He said nothing, a tight set to his jaw, as if he didn’t believe her.
‘You’re a good man, Styr. You deserve the happiness she can give you.’ Though he gave no reply, he tightened his arms around her. Caragh allowed herself to imagine it as an embrace instead of a duty. For she believed that, despite his outwardly rough manner, Styr was a man of worth.
As he continued to walk, she saw the shadow of guilt upon him. Why? He’d done nothing at all wrong—even the kiss had been against his will.
Was it because their marriage wasn’t as strong as it seemed? Would his wife truly blame him for being captured, for being unable to save her?
From his brooding mood, it seemed possible.
As he walked, Caragh allowed herself to daydream. If she were wedded to a man like Styr, she would not fault him for the attack.
His driven need to find Elena was powerful, a force that only deepened Caragh’s attraction to him. But she knew better than to reveal it. Better to bury away useless feelings that meant nothing.
Regret pierced through her heart as she thought of her past failures. She’d been so trusting, believing Kelan when he’d said he would love only her. In the end, she hadn’t been the one he’d wanted.
It had stung deeply. After she’d shielded herself from any further advances, she’d turned inward, never speaking to other men or letting herself dream of a future. During the famine, there were no thoughts at all of a marriage or a family.
But now, she found herself wondering again. She’d survived, and there was no reason to abandon her own dreams. Here in the city, there were dozens of men. Black-haired men with handsome faces, golden-haired Norsemen like Styr. Strong men, young men...men who might be wanting a wife. Or children of their own.
Caragh’s thoughts drifted back to the young boy at the slave auction. She had wanted children once, wanted to feel the tug of young hands upon her skirts. She’d dreamed of kissing a baby-soft cheek and cradling an infant in her arms.
It was a future she would never have at Gall Tír. But here, it wasn’t so impossible.
A prickle of fear clung to her courage, along with more self-consciousness about her thin appearance. Could she even gain a man’s notice? Was it worth staying in Áth Cliath for a little longer, in the hopes of meeting someone? The voice of doubt warned that few men would want a half-starved woman with nothing at all to bring to the marriage.
Styr set her down near a large rectangular dwelling. ‘This is the place,’ he said.
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s as the man described it to me.’ He pointed towards the door. Upon the wood, there appeared to be a monstrous face, and there were other stone carvings beside it. Elaborate runes were engraved within the limestone.
‘What do you want to do?’ she asked.
‘If my kinsman Onund is here, he will be among the thralls. He may come outside, or he may be working within the dwelling.’
‘Should we hide ourselves?’ she suggested.
‘We’ll watch over them until we see a chance to go inside.’ He took her hand and pulled her back around the edge of the stone wall. Caragh obeyed, keeping her shoulders against the fortification.
She fell silent, waiting beside him as the minutes passed. If he were alone, she suspected he would try scaling the wall to infiltrate the dwelling. As it was, she’d become a burden on him.
‘You should try to go inside,’ she whispered at last. ‘There’s a pile of peat stacked over there. I’ll hide behind it.’
‘No. I’m not leaving you alone.’
She thought a moment and pressed again. ‘I’ll be safe enough, so long as I stay hidden. And if anything happens, I’ll call out for help.’
‘You could be taken while I’m inside,’ he argued. ‘I won’t leave you without my protection.’
‘If there is danger there, we’ll both be captured,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s better if one of us stays behind. Give me your blade, and when you know it’s safe, you’ll come back for me,’ she suggested. ‘If you don’t return within an hour, I’ll get help.’ With a wry smile, she added, ‘I can limp back to my brothers. With any luck, I might arrive by morning.’
He didn’t want to leave her; she could see the reluctance in his face. But he recognised the sense in her words. With a sigh, he gave a nod. ‘Stay out of sight and don’t go anywhere.’
It was evident that he didn’t like the plan but could see no alternative. Caragh waited until she was certain no one was watching. She hurried across from the dwelling and moved several of the peat bricks aside to make a space for herself. It felt good to sit, and when she was well hidden, Styr approached the dwelling.
