Chapter Six #2
“Will you come and walk with me?” Elena asked, holding out her hand. “You shouldn’t stay inside on a day like this.”
Her gesture was innocent, as though it were nothing to hold his hand. But when he moved in closer, he felt his throat closing up with no words to say. Her hair smelled like the herbs his mother had used—sage and rosemary—and the idea of holding her hand was too awkward to consider.
Instead, he walked beside her, pretending as if he hadn’t seen the gesture. Outside, the sun was bright and he shielded his eyes. It was midsummer, and the days were still long.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To my parents’ house,” she explained. Before he could repeat his protest, she put up a hand. “You’ve gotten too thin since your mother died, and it’s not right.”
“Elena, I can’t go. Not like this.” He’d been living in dirt for weeks and the idea of entering her father’s house was impossible. Even if Ragnar scrubbed himself clean, her suggestion made him uncomfortable. Although his father was a freeman, Olaf had been little more than a farmer.
“Are we friends or not?” she demanded. “Because I always thought that friends should look after each other.”
He didn’t know how to argue with that, without offending her. Friends should, ja, but this was more than that.
“I want you to follow me,” she insisted. “There’s someone else who will come with us.”
She smiled at him, and the warmth in her eyes caught him like a physical blow. Girls hardly ever paid him any attention at all. This was the first time one had singled him out, sympathizing with his plight. He fumbled through the words caught in his throat, wanting to say something. Anything.
Instead, he took her hand in his for the first time. The touch of her soft palm made his heartbeat quicken. Her hand squeezed his, and when her smile didn’t fade, he dared to hope.
Elena had come to him, offering him food.
She wanted to bring him to her father’s table.
Did that mean that she didn’t consider him beneath her?
He straightened, wondering if this meant more than he thought.
Was there another reason why she wanted him to dine with her family?
He squeezed her hand in return, wishing he dared to do more than that.
He’d never kissed a maiden and out of all the girls he’d seen, Elena was the one who entranced him. Her mouth had a full upper lip that sometimes tightened when she was thinking.
Before she could lead him farther, he stopped walking. “Why do you want me to go to your parents’ house, Elena?”
She shrugged. “I thought you might want to share a meal with us, that’s all.”
He studied her, still suspicious that there was another reason. Elena took a deep breath and eyed him, adjusting her braid over one shoulder and pushing back a few stray hairs behind her ears. “Do I look all right?”
“You always do,” he said, then immediately wanted to take back the words. He should have told her she was beautiful. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Anything but the awkward words that had spilled out.
She didn’t appear to notice, but said, “Good. Wait here.”
Mystified, he obeyed, until he saw her walk over to Styr’s house. She knocked upon the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Then she nervously touched her hair again.
When his best friend came to the door, he saw the flush come over her face. Her smile was bright, as if wishing Styr would notice her.
The truth of her emotions deflated his earlier thoughts. Her feelings were that of friendship, nothing more. He should have known better.
Soon enough, Styr came out to join them. “How are you?” he asked Ragnar, oblivious to Elena’s interest.
He shrugged, for there was little to say. “I suppose I should return to training. I need someone to spar with.” His hand moved to the short sword he carried at his side.
“You’ve gone weak, have you?” Styr teased.
“I can still best you,” he shot back.
His friend flexed a muscle. “You can try, Olafsson.”
Elena cleared her throat to get their attention again. “I thought we could go to my father’s house and join them for a meal.”
Styr reached out and tugged her braid lightly. “That’s kind of you.” But his gesture was that of a teasing brother, and he seemed not to notice Elena’s disappointment.
The three of them continued to walk and Ragnar realized that Styr was effectively shutting Elena out of the conversation by discussing weaponry and fighting.
She looked as if she wanted to speak again but kept silent.
When they reached her father’s house, she excused herself to go and speak to her mother, leaving the pair of them alone.
“Why would you talk about sharpening battleaxes around her?” Ragnar said. “Are you blind to the way she looks at you?” Though it bothered him to speak of it, he wanted to know if his friend held a prior claim.
Styr sobered. “She’s just a girl.”
“She’s also the daughter of a powerful warrior,” Ragnar pointed out. “She’d make a good match with you.”
His friend let out a sigh. “I know it. My father and her father have already discussed a betrothal. I suppose it will happen when she comes of age.” He didn’t sound at all enthused about the idea.
“But you don’t want her?” A flare of hope kindled inside Ragnar, although he knew it was unlikely the outcome would change.
Styr’s expression remained neutral. “There’s nothing wrong with her. But there are years yet, before I’ll wed.”
Before he could speak again, Elena returned. Her face was flushed and she appeared upset. “Styr, my father wants you to come and dine with him.” She nodded toward the open door, and his friend waited a moment.
“We’ll walk together, then.”
“Go on without me,” Elena asked. “I need to speak to Ragnar for a moment.”
After he’d gone, Elena’s face revealed her disappointment. “I—I was wrong. I wanted you to come with us, but—”
“Your father refused, didn’t he?” Ragnar kept his expression shielded, making it seem as if it didn’t matter.
“He said I could bring you food. Outside,” she said quietly. Shaking her head, she added, “This isn’t right. You should be a welcomed guest, the same as any other man.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He knew his place, even if she’d wanted him to rise above it. “Go and join Styr. I’ll return home.”
He started to walk back, but Elena hurried forward and blocked his path.
“No. It does matter.” Her green eyes held anger, and she put her hands up to stop him.
“You’re going to be a strong fighter one day.
One of the best men we have.” Her hand reached up to touch his arm and the touch of her fingers was a gentle warmth.
“My father will welcome you at his table, soon enough.”
Her faith in him strengthened his resolve to make it so. He wasn’t the man her father would ever choose. But perhaps, if he fought hard and made himself into a man of worth, he could change the opinion of others.
“I’ll come to his table, one day,” Ragnar promised. “But only if you’re there.” He reached out and squeezed her hand, before turning away. The startled look in her eyes turned to embarrassment.
One day, he swore, everything would change.