Chapter Eighteen
Elena held herself together by strength of will, though she was furious with Ragnar. How could he think she would stand back and let him go? Her heart was bleeding at the loss of this man who had been with her from the very beginning.
She should have known that the easy friendship she’d found with him was what she’d needed all along. And when she’d pushed past friendship, he’d taught her that she wasn’t as cold as she had once believed. With Ragnar, every touch stirred her senses, making her yield to his pleasure.
There was more at play here, more he hadn’t said. But she knew that when she’d startled him from sleep, his reaction had shaken him.
It didn’t bother her, for she’d known he would never hurt her. Neither did his confession about Matheus cause her any concern. He had stopped his sword the moment he’d spied the boy.
But she was so confused about what to do now. Matheus was chasing his puppy around the room and, for the first time, she heard him laugh. The sudden burst of joy caught at her heart, and when she neared him, the boy threw his arms around her waist.
It was exactly what she needed right now.
His small embrace broke down the barrier of tears she’d held back.
Elena swung him up on her hip, striding away from everyone else.
This boy, her adopted son, had taken a large piece of her broken heart and had begun to mend it.
Though she might never bear a child of her own flesh and blood, she still had him.
And for now, it was enough. She held him close, weeping silently.
She needed time to think, to sort through the confusing emotions that plagued her.
Her footsteps led her toward Agata once again, for she needed the woman’s friendship and advice.
She set Matheus down, holding his hand while the puppy trailed behind them.
He found a gnarled stick upon the ground and handed it to her as if it were a blossom of heather.
“Thank you,” she told him, leaning down to the boy. In answer, he wiped the wetness from her cheeks.
By the gods, this child was an answer to her prayers. She hugged him again, so grateful for his quiet presence. He was a gift she’d never expected. A son, not from her body, but one who was, nonetheless, a part of her heart.
“We need to convince Ragnar to stay with us,” she told him solemnly, not knowing whether or not the boy understood. “I am going to talk to Agata for a while and you may play with her children.”
The boy’s expression never changed, but she took his hand in hers and continued walking toward her friend’s house.
Agata was talking to one of her daughters, just outside the doorway. The moment she spied Elena, she stood and smiled before telling the children to go and play.
Elena released Matheus’s hand and gave him a gentle push toward the other children. He didn’t join them but instead sat down nearby, holding his puppy.
“Will you come in for some mead?” Agata asked. When she saw the direction of Elena’s gaze, she added, “You’ll be able to watch over him from the doorway. Come in.”
She did and chose a stool that gave her a view of her son. Then she faced her friend and admitted, “Ragnar is going to leave. He’s decided he wants me to return to Hordafylke, to stay with my family.”
Agata’s gaze turned pensive. “Isn’t that just like a man? Believing he knows what’s best for a woman.” She handed Elena the cup of mead and added, “Has he been unkind to you?”
She shook her head, explaining what had happened with Matheus and herself this morning. “It’s as if he believes he has no right to be happy with me. I don’t know how to convince him to try.”
“Do you love him?” Agata asked.
Elena grew quiet, afraid to think of it. Her head warned that it was far too soon after divorcing Styr. She had no right to love someone else.
And yet…Ragnar had been there beside her from the beginning. He’d saved her life upon the island and had fought to protect her. The thought of never seeing him again went deeper than the loss of a friend. She couldn’t even imagine the pain and loneliness.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do love him.”
“Then fight,” Agata urged. “Stop thinking the way a woman would and think in the manner of a warrior. Don’t allow him to command you.”
An idea took root within Elena, one that was not at all something she would have considered in the past. But she wanted this man and wasn’t about to stand in the shadows and let him dictate her life.
She told Agata her plan, and the woman brightened. “It’s perfect, Elena.”
“He’ll be so angry with me.”
“If he cares at all about you, that won’t matter. In the end, he’ll be glad that you brought him to his senses.”
She hesitated, so afraid that it wouldn’t work. Before she could voice a protest, Agata intervened. “You already know what to do, Elena. Now give me Matheus to watch over and go do what you must.”
Ragnar didn’t go to the waterfront, as he’d thought he would. Instead, he found himself back near the fighting matches, watching the men as they struck hard at each other with their fists. The roar of the crowd and the cries of men wagering on the match filled his ears, but he held back.
One of the fighters could hardly be more than seventeen. Lean and untested, the young man reeled when the older man struck him across the jaw. Ragnar held steady, watching. It was as if he were viewing himself, years ago, when his father had hit him.
He’d been punished for anything and everything. And when men like Elena’s father had claimed that Ragnar wasn’t good enough for his daughter, it had been easy enough to believe. If his own father saw him as worthless, why wouldn’t anyone else?
But Elena had never seen him in that way.
The young boy was on the ground now, his shoulders hunched over as the blows came. Ragnar’s fists tightened with the desire to interfere, though he knew he could not.