Caragh could only hope that he would find what he sought.
Chapter Eight
When the slave answered the door, Styr introduced himself and added, ‘I’ve come to speak with your master.’ He dropped his voice lower. ‘Is there a thrall among you, named Onund?’
The servant’s expression turned confused. ‘There is, but only within the last few days.’ He looked as if he wanted to ask questions, but silenced them.
‘Send him to me. This concerns him, since he is one of my kin. I have come to free him.’
‘Have you?’ came a deep voice. ‘Bold words for a Hardrata.’
Styr saw a man emerge from the shadows. He was slightly taller, with black hair and broad shoulders. His beard was trimmed close, and around his arms, he wore golden bands. Rings covered his fingers, and an earring hung from one ear. ‘I knew your brother Hakon,’ the stranger said. ‘You’ve travelled far from Hordafylke.’
‘How do you know my brother?’
‘We were friends for many years as boys. Hakon and I sailed together for a time before I came here. I am Ivar Nikolasson.’ The man invited him to sit down, but Styr hesitated. Although the man claimed to know his brother, he wasn’t certain whether or not he would pose a danger to them.
‘I can see from your face that you don’t remember me.’ Ivar motioned to a servant and ordered him to bring Onund forwards. ‘Perhaps your own man can reassure you that I have not mistreated my thralls.’
He waited for several minutes while Ivar offered him a place to sit. The large interior of the longhouse was partitioned in several places to offer private sleeping quarters while a large hearth stood in the centre of the dwelling. The rich scent of roasting meat lingered in the air, and all around him, he saw evidence of Nikolasson’s wealth. There were cups made of silver and a chest decorated with ivory and gold in another corner. Silks and furs lined small couches, and Ivar himself wore a tunic embroidered with silver thread.
Moments later, Onund emerged from outside. The man’s expression was filled with relief at the sight of Styr. ‘Thank the gods,’ he breathed.
Styr stood and signalled for the man to come closer. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, ‘Where is Elena?’
Onund’s face tightened. ‘She jumped off the ship to escape her own capture. Ragnar went after her.’
A cold fist gripped him at the thought of his wife in such danger. ‘Is she alive? Where did this happen?’
‘We were attacked by the Danes, a few hours south of the city. They tried to swim to the shore, but I don’t know if they made it.’ Onund reached out and gripped his shoulder. ‘I have prayed to the gods for their safety.’
Styr gave a nod, but inside, his mind was numb, as if every sense were dulled. He hardly heard Onund’s words about his kinsmen.
‘...the rest of us were taken as slaves,’ the man finished. He waited expectantly for Styr to respond, but the image of Elena blurred with Caragh. He remembered the night she’d fallen overboard, and her struggle to swim. Elena wasn’t a strong swimmer. If she’d jumped off the ship, she must have believed she was going to die. Likely at the hands of their enemies.
He imagined her slender body falling beneath the water, her limbs lifeless, and something within him snapped.
‘What about the other men?’ he prompted. The
cold need for vengeance threaded through him. Caragh’s brother was responsible for all of it. He didn’t care if the boy was only seven and ten. Because of Brendan, his men were slaves, and his wife might be dead...
A haze of fury roared through him at the thought.
‘All survived,’ Onund answered. ‘We were brought here to be sold. I know where some of the others are.’
‘How were you even taken by a handful of Irish boys?’ Styr demanded. ‘Were you not trained to slay your enemies?’
Onund’s own anger rose up. ‘Did you want them to kill Elena?’ His hands clenched, his expression tight. ‘We were going to attack sooner, but the boy threatened to cut Elena’s throat.’ He grimaced, as if regretting their actions. ‘We didn’t trust him not to kill her.’
The lad deserved a slow, painful death. A blood-red rage smothered any pity he might have felt. He’d endangered Elena, and that, Styr would not forgive. As soon as he found the boy, he would sheathe his blade in Brendan’s heart.
But first, he had to find him.
‘Your new master,’ Styr began, ‘is he trustworthy?’
