Chapter Twelve
Ragnar continued building his house over the next few days, needing the distraction from Elena. Guilt weighed upon him from the night he’d touched her, despite the fact that she’d ended her marriage. He should have turned her away from the moment she’d come to him.
And yet it had been impossible to release the years of longing.
He’d been unable to refuse her, knowing that she’d needed someone to comfort her.
..but he never should have let things go that far.
More than that, Elena had begun avoiding him, as if she regretted what they’d both done.
Neither of them had been thinking clearly and he questioned what to do now.
For the past few years, he’d dreamed of the day when he was free to love her openly...and yet the invisible barriers had not lifted. He didn’t delude himself into thinking she was over the loss of her husband.
It would take time to let go of five years. And even though she’d turned to him that night, he knew better than to think she’d wanted him.
Five years earlier
She was standing before the edge of the fjord, staring into the silvery water. Ragnar watched over Elena, just as the tall hills shadowed the water running between them.
Her hair was braided back from her temples, the long waving strands falling to her waist. The green apron she wore accentuated her slender waist and golden brooches fastened it near her shoulders.
“Come and stand with me,” she offered, turning to face him. Though she attempted a smile, he saw the rise of anxiety on her face.
Within another day, she would be married to Styr. The thought of it was like a fist squeezing the life from his throat.
“I’m nervous about what will happen on the morrow,” she admitted. “I know that’s foolish, since I’ve known Styr for so many years.” She crossed her arms, rubbing at her shoulders.
“He will make a good husband for you,” Ragnar agreed. His friend was the second-born son of their jarl and would likely become a leader one day. “You’ve nothing to fear.”
She reached for his hand, guiding him along the edge of the lake. Though it was only a gesture of friendship, inviting him to walk with her, the simple touch of her palm upon his was a jolt of fire from their joined hands all the way to his heart.
“I know I should be happy about this marriage,” she said. “He’s handsome, and I do think I love him. But it’s just—” Her words broke off and she shrugged. “He intimidates me.”
Whereas she had never held any such reservations with him. A rise of frustration came forth, for he was a warrior, the same as Styr. He was a stronger fighter now, and he could defeat any enemy with his sword.
“And I don’t intimidate you?” he teased, his voice holding a darker edge.
There was a sudden flush on her cheeks and she averted her gaze. For a brief moment she hesitated, before saying, “Of course not. We’re friends and you would never harm me.”
He drew her to stand before him, his height making it easy to stare down at her. “I can be very intimidating,” he said, leaning even closer.
When Elena had to tilt her head back, she returned an honest smile. “To some.” She rested her palms on his chest and gripped his tunic as she tilted so far back, he had to hold her to keep her from falling.
A slight laugh escaped her before he set her back on her feet. “Styr will take good care of you. Or I’ll kill him.” They continued walking along the edge, until they reached a cluster of large stones surrounding a pool.
“I’ll tell him that,” she teased in return. But there was still a flustered air about her. When she leaned back against one of the stones, she appeared uneasy.
Ragnar came to lean beside her and he stared up at the sky. “There’s something else bothering you.”
She wouldn’t look at him, but agreed, “Yes.”
“Go on, then.” He waited for her to talk to him, though he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear her confession.
She let out a sigh and at last turned to him. “I’m worried I won’t please him. I know he doesn’t feel the same way about me.” Her face turned red, and she shook her head. “It’s nothing you can help with.”
“You don’t have to marry him,” he said suddenly. You could marry me. The words were on the edge of his mouth and he bit them back before he could say anything more.
“My father would be furious with me if I didn’t. It’s a strong alliance.”
“And one that doesn’t have to be made through your marriage. Another of your sisters could marry him.”
But Elena shook her head. “No, all the arrangements have been made. My father has spent a great deal of silver on the feast and the celebration. It will happen, whether I’m ready for it or not.”
He reached out to take her hand. Tell her, his conscience urged. Give her the choice instead of remaining silent.
But instead of words, he laced his fingers with hers and moved in front of her.
His time was running out. If he said nothing, she would marry his best friend the next day.
He was torn between his own desires and what was best for her.
