Chapter Thirteen #2
“There’s something I want to show you.” He led her past all of the boats to a small outbuilding where several men were bringing long planks. Curious, she followed him, wondering why he had brought her here.
“I spoke to a shipbuilder a few days ago,” he said. “After I win a few more fights, I’ll have enough for a boat.”
She tried to keep the reaction from her face, but all she could think was: He’s leaving.
Though Ragnar was free to come and go as he pleased, the thought of not seeing him again brought an empty ache to her stomach.
Two thralls were spreading pine tar upon the new wood of a ship they were building for their master. Another mixed yellow ocher with boiled linseed oil to form paint. Elena feigned interest, but she kept wondering why he had brought her here.
They hung back to observe, and Ragnar motioned for them to continue their work.
“It’s fascinating to watch them,” she marveled, pointing to the wood that had been steamed to reshape it. “And the colors are so bright.” Inwardly, she was uneasy about why he wanted a ship and also what he’d done to gain the silver. The more he fought, the greater the risk.
She turned to him and asked, “Why do you want a ship?”
Ragnar leaned in. “I thought you might want to go back to Hordafylke and your family. I could take you there.”
“I’ve no wish to set foot on a ship again,” she admitted. And returning home was the last place she wanted to go. She had no desire to see the pitying looks on the women’s faces when they learned of her divorce. No doubt they would believe Styr had cast her aside for her barrenness.
“Where were you planning to go?” she asked.
“Wherever the wind carries me.” He guided her away from the thralls, and they walked along the water’s edge, continuing until they were past most of the ships.
The hollowness in the pit of her stomach ached, though she tried to ignore it.
What did it matter if Ragnar sailed to the other side of the world?
He was free to make his own choices. And though he’d sworn to guard her, she was beginning to think that he no longer wanted her at all.
They had shared a stolen night and the memory of it warmed her body from deep inside.
Yet now he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
Just like it had been with Styr. She hadn’t known what to do to kindle her husband’s desire and while she’d been obedient, lying beneath him, she’d always felt awkward.
Perhaps she’d been wrong about seducing Ragnar. He’d wanted her before, when she’d been forbidden to him. But now that she’d shared his bed, he no longer desired her.
All along the walk home, she berated herself for succumbing to her own urges. Ragnar had claimed it would never happen again, and it humiliated her to think that she’d destroyed their friendship on the night they’d shared together.
He led her back home again, and she murmured her thanks that he’d escorted her. Before he left, she ventured, “Are you going back to fight again?”
His hardened gaze fixed upon her. “I am.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she confessed.
Dark green eyes fastened upon her with the iron resolution of a man who would not be swayed. Of a man who hardly cared about the risk to his own life.
“Your life is worth more to me than a pouch of silver,” she said, reaching out to touch his heart.
He gripped her fingers for a moment, squeezing her palm before he released her hand. “It isn’t to me.”
Ragnar lunged against his opponent, his sword cutting into the man’s shield. He struck over and over, circling the enemy while all around him voices shouted for blood.
Your life is worth more to me than a pouch of silver.
He tasted the bitterness of regret as he avoided a blow, Elena’s words ringing in his mind. He wanted to believe them. But he was torn by physical frustration and honor. The joining with Elena haunted him, as he remembered her pliant flesh and the way she’d taken her release from him.
He’d let her use him. He had savored the night with her, feeling her body sheathing him.
But she didn’t love him. The act had been a means of easing physical desire but nothing more. It burned him that he’d sunk to those depths. And though he wanted her, it still felt like a betrayal of his friendship with Styr.
He continued fighting, meeting his opponent blow for blow. Metal clanged as their weapons struck hard, and he used the fight as a means of releasing the sexual frustration.
Elena didn’t know the man he was. He’d been careful to shield his darker side, never wanting her to know this part of him.
Blinding rage tore through him as he continued the fight.
He struck out at the memory of the adolescent who hadn’t been good enough for Elena or her father.
His forearms strained while he ruthlessly slashed down the memories of his father’s temper.
As a boy, he’d been unable to fight back against the man who had sired him.
But he could fight now.
