Chapter Eleven
Styr appeared stunned at her proclamation, and no one spoke in the house. When Elena caught a glimpse of Ragnar’s reaction, his expression, too, was unreadable. Whether or not he cared, she could not say.
Better to leave now and let them believe what they would. She walked outside, returning to the house she’d shared with Styr. A lightheaded sensation rippled through her. It was done now.
He would not have admitted defeat, but she loved him enough to let him go. There was no sense in holding on to something that was never meant to be.
She heard his long strides approaching from behind her. “You think to divorce me? Just like that, with no word of explanation?” He gave her no opportunity to answer before he lashed out again. “Why? I thought you wanted to try again!”
But there was no sense in trying, when his heart belonged to another. Whether or not he would admit it to himself, she could see it.
“We don’t belong together, Styr. We never did, and the gods refused to give us children.”
It was a possible reason, though she didn’t truly believe that. In her heart, she suspected the fault had always been with her.
“Did I make you that miserable?” he demanded.
“Yes! And don’t tell me I didn’t do the same to you.” She stood, facing him with anger of her own. Whether he’d meant to or not, he’d made her unhappy every time he’d looked at her with disappointment. Every time he’d held his silence while she’d done her best to make him love her.
In the end, she couldn’t force him to have feelings for her. And she was weary of trying to shape herself into the woman he wanted instead of the woman she was.
Elena gripped her hands together to stop them from shaking. “You tried. Both of us tried, but you were never happy. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
At least, not for him. He had a woman who adored him. A woman whom he wanted...and she would never forget the sight of them embracing.
“I saw the way you looked at her, Styr. I saw the way she held you. She loves you. And you love her, the way you never loved me.”
She wanted to cry again, but instead it was a resonant pain that squeezed her heart. When he came up behind her and held her, it was not the embrace of a man who regretted what she’d done. There was thankfulness in it.
He never would have divorced her. He would have lived out the rest of his life, dreaming of someone else he could never have. And for that reason, she’d made the right choice. At least one of them could be happy now.
“I want you to go to her,” Elena said softly. “Marry her, if she’s the one you want. And perhaps you’ll have the sons I could never give you.”
“What about you?” He spoke quietly, but there was compassion in his tone.
“I’ll stay here for now. I don’t know where I’ll go after that.”
He dried her tears and took her hand in his, leading her to sit down. Instead of choosing the bed, she sank down to the floor, leaning against the raised pallet.
Styr sat beside her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the husband you needed.”
It was strange that he should be the one to apologize. Both of them had made mistakes, but she’d never expected him to say so.
“It wasn’t terrible,” she assured him. “There were some good moments.”
The early years had been awkward, but sweet. He’d tried to be a good husband, bringing her gifts and building her their own house. It had been a comfortable life, even if he hadn’t loved her.
“Is this truly what you want?” he asked. “A divorce?”
Asking her this now was hardly worthwhile. “I’ve already done it, Styr.” She forced a smile past the tears. “I don’t need your permission to declare it before witnesses.”
Even so, she softened the words when she leaned her head against his shoulder. Silence fell between them, but it was no longer a silence filled with anger or regret. It was a wistful moment, of a marriage that had ended.
Styr stood after a time and went over to his belongings. He searched through them, before he retrieved something small, hiding it in his palm. “I bought this for you, before we left Hordafylke.”
He revealed a small ivory comb with the goddess Freya carved upon it. She took it, recognizing it as a token of forgiveness between them. She combed her hair with it, then held it in her hands. “It’s beautiful.”
It was such an unexpected gift, and she knew it would be the last. As she studied the ivory, she decided to share the memories of their marriage. For there had been good moments between them.
“I was so afraid on the morning of our wedding. So many women warned me that I wouldn’t like our first time together. I thought you would be rough with me.” She managed a furtive smile. “I should have known you’d never do anything to hurt a woman.”
“No. And I still never wanted to hurt you,” he admitted. “Even when I met Caragh, I remained faithful.”
“But she makes you happy, the way I never did.” She reached out to touch his heart, knowing it was the truth. It embarrassed her to say it, but she wanted him to leave this night with no guilt. It had to be a new beginning for both of them.
