To Tempt A Viking (6 page)

‘Of course.’ She swallowed the cup of ale the Irishmen had given her, rising to her feet. ‘But I think they have a healer who may be able to help you more than I can. We’ll go together and speak to her.’

With his hand in hers, she led him towards one of the older women. In her own language, she asked, ‘Do you have a healer in your tribe?’ Though the woman could not understand her, Elena pointed to Ragnar’s wound and the meaning became clear.

The woman called out a command to someone else and an older matron approached, carrying a basket.

‘Sit down,’ Elena ordered Ragnar. He did and she began unwrapping the bandage she’d tied around him. The wound was slick with blood and the flesh would undoubtedly bruise from the blows he’d received. But all of them were alive and she gave thanks for that.

The healer dipped a cloth in cool water and washed away the blood. Then she muttered words beneath her breath, packing the wound with a poultice made of more herbs.

‘I feel like a roast being seasoned,’ he remarked drily, wincing as the woman wrapped the bandage tightly.

‘But you’ll heal,’ Elena reassured him. She moved to sit by him and used a damp cloth to wipe the dust from his face. Though it was meant only to help him, his dark green eyes held her captive. She grew conscious of his sun-darkened skin and the firm line of his jaw. This man was a warrior, not an ordinary man.

When her attention rested upon his mouth, her skin tightened with heat. She’d kissed him, never imagining the feelings he would conjure.

There might be no harm in studying a handsome man. But she was a married woman, one who might be pregnant. She had no right to let her imagination wander over a fair face.

When the healer had finished wrapping Ragnar’s wound, she reached for Elena’s hand and spoke words in Irish, joining her palm to Ragnar’s.

‘What do you think she said?’ Elena asked him.

‘Probably that you should take care of me and see to my every need.’ His eyes flashed with a glint of humour. ‘You should bring food and serve it to me.’

‘Clearly, your enemy knocked your brains loose,’ she retorted, but didn’t hold back her smile. ‘Or you’re dreaming.’

His hand closed over hers, gripping her palm. ‘Perhaps I am.’ The heat of his skin against hers made her feel awkward and uncertain. But she didn’t pull away.

The Irish seemed grateful to both of them and as they built fires and prepared food for a meal, many smiled at them. One young boy toddled over to her with his arms outstretched. Elena caught him before he could tumble and he laughed. She gave him back to his mother, smiling warmly at the woman.

Though she didn’t know for certain if she would bear a child of her own, her heart wanted to believe. And now, instead of mourning her barrenness, she had a future to look forward to. She could only pray that Styr would be a part of it.

Like a physical blow, the memory of his capture slammed into her. She couldn’t shut out the vision of him being struck down and later dragged away in chains. Was he alive? Would she ever see him again? Her heart faltered, for although they’d had their marital troubles, she
did
care about him.

The weight of the past few days burdened her with so much fear. There were so many unanswered questions, but she could not indulge in cowardice. She had to stand strong and believe that they would find Styr. Once they did, she could rebuild their lives when she gave birth, come the early spring.

Her hand passed over her womb and she tried to imagine her body changing its shape while a precious baby grew within.

‘Are you hungry?’ Ragnar interrupted her thoughts, holding out a piece of the roasted venison. She took it, but although it was likely delicious, it tasted like dust in her mouth.

‘You’re troubled,’ Ragnar predicted. ‘Tell me.’ He motioned for her to sit and he found a large rock to lean against. Though his tone was sympathetic, she was aware of how difficult this day had been for him. Behind his eyes, she sensed he was hiding the physical pain.

‘It’s been a hard day for both of us,’ she admitted.

‘But we’re alive.’ He motioned for her to come closer and when she stood before him, she felt as if he shared her burdens. His hand closed over hers and he squeezed it gently.

The comfort he gave nearly dissolved the tight control upon her emotions. She wanted to drop to her knees and sob out her frustration. But if she did, he would draw his arms around her, offering the comfort of his embrace.