He lost himself in a haze of violence, his muscles straining, sweat rolling down his cheeks.
Not good enough, the blade seemed to chant.
Not good enough.
A battle cry tore from his lips, and he was dimly aware that the crowds were roaring their approval.
Until his blade sliced through flesh and bone.
Thor’s blood, he’d never meant the fight to go this far. His opponent was on the ground, writhing in pain, trying to stanch the blood with his hand.
Ragnar took the silver, but the weight of it seemed to burden his soul. He’d cut down another man for this—a man who’d done nothing except challenge him to a fight.
Elena believed he was worth more, but that wasn’t true. He was a man of violence, one who could never give her the life she deserved. He couldn’t allow himself to believe for a moment that she actually cared about him. He might as well bare his beating heart to her.
Then he would become the warrior who let down his guard for a single moment, only to have his lifeblood spill out.
Elena didn’t see Ragnar at all that night or most of the next morning. Though she suspected he was still fighting for silver, the last thing she wanted was to watch him risk his life. It angered her that he would not relent—that he believed she valued wealth over his safety.
The resentment was growing stronger, and she decided a distraction was best. She wanted to find out more about the starving boy Matheus, who had run from her.
Her friend, Agata Mánisdotter, might know.
Agata was acquainted with most of the Norse who lived in Dubh Linn, and it was possible that she knew where the boy lived.
Perhaps the child’s parents were unwell.
Or he could be suffering from neglect at their hands.
Ragnar had endured the same as a boy. Despite her attempts to help him leave his father, he’d refused. Nothing Elena said or did had changed his mind, and it had bothered her to see a close friend suffer at the hands of a man who should have taken care of his son.
Now that it was unlikely she could bear children of her own, it infuriated her all the more to see boys like Matheus suffer from a lack of food or shelter. Something had to be done.
Her footsteps carried her down the pathway leading to Agata’s house and when she saw the tall blond-haired woman holding a bucket of water, her friend sent her a knowing look.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, Elena,” Agata remarked. “Come inside and tell me everything.”
She opened the door, and Elena stepped inside gratefully.
The interior of the house was a wonderful mess of unwashed dishes, scattered clothing, and children. Without asking, Elena scooped up Agata’s youngest son, who was barely six moons of age. The baby gurgled and grasped a handful of her hair, babbling nonsense words.
The thought of spilling out all of her troubles was a welcome relief, and Elena sat down while Agata ordered the rest of the children to go out and play.
“I heard about what happened between you and Styr,” her friend said. “I’m sorry for it.”
Elena ignored the tightness in her stomach at the thought of her failed marriage and nodded. “It was the right thing to do. Styr loved someone else in a way he never loved me.”
She rubbed the baby’s soft back, and Agata brought her a cup of mead. “And I suppose now you’re wishing you could kill the woman for stealing your man.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that, but—” She stopped short, realizing that her friend was right. The muddled feelings inside her were more than just sadness. There was anger and frustration, too. She’d been married for five years, only to have her husband fall in love with someone else.
Then she’d turned to Ragnar for comfort, only to be pushed away from him. He’d offered to send her back to Norway, as if that would make her feel better.
Anger such as she’d never known was starting to take hold, like a flame coursing through oil.
“Or maybe you’re right. I would like to knock Styr in the head for the way he made me feel.
” And Ragnar as well, she thought. He’d claimed to want her, only to distance himself after she’d given herself to him.
Elena glanced down at the baby, whose blue eyes were staring at her. “I suppose that’s awful of me to think such a thing.”
Agata raised her own cup in a mock toast. “You could dig his heart out with a sharp stick. That’s what I’d do if my husband dared to look at another woman. I’d end him before I’d let him end our marriage.”
Elena only smiled. The baby was starting to fall asleep, and she went to put him down. “Agata, what’s wrong with me? I keep asking myself what I could have done to make Styr love me.”
Her hand started to shake and she forced herself to take a deep sip of the mead. “I did everything I could to be a good wife to him. I shared his bed, I kept his house clean—”
“It’s unnatural, the way you clean,” Agata interrupted. “But even so, I’ll agree with you. You were right to divorce him and let him go off to that skj?ge.”