Forbidden Nights With A Viking

She glared at him. ‘And now you understand why I’m reluctant to release your chains. The moment I do, you’ll go after Brendan.’

‘He will answer for what he did, Caragh.’

She stared out at the calm waters of the sea, dismay lined upon her face. ‘Then I have no choice but to come with you. For nothing I say will change your mind.’

‘I am a man of actions, not words.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ Imitating his voice again, she added, ‘Warriors don’t talk, Caragh. They kill people. And I’m quite good at killing things.’

‘Good at killing things who talk too much.’ But there was a glint of humour in his eyes. The line was starting to pull, and he went to stand against her. His back pressed against her own, to lend his strength.

Caragh linked her arms with his and gripped the fishing line, leaning back. ‘Something is biting.’

Styr pulled hard, helping her with the fish. The line moved violently and Caragh gasped as it cut into her palm.

‘Don’t let the line go,’ he commanded. ‘Keep a steady pressure upon it.’

He continued pulling, and Caragh began talking again, encouraging him to help her. At last, she guided the line into his hands and used a hand net to bring the fish into the boat. It was a large flounder, the length of her arm.

At the sight of the fish, she let out a cry of exultation. ‘We did it! Styr, we have food!’ She was laughing and crying at the same time. Her joy was so great that she threw her arms around his shoulders, embracing him hard.

He stood motionless, startled by her. The reckless gesture was something Elena never would have done, and he didn’t know how to respond.

But his body knew. Though the embrace was brief, he’d felt the touch of her breasts against him, her hips pressing close. The spontaneous affection meant nothing, but it was as if she’d awakened a part of his spirit that had been shielded for a long time. It was rare that anyone had touched him in such a way, and he was so taken aback, he returned to his seat at the rudder.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’ve never caught a fish this large before.’ Her face was flushed with excitement as she stored the fish in a corner of the boat.

Styr grunted a response, and ordered her to set out another line. She did, and while she worked, her joy spread over her face. The sunlight gleamed upon her brown hair, and when she looked back at him, her smile slid beneath his defences, diminishing his dark mood.

He turned his gaze back to the sea, a sense of guilt permeating his conscience. It had been a long time since any woman had smiled at him. Especially when he’d done so little to deserve it.

‘Are you still afraid of the sea?’ he asked.

Caragh shook her head, her smile remaining serene. ‘I suppose it’s not so terrible. The weather was bad that day, and my father never should have gone out.’ Her gaze drifted towards the water, and she let out a sigh. ‘I miss him terribly, and it hurts to think of losing him.’

She glanced back at him and sent him an apologetic smile. ‘I shouldn’t have touched you, I know. It was too impulsive of me.’

He said nothing, half-afraid she would see how it had affected him. If he weren’t bound to Elena, he might have enjoyed the embrace, pulling her closer. But honour demanded that he leave this woman alone, that he lock away any attraction he might feel.

She knelt down on the boat, the blue dress damp from the sea. ‘This fish means life,’ she admitted. ‘It may seem like nothing to you…but it’s everything to me.’

‘It’s enough to last us the journey, if we preserve it.’ He needed the reminder of his purpose, and she nodded.

‘We’ll find them, Styr. And perhaps, when you return, we can make peace between our people, even after all that’s happened.’

‘No,’ he responded. He couldn’t remain here, not so close to Caragh. The contrast between this woman and his wife was dangerous, for although he’d done nothing wrong, he sensed that staying near her would be unwise. ‘We’ll settle elsewhere.’

Her expression dimmed, and she turned her attention back to the fishing lines.

They caught five more fish before returning to shore. Caragh was exhausted, but her spirits had never been more joyous. There was food, such as she’d never seen in months. Not only enough for herself, but also enough to share with the others. The sun had drifted lower in the sky, and Styr shadowed her as she brought the largest flounder back to her home. Though she doubted if anyone would try to steal the fish, she also knew that many had become desperate—particularly Kelan. She hoped to ease their hunger by gifting them with some of the extra fish they had caught.

One by one, she visited the other families, and seeing their elation at the food lifted her mood even higher. Iona’s husband Gearoid gave her a small keg of mead in thanks. Though she protested, he refused to take no as an answer, and balanced it on his shoulder as he struggled to bring it to her home. Styr was waiting by the fire, and when the old man saw him there, he blinked.

