Forbidden Nights With A Viking

‘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—’

‘You will answer all of my questions,’ Styr warned Brendan, ‘and if I find that you have lied to me, you will suffer for every moment my kinsmen suffered.’ The fury festered within him, along with frustration at what had happened because of this young man’s decisions.

‘Give me your weapons,’ Terence ordered, ‘before you question him.’

Styr handed over the battleaxe and the blade, but his mouth tightened into a line. ‘I need no weapons to kill him.’ He wanted Brendan to be afraid, to understand that he had to give every truth.

The young man gave a nod, sitting down once more, as if he didn’t trust himself to stand.

Before he could voice his first question, Caragh interrupted with one of her own. ‘Why did you leave Gall Tír with your friends?’ she demanded. ‘You knew there was no food. And yet, you left me behind.’ Hurt and anger blended in her voice, as she came to sit beside her brother.

‘My friends thought we should capture the Lochlannach and take them out to the open sea,’ Brendan began. ‘We thought it would keep the rest of you safe, if we lured them away.’

‘How did you capture them?’ Styr asked. ‘There were a dozen men, all trained fighters.’ He’d been unconscious and whatever memories that remained were blurred.

‘I don’t know,’ Brendan admitted, shaking his head. ‘They fought hard at first, and when I took the woman back towards the ship, one of them followed. I wasn’t planning to harm her.’

It must have been Ragnar, Styr guessed. His friend would have done whatever was necessary to protect Elena. ‘And the others?’ he prompted.

‘They fought against the Irish. But the man who followed me suddenly spoke a command to them. I didn’t understand it, but they dropped their weapons and came towards the boat. My friends followed, because they knew I would die at their hands.’

Brendan shook his head in confusion. ‘They wanted me to give up the woman, but I knew if I did, they would kill us all.’ His face paled, and Styr’s hands curled into fists.

‘They—they became our prisoners,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why. They didn’t struggle when we bound them.’

Styr was starting to gain an understanding. Ragnar must have ordered the rest of the men to feign surrender, until they reached the open sea. It would have been easy for the men to regain control of the vessel, especially if the Irish believed them incapable of fighting.

‘We were planning to let them all go, to slip out at night and swim to shore,’ Brendan admitted. ‘But when we reached the southern coast, we were attacked by another ship.’

Brendan’s gaze turned to Styr, his voice faltering. ‘I didn’t want the woman to be taken by the Danes, so I cut her free. The other man jumped overboard with her, and the rest of us were taken captive.’

‘Did they make it to shore?’

Brendan stared at him, confessing, ‘I don’t know.’

Styr stood without a word and took back his weapons from Terence. He strode from the interior and walked outside, his mind numb with what he’d learned. Though he knew where he wanted to search, he couldn’t be certain if Elena was still there. Weariness pooled within him. He didn’t want to leave Caragh here, but neither did he have the right to take her with him.

He stood outside, staring at the sights and sounds of the city, unsure of what to do now. From behind him, he sensed her standing there. Without turning around, he said, ‘I’m not going to kill him.’

‘Thank you.’ There was an audible sigh, as if she were relieved to hear it.

Styr said nothing more about it. Brendan had made poor decisions, but he’d suffered, too. And if the worst had happened…if Elena was dead…killing the young man wouldn’t bring her back. A heaviness weighed upon him, not knowing what had happened to any of them.

Caragh’s eyes stared straight ahead, while the sunset cast golden streaks across the sky. ‘I believe you’ll find her. The prophetess said she was alive.’

‘I hope so.’ He wanted his wife to be safe and well; there was no question of it. But with every moment he’d spent with Caragh, the differences between them only magnified. Logically, he knew it was best for them to part, to never look upon her face again.

But when her hand slipped within his, he did nothing to push her away. He simply held her warm fingers, while he wished for a moment, that another life could be his.

‘Why are you staying with Ivar?’ he asked. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘But I wanted to do something for you. You need your men to help you.’

‘And what of your needs?’ He turned, forcing her to face him. Her violet eyes were troubled, her complexion pale. ‘Do you intend to share his bed?’

She lowered her gaze. ‘I don’t know what will happen. He seems to care for me, though he can be proud and stubborn. Like someone else I know.’ Her face softened into a sad smile.

A harsh ache clenched his gut at the thought of her lying in Ivar’s arms. The vision burned him like a fiery brand. ‘Don’t stay with him, if you don’t desire him.’

Her hand moved to touch his heart. ‘What choice do I have, when I can never have the man I do desire?’

