Chapter Eight #2
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.
She stared at him as if she didn’t recognize him any more.
“Is this the man you’ve become?” she whispered.
“I thought you had more honor 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 toward 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. “The Danes have been attacking our ships along the coast. 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.
“There are other things you possess that could be used to bargain for your men,” Ivar said.
Styr knew exactly what the man was implying. “No.”
“Leave the woman in my care,” he said quietly. “If she allows me to grant her my attentions, I would give her everything she desires. And your men can go free.”
“I wouldn’t leave a dog in your care, Nikolasson,” Styr retorted. Before he could say anything further, Caragh emerged from behind the screen.
The women had dressed her in a vibrant red gown, with gold brooches fastening the shoulders of a white apron.
Her hair was still wet, but they had braided it back with silver combs tucked within the single plait.
A golden torque adorned her throat, and when the light illuminated her face, he was struck by the sight of her wearing such finery.
She moved slowly to avoid revealing her limp.
Ivar rose from his place, not bothering to hide his appreciative smile. Caragh held herself with poise, but when she sent him a quiet look, he saw the shadow of nerves.
“You are breathtaking, kjaere,” the Norseman remarked, offering her his arm. He brought her to a low table and bade her sit upon a silken cushion. Styr didn’t know what possessed him, but he took his place on Caragh’s opposite side.
Ivar sent her an amused look. “Your protector is like an older brother, isn’t he?”
“He isn’t my brother.” Her voice held the coolness of anger, but Styr wondered if she understood the game she was playing. Nikolasson wasn’t a man who would let a woman tease his interest without responding.
Styr reached for her hand under the table, gripping her fingers in a warning. But Caragh jerked her hand free of his, sending him a look that would have frozen water.
“I like you, Caragh ó Brannon,” Ivar admitted. “You are very much like the women of my homeland.”
“I’m not nearly as tall as they are.” She accepted the goblet of wine he offered and took a sip.
“But you are beautiful and spirited.” He cut off a piece of roasted mutton and offered it to her. “I am eager to learn more about you.”
Styr had no doubt of that. But he wasn’t about to leave Caragh with him. “We were discussing my men,” he said. “Negotiating for their freedom.”
“What else can you offer in return?” Though the words were directed to Styr, Ivar’s gaze drifted lower, over Caragh’s body.
“She is not part of our negotiation,” he said, tightening his palm upon Caragh’s hand.
Ivar gave a shrug, and offered his open palm to Caragh. “You have captured my interest, lady. Should you desire to be...friends, you have only to say the word. And if you want me to free those men, I would do as you ask.”
“She is not interested,” Styr retorted.
But Caragh lowered her head in agreement. “I would like you to free his men. Because it’s the right thing to do—not because I ask it of you.”
The Norseman eyed her again, withdrawing his hand. “If I did this, you would be in my debt.”
“I am not the sort of woman who offers her favors in exchange for men’s lives.” She crossed her arms, revealing her dissatisfaction at the idea.
Good. Nikolasson deserved that response, and Styr was glad to see her rejecting the man’s advances.
“That was not what I meant,” he corrected. “I would merely like to make your acquaintance. Perhaps bring you gifts that would complement your beauty.”
“I am not beautiful,” she answered. Though some women might have said it in a teasing manner, Styr realized that she believed it. As if she had been told this by someone. The thought irritated him.
“Then you are blind,” Ivar responded. He reached out for her palm, and Caragh hesitated before giving him her hand. She eyed him for a moment, confusion clouding her gaze. When she glanced back at Styr, he looked away.
Yes, she was beautiful. But more than that, she was strong. She’d fought to survive, and her bravery was greater than any woman he’d ever known. Beneath her fragile beauty lay a woman who had endured more than most.
Yet it was her compassion that lifted her above her kinsmen. He didn’t doubt that the Irish would not have taken him prisoner. Men like Kelan would have enjoyed killing him. Styr knew he was alive because of her.
And yet, you want to kill her brother, his conscience reminded him.
“What has brought you to our city?” Ivar asked. “Was it your...protector?”
Caragh shook her head. “I came to search for my brother.” Before Ivar could ask anything else, she described Brendan, asking, “Did you see him among the others?” Her face revealed her worry, and she added, “He’s only ten and seven.”
“A young man, then. Not a boy.”
It was exactly what Styr had been thinking, but it was clear she still thought of him as a child.
“I need to find him,” she said. “It’s why I journeyed here.”
“There is a gathering in the morning,” Ivar said. “I could ask among my friends if they have seen him.”
Her face lightened with relief. “Would you? I have no idea where to begin, and if you would be able to help...”
A slow smile curled over Ivar’s face. “I would, yes.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, smiling warmly at the man.
Didn’t she understand what was happening? Irritation tensed within him, for Styr knew exactly what Ivar wanted from her. But Caragh seemed innocent of the man’s interest. Or possibly she welcomed it. Tension coiled inside him at the thought. He didn’t want anyone to pursue her or to—
—touch her.
He shut down the thought, feeling as if someone had driven a fist into his stomach. It shouldn’t matter. Caragh was free to make her own choices, and he had no say in them.
Yet jealousy slipped under his skin, digging into his raw mood. He resented the unwanted emotion and tightened the control inside him. There was no reason to be angry with Ivar. The man had done nothing to Caragh, and if she were interested in his advances, why in the name of Thor should he care?
Leave it alone, he warned himself. Think of Elena. Your wife.
But as he shut out the images of Caragh with this man, the memories of his wife that surfaced weren’t the happy ones.
He’d made love to Elena, reaching to pull her warm body against his.
He’d wanted her to embrace him, to lie beside him when they both fell asleep.
Instead, she’d slid to the farthest side of the bed, never looking at him.
Almost as if she were ashamed of what they’d done.
Or worse, that she hadn’t enjoyed any of it.
A dark chill centered within his heart, and he'd rolled away from her. “You’re unhappy, aren’t you?”
Her silence was answer enough.