Chapter Eleven
Bodies littered the ground, but Ivar’s house remained unscathed. Styr cleaned his sword and thankfully, none of his men had died in the fight.
Ivar had a wound upon his upper arm, but it would heal. “Take your men and go after them,” he commanded.
At Styr’s questioning look, he added, “Caragh wants you and always has.” Nodding towards Onund and the others, he said, “Your men helped defend my house. They may take their freedom, so long as you guard her.”
Ivar’s mouth curved in a bitter smile. “The only reason she offered to stay was for you. And unless you’re an utter fool, you should claim the woman who loves you. Before the Danes do.”
“She doesn’t—”
“Open your damned eyes, Hardrata. Because if you don’t go after her, I will.”
Styr eyed the man, not certain what he was agreeing to. Even so, he didn’t want Caragh here any more. It wasn’t safe.
“You and I know the Danes,” Ivar continued. “They will build their fires upon the bodies of their enemies. And her brothers aren’t enough to guard her. Go,” he ordered.
Sheathing his sword, Styr ordered his kinsmen to follow him. They moved through the streets, cutting down any man who dared to attack.
As they moved along the edge of the River Liffey, Styr kept his battleaxe in hand, his eyes searching for a glimpse of Caragh. The deeper he moved into the city, the more he realized Ivar was right. The Danes had slaughtered the Norse and Irish alike, and the fighting hadn’t stopped.
He moved with a purpose, needing to ensure that she was safe.
The sounds of Death surrounded them, mingled with fire and smoke.
Caragh kept her head down while her brothers pushed her through the crowd. She saw women cut down in the streets, the Danes slaughtering anyone who stood in their way.
Terence shoved her through a narrow passageway between houses, ordering, “Don’t look. Don’t think. Just run.”
And she did. Her lungs burned, her sides aching as she followed them towards the harbor. But just when she spied the gleaming dark water, a hand snaked around her waist, dragging her back.
A cry escaped her, and Ronan swung hard at the man, his blade biting into a wooden shield. Terence tried to aid him, but within moments, they were surrounded by invaders. The dark-haired Gallaibh were fierce fighters, bearded men whose ruthless eyes revealed the desire to conquer.
Fear pulsed within her while her brothers fought, back to back, against the insurmountable odds. She struggled against her captor, but although she had regained some of her strength, it wasn’t nearly enough.
His foreign words made no sense to her, but when he shoved her against a wall and reached for her skirts, his intent became clear.
No. She refused to stand here without fighting. When he tried to pin her, she let her body go limp, and she hit the ground hard. Her fist seized a handful of dirt, and when he jerked her up, she threw it into his eyes.
He roared in fury, reaching for her. She ducked to avoid the strike of his fists, but a moment later, the man seized her, gripping his forearm across her throat.
“I should break your neck,” he said in Irish, and his breath smelled of ale. She tried to push against him, but he only tightened his grip, cutting off her air.
The world swam with blurred images, and she fought hard against the man who was trying to strangle her. She couldn’t see her brothers or anyone else, the fading consciousness sliding away.
She glimpsed the face of Death, as her lungs burned from lack of air. A part of her mourned the fact that she hadn’t had the chance to talk with Styr to admit the feelings she’d held inside her.
And now she was going to die.
Styr embedded his battleaxe in the Dane’s spine, catching Caragh before she could fall.
Thor’s blood, she’d nearly died. Her skin was waxen, but thank the gods, she gasped for air. He lifted her in his arms, while his men aided Ronan and Terence in fighting the enemy.
All around them were the bodies of the fallen, but Styr kept his battleaxe in one hand, holding Caragh with the other arm.
Her head slumped against his shoulder, but he continued carrying her toward the waiting boat.
One man dared to attack, and Styr slashed his battleaxe with one hand, cutting the man down.
No one will harm her. The need to protect Caragh, to keep her safe, went deeper than his bones.
When he reached the boat, he brought her inside, awaiting her brothers and his men. Not once did he let her out of his arms, and at long last, her eyelids fluttered.
“Caragh,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”
She coughed, and he held her, rubbing her back as she regained awareness.
“Where am I?”
“On board the ship,” he responded. “We’re waiting for your brothers to join us.” Her arms came up around his neck, and when she embraced him, he gripped her hard.
