Chapter Fifteen
Styr spent the rest of the evening brooding among his men. He’d brought Caragh back to her home with all the gifts he’d given her, but his foul mood lingered.
Thor’s teeth, but women were impossible to understand. He’d come back to her, hadn’t he? Yet somehow what was supposed to be an afternoon spent in her arms had become an argument that twisted him into knots. He’d given her the truth, even if she hadn’t wanted to hear it.
If she wanted a babe and he could not give her a child, he’d rather release her from their marriage than have her look upon him with hatred. He cared about her too much, wanting only her happiness.
He wished he could find the right words—to talk to her, to tell her all the reasons why he wanted to be with her. Damned words were of no use to him. He didn’t know what to say or what she wanted to hear.
Styr rubbed the scar on the back of his head, unsure of what to do. But he wasn’t going to abandon this. Not yet.
They made camp and Onund went out to hunt. Styr had spitted a trout he’d caught and was waiting for the fish to cook.
“May I join you?” came the voice of a wizened old woman. He’d seen her before but didn’t know her name.
Styr gestured for her to sit across from him, and she smiled, saying, “No, I can’t, my boy. If these old knees bend, they won’t get up again.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked, though he suspected that wasn’t the reason for her conversation.
“No,” she said. “I came to lend you my advice, since you’re failing in your quest.”
He lifted a peat brick and tossed it on the fire. “And what quest is that?”
“Why, to win our Caragh’s heart. She wept over you, you know. She tried not to let us see it, but you hurt her. You’ll have to atone for it.”
Styr said nothing, for he wasn’t about to beg. He wanted Caragh, but what more did she want?
“Give her time,” the woman suggested. “Build her a house and show her that you’re not leaving.”
He studied the old woman and saw that her face was somber. “I have no intention of giving her up.” But neither did he want to wait for weeks, giving Caragh the chance to say no.
“I think you already know what to do, Lochlannach.” The old woman smiled. Leaning on her walking stick, she hobbled back to her husband.
An idea took root in his mind, one that suited his intent perfectly.
Over the next few days, Caragh hardly saw Styr at all. He’d negotiated a truce with her brothers, and she half-wondered if it was in return for keeping his distance.
But on the night Ronan and Terence took Brendan to visit a neighboring clan, she found Styr awaiting her inside her home.
He was seated on a stool, both hands enclosed in manacles, while a longer chain looped around the post where she’d once held him captive.
His hands were in front of him this time, with each bound separately, to give him more freedom to move.
And he wore nothing but his hose.
At the very sight of his muscled chest, words failed her. He was magnificent, his sun-darkened skin gleaming against the fire. His shoulders were corded, lean and strong, while his stomach was flat and ridged.
Caragh couldn’t imagine what had happened to him, but the heated look in his eyes drew her closer.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked, pushing back the storm of unexpected feelings. “Who’s done this to you?” Had Ronan or Terence ordered him chained? She wouldn’t put it past her brothers. But if that were the case, they wouldn’t have confined him here.
“Close the door,” Styr answered. “This was my decision, with the help of Onund.”
“Why?” she blurted out, not understanding what would possess him to do such a thing. It reminded her of the first nights they’d spent together, when she’d held him captive.
“Because I’m not good with words.”
Caragh bit her lip to keep her mouth from falling open. He had chained himself here? For what purpose?
She studied him, taking another step closer. He was bared to her, his body chained so he could not leave.
And she understood what he was trying to say.
“Promise me,” she whispered. “No matter what happens between us.” Her hand came up to cover his heart. “Our marriage will not rest upon the condition of having children.”
He leaned in, resting his cheek against hers. “I want to give you children.” His hands moved to rest upon her waist. “I want to watch you grow round with my child.”
His words held a power that entrapped her, as if she were the one wearing manacles. Against her body, she felt the rise of his arousal.
“Your brothers are gone this night,” he reminded her, nipping her cheek with a light kiss. “We’re alone.”
Her body responded to his sensual promise, aching for him. Against her gown, her breasts tightened.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
“Everything.” His voice was resonant, pushing past her defenses. “Did you think I was going to let you walk away?”
