Chapter Seven #4
He knew, without asking, what she meant.
They continued a little further and Styr asked a bystander where they could find the slave markets.
The man pointed them in the right direction, and she saw the tension in his face.
If Elena had been sold as a slave, she could be anywhere.
..even brought to distant lands. He might never find her.
A hollow feeling took root within Caragh, suffusing her with guilt. For if Styr never saw his wife again, his marriage was essentially over.
He could be yours, the voice of sin whispered.
She lifted her gaze to his sun-darkened hair and brown eyes. There was no man as powerful and strong as this one. And when he’d touched her, it was as if her body craved more than he could give.
But it was wrong to even think of it. She closed her eyes, forcing back the dishonorable thoughts. A man like Styr deserved to be with the woman he loved. Not her.
The longer they walked, the more her feet began to ache. Caragh hid her discomfort, for it was not only Elena they needed to find; it was also Brendan.
She’d not seen any sign of her brother at all, and more and more, she was wondering if he had gone elsewhere.
They walked through a maze of streets, past livestock and throngs of people. Caragh didn’t know how they would ever find anyone in a place as large as this. She was accustomed to a small ringfort with only a few dozen inhabitants. Here, there were hundreds. Perhaps even a thousand.
She gritted her teeth against the swollen blisters on her soles, not wanting to reveal any weakness. When they reached the interior of the city, she saw the auction block and the chained rows of men and women. Most were Irish, but there were a few Norsemen and women among them.
Although it was cold outside, the men were mostly naked, wearing only a cloth around their waist to cover themselves.
She supposed it was to reveal their physical strength.
The women wore a shapeless brown léine, their hair hanging loose.
When she saw a few boys awaiting their turn to be sold, her heart twisted at the sight.
What had happened to their families? And why would anyone want to sell a child?
Styr went to ask one of the Norsemen about Elena, but Caragh couldn’t tear her gaze from the young boy.
He reminded her of Brendan, years ago, when both of them had played together as children.
Though her brother had made terrible mistakes in the past few days, he was still her kin.
And his life depended on what had happened to Elena.
When Styr returned, his face was grim. “They were here, a few days ago. My men were, at least. But not Elena. They didn’t see a woman.”
“Perhaps they were lying.”
“No. They had no reason to lie about her.”
His hands clenched into fists with a palpable frustration. Though he steeled his expression, she knew he feared the worst.
“She’s not dead,” Caragh assured him.
“You don’t know that, any more than I do.” He gripped her hand in wordless command not to speak of it before he led her away from the marketplace. Caragh cast one last look at the young boy, wishing she could save him.
But she could not delay any longer. Styr’s pace had hastened, his long legs striding forward as he moved northwest.
“Where are we going?” she asked, biting her lip against the pain of her blistering feet.
“I learned where one of my men was sold. He’s still within the city, and I plan to speak with him and find out what happened to Elena.” He kept a tight grip upon her hand, guiding her through the narrow streets, across a bridge that spanned the River Liffey.
“How far away is he?” she asked, praying it could not be much further.
“Another hour. Unless we hurry,” he told her.
Caragh glanced up at the afternoon sun, which was starting to descend. “We have to be back by nightfall. My brothers will—”
“I don’t care what your brothers want,” he snapped. “You were the one who insisted on coming with me. And if night comes before we get back, so be it. I will find my wife, no matter how many hours it takes.”
Though he sounded impatient, she didn’t miss the note of fear in his voice. “I hope we do find them. But could we rest, for just a moment?” Her lungs were burning from exertion, and her feet were slick within her leather shoes.
He did stop walking, but appeared annoyed at the delay. Caragh moved down to the river bank and removed her shoes. She dipped them into the cool water, and the relief was immediate. He drew closer and when he saw her feet, his demeanor changed. “When did your feet start bleeding?”
“An hour ago.” She washed away the blood, letting the cool water soothe the swollen skin. “I’ll be all right in a few minutes. Why don’t we eat and then we can continue?” It had been hours since they’d broken their fast with the meat pies, and she was hungry again.
