Chapter Ten
Dubh Linn—three weeks later
Ragnar tried to stay away from her, but despite Elena’s valiant attempts to restore her marriage with Styr, he could see the sadness beneath her forced smile. She was hurting, and it killed him to stand by and do nothing.
He’d helped Styr build a small house, and he’d poured his efforts into constructing another dwelling for himself and his kinsmen. Thankfully, none of them were slaves now. During a fierce battle against the Danes, the men had fought bravely and earned their freedom.
Elena had asked to help today and he’d been amused as, once again, she began comparing the lengths and widths of the various logs.
“This needs to be carved smoother,” she said, pointing to a raised edge. “It will fit more tightly together and keep the wind out.”
“Go ahead, then.” Ragnar pointed to the handheld drawknife that they’d used to smooth out the wood.
Elena eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. “I haven’t the strength to carve the wood and you know this.”
“It’s not hard. Come and try.” He wanted to take her mind off her troubles and he hoped that the distraction of work would be welcome. Her hair was unbound, except for a section she’d pulled back from the crown and tied off with a bit of thread.
“There are things I need to do at home,” she argued. “I haven’t swept the floor or cleaned or—“
“You did those things yesterday. And the day before. You can spare one hour.”
He gestured for her to come and sit astride the log and handed her the drawknife. “You’ll pull this back across the surface of the wood and smooth out the space you want to flatten.”
She tried it, but when she pushed it forward, the angle was wrong and the blade caught in the wood. “This isn’t right.”
“It’s not a downward motion. Pull it toward you.” He motioned for her to get up and demonstrated until curls of wood fell to the ground. “Like this.”
A smile played at her mouth. “Keep going, Ragnar. You’re doing well.” Her sea-green eyes were bright with amusement and, despite her initial protest, she appeared interested in learning how to use the drawknife.
He stopped using the tool and propped his hand upon the log. “You think I’ll do all the work for you?”
A laugh broke from her. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
He held out the drawknife to her. “You were the one who thought it needed to be smoother.”
“You like it rough, don’t you?” she challenged. But from the words, his mind abruptly conjured a different meaning—one she’d never intended.
He imagined making love to her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist while he conquered her. He remembered the way she’d grasped his hand that night in the tent, arching in release when he’d touched her breast.
Rough, yes. He wouldn’t mind that at all.
“Will you show me how to use the drawknife?” she asked softly.
Ragnar hesitated, for it would mean having her sit between his legs in front of him.
Being so close to her would be a mistake, especially when she was trying to reconcile with Styr.
He didn’t want her pressed against his arousal, breathing in the scent of her skin. It would only deepen the temptation.
“No,” he told her, standing from his place. He walked over to her and stood facing her, so that no one else could hear his words. “I don’t want you that close to me.”
She gave a nod, but her eyes remained clouded. “Nothing would happen, Ragnar.”
Did she believe that? After all the time they’d spent together, she thought he had that much restraint? He’d been going out of his mind over the past few weeks, dreaming of her. When he went to bed at night, he imagined her lying with Styr, and jealousy boiled within his veins.
The only reason Ragnar had stayed in Dubh Linn was because he suspected Elena would soon learn that she wasn’t pregnant after all.
He had sisters and all of them had borne children.
Most had been sick in the mornings, but all had fallen asleep in the middle of the day.
His sister Jorga had complained of her growing midsection, and she’d burst into tears over something as ridiculous as another woman holding a newborn.
He was well accustomed to being around pregnant women, and Elena had experienced none of their symptoms.
Her stomach had remained flat and he suspected the worst.
Even more than that, his friend Styr was treating her as if she were a ghost. He hardly spoke to his wife and, no matter how Elena tried to please him, it was clear the man had no interest in her.
“Go home to your husband, Elena,” he advised. “We’ll finish building on our own.”
Elena stared at the wall while Styr sat at the table for the meal she’d prepared for him. It was midday and her mind was filled with uncertainty. Styr had been distracted all these weeks, and he’d shown little joy in the prospect of a child.
