will.
Was it because their marriage wasn’t as strong as it seemed? Would his wife truly blame him for being captured, for being unable to save her?
From his brooding mood, it seemed possible.
As he walked, Caragh allowed herself to daydream. If she were wedded to a man like Styr, she would not fault him for the attack.
His driven need to find Elena was powerful, a force that only deepened Caragh’s attraction to him. But she knew better than to reveal it. Better to bury away useless feelings that meant nothing.
Regret pierced through her heart as she thought of her past failures. She’d been so trusting, believing Kelan when he’d said he would love only her. In the end, she hadn’t been the one he’d wanted.
It had stung deeply. After she’d shielded herself from any further advances, she’d turned inward, never speaking to other men or letting herself dream of a future. During the famine, there were no thoughts at all of a marriage or a family.
But now, she found herself wondering again. She’d survived, and there was no reason to abandon her own dreams. Here in the city, there were dozens of men. Black-haired men with handsome faces, golden-haired Norsemen like Styr. Strong men, young men…men who might be wanting a wife. Or children of their own.
Caragh’s thoughts drifted back to the young boy at the slave auction. She had wanted children once, wanted to feel the tug of young hands upon her skirts. She’d dreamed of kissing a baby-soft cheek and cradling an infant in her arms.
It was a future she would never have at Gall Tír. But here, it wasn’t so impossible.
A prickle of fear clung to her courage, along with more self-consciousness about her thin appearance. Could she even gain a man’s notice? Was it worth staying in Áth Cliath for a little longer, in the hopes of meeting someone? The voice of doubt warned that few men would want a half-starved woman with nothing at all to bring to the marriage.
Styr set her down near a large rectangular dwelling. ‘This is the place,’ he said.
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s as the man described it to me.’ He pointed towards the door. Upon the wood, there appeared to be a monstrous face, and there were other stone carvings beside it. Elaborate runes were engraved within the limestone.
‘What do you want to do?’ she asked.
‘If my kinsman Onund is here, he will be among the thralls. He may come outside, or he may be working within the dwelling.’
‘Should we hide ourselves?’ she suggested.
‘We’ll watch over them until we see a chance to go inside.’ He took her hand and pulled her back around the edge of the stone wall. Caragh obeyed, keeping her shoulders against the fortification.
She fell silent, waiting beside him as the minutes passed. If he were alone, she suspected he would try scaling the wall to infiltrate the dwelling. As it was, she’d become a burden on him.
‘You should try to go inside,’ she whispered at last. ‘There’s a pile of peat stacked over there. I’ll hide behind it.’
‘No. I’m not leaving you alone.’
She thought a moment and pressed again. ‘I’ll be safe enough, so long as I stay hidden. And if anything happens, I’ll call out for help.’
‘You could be taken while I’m inside,’ he argued. ‘I won’t leave you without my protection.’
‘If there is danger there, we’ll both be captured,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s better if one of us stays behind. Give me your blade, and when you know it’s safe, you’ll come back for me,’ she suggested. ‘If you don’t return within an hour, I’ll get help.’ With a wry smile, she added, ‘I can limp back to my brothers. With any luck, I might arrive by morning.’
He didn’t want to leave her; she could see the reluctance in his face. But he recognised the sense in her words. With a sigh, he gave a nod. ‘Stay out of sight and don’t go anywhere.’
It was evident that he didn’t like the plan but could see no alternative. Caragh waited until she was certain no one was watching. She hurried across from the dwelling and moved several of the peat bricks aside to make a space for herself. It felt good to sit, and when she was well hidden, Styr approached the dwelling.
Caragh could only hope that he would find what he sought.
When the slave answered the door, Styr introduced himself and added, ‘I’ve come to speak with your master.’ He dropped his voice lower. ‘Is there a thrall among you, named Onund?’
The servant’s expression turned confused. ‘There is, but only within the last few days.’ He looked as if he wanted to ask questions, but silenced them.
‘Send him to me. This concerns him, since he is one of my kin. I have come to free him.’
‘Have you?’ came a deep voice. ‘Bold words for a Hardrata.’
Styr saw a man emerge from the shadows. He was slightly taller, with black hair and broad shoulders. His beard was trimmed close, and around his arms, he wore golden bands. Rings covered his fingers, and an earring hung from one ear. ‘I knew your brother Hakon,’ the stranger said. ‘You’ve travelled far from Hordafylke.’
‘How do you know my brother?’
‘We were friends for many years as boys. Hakon and I sailed together for a time before I came here. I am Ivar Nikolasson.’ The man invited him to sit down, but Styr hesitated. Although the man claimed to know his brother, he wasn’t certain whether or not he would pose a danger to them.
‘I can see from your face that you don’t remember me.’ Ivar motioned to a servant and ordered him to bring Onund forwards. ‘Perhaps your own man can reassure you that I have not mistreated my thralls.’
He waited for several minutes while Ivar offered him a place to sit. The large interior of the longhouse was partitioned in several places to offer private sleeping quarters while a large hearth stood in the centre of the dwelling. The rich scent of roasting meat lingered in the air, and all around him, he saw evidence of Nikolasson’s wealth. There were cups made of silver and a chest decorated with ivory and gold in another corner. Silks and furs lined small couches, and Ivar himself wore a tunic embroidered with silver thread.
Moments later, Onund emerged from outside. The man’s expression was filled with relief at the sight of Styr. ‘Thank the gods,’ he breathed.
Styr stood and signalled for the man to come closer. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, ‘Where is Elena?’
Onund’s face tightened. ‘She jumped off the ship to escape her own capture. Ragnar went after her.’
A cold fist gripped him at the thought of his wife in such danger. ‘Is she alive? Where did this happen?’
‘We were