Styr ignored her suggestion and picked up her shoes. He turned them over, revealing the holes within the leather. “You’re not walking in these.”
She shook her head at that pronouncement. “I’ve no other choice.”
“I’ll carry you.” He gave back the shoes and pulled one of her feet from the water. Though it was dripping wet, he dried it upon his hose and examined her blisters. When his thumb brushed against a sensitive place, she flinched.
“If we want to be back by nightfall, I’ll have to walk.” She reached for her shoes, and reluctantly, he returned them. Though her feet ached, she limped along for a time.
Then, without warning, he lifted her into his arms. He strode up the river bank, moving deeper into the city.
“Styr, no. This isn’t necessary.”
It was as if she hadn’t spoken a single word. Doggedly, he continued, his gaze studying every street. “It’s only another mile past the river.”
“It’s too far to carry me,” she said. “Truly, you shouldn’t bother.”
“Caragh, my dog weighed more than you do.” He shifted her in his arms, and his remark bruised her feelings.
She didn’t say anything, but it made her conscious of how much weight she’d lost. How tired she’d become over the past few months.
Even when they’d caught the fish, she’d been unable to eat more than a small portion.
The famine had changed her and not only physically. She was conscious of food in a way she’d never been before.
“I know what I look like,” she said quietly. “I know I’m too thin.”
He slowed his pace and eased her back to her feet. Caragh faced him, holding up her arms. “I never wanted to be like this. But don’t speak as if the way I look was my choice.”
“It wasn’t.” He let out a slow breath. “But your brothers shouldn’t have left you there. They should shoulder the blame for what you suffered.”
“They knew I couldn’t make the journey to find food.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “And perhaps it...was my fault. I gave Brendan my share of food on occasion.” Her voice grew distant as she remembered her brother’s desperate hunger.
“Then he was weak for taking what belonged to you.”
“He didn’t know.” She walked gingerly, adjusting her gait to avoid stepping on her blisters. Styr remained at her side, keeping his own pace slow. “I told him I had eaten already. Sometimes I told him it was extra food.”
The ache of hunger had dulled until she didn’t feel it. And watching her brother suffer was so hard, especially when she could do something to change it.
Her mother had done the same thing, and after seeing her brother’s fierce hunger, she’d understood why...even if it wasn’t right to starve herself.
But now, she’d paid the consequences for her actions. She was fully conscious of her thinness, and it bothered her to be seen like this.
Styr stopped walking, and he unwrapped a bit of dried fish from their supplies. “Eat this.”
“But you—”
“Do it,” he commanded. “And I swear on the bones of Thor that you won’t go hungry again. Not like the past few months.”
“And how will you do that, when my brother stole your ship? You’ve no more coins than I.”
“There are ways,” he said enigmatically, taking food for himself. He made sure that she ate a goodly portion of fish and bread, before lifting her in his arms again.
“Styr, I don’t want to be carried.”
“You slow my pace when we walk,” he countered.
And with no other choice, she let him. While he continued through the streets, she rested her cheek against his chest. In his arms, he made her feel safe, as if she could cast off her worries and rely on him.
But the lurking fear for her brother remained. What had happened to Brendan? Was he alive? And would Styr harm him? And what of Elena?
He spoke of Elena like a man who would never stop searching. But there was something else beneath his resolution. Almost a sadness, a frustration she didn’t understand.
“When you find your wife, I’ll stay away from both of you,” Caragh offered. “I wouldn’t want her to think that I...came between you in any way.”
His pacing slowed, and he adjusted her position for a moment. “She knows I would never dishonor our marriage.” But again, there was a grim quality to his tone. She didn’t know what to make of it.
“That’s good, then.” She waited for him to continue on, pushing back her doubts. “I imagine she will be overjoyed to see you.”
But the look on his face didn’t agree with the words. Instead, he shrugged.
“Likely she’ll blame me for being unable to guard her.” He continued walking, though his pace was not nearly as swift. “She would be right.”
She reached up to touch his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “It wasn’t your fault. And I believe, when you find her, she will be so happy to see you, everything will change.”
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 Styr 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 teased, “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 recognized 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.