Chapter Three #2
He said nothing at first, for this woman wasn’t his responsibility. She’d taken him prisoner, and there was no reason to offer his advice.
But when he saw her shadowed face, he could think only of his wife. Was Elena hungry, as well? Was anyone watching over her? Or had they turned their backs on her?
If Caragh died, none of the others would free him. She was his only hope of escaping. And the only way to do that was to gain her trust.
“Set me free, and I’ll help you get food,” he said at last. “Then you can guide me to find my wife and kinsmen.”
She shook her head slowly, a rueful smile on her face. “You’d only abandon me here, as soon as I let you go.”
Of course she would believe that. But he wasn’t about to spend any longer, waiting until her brothers arrived. He would keep trying to free himself, no matter what he had to do.
Caragh took a branch from her supply of kindling and made it into a torch, lighting it in the fire. “I suppose I could try to look for crab for a little while. Wait here, and I’ll return within the hour.”
As if he had a choice.
He leaned back against the post, determined to do anything necessary to make his escape.
Styr tested the chains behind his back, lifting the manacles as far up as he could, to his shoulders.
He leaned against them with his full body weight, facing the ground.
Then he leaned hard, placing his feet on the rough post until his body was nearly parallel with the ground.
Though his wrists and shoulders burned from the effort, he walked backwards up the post, lifting the chains with every step.
After falling back down several times, he realized he had to keep the chains taut.
Inch by inch, he guided himself up, gritting his teeth against the ache.
It was the thought of freedom that pushed him past the edge of pain, while he twisted the chains and continued higher.
The support beam reached up to the ceiling.
Slowly, he pulled himself up, until his shoulders touched the thatch.
Sweat beaded against his forehead as he fought to keep his balance.
If he could just lift his arms a little higher, he could raise the chains over the top of the post. It was attached to the roof, but the other beam was thinner, perhaps the width of his wrist.
Every muscle in his body cried out with agony, but he pushed past the pain. He would endure this for Elena’s sake.
His shoulder nearly dislocated when he shoved the chain over the top of the beam. He hung, suspended, from the smaller piece of wood, and his body weight strained against the beam.
Come on, he pleaded. Break.
He gulped for air, swinging against the wood while he feared it was his wrists that would break. In his mind, he pictured the face of Elena and her haunted sadness.
She needs you.
With a fierce effort, at last the smaller beam cracked and he fell to the ground against his knees.
He couldn’t move, and for a long moment, he rested his cheek against the earthen floor. His wrists were slick with blood, and they throbbed with pain.
But he’d done it. He was free to move, free to leave this place. Though his hands were still bound in chains, no longer was he confined to Caragh’s hut.
Styr rose up to his knees, letting out a shuddering breath. It was better to wait until morning to go after Elena. This land was unknown to him, and he needed to plan his journey.
That meant gathering supplies and food—if there were any to be had. He sobered, for he’d traveled enough to know that he couldn’t go off blindly trying to track down Elena and Ragnar. Since they’d gone by boat, they could be anywhere along the coast.
He needed a ship of his own to travel the same path. And he needed to break free of these chains.
Slowly, he stood, eager to escape the confines of this place. He struggled to open the door, but when he stepped outside, he breathed in the scent of freedom. All was quiet, the night cloaking the sky with darkened clouds. In the distance, he spied the flare of a single torch.
Caragh.
He gripped the chains to hold his silence as he tiptoed into the night. Soundlessly, he made his way toward the beach where he saw her staring intently at the sand. Alone, with no one to help her.
In her face, he saw the dogged determination to survive. It was breaking her down, but she kept searching. He’d known men who were quicker to give up than her.
She walked alongside the water, the torch casting shadows upon the sand. In the faint light, her face held a steady patience. Her skin was golden in the light, her brown hair falling over her shoulders in untamed waves.
She was far too gentle for her own good. What kind of a woman would capture a Norseman and then give up her own food? Why would she bother treating his wounds when he’d threatened her?
And why was there no man to take care of her? No husband or lover...unless Kelan had intended to offer his protection. From her coolness toward the man, Caragh didn't want him to stay.
Styr remained in the shadows, even knowing that he shouldn’t be here. He ought to be studying the perimeter of the ringfort, searching for hidden supplies or information about these people.
Instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off Caragh, as if she were the vision of Freya, sent to tempt him. Like the women of his homeland, she possessed an inner strength he admired. Though Fate had cast her a bitter lot, she’d faced the grimness of her future.
Taking him prisoner had been the action of a desperate woman, not a cruel one. He knew within his blood, that if he left her now, she would starve to death.
He shouldn’t care. Because of her, he’d been helpless to look after his wife and his men. He owed her nothing.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Perhaps it was the way she’d tended his wounds...or the way she’d wanted to protect her brother. He understood loyalty to family.
He cursed her for weakening his resolve, but he couldn’t leave until she had enough food to survive a little longer. Turning his back, he returned to her shelter, his mind filling up with plans of how to gain a boat.
Once he’d found fish for Caragh, he’d have his own supplies, too. Then, he could go out in search of his wife.
Caragh sat upon a large stone, watching the sand for any sign of movement. Styr had claimed that she might find crabs at this time of night, but she doubted if there would be anything.
His accusation stung, that she would rather wait on her brothers than try to save herself. Of course she’d tried to survive. She’d done everything she could to find food.
Every breath was a fight to live, and she’d grown accustomed to hunger. The emptiness inside her was a constant reminder of how capricious Fate could be. But the Lochlannach’s words had bruised her feelings.