Elena had tried to save him from this. She’d never once treated him as less than a man. And when they’d been stranded together, he’d discovered what he’d feared all along—that the attraction to her went far deeper than he’d ever imagined.
He knew he was a poor substitute for Styr, but last night, she had given herself freely, wanting him. She’d granted him a taste of Valhalla in her arms, a glimpse of the afterworld.
The honorable path was to let her go, to take her home again. But the warrior within him wanted to damn the consequences and claim Elena for his own. He wanted every night in her arms, seeking only to worship her.
Dimly, he was aware of others watching him. They knew how many matches he’d won, and several glared at him for the wagers they’d lost.
“I know you,” one said. “You’re one of the fighters.”
Ragnar’s hand moved to his sword, eyeing the man with wariness. “I didn’t come here today to fight.”
“But you will,” came another voice. “You murdered my brother Vakri and stole his son.”
The crowd of people had fallen quiet, and the earlier fighting match had ceased. The young man stumbled away, his face and hands covered in blood.
“Vakri tried to kill my woman. I defended her life and took his.” Ragnar unsheathed his sword. “I will pay the required body price, when judgment is passed.”
The man unsheathed his weapon, his dark eyes holding the promise of vengeance. From behind him, Ragnar saw others surrounding them with their own weapons at the ready. They were men who had lost silver, men who wanted their own retribution.
“I don’t want your silver,” the man said, gripping a battleaxe. “I want your head.”
Elena had finished preparing her home, but there was no sign of Ragnar. Although he wouldn’t like what she’d done, she hoped to convince him to stay with her. She would no longer be the quiet, meek woman to stand aside and do what she was told.
No, she was a Norsewoman with power of her own. The blood of warriors ran through her veins, and she would stand up for what she wanted.
But the longer time went on, the more worried she grew. What if he had already left? Although he’d said he would escort her away from Dubh Linn, something might have happened.
When there came a knock at her door, she opened it, only to see Agata standing there.
“It’s Matheus,” she said, her face mirroring Elena’s fear. “He slipped away, and we can’t find him.”
Fear roiled inside her, that someone else had taken the boy. Elena seized a blade to arm herself. “And what of Ragnar? Has anyone seen him?”
Agata shook her head slowly.
Freya help me, Elena prayed. Terror mingled with determination to find both of them. She didn’t know what had happened, but she wasn’t about to stand by and weep.
To Agata, she ordered, “Find Hring and tell him to bring several of our kinsmen to help me search.”
She prayed that no one would harm Matheus or Ragnar. It didn’t matter that he was not her sworn husband. He belonged to her in every sense of the word, just as Matheus was her adopted son. And by the gods, she intended to fight for her family.
The haze of bloodlust possessed him as Ragnar swung his blade. He was surrounded by men who wanted him dead, but he would not go down without taking several others with him.
He let the wrath consume him, transforming him into an instrument of Death. His sword bit into flesh, but he heard no screams. He was lost in the moment, unaware of anything, save raw instinct.
A blade sliced his arm, but it was only a scratch to him. There was no pain, no sense of anything, except the need to survive.
Until he saw the boy.
Awareness jolted back into him when he saw Matheus walking alone to the center of the fighting ring. The boy continued moving toward him, heedless of the fighting.
“Get back!” Ragnar ordered, his voice hoarse as he cried out. But the boy did not understand his words, as each step brought him closer.
Soon Matheus would walk in the midst of the fighters and his life would be forfeit.
A renewed surge of purpose filled Ragnar, as he cut down one man, then the next. He held up a hand to Matheus, willing the boy to stay in place. He seized a shield from one of the fallen men, swinging his sword wide.
He kept his gaze fixed upon his enemies as he took slow steps toward the boy. “Go home,” he ordered. But once again, the child did not heed his words. Instead, he ran forward to Ragnar and stood beside him, facing the men.
Thor’s bones, the last thing he wanted was a child caught in the middle. But then it occurred to him—he’d ceased fighting the moment he’d seen Matheus. The battle lust had not taken away his awareness the way he’d thought it would.
He drew the boy behind him, handing him the shield. “Hold this and don’t let go.”
The presence of Matheus did nothing to deter his attackers. Instead, the man who had named himself Matheus’s uncle had a thin smile upon his face, as if he’d been waiting for a distraction like this.
“You can’t win,” he said smoothly. “There are too many of us.”
“Tell that to the men who are already dead,” Ragnar countered. He raised his sword and the blade was covered in blood.
“Lay down your weapon, and we’ll let the boy go,” his enemy said.
But there was no trusting a man like this. He would say what he wanted to and the lies held no meaning. If Ragnar dared to set down his weapon, he and Matheus would die.
One slashed his battleaxe toward the boy, and Ragnar spun, deflecting the blow. Though he knew the odds were not in his favor, he would do all that he could.
And then he heard Elena’s scream.