She had no idea what to say, but eyed the chains. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”
“It’s more interesting.”
Her eyes widened, her skin warming at his suggestion. But she could not resist the urge to run her hands over his shoulders, feeling the strength of his bare skin.
It felt wicked, having a man chained for her pleasure. Deliciously so.
“This isn’t fair to you,” she whispered.
A slow smile curved over his mouth. “S?tnos, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t dream of this.”
She realized, then, that this was his way of atonement. When he’d left her before, she’d nearly crumbled under the weight of her grief. He had chosen to stay with his wife out of honor and duty to their unborn child. She’d understood that, though it had devastated her.
“If you wed me, I don’t want you to leave,” she said. “I want a child, yes, but more than that, I want you.” To emphasize her words, she ran her palm over his cheek, down his throat, to rest upon his heart. “With or without a child. It’s you I need.”
Styr held himself motionless at her words. When Caragh moved beneath his chained arms to kiss him, he claimed her lips, as if disbelieving what she’d said. Pulling back from him, she ordered, “Look at me.”
He did, and she framed his face with her hands, seeing the yearning that mirrored her own. “I don’t love you for the child you may or may not give me. I love the man before me.” She pressed another kiss against his heart, and he drew his chained hands against her hair, holding her as best he could.
“I don’t want you to hate me, years from now,” he admitted.
She looped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his skin. “I’ll only hate you, if you walk away.”
In his eyes, she saw the uncertainty, the belief of a man who saw himself as unworthy. And she realized that he was as broken as she had once been.
“When you left, it was as if a part of me was gone,” she continued.
Emotion welled up in her eyes as she reached down to touch the lengths of chain.
“I never should have taken you prisoner in the beginning. I understand now, what you suffered, not knowing if Elena was alive or dead. It was wrong of me.”
His hands came around her waist, pulling the chains taut until her body was pressed against his. She could feel his desire, and she warmed to it. “I love you, Styr. And though I may not ever be what Elena was—”
He cut her off at that. “She cannot compare to you. Not in any way.” He took her mouth again, kissing her and shaping her lips to his. When she opened to him, she accepted his tongue within her mouth, matching his invasion with her own.
His deep voice was a breath of heat upon her skin. “From the moment I saw you, Caragh, you captured me.”
The desire to touch him, to feel his bare skin against hers, was an ache that could not be denied. At his words, she reached back for the ties of her gown, loosening it until the linen slid over her shoulders, over her bared breasts, and fell to her feet.
When Styr saw her body, he ached to touch her. Her slim lines had filled out, her breasts a generous handful that he wanted to caress. No longer could he see her bones, but a softer flesh covered the body he adored.
“I am yours to command,” he said, and by the gods, he prayed she would take advantage. Against his hose, he was rigid, almost afraid he would lose control the moment she touched him.
She drew near to him, her unbound hair falling across her shoulders in a dark pool. He lifted his chained hands, and she stepped beneath them, her expression shy. The length of the fetters grazed her nipple, and she gasped at the sensation.
“It’s cold.”
“Is it?” He covered one nipple with his palm, gently teasing the other with the chain. She gasped, and he distracted her with his mouth, tasting the sweet flesh while his hands moved over her hips, lifting one of her legs until he could loop the chain between them.
She was so caught up in the attention he gave to her breasts, that she hardly noticed the length of chain until it slid between her thighs, moving upwards until it rested upon her womanhood.
A cry escaped her when he rubbed it gently upon her. “What are you—?” A shudder broke forth as he drew it over her flesh.
His hands caressed her rib cage, his mouth still suckling her breasts while he tormented her below.
“Remove my clothing,” he ordered. But she was so caught up, her eyes closed at the sensation, she hardly heard him.
“Caragh,” he demanded, “look at me.”
Her blue eyes were hazed with pleasure, her hands gripping his shoulders. He repeated his request, and she fumbled with the ties of his hose, drawing them over his hips.
Her fingers brushed against his erect shaft, and it was as if she’d touched a torch to his skin. He nearly lost his seed at that moment, and he froze, trying to gather up the threads of his shredded control.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”