The familiar dizziness blurred her vision, and she took slow, deep breaths to keep from fainting. In time, the ringing in her ears stopped, and she concentrated on the water once more.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she raised the torch.
She was startled to realize that Styr’s prediction was right.
There were crabs underwater at night. Quickly she reached for one and placed it in her basket.
Though it was too tiny for meat, if she caught enough of them, they could make a good soup.
One by one, she saw more crabs and added them to her basket, feeling her spirits lift.
After another hour passed, she decided she’d caught enough. Though there were only a dozen, they would provide sustenance. She smiled with relief, covering the basket to protect her catch.
It was late, but she was so hungry, she hardly cared. Right now, she wanted to boil some of the crabs for food. Hurrying back, she opened the door and saw Styr exactly where she’d left him. When he spied her, his eyes seemed to say: I told you so.
“You were right,” she admitted, revealing the crabs she’d caught. But she hardly cared what he thought. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I’ll boil these and make a soup.”
The Lochlannach shook his head. “Don’t. You’ll catch fish if you bait lines with the crab tonight. Put them where the tide comes in and you’ll have bass or flounder in the morning.” He gave her further instructions about the kind of fishing lines she needed and the hooks.
Caragh put up her hands, not listening. “No. We should eat now. I know you must be as hungry as I am.”
“We’ll eat the grain tonight,” he corrected. “Fish in the morning.”
“If there are any fish.”
“There will be,” he promised. “I was right about the crabs, wasn’t I?”
She eyed her basket in dismay, wanting so badly to eat them. But they were no bigger than the palm of her hand...and the promise of large fish made her mouth water.
“I’m afraid of losing the crabs,” she confessed. “What if I bait the lines and get nothing for my trouble?”
“It’s possible,” he told her. “But I’ve spent my life living off the sea. I know how to catch fish.”
Caragh regarded him. If so, then it might be their salvation. She’d never been able to catch anything but small fish in the shallow water.
She pulled out some of the fishing lines belonging to her brother and Styr repeated his instructions, explaining how she should pierce the shell with the hook.
“Set out the lines,” he said. “And in the morning, you’ll see.”
He appeared confident that it would work, but Caragh wasn’t so certain. The sea was unpredictable, and more often than not, she’d caught nothing.
She placed the bait and the fishing lines in her basket, walking slowly past Styr. His demeanour was stoic, almost arrogant in his belief that she could not fail in this. But when he turned to look at her, there was a slight shift in his expression, almost as if he held empathy toward her.
His dark eyes held a steadiness, willing her to believe in this. A tightness seized up in her chest, for she desperately wanted to hope. Her gaze passed over his wounds. The cut upon his leg didn’t seem to be bleeding any more, but his head wound was still swollen.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said. “I pray that this will work.”
In the dim light of her house, she noticed a difference in his posture. There was something unusual about the way he was sitting.
Frowning, she started to approach, but he said, “Go and set the lines before your torch dies out.”
“All right.” She reached for her basket and the torch, adding, “If I do catch any fish, I promise I’ll free you in the morning.”
He sobered, giving a single nod. Though she didn’t know if it was safe to make such a vow, she was a woman of her word. And their lives depended on catching these fish.
Styr crept outside, shadowing Caragh. Immediately, he noticed that she was choosing the wrong location for her lines.
No fish of any size would swim near the pools where she’d set the bait.
He remained hidden, watching as she moved from one line to the other.
In all, she set out a dozen, in various locations along the shallow waters.
He waited until she was farther away and then knelt down, using his shackled hands to pick up the first line, moving it out into deeper water.
Thor’s blood, he shouldn’t be interfering like this. But there was no choice. He needed supplies and food before he could go after Elena.
The tide was going out, and Styr crouched down, searching for a place where the line would lure larger fish.
Though his clothing grew soaked, he waded toward a sandbar.
He gripped the baited line behind him, searching until he found the right place.
Luck was with him, and his foot pressed against a stone, one large enough to hold the line.
Kneeling down in the water, he maneuvered his hands until he was able to secure the line with the stone.
When he turned back, he was startled to glimpse the outline of a boat, anchored near the shore. Caragh had said nothing about it, claiming that the fishermen had taken their boats with them. This one was set apart from the settlement, almost as if someone had tried to hide it.
But now, he had a means of leaving this place. A way of retracing the path of his wife and kinsmen. Thank the gods.
With a quick glance, he saw that Caragh was starting to return.
Styr rose from the water and hurried toward the shore.
He melted back into the shadows, running toward her hut.
Though a close glance would reveal that he was no longer bound to the post, he hoped he could feign sleep.
His clothing might dry by morning, though it was doubtful.
He leaned against the post, curling his body to hide his chains.
Within minutes, the door creaked open. “Styr?” Caragh whispered.
He didn’t answer, hoping she would go to sleep and leave him alone. The wind blew against his back, making his wet clothing more uncomfortable.
With his eyes shut tightly, he ignored the footsteps approaching, willing her to leave him alone. Before he realized what was happening, she had laid his cloak over him. The wool was warm from where she’d set it by the fire.
Her scent clung to the cloak, and it rendered him motionless. No one had ever done anything like this for him. He doubted if she’d even realized the significance. Kindness came to Caragh as naturally as breathing.
He closed his eyes, damning himself for a fool. There was no way he could leave her behind now, even if they did catch fish. It would haunt him for the rest of his life if she starved to death.
Whether or not she wanted it, he was going to take Caragh with him when he went in search of his wife.
Someone had to look after her.