No longer did he sleep close to her at night. He slept far away from her, and not once had he touched her since they’d left Norway. He didn’t love her anymore, and he didn’t want their baby.
He wanted the other woman, Caragh ó Brannon.
The knowledge burned through her with a blend of anger and pain. For no matter what she did or said, her husband had fallen in love with someone else.
She took a bite of her own stew, but although the flavor was good, her stomach twisted at the idea of eating. Perhaps it was the child growing within her...or perhaps it was her own anxiety.
The truth shadowed her heart, filling her with unrest. The marriage with Styr had been arranged, yes. They had tried to be happy together. But he’d never loved her, no matter how she had tried to change herself.
“Don’t you like the food?” she ventured.
“It’s good.” He tried to smile, but she suspected he would have said the same thing had she served him sawdust.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” she ventured. “I cleaned your armor earlier today.” She didn’t like how desperate she sounded, but she wanted conversation from him in some way.
“No, there’s nothing.” He started to clear away the food, but she took it from him.
“I’ll take care of it.” But at the grim look in his eyes, Elena set down the cup she’d taken. She needed to know if the growing distance between them could be healed at all. Was there any chance to bring back the husband who had been her friend? Or was he lost to her, now that he loved another?
He started toward the door, but she asked, “Wait. Before you go...”
He paused to look at her, and she steeled her courage. If he would not make the first move to ease the tension, she could.
Elena moved forward to embrace him, hoping he would accept the affection. There had been a time when he’d hugged her often, stroking at her braid.
But although he accepted her arms around him, his returning squeeze was hardly there at all. It was as if he were embracing a child, not his wife.
“I’ll see you later,” was all he said when he departed. There was no kiss, no offer for more. He’d become a living, breathing stone with no life in him at all.
Elena stared at the remaining food and his cup. It was hard to catch the breath in her lungs, she was so angry. When had she become such a meek shadow of a woman? Why was she twisting her life around his, doing everything to please him when he couldn’t even be bothered to speak to her?
He doesn’t love you, her mind insisted. He never did.
Then why stay? Why keep trying to heal a marriage that held so many scars, it bled from the wounds they’d inflicted on each other?
The tears blinded her, and Elena shoved the food and cup to the ground, overturning the table in her fury.
She wanted to shatter something, to relieve the dark anger inside.
But destroying their home wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Although the instinct was strong to put everything back in order, she forced herself to walk away.
Outside, the afternoon sun was high, casting brilliant rays over the settlement.
Their home was built among the others, and all around were the sounds of conversation, children running around, and weapons striking shields as the men trained.
She stopped to watch, and at the sight of the young children, the familiar heartache slid back.
This was why she stayed with a man who didn’t love her. To give her unborn child a father. The idea of raising a baby alone, in a country filled with strangers, terrified her. Were it not for this child, she would divorce Styr.
It was simple enough to do—she merely had to announce her intentions in front of witnesses. She wrapped her hands around her slender midsection, wondering when she would feel the swell of new life. And whether it would change both of them.
It’s a lot to ask of an infant, Ragnar had said. But what other choice was there? To bring this new life into the world without a father? She didn’t want to look into her son or daughter’s eyes and admit that their father had left them.
Though it destroyed her pride to remain married to a man who didn’t want her, she would do what was necessary for this unborn miracle. She had no idea how to win back Styr’s heart, but she would try. It was all she had left.
Her mind returned to thoughts of Ragnar. He might know what else she could do, since he was friends with Styr. But unbidden came the memory of sleeping with his arms around her. He had been such a comfort to her, she was grateful to him for his protection and companionship.
But there was more between them, much as she might try to push away the forbidden thoughts.
She hadn’t forgotten the warmth of his mouth or the stolen touch of his hand against her breasts.
She closed her eyes, aware of how wrong it had been.
And yet...her own husband had turned to another.
Even if he had never touched Caragh, his heart belonged to her.
Elena forced herself to walk back to the dwelling Ragnar was building with their kinsmen. She needed to see him again, to gain his advice.