Chapter Thirteen
Ragnar didn’t see her for a full day. He avoided Elena, furious with himself for what he’d allowed to happen.
Last night had been his mistake for thinking boldness would push her away. Never in his life had he imagined Elena would take him. The memory of her haunted him, of her pliant flesh and the way she’d taken her release from him.
He’d let her use him. His body had savored the night of joining with her, feeling her body sheathing him. And yet, there had been no love in it. The act was empty, a means of easing physical desire, but nothing more.
It burned him that he’d sunk to those depths. And although he loved her still, the need to create distance was strong. He needed to separate from her, to start over.
He walked through the city, his hand resting upon his sword hilt as he wandered. He hardly knew where he was going, nor did he care. But no matter how he might try, he couldn’t escape the guilt and frustration inside him.
He hungered for Elena in a way that bordered on madness. It strongly tempted him to take her, to claim her like a prize of war. But he knew better than to believe that she might care for him.
He walked toward the center of the city, but before he made it there, he was stopped by his kinsman Hring.
“Elena sent me to find you. She asked if you would escort her while she’s searching the city.”
Ragnar frowned. What would she be searching for? “Why wouldn’t she ask you?”
His friend shrugged. “I offered, but she said she wanted to speak with you. She told me if you wouldn’t come, she would go alone.”
Ragnar had little desire to talk, but neither did he want Elena exploring dangerous parts of the city. As he walked back with his kinsman, he questioned whether she had told Hring the truth—or whether it was merely an excuse to see him.
His instincts warned him to stay away, but then again, he knew how stubborn Elena could be. If she’d made up her mind to go into the city, then she would do it, with or without him.
He found her inside her home, scrubbing the interior from top to bottom.
There was no speck of dirt, save on the hard earthen floor.
The coverlet on her bed gave no evidence of the night they’d shared.
When he closed the door behind him, she looked up from her work and nearly toppled the bucket of water.
“You startled me.” She set down the cloth she’d been using and dried her hands on her apron. “But I am glad you’re here. I wanted to ask for your help.”
He remained beside the door, waiting for her to speak. She seemed preoccupied, keeping her face turned away from him. No doubt she was having regrets about what had happened last night.
“I started thinking about the Irish children,” she said, her gaze fixed upon the ground. “I know the Danes raided the city several weeks ago. Many people died in the fires, and I—I wondered about those who were orphaned.”
Already Ragnar could guess what she was proposing. He waited for her to continue, and at last she met his gaze.
“Not everyone has family,” she continued. “I saw a few who appeared half-starving. Someone should take care of them.”
“And you want my help in searching for any abandoned children,” he predicted.
“Yes.” She faced him and in her eyes he saw the concern. “I have nothing to do right now. No one to take care of. No child of my own.”
“Not yet,” he said quietly. Although it was unlikely that she had conceived a child after last night, the possibility was there.
Elena let out a slow breath, color rising in her cheeks. “No. Not yet.” She rubbed her arms, as if she felt a sudden chill. “Are you angry about...what I did?”
Ragnar leaned against the wall and regarded her. “It won’t happen again.” Although the night had brought him unspeakable pleasure, if they became lovers, it would only bring them closer. He didn’t want her trying to replace Styr with him.
Then, too, around Elena, he could hardly control himself.
The moment he’d been sheathed inside her, he’d lost sight of all else.
The walls could have caught on fire, and he’d have been completely unaware of it.
The physical release had been so powerful, he’d been lost in sensations that drowned out his sense of reason.
“I wasn’t using you,” she whispered. “And I spoke the truth when I said I care about what happens to you. We’ve endured too much together.”
He didn’t want her spinning off dreams of the two of them together. “I’m not the man you need, Elena.”
She studied him a moment. “I don’t think you know what you need, Ragnar.”
“And you do?” he prompted.
She reached for a basket, filling it with food and drink, before she hung it over one arm. With a shrug, she said, “I think you’re trying to punish yourself. As though you don’t believe you deserve to be happy.”
He ignored her words, but stood in her path, blocking her way to the door. “I’ll guard you while you search, Elena. But nothing more.”
She held motionless for a long moment, searching his gaze. Then she took his hand in hers and rose up on tiptoe. “For now.”