‘Are ye well enough, Caragh?’ Though he kept his tone calm, she didn’t miss the worry in his eyes. None of them had agreed with her decision to chain Styr; they’d wanted him dead.

‘I am fine. And were it not for this Lochlannach, we’d still be hungry this night.’

Gearoid didn’t seem comfortable leaving her, but Caragh opened the door and walked out with him.

‘He hasn’t done anything to harm me,’ she reassured him. ‘I promise you, I am safe.’

It was stretching the truth, but she didn’t want the others to be afraid. ‘Go back to Iona and enjoy the fish,’ she urged.

‘If you have need of us, you have only to ask,’ he said. With a squeeze of her hand, he hobbled back to his wife.

After he’d gone, Caragh returned and set to work cleaning the fish as best she could. It was work she didn’t mind at all, and she carefully saved the scraps, which could be used for stews or soups. Her joy was so great, that when she set several chunks of fish over the hearth to bake, she returned to her father’s work space.

She stood in the darkened space, breathing in the ashen scent of the forge. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine her father’s presence and his hearty laugh.

Am I making a mistake, Father? she wondered. Do I dare take the risk? She reached for an awl and her father’s hammer, wondering what to do. Styr had proven himself this day, taking her out to find fish. They’d caught enough to survive a little longer…or to travel in the search for Brendan.

In her heart, she knew the Viking had saved her life. And for that, he deserved his freedom.

Don’t let him hurt Brendan, she prayed inwardly. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the hammer and awl, returning to her hut.

Styr was seated near the fire when she returned, and as soon as he spied the hammer and awl, his eyes lit up.

‘I owe you my thanks,’ Caragh said, ‘for helping me to find fish today. And in return, I will keep my promise to remove the chains.’ She watched him, meeting his eyes with her own. ‘I ask only that you grant me my brother’s life in return. Show him mercy.’

Styr gave her no answer, but she could only pray that he would spare Brendan. Crossing behind him, she reached for his wrists. Upon his skin, she saw dried blood and heavy bruises. Clearly he’d tried to free himself and had suffered in the process.

She hammered at the pin that bound the manacles closed until his first hand was free. Then the second.

Styr drew his hands in front of him, flexing his wrists, as he breathed with relief. ‘Thank you.’

Having him unchained made her suddenly more aware of his presence. Though she didn’t believe he would harm her, she couldn’t stop the prickle of uneasiness. She busied herself with cooking the fish, remarking, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t left yet.’

‘As I told you, I’m taking your father’s boat in the morning,’ he said. ‘And you’re coming with me.’

She made no refusal, for she wanted to protect Brendan. ‘I won’t go as your hostage.’

His gaze turned harsh, but his eyes seemed to warn her that he would use her in any manner necessary.

Caragh’s hands trembled as she gave him his portion of fish. Fool, she cursed herself. This man wasn’t safe. He might have helped her to get food, but he could not be trusted.

But she forgot about her uncertainties, the moment she tasted the delicate white fish. ‘Oh heaven,’ she breathed, eating the first piece so fast, she nearly choked on it. The second piece disappeared nearly as fast, and she cooked more portions, knowing that Styr was as hungry as she was. To pace herself, she poured each of them a cup of mead, and the sweet, honeyed taste was delicious. Even though she knew it was unwise to drink it quickly, she couldn’t stop herself.

‘Slow down,’ Styr ordered. ‘Or you’ll make yourself sick.’

She did, concentrating on the drink instead. It made her head feel lighter, and a pleasant airiness seemed to surround her. ‘Did you get enough to eat?’

He nodded, leaning back beside the fire. ‘If you salt the remaining fish, we can preserve it for a few days.’

She nodded her agreement and went to cut the remaining fish into pieces the size of her hand, salting them heavily and covering them. As she worked, a dizziness made her unsteady on her feet. The room seemed to be a faraway place, but she took another sip of mead.

When she had finished preserving the fish, she washed her hands and walked unsteadily towards the fire.

‘How many cups of mead have you had?’ Styr asked, frowning.