She couldn’t deny that the past week had altered their friendship. Ragnar had always been there, but being alone with him only forced her to compare him to her husband. Both were handsome and strong...but the touch of his hands upon her evoked a restless yearning she didn’t want to face.

‘We need to find Styr,’ she insisted. ‘We’ve been gone too long and I’m afraid for him.’

The mention of her husband drew a grim finality in Ragnar’s eyes. He released her hand and she found herself turning away. ‘They could be torturing him.’ Or worse, he might be dead. She tried to imagine life without him and a cold dread sank into her.

‘Do you want to travel with this tribe?’ Ragnar asked. ‘I don’t think they would mind it.’

It was a reasonable suggestion, but something held her back. The people did not speak their language and, if they continued southeast, there was another threat.

‘What if we encounter the Norse raiders again?’ she asked Ragnar, shuddering at the thought. ‘We might not defeat them a second time.’ Although finding the snake had been a stroke of good fortune, her skin still crawled at the thought of its scaly warmth upon her throat. The Norsemen had believed her promise of a curse, for the gods often took the form of a serpent when they returned to earth. But it didn’t mean she felt safe. They would as soon slaughter them in their sleep.

‘My leg has almost healed,’ Ragnar said. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you.’

She knew he meant it, but it didn’t allay her fears. ‘I need to think,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know whether to stay here and let Styr find us...or whether we should go back.’ They had no ship and it would take too long to travel on foot back to the settlement.

‘If he’s alive, Styr won’t ever stop searching for you,’ Ragnar said. Though his words were meant to reassure her, she sensed something more. Turning to face him, she caught a flash of longing on his face. Almost as if he never wanted Styr to find her. As if he wanted to take her husband’s place.

An unbidden vision caught her, of Ragnar claiming her as his conquest. She sensed his unspoken words:
I would never stop searching for you.

A moment later, he’d shielded all emotions, making her wonder if she’d imagined it.

‘What if he can’t look for me? We don’t know what’s happened.’

‘No. We don’t.’ He ate his own food, staring off into the darkness. She was waiting for him to offer guidance, to tell her what they should do. But he was leaving the decision in her hands.

The healer beckoned to Elena to come with her, leaving Ragnar to rest. Though she didn’t know what the woman wanted, she followed. ‘I’ll return soon,’ she promised. Ragnar’s expression was enigmatic, but he waved his hand as if he didn’t care.

The Irish maiden who spoke a few words of her language came to bring her to their leader. She smiled, as if to put her at ease, and then nodded to the older man. ‘Our chief ask...you...magic?’

Elena shook her head. ‘I only let the raiders believe what they wanted to. I threatened to curse the men.’

The girl spoke rapidly to the chief, who inclined his head in approval. ‘He say...give thanks. Gift to you.’

‘What kind of a gift?’ She wondered if they would offer gold or a horse. Instead, the girl pointed towards a folded hide. It was large and when she led Elena to touch it, she realised that it had been treated to make it repel water. It would keep them warm and dry inside their shelter.

‘For your journey,’ the girl promised.

Elena thanked them in her own language, even knowing they would not understand. She accepted the heavy cloth and started to return to Ragnar, but the wind began to blow hard, whipping at her hair.

‘Tonight, you share our shelter,’ the girl promised. ‘Bad storm coming.’

The men and women began to set up an array of tents and Elena joined them, offering her help. The girl urged her to keep the heavy cloth and to use it on their travels later.

The Irish set up a tent and lined the interior with soft furs and hot stones from the fire. When it was ready, the girl invited her in. ‘For you and your man to share.’

Ragnar had limped over to join her, leaning on a thick staff that someone had given him. ‘You’d better go inside,’ he told Elena, ‘before the rain starts.’

‘This will be more comfortable than our house of sticks,’ she teased, holding the flap open for him. He entered and she closed it behind him, enveloping the room in darkness. The space was not large and if she stretched out her hands, she could touch him.

‘I suppose so.’ Ragnar’s gaze settled upon the pile of furs on one side. It was then that she realised they would sleep beside one another. Though it shouldn’t have bothered her—after all, she’d already slept beside him when he was burning up with fever—somehow, this space seemed more intimate.