The light kiss she pressed to his cheek was like a physical brand, and he realized that she’d cast down a challenge of her own.
A challenge to resist her.
Elena watched Ragnar from the corner of her eye. He remained at her side and whenever they passed another Norseman, his hand came to rest upon her spine. He wore a chain mail corselet with a sword at his waist and another dagger in a hidden fold of his cloak.
“Are you expecting to be attacked?” she asked, uncertain why he was so tense. The dark expression on his face held a hidden threat to others. Though she spoke in a lighter tone, she knew that he’d made enemies here.
“Have you forgotten the Danes who tried to make us into slaves?” he said.
“No.” But even so, one look at Ragnar would terrify any would-be assailant.
His grip tightened upon her palm as he guided her toward the outskirts of Dubh Linn. “It’s been only one moon since the Danes attacked the city. I wouldn’t put it past them to try again,” he told her.
They walked for a mile and his mood didn’t lighten. He seemed to study every face, searching for the subtle signs of a person concealing a weapon they were about to wield.
Beneath the harsh scents lay the charred memory of the night the Danes had attacked. The remnants of ash and burned longhouses stood all around them. Several men were attempting to repair the damage, lifting logs into place, while others wielded an ax to notch the wood.
As they walked farther, she leaned in closer to Ragnar. Though it was meant to seek his protection, he stiffened at her proximity.
She tried not to let it bother her, but it reminded her of the way Styr had not desired her. Of how she’d felt like a cold, unfeeling wife, never able to enjoy marital pleasures. At least, not until she’d shared a forbidden night with Ragnar.
Her mind was tangled up in confusion, not knowing what to think of him. He’d been there for her always, a friend she’d come to rely on. But now he was avoiding her, and she didn’t know how to mend the breach between them. It was as if he wanted nothing to do with her.
Words wouldn’t mean anything to him. Ragnar was a man of action.
His eyes missed nothing, as they moved into the shadowed parts of the city. He kept his expression rigid, letting other men see that he would murder them where they stood if they dared to threaten her.
When they reached the outskirts of the market, they passed by the thralls who were being auctioned. There was a woman being led up to the block, her hands bound before her. She wore a shapeless dress and her eyes remained fixed upon the ground.
Elena winced at the sight, and she could almost imagine herself in the woman’s place. “Thank you for saving me from that fate.”
“I would never have let them take you, that night on the ship.” Ragnar gripped her hand to emphasize his words. “Our men may have survived it...but it’s harder for a woman.”
His words were underscored when the slavers stripped away the gown, baring the woman’s naked body to those about to bid upon her. May the gods have mercy, she prayed. The female slave was heavily pregnant.
“It’s not right,” Elena argued. “Thrall or not, a newborn babe should not be born into a life of slavery.”
His grip upon her hand gentled and he inclined his head. “But we can’t save her,” he said. “We haven’t the silver for it. Perhaps one day her master will free her and her child.”
Elena couldn’t stop staring at the woman’s swollen womb. This woman would suffer, as well as her child. Her childbearing would be fraught with hardship.
Sadness weighed upon her as she turned away, reminded of her purpose.
There were many children, and she moved toward them to pass out the food she’d brought.
One boy hung back from the others. He was tracing his hands along one of the walls and when she called out to him, he never looked back.
His clothing hung upon him and he appeared frailer than the others.
Elena reached out to touch his shoulder. The moment her hand made contact, he jerked away and began to run. She stared at the street for a moment, wondering about him.
When she handed another girl a piece of bread, she pointed in the direction the child had fled. “Who was that boy?”
“Matheus,” the girl answered. She pulled the center of the bread out, eating it first.
“And does he have a family to take care of him?” Elena prompted.
She expected the girl to answer no, but she shrugged. “He lives with his parents.” When she said nothing else, Elena turned back to Ragnar. He beckoned for her to return with him, now that the food was gone.
“We should go,” he told her. “I’ll have our kinsmen ask if there are any others who need help.”
It seemed that his earlier anger had diminished and she was glad of it. “Thank you.”
But instead of leading her back the way they had come, Ragnar took her in a different direction, toward the water’s edge.