Chapter Six
Ragnar was beginning to think that this was his punishment. The small tent was filled with her scent, and it was a constant torment to be so close to Elena. Jealousy was eating away at his mood and he’d not slept at all.
Worse, the storm was growing more intense, the wind howling against the small tent. Despite the heated stones, the cold air slipped through the crevices, making it more uncomfortable.
Elena slept fitfully and once, she moved to snuggle against him. He tried to remain still, but when she pressed her bottom against him, it was nearly his undoing. Only a thin layer of cloth separated their bodies, and his restraint was worn down to a thread.
Not yours, his brain reminded him. Only a man without honor would touch her while she was unaware of it. She was his best friend’s wife, and he had to bury his desires and feelings. No matter how much he might want her.
But what if Styr is dead? The terrible thought twined around him until reason intervened. Even if that happened, Elena would never turn to a man like him. She knew of the countless men he’d slain and the violence he was capable of.
His father had taught him well.
When she tried to snuggle against him, he could not let her do it. “Elena,” he said, pushing her from him. “Wake up.”
She rolled over and ended up on top of him, which was far worse. Her breasts pressed against him while her face rested against his heart. “Wh-what is it?” she whispered sleepily.
“You can’t lie so close to me.”
Gently, he pushed her back and she sighed. “I’m just cold, Ragnar. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
You could warm her, his weak-willed body suggested. Hold her in your arms for the night.
It was as close as he would ever come to having her. She was so near to him, he could feel her arm beside his. Her skin tempted him, making him want to lie upon her and take the offering before him.
“Go back to sleep,” he commanded.
And stay far away from me. He didn’t want her to know how she’d gotten under his skin. Better to let her think he was her husband’s friend, someone who would never be a threat to her. She needed someone to trust.
Elena turned over, and the wind tore at their tent once again, ripping open the flap. Ragnar rose from his sleeping place, limping toward the opening. He tied down the ropes, securing them to hold back the worst of the wind. Rain spattered down hard, making him glad of their shelter.
He tried to get back to sleep, ignoring the vicious pain that plagued him. But then Elena spoke softly, “I meant what I said earlier. I am glad to be with you. All of this is more bearable with a friend.”
He couldn’t answer, for she was far more than a friend to him. The innocent kiss she’d given him, days ago, was a memory burned into him. He’d never known what it was to kiss her, and now it was all he thought of.
“I swore to Styr that nothing would happen to you.”
And it wouldn’t. He’d throw himself upon an enemy blade for her.
“I’m so afraid for him,” she confessed, curling up with her back against his. “And...even if we do find him, I don’t want things to be the way they were. Especially now with the baby.”
She let out a heavy sigh, and the weight of a marriage hung in her breath. “Something’s wrong with me, Ragnar. I don’t enjoy sharing his bed and...that’s my fault. He’s tried so many things, but I just don’t feel the way he wants me to.”
Ragnar didn’t trust himself to speak a single word. This was a female question that was designed to ensnare a man, for there was no right answer. Anything he said would get him into trouble. Instead, he reached out and took her hand in his.
“He’s never said it...but I’m cold to him. I don’t know how to change that.” She rolled on to her side. “I know you’ve been with women before. Should I—”
“This is not something I want to discuss.” He cut her off, not caring that his tone was harsh. “Talk to Styr.”
“That’s just it. I’ve never been able to talk to him the way I talk to you. He’s so fierce and forbidding. It’s like trying to talk to a mountain.”
Whereas she treated him like someone who was hardly a threat at all. Ragnar wasn’t certain whether to be complimented by that or offended.
“What should I do to make my marriage better?” she asked.
“Seduce your husband,” he said automatically.
“I couldn’t!” Her words were shocked, as if he’d suggested that she slip a knife between Styr’s ribs. “He wouldn’t like that at all.”
Ragnar forced himself to roll over and face her. “If a woman as beautiful as you came to me one night, wanting me to lie with her, there’s nothing on earth that would make me turn her away.” He tried to keep his words light, not letting her see the truth beneath them.
“I’m not a strong woman,” she argued. “I’m too shy to do something like that.”
“You picked up a living snake and let it coil around your throat,” he pointed out. “Most women would lack the courage to do that.”