‘Two. Perhaps three,’ she answered.

‘You shouldn’t have anything else to drink,’ he said, taking the cup from her. ‘You’ve already had too much.’

A lazy smile curved over her. ‘It tasted so good.’ When he drank the rest of her mead, her gaze settled upon his mouth. My, but he did have a wonderful mouth. So firm and fierce. It was a shame that a man like this was already wed. It would be interesting to kiss him.

‘Are you as wicked as the other Lochlan­ nach?’ she asked, warming her hands before the fire. ‘Do you pillage the homes of people, taking their women?’

His gaze turned enigmatic. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you could…if you wanted to.’ Her head was still buzzing, but she found herself saying whatever words came to her mind. A startled laugh broke free. ‘But this time, I took you.’

He looked irritated at her reminder, but she added, ‘You weren’t nearly as bad a man as I thought you were.’

‘Don’t.’ He cut her off, reaching out to grasp her chin. Though his gesture was meant to be threatening, it didn’t hurt. ‘Don’t try to pretend I’m harmless.’ His hand moved back to grasp her nape, and a thousand tremors poured through her skin. There was power in his touch, a ruthlessness that held her spellbound.

Her traitorous mind suddenly imagined more than a kiss. She envisioned his bare skin and what it would be like to run her fingers over him. With his hand still tangled in her hair, she reached out and rested her hands against his chest.

Chapter Five

Styr didn’t move. He knew Caragh wasn’t thinking clearly, that her actions were dictated by the mead. But when she rested her head against his chest, a part of him wanted to hold her. He wanted to feel a woman’s arms around him, to inhale the delicate scent of her skin.

His heartbeat pounded beneath her fingertips, his treacherous body responding to her nearness.

Gently, he extricated her and stepped back. ‘Did you get enough to eat?’

A soft smile transformed her face. ‘For the first time in months. Yes, I did.’ She busied herself with clearing away their wooden dishes. But although Caragh washed and put them away, she did not clean every part of the dwelling or straighten the furnishings. Instead, she sat by the fire, smiling at him. It occurred to him that never had Elena stopped to relax after a meal. She spent her time cleaning, straightening, and scouring their home.

Caragh drew up her knees by the fire, her face golden in the light. All the while, his mind replayed the image of her hands touching him, her face pressed against his heart. The hunger for affection roared through him, and he cursed the instincts he couldn’t control.

It had been so very long since Elena had reached out to him. Time and again, he’d tried to tempt her, even to hold her, only to be pushed away. Her resentment at being childless festered like an open wound, one that wouldn’t heal.

Sometimes, he wished they could start over. That there was a way to be friends again, with no tension between them. The last time that had happened, they had been hardly more than adolescents. Once they’d been betrothed, Elena had grown more serious, putting all her concentration on becoming a good wife. And she’d refused to accept their failure to have children.

When she’d finished putting away the food, Caragh asked, ‘What would you like to do now?’

Her voice held energy, a restlessness that conjured up memories of bare skin, and what it was to touch a willing woman, burying himself deep inside her yielding flesh. He felt himself harden, and he cursed himself for drinking too much mead.

Odin’s blood, but he needed to stay away from this woman. He had no doubt that the goddess Freya had set him upon this path, to test his willpower. But no matter how this woman tempted him, he refused to betray Elena.

‘We should get some sleep before our journey on the morrow,’ Styr told her, tossing another peat brick on the fire. He moved to the furthest side of the room, intending to block her from his mind.

‘I can’t sleep,’ Caragh protested. ‘It’s still so early.’ Without asking his consent, she went to a trunk on the far side of the room and returned with a board. ‘Don’t go to bed so soon,’ she pleaded. ‘We could play a game.’

‘I don’t play.’ He’d gambled before with dice, but it wasn’t a pastime he’d engaged in very often.

Caragh moved towards his pallet, giving him no means of escape. She set the wooden board on the ground between them, and he recognised it as a variant of duodecim scripta, a game he’d known from his homeland. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘My brother won it off a traveller from Burgundy.’

The board consisted of two opposing rows of black triangles with game pieces made of bone. The dice were carved from antlers, and she gave him his pieces, explaining the rules which were similar to those he already knew.

