Caragh lowered her head in agreement. ‘I would like you to free his men. Because it’s the right thing to do—not because I ask it of you.’
The Norseman eyed her again, withdrawing his hand. ‘If I did this, you would be in my debt.’
‘I am not the sort of woman who offers her favours in exchange for men’s lives.’ She crossed her arms, revealing her dissatisfaction at the idea.
Good. Nikolasson deserved that response, and Styr was glad to see her rejecting the man’s advances.
‘That was not what I meant,’ he corrected. ‘I would merely like to make your acquaintance. Perhaps bring you gifts that would complement your beauty.’
‘I am not beautiful,’ she answered. Though some women might have said it in a teasing manner, Styr realised that she believed it. As if she had been told by someone. The thought irritated him.
‘Then you are blind,’ Ivar responded. He reached out for her palm, and Caragh hesitated before giving him her hand. She eyed him for a moment, confusion clouding her gaze. When she glanced back at Styr, he looked away.
Yes, she was beautiful. But more than that, she was strong. She’d fought to survive, and her bravery was greater than any woman he’d ever known. Beneath her fragile beauty lay a woman who had endured more than most.
Yet it was her compassion that lifted her above her kinsmen. He didn’t doubt that the Irish would not have taken him prisoner. Men like Kelan would have enjoyed killing him. Styr was alive, because of her.
And yet, you want to kill her brother, his conscience reminded him.
‘What has brought you to our city?’ Ivar asked. ‘Was it your…protector?’
Caragh shook her head. ‘I came to search for my brother.’ Before Ivar could ask anything else, she described Brendan, asking, ‘Did you see him among the others?’ Her face revealed her worry, and she added, ‘He’s only ten and seven.’
‘A young man, then. Not a boy.’
It was exactly what Styr had been thinking, but it was clear she still thought of him as a child.
‘I need to find him,’ she said. ‘It’s why I journeyed here.’
‘There is a gathering in the morning,’ Ivar said. ‘I could ask among my friends, if they have seen him.’
Her face lightened with relief. ‘Would you? I have no idea where to begin, and if you would be able to help…’
A slow smile curled over Ivar’s face. ‘I would, yes.’
‘Thank you,’ she breathed, smiling warmly at the man.
Didn’t she understand what was happening? Irritation tensed within him, for Styr knew exactly what Ivar wanted from her. But Caragh seemed innocent of the man’s interest. Or possibly she welcomed it. Tension coiled inside him at the thought. He didn’t want anyone to pursue her or to—
—touch her.
He shut down the thought, feeling as if someone had driven a fist into his stomach. It shouldn’t matter. Caragh was free to make her own choices, and he had no say in them.
Yet jealousy slipped under his skin, digging into his raw mood. He resented the unwanted emotion and tightened the control inside him. There was no reason to be angry with Ivar. The man had done nothing to Caragh, and if she were interested in his advances, why in the name of Thor should he care?
Leave it alone, he warned himself. Think of Elena. Your wife.
But as he shut out the images of Caragh with this man, the memories of his wife that surfaced weren’t the happy ones.
He’d made love to Elena, reaching to pull her warm body against his. He’d wanted her to embrace him, to lie beside him when they both fell asleep. Instead, she’d slid to the fur thest side of the bed, never looking at him. Al most as if she were ashamed of what they’d done. Or worse, that she hadn’t enjoyed any of it.
A dark chill centred within his heart, and he rolled away from her. ‘You’re unhappy, aren’t you?’
Her silence was answer enough.
‘I’ll make an offering to Freya—’ he began, only for her to cut him off.
‘It would do no good at all, and you know it. We’ll never have a child.’
He rolled over, staring at her huddled fig ure. ‘Don’t. We’ll keep trying.’
‘We already try every day,’ she complained. ‘I’m weary of it, Styr. I don’t want to try any more.’
At last, she turned to face him. In the moon light, he saw the streaks of tears running down her face. ‘Do you know what it’s like, being the only married woman without a child? Year after year, I see them, and I see their pity.’
‘Then we’ll leave. If that’s what you want.’
‘I don’t know what I want any more,’ she’d said.
But he’d known the truth. She didn’t want him any more. He’d steeled himself against her rejection, hoping that distance and time would solve the rift that had formed.
Perhaps when he found her, she’d be glad to see him. It might heal their problems, giving them a new start. He wanted to believe it.
Styr glanced over at Caragh. In her eyes, he saw the reflection of the woman his wife had once been. Beautiful and alluring, with a glimpse of hope in her eyes.
He wanted to see Elena like this again. No longer living a life where she was tormented by her barrenness. he wanted to see her smile, to see happiness again, instead of failure.
It had grown late, and he needed to send word to Caragh’s brothers. ‘Might I use one of your thralls to send a message?’ he asked Ivar. ‘One familiar with this city, who can find Caragh’s brothers?’
‘You could accompany the thrall to locate her brothers,’ Ivar suggested to Styr.
In other words, give the man time alone with Caragh.
‘What sort of protector would I be, if I did that?’ he demanded.
The Norseman shrugged, as if unconcerned. ‘She knows I will not harm her. Don’t you, kjære?’
‘I have known you for only an hour,’ she countered. ‘It is too soon to tell.’
Ivar appeared amused by her response. ‘So be it, then. I have yet to prove myself to you.’ The look in his eyes spoke of a man eager to do so.
‘Styr will remain as my guard, while you send your man to the harbour at Dubh Linn,’ she said.
After Ivar summoned a thrall to send the message, she described the appearance of
