him. He changed his position on the bench to face backwards, half-crouching as he pulled the oars behind him. Though it was awkward, Caragh lacked the energy and knowledge to manage it alone.
Silence descended between them, and as the land grew more distant, Styr ordered her to unbind the mainsail. He directed her how to tie it down, gathering the wind, and her hair streamed past her face as she obeyed.
His thoughts turned dangerous as he saw the curve of her body and her slender hips. she was so unlike Elena. While his wife had a muscular, toned body, Caragh’s was delicate.
But she did possess curves where he shouldn’t be looking at all, curves that seemed impossible, from her thinness.
He drew his thoughts back to Elena, hoping she was all right. The urge to find his wife was strong, along with the frustration at being unable to pursue them. The wind blew against his face, the familiar freedom easing his dark mood. The vessel had picked up speed, and he directed Caragh on how to adjust the sail. But even after she’d obeyed him, he could see the fear in her eyes.
‘You don’t like the water?’ he questioned.
She shook her head. ‘My father drowned last winter. This boat came back to the shore, but he was gone.’ She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. ‘My brothers believe it’s cursed.’
‘I’ve been on boats all my life,’ he said. ‘You’ve nothing to fear.’
Though Caragh nodded, he could see that she didn’t believe it. She moved closer to him, sitting a few feet away while the boat continued south. ‘Why did you come to Éireann?’
The reasons were too many to name. To save his marriage. To escape the conflict surrounding his brother’s leadership as jarl. And the truest reason of them all—to journey across the sea to foreign lands, experiencing a way of life different from his own.
He met her gaze and shrugged, unwilling to say the reasons. As a distraction, he ordered her to cast the weighted net over the side of the boat, letting it drag along the bottom while the boat continued to sail.
‘You don’t like to share anything about yourself, do you?’
Her pointed question tightened his frustration. ‘Why should I? This isn’t a journey among friends. I’m helping you get food because I’ll need it when I search for my wife and kinsmen.’
Caragh studied him. ‘You’re right. This is a trip of necessity. And I don’t suppose a Lochlannach like yourself would ever be a friend to someone like me.’
Her posture had stiffened, and he knew he’d offended her. But he had to draw a clear line between them, to ensure that she saw him for what he was—an enemy.
‘Pull up the net,’ he commanded. She reached for it, but her thin arms had difficulty pulling the heavy net. She strained against it, using her body weight, but it did little good at all.
‘I’m beginning to think I should have unchained you,’ she mused.
Styr balanced himself and came close. With his back to hers, he said, ‘Hook your arms around mine, and then grasp the net.’
She hesitated. ‘What are you planning to do? Cast me overboard?’
‘If I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done it long before now,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m going to help you bring in the net.’
With his legs spread out for balance, he waited until she drew her arms within his. Then as she grasped the net again, he leaned back, pulling her body off her feet as she held on. Despite herself, she began to laugh. ‘Well, that’s one way to catch fish, I suppose.’
As he’d hoped, she was then able to pull the net back into the boat. There were only small fish within the net, but he found a few oysters as well, which Caragh saved.
Over the next hour, he instructed her on baiting the hooks and setting the fishing lines. The activity seemed to take her mind off her fear, especially when they caught a few small fish. But the longer he watched her, the more his chains irritated him. He wanted to control the sails, to command the sea and catch the fish. Standing around in chains only simmered his resentment more.
After she let down the fishing line, Caragh tucked a strand of hair over one ear, suddenly appearing nervous around him. ‘Will we catch any more, do you think?’
He shrugged and stared at the horizon.
She sent him a look and then deepened her voice, as if mimicking him. ‘You couldn’t catch a minnow, Caragh, as weak as you are.’
In her own voice, she continued the singular conversation. ‘I know that, but I am trying.’
‘Not enough,’ she countered, pretending to be him. ‘And if you don’t catch a fish, I’ll toss your useless body overboard and sail away.’
He stared at her in disbelief of what she was doing. ‘You’re mad,’ he muttered.
‘And you’re in a foul mood,’ she shot back.
‘Because you’ve chained me. Do you think I should be happy about this? Do you think I should be talking with you about fishing and the weather? I’m still your prisoner because you won’t trust me.’
‘I have no reason at all to trust a man who wants to kill my brother,’ she countered.
‘I might not kill him.’
‘Might not? If anything at all happened to Elena, he’ll take the blame for it.’
‘And it would be well deserved.’ He knew Caragh wanted to protect the boy, but seven and ten was old enough to understand the consequences. ‘He can’t hide behind your skirts for what he did.’
She glared at him. ‘And now you understand why I’m reluctant to release your chains. The moment I do, you’ll go after Brendan.’
‘He will answer for what he did, Caragh.’
She stared out at the calm waters of the sea, dismay lined upon her face. ‘Then I have no choice but to come with you. For nothing I say will change your mind.’
‘I am a man of actions, not words.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Imitating his voice again, she added, ‘Warriors don’t talk, Caragh. They kill people. And I’m quite good at killing things.’
‘Good at killing things who talk too much.’ But there was a glint of humour in his eyes. The line was starting to pull, and he went to stand against her. His back pressed against her own, to lend his strength.
Caragh linked her arms with his and gripped the fishing line, leaning back. ‘Something is biting.’
Styr pulled hard, helping her with the fish. The line moved violently and Caragh gasped as it cut into her palm.
‘Don’t let the line go,’ he commanded. ‘Keep a steady pressure upon it.’
He continued pulling, and Caragh began talking again, encouraging him to help her. At last, she guided the line into his hands and used a hand net to bring the
