Michelle Willingham

by To SinWith a Viking

  ‘Stay away from me, Elena.’

  She was so taken aback by his anger, she didn’t know what to say. Before she could leave, he wiped his brow upon his sleeve and apologised. ‘I’m in no mood to see anyone just now.’

  ‘I came to ask for your help. But if it’s not a good time, I’ll go.’ She didn’t understand what was bothering him, but she knew better than to press him. He rested his palms upon the wall for a moment, taking time to calm his temper. When he faced her, she grew nervous, seeing the dark look in his eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to ask advice from him.

  Ragnar let out a breath and walked to stand before her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Styr,’ she admitted. ‘Ever since he came back, I don’t know what I can do to please him.’

  A tightness invaded Ragnar’s expression. ‘We are not having this conversation.’

  She flushed. ‘No, I didn’t mean...that. We haven’t—not since the baby.’ By the goddess, why was she even talking about it? But the words spilled forth as if they were waves, crashing forth against her will.

  ‘He won’t even talk to me. He’s so distant, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Why do you stay married to him?’ Ragnar demanded. ‘If you have no feelings for one another and you don’t talk, what reason is there?’

  ‘He’s been good to me,’ she said. ‘And there’s the baby.’

  ‘You’re not pregnant, Elena.’

  Her hands moved to her womb, and she stood up. ‘Yes, I am. It’s been months now. I must be.’

  ‘I’ve had sisters who have had children. If you were truly with child, you would be much bigger by now.’ He stood and returned to his hammer. ‘Go and speak with the midwife. She’ll tell you.’

  A bleakness spread over her at the thought. Her eyes filled up with tears, and she hugged her waist. ‘If there’s no baby—’

  ‘Then you have no reason to remain wed to him. Let him go, Elena. You’ll be happier for it.’

  She got up to leave, feeling as if someone had cut her in half. Her eyes burned as she made her way to the door, before a hand pulled her back.

  ‘Come here,’ Ragnar commanded, drawing her into an embrace. His arms came around her, pulling her face against his. The kindness broke her apart, and she let the tears fall. Throughout the worst nightmare of her life, he’d been there, never faltering in his friendship.

  ‘I’ve already lost him, haven’t I?’ she wept.

  ‘You haven’t lost me.’ His hand smoothed her shoulders, and she clung to him.

  Elena was grateful for his presence, but the idea of divorcing Styr seemed wrong. She wasn’t ready to give up on their marriage. Not so soon.

  * * *

  When he returned to his house that night, Styr found Elena huddled in their bed. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or whether she wasn’t feeling well, but it was early yet.

  But when he moved closer to see her, her eyes were rimmed with red, and she’d been weeping for some time now.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, drawing back the coverlet. ‘The baby.’

  Fear shot through him, that she’d miscarried the child. But when she moved to sit up, her posture slumped over. ‘I was wrong,’ she said dully. ‘There never was a baby. I began bleeding today.’ A sob broke from her, and she continued, ‘The midwife said...sometimes a woman doesn’t have her moon time, if she faces peril or times of fear.’

  There were no words to console her, but Styr drew her into an embrace. To his surprise, the loss of the child hurt more than he’d thought it would. Elena wept against him, clinging hard as she admitted, ‘I wanted this so much.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I haven’t been a good wife to you. Not the way I should have.’ She drew back, gesturing towards the house. ‘I tried to keep everything orderly. But it wasn’t enough.’

  ‘I never cared about the house.’ He kept her in his arms, understanding that her tears were about more than the baby.

  ‘You wanted to travel across the seas,’ she said at last, leaning her head against his heart. ‘And I never let you go.’

  ‘I knew you didn’t want to travel with me. And if I was away, you couldn’t conceive a child.’ He shrugged it off, for it didn’t matter.

  ‘That was your dream, not mine,’ she admitted. ‘I should have given you my blessing, but I was too afraid to be alone.’ She reached up to touch his cheek, and offered, ‘I still love you, Styr.’