A flush of heat pressed through her and she imagined lying in this man’s arms. Hard against soft...and the image was not unwelcome.

Elena knelt down on the furs, trying to push out the dishonourable thoughts. Ragnar was a friend, that was all.

He kept his distance and that was likely for the best. In the darkness, the hot stones warmed the air while outside the wind battered their shelter. Here, she was safe, protected from the elements. But there was nothing to protect her from the forbidden feelings rising inside.

To distract herself, she rested her hands upon her flat stomach. It seemed strange that she felt no different at all, even with a child growing within her. No illness...nothing except the absence of bleeding. Sometimes it seemed like a dream to imagine it.

Ragnar leaned upon the staff, limping towards her until he eased his way to the furs. Elena lay down on her side and heard the rustle of him doing the same. She froze when his leg bumped against hers. Though she knew it was accidental, it made her all too aware that she was sleeping beside a man who was not her husband. A man who tempted her to cast aside honour for a taste of the forbidden.

She curled up, but when she lay on the ground she felt the icy wind slipping beneath the tent. Without meaning to, she shivered. When she adjusted her position again, she heard him let out a tense breath of air when her body bumped against his. Elena suspected that she’d somehow pressed against his wounded leg. ‘I’m sorry, did I hurt you?’

‘No.’ He rolled on to his uninjured side, away from her. ‘You surprised me, that’s all.’

He kept far away from her, which was for the best. She huddled beneath the furs, trying to get comfortable. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said quietly.

And she was. In the midst of all the terrifying things that had happened, having Ragnar at her side had made it bearable. She believed that he would surrender his own life for hers without a second thought. He’d been her protector and a man she could rely on.

He said nothing in reply. Perhaps he had other matters on his mind. ‘Are you in pain?’ she asked. She waited, expecting him to answer yes or no. But again he held his silence. Which probably meant he was hurting, since no male she’d ever met would admit to feeling pain.

‘Go to sleep, Elena.’ His voice was gruff and she couldn’t understand why he seemed reluctant to talk. In the past, he’d always been an amiable man, friendly and easy to be with.

Not tonight.

‘What have I done wrong?’ she asked.

His hand caught her wrist in the darkness. ‘Do you know how much I envy your husband?’

The words held a dark edge and she could think of nothing to say. Though his grip wasn’t forceful, she sensed that he was on the brink of fury.

‘He has a beautiful wife,’ Ragnar said. ‘Possibly a child on the way. A family.’

The envy in his voice revealed a lonely man. One who had never had any of those things. She swallowed hard, unable to find the right words for sympathy.

‘You love him, don’t you?’ he said quietly.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. She would always be loyal to Styr. He was a strong man, a good provider. He’d done everything he could to make her happy. And now that they were going to have a child, it would all be better.

Wouldn’t it?

In the darkness, Ragnar released her wrist and she huddled on her side. She remembered the last time her husband had joined with her. Styr had done everything he could to please her, touching her in a way he thought would give her a release. Instead, she’d been cold inside, unable to react. Thoughts of her childlessness had haunted her until it seemed as if a stranger were touching her. Her marriage had been breaking apart and she’d wept in her husband’s arms. He was as frustrated as she was and both of them were ready to give up.

Freya, how she wished she could take back the words when she’d asked him not to touch her again. Though she’d meant only for a short time, Styr’s expression had turned to frost. He’d done exactly as she’d asked and it was as if she’d thrown up a stone wall between them.

‘I don’t think Styr loves me any more,’ she admitted. ‘I was cruel to him when I didn’t mean to be.’

‘All marriages go through difficult times. He asked about you on the journey here,’ he told her.

That only made her feel worse.

‘And what if we don’t find him?’ she murmured.

Ragnar took her hand in his. ‘I’ll always take care of you, Elena. No matter what happens.’

She squeezed his hand tightly, grateful for him. ‘We’ll journey back to Gall Tír, starting tomorrow morning.’