‘I think so, yes.’ A twisted expression slid over Onund’s face. ‘But I am a freeman, Styr. I won’t live like this.’
‘I’ll see to it that you are released,’ he promised. ‘As soon as I can.’
Onund inclined his head and retreated among the other thralls. Ivar came forwards and said, ‘Have you a place to stay this night? We can speak of your men, and I’ll offer my hospitality.’
It was then that he remembered Caragh in hiding, and his thoughts stilled. She would do anything necessary to protect her brother. Soft-hearted and innocent, he didn’t want her to know of his intentions.
‘We have a ship,’ he said to Ivar. ‘It’s enough.’
‘But we have much to discuss this night, about your men and how they came to be slaves,’ Ivar said smoothly. ‘Dine with us and share the longhouse.’
‘And what of my Irish companions?’ he ventured.
‘They are welcome, too.’ Ivar glanced at the door. ‘You are speaking of the woman who is in hiding outside, I presume?’
Styr sent him a dark look, and Ivar shrugged. ‘I have men who remain on guard upon the roof of my house. I am a man of wealth, and I guard what is mine.’
Styr nodded and went outside, keeping his hand upon his blade. Caragh had remained in hiding, as he’d wanted her to, and when he helped her to stand, she limped alongside him, towards the house.
‘What did you learn?’ she asked.
‘Some of my men are here.’ But he left out the rest of what he knew, especially about Elena.
It was unlikely his wife had survived. He knew too well, how dangerous it was to swim towards the shore. The intense cold of the Irish Sea, coupled with her weak swimming abilities, would easily drown a man.
‘And your wife?’ Caragh prompted. ‘Did they know where she is?’
Styr could only shake his head. ‘I plan to free Onund, and I hope he can show me the place where Elena...went missing.’ He refused to speak of her death, as if admitting it would make it a certainty. But inwardly, his thoughts were a tangled mass of fury and doubt.
Caragh’s eyes mirrored his own worry. ‘I hope she is safe.’
‘For your brother’s sake, I hope so, too.’ He didn’t care how harsh he sounded. She needed to understand that he would not show mercy to anyone who threatened his family.
She blanched, her fingers clenched together. ‘He’s only a boy, Styr.’
‘No.’ He wouldn’t make excuses for the young man. ‘He intended to attack us, and because of it, my men were sold into slavery.’ He took her by the hand and led her up into the dwelling. ‘Believe me, if he earned any silver from the capture of my men, he will lose every last coin. And if my wife is dead...’
He didn’t need to speak another word, nor did he bother to keep the coldness from his tone.
Caragh stared back at him, and pulled her hand away, repeating, ‘He’s a boy.’ Lowering her gaze, she remained behind him while he led the way towards Ivar.
After Styr introduced them, the man’s eyes passed over her with appreciation. Caragh’s face flushed, and Styr turned away to hide the surge of annoyance. Contrasted against her young beauty, Ivar was an older man who had likely enjoyed his share of women. And Styr didn’t intend for Caragh to be one of them. He could read the thoughts upon the man’s face and knew what they meant. He longed to slice the smile from the man’s face.
Because you want her, his body chided. You see her beauty and you want no one else to possess her.
Untrue, his mind responded. Elena has my loyalty and always will.
He shielded the emotions, shrugging them away. Caragh was an unmarried maiden and a beautiful one. Why should he care if she smiled at a Norseman? Or if she drew his attentions? She could do as she pleased, and it mattered not to him.
Liar, his body responded.
‘Is she your woman?’ Ivar questioned, using the Irish language so that Caragh could understand him.
Before Styr could answer, Caragh raised her chin. ‘I am my own woman. I belong to no man.’
The smile that curved over the Norseman’s face held interest and desire. ‘Well said.’ He gave the command for a female thrall to accompany her. ‘I invite you to share a meal with us, if you are willing.’
The slight emphasis he placed upon the word willing made Styr’s hand move towards his battleaxe. He didn’t doubt that Ivar wanted Caragh to be willing in another manner.
His mood darkened even more at the thought.