  Her words hollowed out another piece of him. After all these years, she deserved the words in return. But before he could say them, she covered his lips with her hand.

  ‘Don’t say it. I’ve known you too long, and that isn’t what you feel for me. Not any more.’ Another tear broke free and rolled down her cheek. She smiled through her tears, adding, ‘We had some good years together.’

  ‘We did.’ He smoothed back her hair, a harshness rising in his throat. ‘And we’ll have more.’ It was a hollow promise, but the best he could do. It was strange to be grieving the loss of a child who had never been conceived.

  But perhaps he was grieving the loss of what there had once been between them.

  Elena captured his hand and stood up from the bed. In her eyes, he saw the heartbreak. And amid the pain, there was a glimpse of the woman he’d cared about.

  ‘Will you walk with me?’ she asked. There was hesitancy in her voice, as if she were suddenly nervous. He nodded, still holding her hand.

  The gown she’d worn was fitted to her slender form, and a dark blue apron hung over it, pinned at the shoulders. Her reddish-blonde hair was braided, with several strands hanging loose around her face.

  He opened the door for her, and though it was past evening, it was not dark. She kept her hand in his, leading him towards Ragnar’s house.

  ‘He’ll finish it in another few days,’ Styr predicted. His friend had built the house and several of their kinsmen lived with him. It surprised him that Elena would lead him here, to a house filled with men. Her despondent mood made it more likely that she would want to be alone to weep.

  When they entered, the men were seated at a long table, a feast of meat and ale spread before them. Styr greeted Onund, Ragnar, and the others, but Elena caught their attention, raising her hands.

  ‘There is something I would ask of you,’ she began. The men turned to listen, and Styr had no idea what her intention was.

  ‘I ask you to bear as witnesses.’ Her sea-green eyes locked on to his, and she faced him. ‘I have been wedded to Styr for five years now. In that time, I have been barren, and it is unfair of me to bind him in this marriage.’

  She let go of his hand, and shock roared through him when she pronounced, ‘I divorce you, Styr Hardrata. In the presence of these witnesses.’ Three times she repeated the declaration, leaving him stunned.

  He wasn’t the only one. The other men were as startled as he, and none of them knew how to react. She’d not told him anything of her intentions, giving him no means of arguing.

  Without another word, she left the longhouse, returning to the house they had once shared.

  Styr followed her, hurrying until he’d caught up. ‘You think to divorce me? Just like that, with no word of explanation?’ He was furious with her and embarrassed that she’d done it before so many witnesses, leaving no doubt of her intentions. ‘Why? I thought you wanted to try again!’

  She held the door open and waited for him to enter. He slammed it behind him, and she sat calmly upon a footstool.

  ‘We don’t belong together, Styr. We never did, and the gods refused to give us children.’

  ‘Did I make you that miserable?’ he shot back.

  ‘Yes!’ She stood up again, facing him down. ‘And don’t tell me I didn’t do the same to you.’ Her hands were trembling, but her green eyes were furious. ‘You tried. Both of us tried, but you were never happy. It doesn’t have to be this way.’

  She turned away, admitting, ‘I saw the way you loo
ked at her, Styr. I saw the way she held you. She loves you. And you love her, the way you never loved me.’

  He couldn’t bring himself to deny it. But the anguish in Elena’s face was echoed by regret in his own heart. Without a word, he touched her shoulders, embracing her from behind.

  ‘I want you to go to her,’ she continued. ‘Marry her if she’s the one you want. And perhaps you’ll have the sons I could never give you.’

  He couldn’t imagine what courage it took to give her blessing, after what she’d endured. ‘What about you?’

  Elena moved in his arms to face him. ‘I’ll stay here, for now. I don’t know where I’ll go after that.’ She shook her head, and he dried her tears.

  Leading her towards the bed, he bade her sit down. Instead, she chose the floor, leaning back against the raised straw pallet. He came and sat beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t the husband you needed,’ he admitted at last.