Chapter Six

R
agnar was beginning to think that this was his punishment. The small tent was filled with her scent and it was a constant torment to be so close to Elena. Jealousy was eating away at his mood and he’d not slept at all.

Worse, the storm was growing more intense, the wind howling against the small tent. Despite the heated stones, the cold air slipped through the crevices, making it more uncomfortable.

Elena slept fitfully and once, she moved to snuggle against him. He tried to remain still, but when she pressed her bottom against him, it was nearly his undoing. Only a thin layer of cloth separated their bodies and his honour was worn down to a thread.

Not yours
, his brain reminded him. Only a man without honour would touch her while she was unaware of it. She was his best friend’s wife and he had to bury his desires and feelings. No matter how much he might want her.

But what if Styr is dead?
The terrible thought twined around him until reason intervened. Even if that happened, she would never turn to a man like him. She knew of the countless men he’d slain and the violence he was capable of.

His father had taught him well.

When she tried to snuggle against him, he could not let her do it. ‘Elena,’ he said, pushing her from him. ‘Wake up.’

She rolled over and ended up on top of him, which was far worse. Her breasts pressed against him while her face rested against his heart.

‘Wh-what is it?’ she whispered sleepily.

‘You can’t lie so close to me.’

Gently, he pushed her back and she sighed. ‘I’m just cold, Ragnar. I didn’t mean to bother you.’

You could warm her
,
his weak-willed body suggested.
Hold her in your arms for the night.
It was as close as he’d ever come to having her.

She was so close to him, he could feel her arm pressed near. Her skin tempted him, making him want to lie upon her and take the offering before him.

‘Go back to sleep,’ he commanded.

And stay far away from me.
He didn’t want her to know how she’d gotten under his skin. Better to let her think he was her husband’s friend, someone who would never be a threat to her. She needed someone to trust.

She turned over and the wind tore at their tent once again, ripping open the flap. Ragnar rose from his sleeping place, limping towards the opening. He tied down the ropes, securing them to hold back the worst of the wind. Rain spattered down hard, making him glad of their shelter.

He tried to get back to sleep, ignoring the vicious pain that plagued him. But then Elena spoke softly, ‘I meant what I said earlier. I
am
glad to be with you. All of this is more bearable with a friend.’

He couldn’t answer, for she was far more than a friend to him. The innocent kiss she’d given him, days ago, was a memory burned into him. He’d never known what it was to kiss her and now it was all he thought of.

‘I swore to Styr that nothing would happen to you.’

And it wouldn’t. He’d throw himself upon an enemy blade for her.

‘I’m so afraid for him,’ she confessed, curling up with her back against his. ‘And...even if we do find him, I don’t want things to be the way they were. Especially now with the baby.’

She let out a heavy sigh and the weight of a marriage hung in her breath. ‘Something’s wrong with me, Ragnar. I don’t enjoy sharing his bed and...that’s my fault. He’s tried so many things, but I just don’t feel the way he wants me to.’

Ragnar didn’t trust himself to speak a single word. This was a female question that was designed to ensnare a man, for there was no right answer. Anything he said would get him into trouble. Instead, he reached out and took her hand in his.

‘He’s never said it...but I’m cold to him. I don’t know how to change that.’ She rolled on to her side. ‘I know you’ve been with women before. Should I—’

‘This is not something I want to discuss.’ He cut her off, not caring that his tone was harsh. ‘Talk to Styr.’

‘That’s just it. I’ve never been able to talk to him the way I talk to you. He’s so fierce and forbidding. It’s like trying to talk to a mountain.’

Whereas Ragnar was her friend, someone who was hardly a threat at all. He wasn’t certain whether to be complimented by that or offended.

‘What should I do to make my marriage better?’ she asked.

‘Seduce your husband,’ he said automatically.

‘I couldn’t!’ Her words were shocked, as if he’d suggested that she slip a knife between Styr’s ribs. ‘He wouldn’t like that at all.’

Ragnar forced himself to roll over and face her. ‘If a woman as beautiful as you came to me one night, wanting me to lie with her, there’s nothing on earth that would make me turn her away.’ He tried to keep his words light, not letting her see the truth beneath them.

