he looked at another woman. Honesty and loyalty meant everything to him. He would never forsake his wife, no matter how one woman’s kiss had affected him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘but my brothers aren’t forgiving. They won’t harm you if they believe that we mean something to one another. That you are a man of honour.’
‘I am a man of honour,’ he shot back. Though it didn’t feel like it now. He turned his back on her and waded into the frigid sea, welcoming the wind that tore through his chainmail corselet, soaking his hose against his skin.
But Caragh’s kiss haunted him, in the way her soft lips had melted into his, like a taste of sweet honey. She’d lost herself, clinging to him when he’d kissed her back.
While Elena had accepted his embraces, she’d always seemed uncertain—almost unwilling to kiss him. He’d tried to be gentle, but he’d never been able to fully enjoy himself, for fear of hurting her.
Whereas this woman had eagerly opened to him, her tongue touching his. Her breasts had pressed against him as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, yielding sweetly.
No doubt it was the celibacy coming back to haunt him. He’d left Elena alone for a time, while they’d prepared for the journey. She’d suffered such terrible seasickness, he hadn’t bothered her then, either. Over and over, he replayed the image of his wife’s face and the sadness in her eyes. And he cursed himself for daring to kiss another.
Styr busied himself with preparing the boat, needing the activity to push away the errant thoughts. No longer would he think of how good it had felt to be in Caragh’s arms. He would maintain his distance from her, and lock away the dark cravings she’d evoked.
When she climbed aboard the ship, her skirts were sodden. He should have offered to carry her, but he had been unable to touch her. His willpower was shredded to a weak thread.
She set the basket on the far end, choosing a seat on the opposite side of the boat. When her brothers joined them, he learned that Terence was accustomed to sailing. The man took the side rudder to steer them east while Styr took his place with the oars. He pulled hard, letting the mindless exertion consume him.
Ronan took the place behind him, rowing in rhythm. ‘I don’t believe that either of you are in love,’ he said, beneath his breath.
‘You’d be right,’ Styr admitted, keeping his voice low. It was a relief to admit the truth to the man. Glancing behind him, he added, ‘Caragh took me by surprise with that kiss.’
‘Our sister has a soft heart, and she thought we were going to kill you for sharing her hut.’ Ronan pulled hard against the oars. ‘It’s still a consideration.’
Styr said nothing, knowing there was no good reply to that.
‘It’s a simple matter, Lochlannach,’ Ronan continued. ‘Hurt our sister, and we hurt you.’
‘I would expect nothing less.’ He understood a man like Ronan, determined to protect his sister. ‘But Caragh and I are hardly more than strangers to each other.’
‘Yet, she’s coerced you into helping her search for our wooden-headed brother Brendan, isn’t that right?’
‘My intent is to find my kinsmen, who were last seen with your brother,’ Styr told the man. ‘I hope, for his sake, that they are unharmed.’ Once they reached Áth Cliath, he would disassociate from Caragh and her brothers, searching for Elena. They could find Brendan, and that would be the end of it.
‘Brendan’s lacking in brains,’ Ronan said. ‘If you have brothers of your own, you’ll understand that.’
‘I had four sisters. One older brother.’
He stopped rowing and stared back at Styr. Crossing himself, he added in a loud voice, ‘My God, it’s a wonder you haven’t gone mad. Four sisters?’ He glanced at Caragh with a shudder.
‘Now what is the matter with sisters?’ Caragh demanded.
‘It would take years to name it all,’ Ronan shot back. ‘They cry for no reason. If you make a mistake, they’ll hold a grudge for the rest of your life.’
‘They talk too much and tell your mother everything you do,’ Terence joined in. ‘If you tie up the cat’s tail or put frogs in the garden.’
Caragh glared at him, and Terence continued. ‘But we do love you, Sister.’ He winked at her.
‘Four,’ Ronan repeated. ‘I’d have thrown myself into the sea, for certain.’
Styr couldn’t help but enjoy the man’s humour. There was an easiness about these men, a camaraderie like the friendship he had with Ragnar. ‘I often took the boat out to sea, on my own, to get away from them. It’s why I’m a fisherman.’
‘You don’t act like one,’ Terence countered. ‘I’d have taken you for a tribe leader, with your height and strength.’
Styr shrugged, not truly answering the question. He’d begun his trade as a fisherman, but after his father died, many had wanted him to usurp his older brother’s place as jarl. To avoid conflict, he’d chosen to leave Hordafylke and those who preferred his leadership had come along.
‘Go back and sit with our sister,’ Ronan suggested. ‘Terence can take a turn to row until we catch the wind.’
Styr preferred to remain where he was, but he saw Caragh huddled at the stern of the boat. She clutched her woollen brat over her hair, and her teeth chattered. When he moved to sit slightly in front of her, she kept her voice low. ‘I hope you find Elena.’
‘I won’t stop until I do.’ His purpose was clear, and he added, ‘If you see her—’
‘I’ll say nothing.’ She stiffened, trembling. In a whisper, she added, ‘What I did was a mistake. It will never happen again.’
The journey to Áth Cliath shouldn’t have taken longer than a day, but the winds had picked up intensity, the darker clouds sweeping across the sky. Caragh sat upon the floor of the boat, her hands clenched together. Though her gown had dried, she couldn’t stop from trembling. It wasn’t merely from the cold—her fears had multiplied as she thought of her father’s drowning.
A storm brewed, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to imagine a death at sea. The boat rocked against the waves, and she clung to the bench just in front of the stern, praying for calmer waters. Behind her, Terence held fast to the rudder.
‘Should we move in closer to land?’ he was shouting above the wind.
Styr made a reply, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar. The rain began to pound upon them, a piercing wet shower that made her grimace.
The swells broke over the top of the boat, spraying her with the water. Though it was still daylight, dark mists shadowed their surroundings, making it difficult to see the land. she heard her brothers calling out to Styr as they pulled hard on the sail. Risking a glance at him, she saw his muscles straining, his feet balanced across the boat.
She distracted herself from the fear by remembering those strong arms around her, his hands at her waist. And the shocking heat of his kiss…
Self-hatred