“You came for me,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to die.” She drew back, her dark blue eyes meeting his. “And all I could think was that I never told you.” Her voice was soft, as if holding secrets.
“Never told me what?” But he knew before she said a word. Her heart lay in those eyes, and he saw the offering.
A faltering smile crossed her face. “I’m such a fool, Styr. You made me so angry at Ivar’s house. He could have given me anything. And yet, I let myself fall in love with a man I can’t have.” She touched his cheek, the sadness filling up her countenance. “I’m sorry. But I needed you to know.”
He didn’t know what to say. Her words should have provoked a sense of guilt. Instead, he saw her love for what it was—a gift.
“I know you will return to your wife,” she said. “I know you love her and not me. But when I was about to die, I wished I had said it sooner.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth in a silent kiss. There were no words to tell her that he did care, far more than he should. When he’d watched the Dane trying to kill her, the raw fear had struck him down. He couldn’t let it happen.
“You honor me,” was all he could say.
He kept her in his arms, not revealing his own troubled spirits. Her affection was a kindness he’d never expected, and for a moment, he let himself dream of what his life would have been, had he married a woman like Caragh.
“Will you allow me a boon?” she asked, when she caught sight of her brothers approaching.
He nodded his assent, not questioning what it was. But when her hands moved to either side of his face, he guessed what she wanted. Violet eyes watched him with a longing that stole his breath away. And when she brought his face down to hers, he didn’t stop himself from kissing her back.
She was a beautiful woman, loving and warm-hearted. Yet, he knew this was a kiss goodbye.
He wasn’t prepared for the rush of heat that filled up the empty crevices of his heart. Her tongue touched his, and the kiss shifted from a farewell into a carnal response that staggered him.
Elena’s kisses had been good, but none of them had made him feel such a visceral need. He didn’t understand why Caragh’s touch affected him in such a way, but he didn’t stop it from happening. For it felt right to kiss her, to be with her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his mouth, when she pulled away. “But after what happened this day, I needed you. Just for a moment.”
He saw the looks on the faces of her brothers. They’d seen him kissing Caragh, and Terence’s expression tightened with dissatisfaction. The rest of his men arrived on board the boat, and they, too, eyed him with suspicion.
Ronan gave the orders to pull up the anchor and untie the boat from its moorings. The men took their places at the oars and began to row, while in the distance, the fires burned through the city.
Styr continued rowing alongside the men, and Terence came to sit by him. “We’re bringing you to your ship, Lochlannach. You’ll take your men and go.”
And leave our sister alone, were the unspoken words.
Styr said nothing but only continued to row. Caragh borrowed a cloak from her brothers and took her seat at the side of the boat.
It wasn’t long before he saw the outline of his own vessel. The bronze weathervane marked it as his, and only a few of the Danes remained on board. Styr gave the order for his men to release arrows, and within moments, they recaptured their ship from the enemy.
It had grown so dark, they needed torches to see clearly, but his men took their positions at the oars. Styr took the rudder and the Irishmen removed their ropes, releasing his ship.
“Thank you for looking after our sister,” Ronan said. “But we’ll take her home now.”
“Safe journey to you,” Styr bade them. He searched for a glimpse of Caragh, but in the darkness, he could no longer see the far side of the boat where she’d been sitting. It seemed she had already voiced her farewell, and he’d not see her again.
It was likely for the best. At the moment, he needed to get his ship out to the open sea where they could unfurl the sails and gain speed.
The night was clear, and the full moon was bright.
It would take a few hours to reach the place of the green island.
If the moonlight illuminated the shore, it was possible that they could make camp at the site where Elena and Ragnar had disappeared.
Gods, but he was grateful to be back on board his own ship. His men began to row, using their strength to move the vessel across the waves.
When Styr took his place at the side rudder, he spied a lone figure, huddled within a cloak.
And he knew.
Tearing off the cloak, he saw Caragh’s dark hair. “What do you think you’re doing?” His mind spun with the realization that her brothers would think he’d stolen her. He needed to take her back, and—
“Coming with you.” She stood aboard the ship and reached for one of the torches. Holding it, she stood across from her brothers’ boat, lifting her hand to them. “And now they know that this was my choice.”
“They’ll come after you.”
She shook her head. “No. I spoke with Brendan. He knew what I planned to do.”