“It was a matter of saving our lives.” She shuddered, adding, “I hated every moment of it.”
“But you did what was necessary. And you will do the same when it comes to your marriage. Especially for the sake of your child.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Her fingers laced in his, reminding him of all the nights he wouldn’t share with her. “I’ve wanted this child for so long. I know it will make Styr happy after so many years.”
And if it doesn’t? he wanted to ask. But he would never voice the question. For a woman like Elena would never belong to him.
Eight years earlier
“Ragnar,” came the voice of Elena. She stepped inside the home he shared with his father and her face dimmed at the sight.
“I’m here.” He stood up from his place by the hearth and felt ashamed of how dirty the house had become. Ever since his mother had been killed by raiders, his father, Olaf, had been lost in grief. He left every morning at dawn and didn’t return until nightfall.
“I’ve brought you some food,” she said, holding out a basket to him.
He stared at her for a long time, not knowing what to say other than to utter words of thanks. She nodded and when she glanced around again, asked, “It’s very dark in here. Can I open the door wider?”
He nodded and blinked when the sunlight illuminated the interior. Elena peered inside and offered him a tentative smile. “That’s a little better. At least now I can see you.”
Her gaze was strained as she saw the condition of his home. Ragnar felt his cheeks warm, but he made no excuses. The last time he’d tried to put away a few things, his father had beaten him.
“Never, ever touch her things!” Olaf had roared. Then his anger had crumbled into grief and he’d wept.
Since that day, Ragnar had done nothing at all, for fear of destroying his father’s carefully erected shrine to the memory of his wife. He was grateful that his older sisters were married with their own households, so they did not have to see their father in this state.
Elena opened up the basket and handed him some bread. “Your father is gone a lot, isn’t he?”
Ragnar wasn’t aware that anyone had noticed but nodded. “He is.”
When he took the bread, he resisted the urge to tear it apart and cram it in his mouth. Despite the fact that he went out fishing most days, it had been weeks since he’d had real food.
Elena poured him a cup of ale and when he took it from her, his fingers brushed against hers. Though he was five-and-ten while she was two years younger, her face held the promise of beauty. Red-gold hair was braided into a single tail down her back, and her sea-green eyes held him captive.
A flush came over his cheeks and he looked away.
“When will your father be back?”
He shrugged. “Sunset, maybe. Sometimes he’s gone all night.” When she looked appalled at that, he added, “But I’m not afraid to be alone.”
He was used to it now. Sometimes he wondered if there would come a night when his father never returned. But he was old enough to care for himself. Olaf might have forgotten he had a son, but Ragnar wasn’t going to bother him. He wasn’t a child any more.
Elena sent him a slight smile as if she were trying to reassure him. “If you want to join my family for our evening meal, my mother won’t mind.”
Her father was high-ranked within his tribe and Elena was his second-eldest daughter, out of ten children. Ragnar suspected that the man would hardly welcome someone like him at their table.
“I should stay here,” he answered.
“They won’t notice either of us,” Elena remarked with a wry smile. And perhaps it was true, but the idea of visiting her household without his father seemed wrong.
He offered her a piece of the bread, but she refused it. Ragnar finished eating, and in the meantime, Elena walked across the room and grasped a wooden bucket. Without asking, she began picking up the fallen bones and the remnants of the fish he’d burned the night before when he’d tried to cook it.
“You shouldn’t,” he started to protest.
But as soon as he spoke the words, she answered, “Do you really like living in this way?”
No, he didn’t. And though his father might beat him for it again, he supposed there was no sense in keeping the refuse.
Yet he was embarrassed that she would begin working like this. Ragnar reached out to take the bucket from her. “You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”
“I don’t mind.” Elena let him take the bucket and reached for a broom. “It’s a way I can be useful.” She began sweeping out the old rushes and he helped her put the house back in order. When it was done, she washed the wooden cups and put them away.
“There, now. That’s much better, isn’t it?”
It was, even if he was certain his father would beat him for it.
No one was supposed to touch the house or his mother’s things, like the broom.
Seeing the clean interior made him remember the way his mother used to scrub the table and put out bundles of fragrant herbs upon his pillow at night.
Ragnar’s eyes stung, but he bit back the pain of loss.