“You made me happy, too. In a different way.” He held her close, stroking her hair. “I want you to wed again. Not an arranged match, like ours was. But to a man of your choosing.”
Likely, he thought that would make her feel better. She had no doubt that he would find Caragh ó Brannon and wed her, as soon as he could. But she had to decide what to do with her own life.
She didn’t want to return to Hordafylke. There, she would have to explain to the others that she’d divorced Styr and why. Despite the fact that it was her decision, she didn’t want to see their looks of pity.
Styr began talking about memories of their marriage that he’d enjoyed. Moments when they’d been younger, still learning about what it was to be man and wife. But she recognized it for what it was—sympathy. He was trying to make her feel better, to ease the blow to her pride.
She let him talk, even offering her own thoughts from time to time. But inside, the restless feeling grew. Her pride was shredded, and she felt the impulse to do something rash. The urge was kindled even higher with the reckless need to feel as if someone wanted her.
She couldn’t remain here with a man who didn’t want her, reliving the memories of a failed marriage.
If she stayed, she would only succumb to tears of humiliation.
She needed to leave right now. Though she could not wander the streets of Dubh Linn, she knew exactly where to go. Ragnar would never turn her away.
A sudden tension took hold in her stomach as she remembered the forbidden touch she’d shared with him. The caress that never should have happened. And yet it had left her reeling with desire.
Styr was starting to fall asleep, and she urged him to lie down.
He did and Elena remained seated on the floor.
Once he was asleep, she stepped outside their home.
It was long past midnight, but she wasn’t tired at all.
The restlessness had evolved into a yearning.
Though she didn’t know what she would say to Ragnar when she got there, she wanted him to kiss her again.
She wanted him to make her feel as if someone wanted her, even if her husband no longer did.
He was a good friend, a man she trusted.
She only hoped he wouldn’t turn her away.
Ragnar jerked awake as a woman’s mouth touched his. It was Elena who had slipped beside him. He knew it from her scent and the shyness of her kiss.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a whisper. It was only hours before dawn and several of his friends and kinsmen were sleeping around them.
She said nothing at first, though her body was pressed beside his. Her hands came up to his face. “Don’t send me away. I can’t sleep in my own house this night.”
He was surprised she hadn’t sent Styr away. After she had announced the divorce, Ragnar had expected his friend to return. The longer the hours had crept on, the more he’d wondered if perhaps Styr had argued with her to change her mind.
“He’s going back to the Irishwoman,” Elena said softly. “With my blessing.”
Pain laced her words, and when she burrowed her face against his chest, Ragnar knew he could not force her to go. She needed a sanctuary, and he could give that to her now.
“I’ll find a bed for you,” he whispered, starting to sit up.
“No.” She pulled him back down and lay face-to-face with him. “I want to be with you this night.”
Her meaning became clear when she pulled him back for another kiss. This time, a very different emotion cracked through him. She was tentative, trying to coax a response.
Her warm mouth moved against his, her tongue touching the seam at his lips. The raw desire to claim her, to conquer the lips that had tormented him over the years, was stronger than he’d ever known.
But he knew why she was here—and it wasn’t because she wanted him. The dark truth was undeniable—she was using him to forget about her husband. She’d come to him, wanting an escape. And although his body was rejoicing in it, his mind was raging.
Ragnar kissed her back, but not as a gentle lover would. No, he became the aggressor, ravaging her mouth. She mistakenly believed that he would give her what she wanted. But he refused to be a substitute for the man she desired in her bed.
He fully intended to frighten her away, but instead she let out a shuddering breath, meeting his tongue with her own. She was aroused by this. He could sense it in the way her skin warmed beneath his hands and the way her back arched.
Her fingers pushed through his hair, and his body hardened as she thrust her tongue against his.
He could take her here, without anyone knowing it.
It was a matter of lifting her skirts and sliding between her legs.
She would allow it, for that was why she’d come.
He could silence her moans. The idea of joining with the woman he’d loved for so long was a dark temptation.