‘You must move the pieces to your home ground and afterwards, you can begin removing them. Whichever of us removes all the pieces first will win.’

He took a sip of his mead, watching as she set out her own pieces. A long lock of dark hair hung over one shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed from the drink. Her blue eyes held merriment and a trace of wickedness as she said, ‘Are you prepared to lose, Lochlan­ nach?’

His sense of competition sharpened, and he took the dice from her, his hands brushing against her warm fingers. ‘And what if you lose?’

‘Then I’ll have to pay a forfeit. Just as you will.’ When she leaned on one arm, the neckline of her gown slipped down one shoulder, revealing bare skin. Styr dropped the dice rapidly, wrenching his gaze away as he moved the first game piece.

‘And what could you possibly offer me?’ His instincts heightened, wondering what she would say.

‘Your weapons and your cloak,’ she offered. ‘They are mine now, since I took you prisoner.’

‘And what would my forfeit be, if by some miracle of the gods, you were to win?’

She smiled. ‘More food for me and my people.’

Her honesty diffused his tension, as he realised that she was respecting the boundaries between them. Earlier, when her hands had touched his chest, she’d looked like a woman waiting to be kissed.

By the gods, if he were unwed, he’d have taken her. He’d have captured her mouth, pulling her slender body to his and exploring those curves with his hands.

Tasting and touching her until she broke forth a throaty moan.

Odin’s blood, but the sexual abstinence was taking command of his senses. When he found Elena again, he intended to coax her back into desiring him. His blood was hot, his needs making it impossible to think clearly.

With effort, he wrenched his mind back into reality. ‘Where do you think your brother took Elena and the others?’

‘Possibly Áth Cliath. Or Dubh Linn,’ she admitted, moving her own piece. ‘He’s been there before with my father, when he was a boy. But even if he did, I’m not certain what he planned to do with his prisoners. He might have released them along the shore.’

Styr didn’t believe it. If his kinsmen had let themselves be taken captive, it was for Elena’s sake. More likely they had killed Brendan and the other Irishmen. He moved his pieces again, taking one of Caragh’s. ‘We’ll sail at dawn to find them. Enough time has been wasted.’

He made his next move, but she captured his piece, taking it for her own. ‘Your wife is unharmed,’ she promised. ‘I believe that.’

Releasing a slow breath, she contemplated her next move, while he rolled the dice. As they played, she kept his goblet full of mead, and he used it to drown out the voices of betrayal in his mind.

Caragh was winning the game, and her smile was triumphant as she moved the piece again. In the golden firelight, her face was haloed, her blue eyes filled with excitement. Her gown mirrored the intense colour, and it made him frown when he made his next move.

‘You said you kept this gown, when you should have sold it. Was there a reason?’

‘I was to be married in it.’ She rolled the dice, considering where to move the next piece.

‘What happened?’

She captured another piece of his and shrugged. ‘I found Kelan sharing another woman’s bed.’ Though she spoke in a calm tone, he caught the note of anger in her voice.

‘You’re well rid of him,’ Styr said. He couldn’t imagine Caragh betrothed to a man like that. It explained Kelan’s jealous behaviour, but he didn’t know why she would have agreed to wed him in the first place.

‘Perhaps.’ She shook her head, her lips drawn in a line as she studied the board.

There was no perhaps about it. Why would Caragh lower herself to a man like that?

She removed one of her pieces from the board. ‘My brothers were angry and wanted to kill Kelan for me. I refused to allow it.’

His estimation of her brothers rose a notch. ‘He hasn’t given up on you, has he?’ He took one of his own pieces off the board.

‘No. He wants my forgiveness, but I can’t bring myself to forget what he did. He said he loves me, and it was a moment of weakness.’

Styr snorted. ‘Loves you?’ He moved another piece across the board and shook his head. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’

‘Once, I did.’ Her face furrowed, and she slid a game piece to a darker triangle. ‘Don’t you love your wife?’

‘Love has nothing to do with marriage. I owe her my protection, and I intend to find her.’ The idea of love had been beaten out of him as a boy. His parents had trained his brother and him to be a future jarl, as was their duty, but there was no love involved in his upbringing.