‘I’m not a strong woman,’ she argued. ‘I’m too shy to do something like that.’

‘You picked up a living snake and let it coil around your throat,’ he pointed out. ‘Most women would lack the courage to do that.’

‘It was a matter of saving our lives.’ She shuddered, adding, ‘I hated every moment of it.’

‘But you did what was necessary. And so you will, when it comes to your marriage. Especially for the sake of your child.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Her fingers laced in his, reminding him of all the nights he wouldn’t share with her. ‘I’ve wanted this child for so long. I know it will make Styr happy after so many years.’

And if it doesn’t?
he wanted to ask. But he would never voice the question. For a woman like Elena would never belong to him.

Eight years earlier

‘Ragnar,’ came the voice of Elena. She stepped inside the home he shared with his father and her face dimmed at the sight.

‘I’m here.’ He stood up from his place by the hearth and felt ashamed of how dirty the house had become. Ever since his mother had been killed by raiders, his father, Olaf, had been lost in grief. He left every morning at dawn and didn’t return until nightfall.

‘I brought you some food,’ she said, holding out a basket to him.

He stared at her for a long time, not knowing what to say other than to utter words of thanks. She nodded and when she glanced around again, asked, ‘It’s very dark in here. Can I open the door wider?’

He nodded and blinked when the sunlight illuminated the interior. Elena peered inside and offered him a tentative smile. ‘That’s a little better. At least now I can see you.’

Her gaze was strained as she saw the condition of his home. Ragnar felt his cheeks warm, but he made no excuses. The last time he’d tried to put away a few things, his father had beaten him.

‘Never, ever touch her things!’ Olaf had roared. Then his anger had crumbled into grief and he’d wept. Since that day, Ragnar had done nothing at all, for fear of destroying his father’s carefully erected shrine to the memory of his wife. He was grateful that his older sisters were married, with their own households, so they did not have to see their father in this state.

Elena opened up the basket and handed him some bread. ‘Your father is gone a lot, isn’t he?’

Ragnar wasn’t aware that anyone had noticed, but nodded. ‘He is.’ When he took the bread, he resisted the urge to tear it apart and cram it in his mouth. Despite the fact that he went out fishing most days, it had been weeks since he’d had real food.

Elena poured him a cup of ale and when he took it from her, his fingers brushed against hers. Though he was five and ten while she was two years younger, her face held the promise of beauty. Red-gold hair was braided into a single tail down her back and her sea-green eyes held him captive.

A flush came over his cheeks and he looked away.

‘When will your father be back?’

He shrugged. ‘Sunset, maybe. Sometimes he’s gone all night.’ When she looked appalled at that, he added, ‘But I’m not afraid to be alone.’

He was used to it now. Sometimes he wondered if there would come a night when his father never returned. But he was old enough to care for himself. Olaf might have forgotten he had a son, but Ragnar wasn’t going to bother him. He wasn’t a child any more.

Elena sent him a slight smile as if she were trying to reassure him. ‘If you want to join my family for our evening meal, my mother won’t mind.’

Her father was high ranked within his tribe and Elena was his second-eldest daughter, out of ten children. Ragnar suspected that the man would hardly welcome someone like him at their table.

‘I should stay here,’ he answered.

‘They won’t notice either of us,’ Elena remarked with a wry smile. And perhaps it was true, but the idea of visiting her household without his father seemed wrong.

He offered her a piece of the bread, but she refused it. Ragnar finished eating and in the meantime, Elena walked across the room and grasped a wooden bucket. Without asking, she began picking up the fallen bones and the remnants of the fish he’d burned the night before when he’d tried to cook it.

‘You shouldn’t,’ he started to protest.

But as soon as he spoke the words, she answered, ‘Do you really like living in this way?’

No, he didn’t. And though his father might beat him for it again, he supposed there was no sense in keeping the refuse.