  ‘It wasn’t terrible,’ she said. ‘There were some good moments.’

  ‘Is this truly what you want?’ he questioned. ‘A divorce?’

  ‘I’ve already done it, Styr.’ She managed a smile through her tears. ‘I don’t need your permission to declare it before witnesses.’ Leaning her head against his shoulders, they sat for a few moments, and he understood how difficult it was for her to let go of their years together.

  Then he remembered the gift he’d brought for her. He stood and retrieved the ivory comb from his belongings. ‘I bought this for you, before we left Hordafylke.’

  She studied it, noting the image of Freya. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She ran it through the strands of her hair, trying it out. Then she held it in her hands, sharing the memory of the day they were wed and of how afraid she’d been.

  During the next few hours, they reminisced over the years of their marriage, laying each one to rest. They talked long into the night, until her voice grew hoarse, and his eyelids grew heavy.

  And when he awoke in the morning, Elena was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Caragh walked through the neat rows of barley, pulling a few stray weeds. Her brothers had gone out fishing, and she’d busied herself with inspecting the harvest. It would not ripen for another few months, but at least they had the promise of more grain to sustain them. The tribe had planted more, after the seeds Terence and Ronan had brought back from their travels. She hoped that the sun and rain would be kind to them this season, allowing them to restore their losses.

  Despite the countless hours she’d spent working, it did nothing to diminish the heartache. She’d let herself love Styr, and it burned to know that once again, the man she’d cared about had chosen someone else.

  She strode through the fields, hastening her pace. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it any more. She’d known from the beginning that he was not free to be with her. As she crossed through the open meadow, she shielded her eyes to the morning sun. There was her brothers’ boat, moving out to sea. And to the east...another ship.

  She frowned, not recognising it at first. Was it the fishermen returning to Gall Tír?

  But when she saw the striped sail, her stomach plummeted. The Lochlannach had returned. For what purpose? Were they invaders or was it Styr’s ship? Neither was particularly welcome.

  She hurried down to the shore, grasping her skirts. Some of the elderly Ó Brannons were busy scraping hides while others prepared meat for drying. Caragh went out as far as she dared, peering hard at the water. And when she saw the bronze weathervane of Styr’s ship, her tension didn’t diminish.

  Why had he come? Was he wanting to settle here with his wife and later, their children? The thought of seeing him each day with Elena filled her with a crushing pain. A part of her wanted to flee, to hide where he wouldn’t find her. But then, she wasn’t a coward. She might not know why he had returned, but she would stand here and face him.

  She sat upon a large stone on the water’s edge, waiting. His ship drew closer, until at last, she saw him tying up the sail, steering closer to land.

  He was still as handsome as she remembered, his dark gold hair tied back. The weather had grown warmer, and he wore no armour this time.

  And then he saw her waiting. His stare locked with hers, as if remembering the night they’d shared together.

  Caragh studied the boat but saw that he had come with only two men. Elena was not with them.

  If she could have shielded her heart with stone, she would have. Styr had left her behind, choosing the woman he’d married and their unborn child. There was nothing that would change that.

  He strode through the water, moving towards her. The waves sloshed around his thighs, but he ignored the frigid water. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you. Or to your wife.’ She stood from the stone, ignoring him.

  ‘Elena is not my wife any more,’ he called out to her back. Her face flooded with colour, but she continued walking away. Whether it was true or a lie, a storm of confusion muddled her thoughts. When she reached the grassy hillside, she stopped walking but didn’t look back at him.

  Was he expecting her to fall into his arms, to somehow rejoice that she was his second choice? Had something happened to Elena or their unborn child?

  Anger and sorrow choked her, but Caragh got no further before he caught up with her, catching her in his arms. ‘As I said, we need to talk.’

  ‘Put me down,’ she demanded, trying to push her way out of his arms. When he only tightened his grip, she relented. ‘All right, I’ll talk with you. But not here.’