She deserved a man of high wealth and social standing.
Not someone like him, only good for wielding a sword.
“You always have a choice, Elena.” He released her hands, watching her sea-green eyes. He wanted her to know that he would always be there for her.
The color stole away from her face, but she didn’t take her eyes from his. Her lips parted and he wondered if she would allow him to kiss her. To show her the words he’d buried away behind years of frustration.
Ragnar rested his palms on either side of the stone, giving her every chance to pull away. His heart was quickening within his chest, and her own breathing had grown shorter, as if she were afraid of what there could be between them.
Neither spoke and he sensed that if he made a single move, the moment would shatter.
“Ragnar,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth of her fingers pooled inside him, awakening a hunger he’d held back for years. He wanted this woman with every breath that was in him.
“Elena!” came another voice.
The spell was broken immediately, and she pushed him back, moving away from the shelter of the rocks. Ragnar closed his eyes, damning himself for not speaking. The chance was gone now.
He followed her and saw her father, Karl, approaching with Styr. “There you are,” the older man said. “Before you are wedded, I thought you and your betrothed should spend one last day together. I’ve made arrangements for the both of you.” The shielded glare he sent toward Ragnar spoke volumes.
Styr, on the other hand, greeted him warmly. “Tonight, our kinsmen are having a celebration to mark the last day I am unwed. You’ll come, won’t you?”
Ragnar nodded. The idea of getting drunk to the point of oblivion was a welcome one.
“Go on, then,” Karl said. “I want to speak with Ragnar a moment about the preparations.”
The older man waited until they were out of earshot and he sent Ragnar a dark look. “Stay away from my daughter. Or I’ll see to it that you’re whipped within an inch of your life.”
“You can do nothing to me.” Ragnar drew himself up to his full height, resting his hand upon his sword hilt. If Karl so much as dared to threaten him, he wouldn’t hesitate to defend himself.
A slow smile curved across the man’s face.
“Whose word will they believe? I am a respected leader and a friend to Styr’s father.
The jarl won’t allow anyone to interfere with this marriage.
I could claim that you’ve stolen silver from me.
Or perhaps you’ve dishonored another of my daughters.
My words hold more power than you’ll ever have.
” Karl spat upon the ground. “That’s as much as your life is worth, Ragnar Olafsson.
You’ll never come near any of my daughters. ”
A black rage swirled inside of Ragnar, and he longed to crack his fist across the man’s jaw for the insult.
But it was her father. He couldn’t lay a hand on the man or risk Elena’s hatred.
His hands were clenched at his sides, and he struggled to contain his fury.
The need to release the violence was rising hotter, and once the man was gone, he ran along the edge of the lake.
He drove his pace harder, running past the quadrants of houses until he reached his father’s house on the farthest side.
But even the exertion did nothing to diminish the vicious hatred. He was sick to death of being treated like an outcast. He’d trained hard, learning to wield every weapon until he’d mastered them.
He saw an ax lying near the woodpile and reached for it. As he split the wood chunks, the rhythmic motion of the work did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside him.
Not good enough, the wood sang as the metal bit through the log. He hacked at the pine, letting the rage pour through him. Sweat dripped from his brow and his muscles strained as he worked.
The door to their house opened and he saw his father stagger outside, a wooden cup in his hand.
“I saw you go off with Elena,” came his father’s voice from behind him. “But she’s promised to Styr. She would never leave him for a man like you.”
Ragnar let the ax sink into the wood before he spun to face Olaf. “We’re only friends.”
“Are you?” Olaf met his gaze with hardened eyes of his own. “Or did you want to steal her away because you think you’re in love with her?”
Ragnar could smell the mead upon his father’s breath. But this time, when the man’s fist came toward his jaw, he blocked the blow with his forearm and retaliated with a fist to his father’s head.
Olaf exploded with anger, but Ragnar welcomed the fight. For so many years, he’d been too young to defend himself. Too weak to shield himself from the blows that had cracked his ribs and broken his nose.
This time, he returned blow for blow, releasing the years of anger. Fighting back for the sake of the young boy who had suffered in silence, knowing there was no one who cared to stop the man.