Yet he was embarrassed that she would begin working like this. Ragnar reached out to take the bucket from her. ‘You shouldn’t trouble yourself.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Elena let him take the bucket and reached for a broom. ‘It’s a way I can be useful.’ She began sweeping out the old rushes and he helped her put the house back in order. When it was done, she washed the wooden cups and put them away.

‘There, now. That’s much better, isn’t it?’

It was, even if he was certain his father would beat him for it. No one was supposed to touch the house or
her
things, like the broom. Seeing the clean interior made him remember the way his mother used to scrub the table and put out bundles of fragrant herbs upon his pillow at night. Ragnar’s eyes stung, but he bit back the pain of loss.

‘Will you come and walk with me?’ Elena asked, holding out her hand. ‘You shouldn’t stay inside on a day like this.’

Her gesture was innocent, as though it were nothing to hold his hand. But when he moved in closer, he felt his throat closing up with no words to say. Her hair smelled like the herbs his mother had used—sage and rosemary—and the idea of holding her hand was too awkward to consider.

Instead, he walked beside her, pretending as if he hadn’t seen the gesture. Outside, the sun was bright and he shielded his eyes. It was midsummer and the days were still long.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘To my parents’ house,’ she explained. Before he could repeat his protest, she put up a hand. ‘You’ve gotten too thin since your mother died and it’s not right.’

‘Elena, I can’t go. Not like this.’ He’d been living in dirt for weeks and the idea of entering her father’s house was impossible. Even if Ragnar scrubbed himself clean, her suggestion made him uncomfortable. Although his father was a freeman, Olaf had been little more than a farmer.

‘Are we friends or not?’ she demanded. ‘Because I always thought that friends should look after each other.’

He didn’t know how to argue with that, without offending her. Friends should,
ja
, but this was more than that.

‘I want you to follow me,’ she insisted. ‘There’s someone else who will come with us.’

She smiled at him and the warmth in her eyes caught him like a physical blow. Girls hardly ever paid him any attention at all. This was the first time one had singled him out, sympathising with his plight. He fumbled through the words caught in his throat, wanting to say something. Anything.

Instead, he took her hand in his for the first time. The touch of her soft palm made his heartbeat quicken. Her hand squeezed his and when her smile didn’t fade, he dared to hope.

Elena had come to him, offering him food. She wanted to bring
him
to her father’s table. Did that mean that she didn’t consider him beneath her? He straightened, wondering if this meant more than he thought. Was there another reason why she wanted him to dine with her family? He squeezed her hand in return, wishing he dared to do more than that.

He’d never kissed a maiden and of all the girls he’d seen, Elena was the one who entranced him. Her mouth had a full upper lip that sometimes tightened when she was thinking.

Before she could lead him further, he stopped walking. ‘Why do you want me to go to your parents’ house, Elena?’

She shrugged. ‘I thought you might want to share a meal with us, that’s all.’

He studied her, still suspicious that there was another reason. Elena took a deep breath and eyed him, adjusting her braid over one shoulder and pushing back a few stray hairs behind her ears. ‘Do I look all right?’

‘You always do,’ he said, then immediately wanted to take back the words. He should have told her she was beautiful. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Anything but the awkward words that had spilled out.

She didn’t appear to notice, but said, ‘Good. Wait here.’

Mystified, he obeyed, until he saw her walk over to Styr’s house. She knocked upon the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Then she nervously touched her hair again.

When his best friend came to the door, he saw the flush come over her face. Her smile was bright, as if wishing Styr would notice her.

The truth of her emotions deflated his earlier thoughts. Her feelings were that of friendship, nothing more. He should have known better.

Soon enough, Styr came out to join them. ‘How are you?’ he asked Ragnar, oblivious to Elena’s interest.

He shrugged, for there was little to say. ‘I suppose I should return to training. I need someone to spar with.’ His hand moved to the short sword he carried at his side.

‘You’ve gone weak, have you?’ Styr teased.

‘I can still best you,’ he shot back.

His friend flexed a muscle. ‘You can try, Olafsson.’

Elena cleared her throat to get their attention again. ‘I thought we could go to my father’s house and join them for a meal.’