‘Would you like to refresh yourself?’ Ivar offered. His gaze passed over her blue gown, and he added, ‘My slaves could offer you something else to wear, while they care for your garments. That is, if you wish to try the clothing of our women.’
Caragh smiled at him gratefully. ‘You are very kind.’
‘Of course.’ Speaking in the Norse language, he ordered his slaves to begin heating water for a bath.
When the man was out of earshot, Styr moved beside Caragh. ‘He has his eye upon you. I don’t like it.’
Her mouth opened slightly, and she sent him a dark glare. ‘Why should it bother you?’
‘I don’t trust him.’ His hand moved up to cup her chin. ‘Norsemen tend to take what they want.’
She pushed his hand away. ‘He has thus far treated me with kindness. Unlike someone else who is threatening my brother.’
He caught her wrist before she could retreat. ‘Be careful, Caragh.’ Her innocence could lead her into real danger, and he didn’t want any harm to come to her.
Her violet-blue eyes turned serious. ‘Let me go.’
She touched his fingers, staring at him as if he were the threat. Didn’t she understand how vulnerable she was? A man could force himself upon her, and Caragh could do nothing to stop it.
Her defiance tempted him to take her from Ivar’s house this moment. It was as if she wanted to attract the Norseman, taunting Styr with the knowledge that he could not prevent it.
He gritted his teeth, but ultimately released Caragh. Her blue eyes stared at him as if she didn’t recognise him any more. ‘Is this the man you’ve become?’ she whispered. ‘I thought you had more honour than that.’
Without waiting for a response, she followed the women to the back of the dwelling, behind another wooden partition.
After she’d left, Ivar asked again, ‘You’re certain she is not yours?’
He wanted to deny it, if for no other reason than to keep this man away from her. But he didn’t lie. ‘I am her protector. Nothing more.’
At the gleam of interest in Ivar’s eyes, Styr let his hand drift down to his battleaxe. ‘You would do well to remember that I will allow no man to harm her.’
The Norseman smiled. ‘She is very beautiful. Though delicate.’
‘She has suffered throughout the past year, from a famine. When I found her, she had nearly starved to death.’
‘Then we
will be certain that she eats well this night.’ Ivar’s attention shifted towards the partition. From the sound of water pouring and female voices, Styr’s own imagination was distracted.
Although she was thin, Caragh did possess curves. He’d noticed the softness of her breasts pressed against him, when he’d held her. She was a woman any man would desire.
Especially a man like Ivar.
Styr suppressed the snarl of anger rising up. Caragh was right; he shouldn’t care. But the look in Ivar’s eyes pushed him towards his breaking point, and he didn’t know why. He barely heard the man’s conversation, though he caught the mention of his brother’s name.
‘When did you leave Hordafylke?’ Styr asked him.
‘Six years ago. We came to trade, but I decided to stay here.’ He nodded towards the house. ‘I came to build my fortune, and so I have. It’s time that I chose a wife and began giving her sons.’ Ivar’s glance moved towards the partition again, before he turned back to Styr. ‘For a man with no claim upon her, you seem to have a strong interest.’
‘She will make her own decisions.’ He unsheathed his dagger and studied it. ‘That doesn’t mean I won’t stop her from making the wrong ones.’
Ivar inclined his head. ‘So be it.’
Styr took a sip from the goblet of wine Ivar had poured him. ‘You purchased some new slaves in the past few days. They were members of the hird, free men who were taken captive and sold by the Danes.’
‘We’ve had trouble with them,’ Ivar admitted. ‘They’ve been seen along the coast attacking our ships. Some believe there will be another invasion.’ He refilled his own goblet and eyed Styr. ‘You want your men back.’
‘Yes.’ But more than that, he wanted to find Elena. And he wanted vengeance against those who had taken her.
Ivar’s face twisted into a smile. ‘I suppose you think I should simply release your men, despite the silver I paid.’
‘Or I would challenge you for their release,’ Styr offered. The idea of wielding a blade against Ivar gave him a means of releasing the physical frustration within him. He wouldn’t mind the fight at all.
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