  Not where others could see her being carried off by a Lochlannach. Styr didn’t appear to trust her promise, for he didn’t let her down at all. ‘It’s been too many weeks, søtnos.’ He embraced her, as if he wanted to meld her skin into his.

  In passing, he nodded to his men who had begun unloading their ship, carrying her past the ringfort and towards the open meadow.

  ‘Styr, please,’ she said. ‘I can walk.’

  ‘I don’t want you to run away,’ was his response. ‘You’ve a right to be angry, but we’ll talk in private.’

  ‘What about your child?’ she asked. ‘If you’re no longer married to Elena—’ Her words broke off as she realised what had likely happened. Even to mention it was cruel.

  ‘There never was a child,’ he admitted. ‘She believed there was, but it was a mistake.’

  In his voice, she heard a trace of regret, almost as if he wished the child had come to be. ‘Please, let me down,’ Caragh repeated.

  He did, but he didn’t release her wrists. His grip was firm enough to remind her that he wasn’t going to let go.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why did you come back?’

  He took her face between his hands and kissed her hard. His hands tangled in her long hair, pulling her to him as he coaxed her mouth. The familiar rush poured through her with awakening desire. And though she accepted his kiss, she didn’t return it.

  ‘You’re angry,’ he murmured against her mouth.

  ‘You can’t believe that I’ll let you come from another woman’s bed into mine.’ She turned her face from him, hiding the hurt within.

  ‘I never lay with her. Nor did I touch her.’

  Caragh shook her head. ‘It’s too soon, Styr.’ To her embarrassment, the weeks of hurt welled up within her, and she blurted out, ‘You had no choice, I know. But I don’t want my heart to bleed like that a second time.’

  ‘It won’t,’ he swore. ‘I don’t intend to leave you again.’

  His intense gaze reached inside her, pushing back against the barriers around her heart.

  ‘I don’t know what’s right any more,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps we should be friends for a time,’ she offered. ‘We could get to know one another without...’

  ‘Without Elena between us,’ he finished.

  She nodded.

  A dark expression came over his face, as if he didn’t like the idea of waiti
ng. His hands moved down to the base of her spine, and he remarked, ‘I won’t be bringing you flowers or trying to win your heart, Caragh.’ He reached below her hips, picking her up until her body was flush against his.

  ‘I’m a Lochlannach. And I take what I want.’ To emphasise his words, he kissed her, invading her mouth with his tongue. He ravaged her mouth like the warrior he was, claiming and consuming her until she was breathless. Against her body, she felt the length of his arousal, and it sent a rush of need between her legs.

  His mouth travelled down her jaw, to the soft part of her throat. ‘Perhaps you’ll be my prisoner, this time.’

  Her mind spun with images of being chained and at his mercy. A sigh escaped her when he lowered her again, sliding her against him.

  But she raised her chin and said, ‘No.’ Before he could carry her off again, she pointed a finger to his chest. ‘I hardly know you. And you know very little about me.’

  ‘You like food,’ he offered. ‘And you’re not fond of sailing.’

  ‘I’m not fond of drowning,’ she corrected. She’d learned to overcome her dislike of the water, especially after she’d continued to fish alongside her brothers. Never again would she let her fear prevent them from getting food.

  ‘You like the colour blue, and you have a sense of adventure. You like to try new things.’ He took her hand in his, and added, ‘You cheat when we play games.’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘I saw you move a few pieces when you thought I was distracted.’

  He’d seen that? She frowned, but before she could say anything, he finished with, ‘And you like kissing me.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted.

  Styr took her hand in his, leading her up to the open meadow where new sheep grazed upon the tall grasses. ‘I brought you gifts from Dubh Linn,’ he told her.

  Caragh tried to keep the interest from her face. She couldn’t let herself be swayed by offerings, but he said, ‘Come to the boat and I’ll give them to you.’