an instant, the young man faltered, as if considering whether to let Elena go. He seemed to recognise that if he did, Styr would split his head open with the axe.
But Ragnar could attack from behind, catching the young man unawares. If he struck true, he could free Elena before anyone knew what had happened.
Closer...
He lifted his sword, prepared to strike. Before he could move, the woman brought her wooden staff across Styr’s head, catching him on the ear. His friend dropped to the ground.
Thor’s blood. Ragnar didn’t think, but lunged, just as another man raised his blade for the kill.
‘Styr!’ Elena cried out in anguish, just as Ragnar blocked the blow. She was reaching towards her fallen husband, while the other woman was speaking foreign words that sounded like an apology.
The young man dragged Elena back, stepping towards the water. Deeper he moved, until she was submerged to her waist. He could drown her if he tried.
Ragnar shouted to the others, knowing that all of them were needed to protect Elena and Styr. His friends kept their weapons drawn, their shields at the ready as they approached. Upon the sand, he saw the dark-haired woman binding Styr’s wrists and ankles with long strips of leather. An older man helped her drag him away.
‘Ragnar,’ Elena pleaded. ‘Save him.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, her sea-green eyes holding her fear of death.
He was torn between saving his best friend...and saving Elena. Gods help him, this was a decision he’d never wanted to make.
‘What should we do?’ his friend Onund asked.
In the end, there was only one choice. He had to save the woman he loved, even at the cost of the man who was like a brother.
‘If anything happens to her, Styr will hold us all to blame.’ Ragnar raised his sword and shield and started towards the water.
Chapter Two
Elena watched in disbelief as Ragnar laid down his weapon and shield upon the sand. What was he doing? He was stronger than any of these men and she didn’t doubt he could kill them all. Why would he surrender?
Unless he had another plan she didn’t know about.
Ragnar moved in closer, the water pooling against his leather boots. He wore chainmail armour and an iron helm while his rough brown hair hung down past his shoulders. Dark green eyes gleamed with purpose, his face holding the merciless cast of a warrior who intended to slaughter his enemies.
And so he would. Elena had seen him training alongside her husband and had witnessed his skills firsthand. There was no fighter stronger than Ragnar Olafsson, and he moved with a speed no man could match.
‘Let her go,’ Ragnar called out to her captor. ‘We’ll return to our ship.’
He spoke to the Irishman as if he believed the man could understand the Norse language. His words were calm, his hands raised up in surrender. But beneath the gesture lay an unspoken threat.
For Ragnar would never bargain with an enemy. Her heart pounded faster as the other Irishmen began to close in.
What was he planning to do? Sacrifice himself? No. He wasn’t the sort of man to play the martyr.
Onund stared at Ragnar with fury. ‘You might intend to surrender, Ragnar, but we won’t. We outnumber them!’ the man snapped, refusing to lay down his weapons.
A flare of irritation slid over Ragnar’s face and it was then that Elena understood his deception.
The Irish might have taken them by surprise, but the same could be wrought upon them, if they believed in the surrender. Ragnar was granting their kinsmen time to gather together. Couldn’t Onund see that?
‘If we attack, he’ll slit her throat. And they’ll kill Styr as well.’ Ragnar lowered his voice, and Elena could no longer hear his plan while her captor dragged her into deeper water. They had almost reached the ship and she didn’t know what Ragnar intended to do.
He had never once taken his gaze from her. The hard look in his eyes spoke of a man determined to get her back. Her mind flashed to the strange way he’d stared at her earlier. It had shaken her senses, for his look had held desire. As if he wanted her...intimately.
The memory of it made her heart pound faster, for she’d never seen him look at her that way before. His green eyes permeated her defences, reaching deep within. She didn’t understand her own reaction to him and her skin prickled from more than the frigid water.
A horrifying thought occurred to her. Ragnar didn’t want Styr to die, did he? Her husband was now a prisoner of the Irish and somehow they had to rescue him.
But what if Ragnar wasn’t intending to save him? What if he turned his back on Styr?
Never could she imagine Ragnar as a traitor, but she couldn’t let go of the unbidden fear.
At last, the others followed his lead, setting down their shields and returning to the water. One by one, they followed, while the Irish closed in behind them.
‘Some of you should stay behind for Styr,’ she called out in warning.
But the instant she spoke, the Irishman plunged her head beneath the icy water. In shock, she lost her breath, her hands clawing at the surface. He jerked her from the water, her hair sodden and blinding her. Harsh words were spoken, his voice issuing warnings she didn’t understand. And before she realised what was happening, he’d hauled her back on to their ship. She never had the chance to fight back, for the cold had penetrated her body, seizing her with shock.
Her consciousness grew hazy and she was only dimly aware of the blade at her throat while he gripped her wrists and found a length of rope to bind her. At last, he secured her to the front of the boat.
Before long, her kinsmen emerged from the water, four Irishmen behind them. They didn’t try to fight, but allowed themselves to be taken. She strongly suspected they would wait for the right element of surprise.
And yet there was no one to help Styr. With a sinking heart, she stared back at the shoreline. Her husband was already gone and there was no way to know if she’d see him again. Although they’d grown distant over the past few months, she knew it was her own fault for turning him away. He was a good man, a warrior who deserved better than a barren wife like herself.
The knife of self-pity slid into her and she forced it back. It would do her no good now. She needed to gather her courage and do what was necessary to survive. It was their only hope.
When Ragnar climbed aboard, he kept his eyes upon her as they bound him. She couldn’t guess his plans, but the message was clear. He had every intention of freeing them from captivity.
The Irish had taken the oars, but with only four of them, the ship didn’t move very fast. Her captor, whose name she learned was Brendan, took command of the sails, letting the wind pull them far away from land.
Only when Ragnar was shoved a few feet away from her did she dare to whisper at him, ‘What will become of Styr? You left him behind with no one. He could already
