Styr was away. At least he listened to her and didn’t utter one-word responses.
This morning, Styr had gone to the marketplace, leaving her behind. She had cleaned every inch of their house, sweeping it four times. The table and chair were tidy, and she had begun digging a garden, ensuring that each row was perfectly straight, one hand-width apart.
But despite her efforts to maintain order, she could do nothing to change her husband’s mood. She had no doubt at all that he’d fallen in love with the Ó Brannon woman, from the way he was pining for her. And though he swore he’d never touched her, that her accusations were unfounded, Elena might as well have been married to a stone.
She’d prepared Styr’s favourite foods, arranged for his armour to be cleaned, and had done everything to make his life comfortable. But he hardly noticed any of it.
Ragnar was busy working upon his own house, and she hoped to speak with him. She knew very little about what men wanted from a wife. Perhaps he could help.
But the longer she stood near him, the more he continued wielding a hammer, pounding the beams into place.
‘May I join you?’ she asked, coming to sit near him.
He said nothing, but from the way he continued hammering, she could tell that his mood was even worse than Styr’s. She came forwards to offer him a drink of water, but he tossed the hammer to the ground, pushing the drink away.
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