He froze, disbelieving what he’d heard. Caragh’s face flushed, but she turned and went back inside, leaving him to stare at the darkening streets.

She desired him. And God help him, he wanted her, too, as dishonourable as it was.

But he could not forget Elena. After all she’d endured, he could never abandon her.

The last of the fading light slipped beneath the horizon, and a strange sense of awareness caught Styr without warning. There were lights in the distance and the flare of torches. Something was wrong.

Warning shouts resounded, and within moments, an acrid scent caught his nostrils.

Smoke.

The fires began to spread, from one house to another, and he threw the door open, ordering his men to arm themselves.

‘They’re setting fire to the houses!’ he shouted to Ivar, and the men poured forth, prepared to defend themselves. In the midst of the panic, he saw the Danes openly attacking.

‘Take Caragh to your ship,’ Styr ordered Ronan and Terence. ‘Get her out of here.’

‘One of us can take her,’ Ronan argued. ‘You’ll need help fighting against them.’

‘I’ll stay and fight,’ Styr said. ‘You need to take her to safety. If the Danes are in the city, their boats will be empty.’

Ronan saw the truth of his words and nodded. Terence shouted to Ivar, but the man had unsheathed his own sword and was charging forwards with the others.

‘Get her out!’ he echoed, and Styr caught only one last look at Caragh, before she disappeared into the night.

Chapter Eleven

Bodies littered the ground, but Ivar’s house remained unscathed. Styr cleaned his sword and thankfully, none of his men had died in the fight.

Ivar had a wound upon his upper arm, but it would heal. ‘Take your men and go after them,’ he commanded.

At Styr’s questioning look, he added, ‘Caragh wants you and always has.’ Nodding towards Onund and the others, he said, ‘Your men helped defend my house. They may take their freedom, so long as you guard her.’

Ivar’s mouth curved in a bitter smile. ‘The only reason she offered to stay was for you. And unless you’re an utter fool, you should claim the woman who loves you. Before the Danes do.’

‘She doesn’t—’

‘Open your damned eyes, Hardrata. Because if you don’t go after her, I will.’

Styr eyed the man, not certain what he was agreeing to. Even so, he didn’t want Caragh here any more. It wasn’t safe.

‘You And I know the Danes,’ Ivar continued. ‘They will build their fires upon the bodies of their enemies. And her brothers aren’t enough to guard her. Go,’ he ordered.

Sheathing his sword, Styr ordered his kinsmen to follow him. They moved through the streets, cutting down any man who dared to attack.

As they moved along the edge of the River Liffey, Styr kept his battleaxe in hand, his eyes searching for a glimpse of Caragh. the deeper he moved into the city, the more he realised Ivar was right. The Danes had slaughtered the Norse and Irish alike, and the fighting hadn’t stopped.

He moved with a purpose, needing to ensure that she was safe.

The sounds of Death surrounded them, mingled with fire and smoke.

Caragh kept her head down while her brothers pushed her through the crowd. She saw women cut down in the streets, the Danes slaughtering anyone who stood in their way.

Terence shoved her through a narrow passageway between houses, ordering, ‘Don’t look. Don’t think. Just run.’

And she did. Her lungs burned, her sides aching as she followed them towards the harbour. But just when she spied the gleaming dark water, a hand snaked around her waist, dragging her back.

A cry escaped her, and Ronan swung hard at the man, his blade biting into a wooden shield. Terence tried to aid him, but within moments, they were surrounded by invaders. The dark-haired Gallaibh were fierce fighters, bearded men whose ruthless eyes revealed the desire to conquer.

Fear pulsed within her, while her brothers fought, back to back, against the insurmountable odds. She struggled against her captor, but although she had regained some of her strength, it wasn’t nearly enough.

His foreign words made no sense to her, but when he shoved her against a wall and reached for her skirts, his intent became clear.

No. She refused to stand here without fighting. When he tried to pin her, she let her body go limp, and she hit the ground hard. Her fist seized a handful of dirt, and when he jerked her up, she threw it into his eyes.

He roared in fury, reaching for her. She ducked to avoid the strike of his fists, but a moment later, the man seized her, gripping his forearm across her throat.

‘I should break your neck,’ he said in Irish, and his breath smelled of ale. She tried to push against him, but he only tightened his grip, cutting off her air.

The world swam with blurred images, her hands fighting hard against the man who slowly strangled her. She couldn’t see her brothers or anyone else, the fading consciousness sliding away.

She glimpsed the face of Death, as her lungs burned from lack of air. A part of her mourned the fact that she hadn’t had the chance to talk with Styr to admit the feelings she’d held inside her.