Absently, he reached a hand up to his chin, fingering the scar where his father had struck him. He’d learned not to weep or show any sign of emotion. Emotions were for the weakminded, and they never served a man well in battle.

Styr moved another game piece, not wanting to reveal more. The truth was, he did care about Elena. He’d wanted her to be happy in their marriage, although when her barrenness was evident, she’d begun refusing him. She didn’t love him, if she ever had—that was clear enough. But now, it was rare to see her smile.

Divorcing her was possible, but he didn’t want to admit his own failure. And she’d agreed to come here, which meant she wasn’t entirely ready to give up on their marriage. What kind of man would he be if he’d taken her from her homeland, only to leave her?

No, somehow, they would solve the problems between them.

‘Elena has been a good wife to me,’ he admitted. ‘I respect her.’

But Caragh’s expression held confusion, as if she didn’t understand. ‘Was your marriage arranged?’

He nodded. ‘I agreed with my father, that the match was a strong one. Her family approved of it, as well.’ It was only Elena who had seemed intimidated by the marriage. She’d hardly spoken to him after their betrothal.

Now, he wondered if she had objected to it. No one had said anything to him in the past…but had they forced her to wed him? He frowned at the thought.

Caragh removed another piece, leaving only two remaining. ‘It hurt, when Kelan turned to another,’ she continued. ‘I caught him embracing her and—’ she closed her eyes ‘—touching her.’

‘It’s good that you didn’t wed him.’

‘I can’t help but think that I should have done something differently.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I might have a husband and children now, if I had. Maybe if I hadn’t talked so much, or maybe if I tried to be more careful with the way I looked.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Caragh.’

She shook her head, not listening. ‘Then why am I still alone?’ Heartbreak resonated in the words.

Styr rolled the dice again, taking a sip from his mead. It was clear that love did matter to a woman like Caragh. He was tempted to speak words of reassurance. To tell her that those men were fools not to want her. But he kept silent, not wanting her to suspect his own thoughts.

Her blue eyes watched him, as if trying to discern an answer. To avoid it, Styr took his final piece from the board.

‘You win,’ Caragh conceded, drawing her knees up beneath her gown. ‘I suppose I’ll have to return your cloak now.’

‘No, the battleaxe,’ he corrected. ‘Put my cloak over the wall I damaged.’ If they were staying, he might consider repairing it. But it wouldn’t matter, once they were gone.

Caragh yawned and began to put away the pieces. Styr helped her, and when the game was put away, she turned abruptly and nearly stumbled. He caught her, to prevent a fall, but her hands rested upon his forearms a moment too long.

‘Your wife is a fortunate woman,’ she murmured, her gaze upon his. Her violet eyes were studying him in a wistful way that was far too dangerous. The warmth of her hands upon him was more welcome than it should have been. Styr felt the touch sinking into him, like a balm. He shut down the thought immediately.

‘Caragh, don’t. You’ve had too much to drink.’

She nodded, pursing her lips. ‘I have, yes. But, for a moment…you looked as lonely as I feel.’ She closed her eyes a moment, as if gathering courage. ‘And I wondered if everything was all right between you and your wife. You looked sad, for a moment.’

Styr put her hands aside and walked away. ‘What’s between Elena and myself is no concern of yours.’ He didn’t care how hard his words sounded. The reason for their estrangement had everything to do with her inability to conceive a child, nothing more. Once she became pregnant, all would be well again. He believed that.

He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. The more time he spent around Caragh, the more he found himself wanting to ensure that she was protected, that she had enough to eat. If his thoughts towards her were of a sisterly nature, it wouldn’t bother him so much. But they weren’t. He admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, much as he hated himself for it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re right. It has nothing to do with me.’ With that, she retreated to her pallet and pulled a coverlet over her body.

Styr stoked up the fire, watching the sparks float into the air. The mead had discoloured his judgement, and he didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.

He was lonely.

And he would be a liar if he didn’t admit he’d considered ending his marriage. For all he knew, the fault could be his, and perhaps he had been the one cursed with the inability to have children. What right did he have to bind Elena into a marriage where she would never have a child, when he knew how desperately she wanted one?