And now she was going to die.

Styr embedded his battleaxe in the Dane’s spine, catching Caragh before she could fall.

Thor’s blood, she’d nearly died. Her skin was waxen, but thank the gods, she gasped for air. He lifted her in his arms, while his men aided Ronan and Terence in fighting the enemy.

All around them were the bodies of the fallen, but Styr kept his battleaxe in one hand, holding Caragh with the other arm. Her head slumped against his shoulder, but he continued towards the waiting boat. One man dared to attack, and he slashed his battleaxe, cutting the man down.

No one will harm her. The need to protect Caragh, to keep her safe, went deeper than his bones.

When he reached the boat, he brought her inside, awaiting her brothers and his men. Not once did he let her out of his arms, and at long last, her eyelids fluttered.

‘Caragh,’ he murmured. ‘Are you all right?’

She coughed, and he held her, rubbing her back as she regained awareness.

‘Where am I?’

‘On board your brothers’ ship,’ he responded. ‘We’re waiting for them to join us.’ Her arms came up around his neck, and when she embraced him, he gripped her hard.

‘You came for me,’ she whispered. ‘I thought I was going to die.’ She drew back, her dark blue eyes meeting his. ‘And all I could think was that I never told you.’ Her voice was soft, as if holding secrets.

‘Never told me what?’ But he knew before she said a word. Her heart lay in those eyes, and in her, he saw the offering.

A faltering smile crossed her face. ‘I’m such a fool, Styr. You made me so angry at Ivar’s house. He could have given me anything. And yet, I let myself fall in love with a man I can’t have.’ She touched his cheek, the sadness filling up her countenance. ‘I’m sorry. But I needed you to know.’

He didn’t know what to say. Her words should have provoked a sense of guilt. Instead, he saw her love for what it was—a gift.

‘I know you will return to your wife,’ she said. ‘I know you love her and not me. But when I was about to die, I wished I had said it sooner.’

He lifted her hand to his mouth in a silent kiss. There were no words to tell her that he did care, far more than he should. When he’d watched the Dane trying to kill her, the raw fear had struck him down. He couldn’t let it happen.

‘You honour me,’ was all he could say.

He kept her in his arms, not revealing his own troubled spirits. Her affection was a kindness he’d never expected, and for a moment, he let himself dream of what his life would have been, had he wed a woman like Caragh.

‘Will you allow me a boon?’ she said, when she caught sight of her brothers approaching.

He nodded his assent, not asking what it was. But when her hands moved to either side of his face, he guessed what she wanted. Violet eyes watched him with a longing that stole his breath away. And when she brought his face down to hers, he didn’t stop himself from kissing her back.

She was a beautiful woman, loving and warm-hearted. Yet, he knew this was a kiss goodbye.

He wasn’t prepared for the rush of heat that filled up the empty crevices of his heart. Her tongue touched his, and the kiss shifted from a farewell into a carnal response that staggered him.

Elena’s kisses had been good, but none of them had made him feel such a visceral need. He didn’t understand why Caragh’s touch affected him in such a way, but he didn’t stop it from happening. For it felt right to kiss her, to be with her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered against his mouth, when she pulled away. ‘But after what happened this day, I needed you. Just for a moment.’

He saw the looks on the faces of her brothers. They’d seen him kissing Caragh, and Terence’s expression tightened with dissatisfaction. The rest of his men arrived on board the boat, and they, too, eyed him with suspicion.

Ronan gave the orders to pull up the anchor and untie the boat from its moorings. The men took their places at the oars and began to row, while in the distance, the fires burned through the city.

Styr continued rowing alongside the men, and Terence came to sit by him. ‘We’re taking you to your ship, Lochlannach. You’ll take your men and go.’

And leave our sister alone, were the unspoken words.

Styr said nothing but only continued to row. Caragh borrowed a cloak from her brothers and was sitting at the side of the boat.

It wasn’t long before he saw the outline of his vessel. The bronze weathervane marked it as his, and only a few of the Danes remained on board. Styr gave the order for his men to release arrows, and within moments, the ship was theirs again.

It had grown so dark, they needed torches to see clearly, but his men took their positions at the oars. Styr took the rudder and the Irishmen removed their ropes, releasing his ship.

‘Thank you for looking after our sister,’ Ronan said. ‘But we’ll take her home now.’

‘Safe journey to you,’ Styr bade them. He searched for a glimpse of Caragh, but in the darkness, he could no longer see the far side of the boat where she’d been sitting. It seemed she had already voiced her farewell, and he’d not see her again.