She paled at the accusation, but stood tall before him. Ivar crossed the room, already reaching for Styr. ‘I should cut out your tongue for speaking words such as those.’
Styr caught Ivar before he could strike, holding him back. Yet, the man held fast with a strength that rivalled his own.
‘Stop,’ Caragh said quietly. ‘Ivar, let him go.’
‘She’s staying with me, Hardrata. But you won’t stay the night under my roof.’
‘I wouldn’t want to.’ But he released the man and stepped back. Caragh lifted her hands, stepping between them. To Ivar, she said, ‘I need a moment to speak with him alone. Please.’
Though Nikolasson looked as if he’d rather strangle him than let him have any time with Caragh, he relented to her plea. As if to soothe him, she added to Ivar, ‘He is leaving with my brothers.’
Caragh walked to the furthest end of the longhouse, and with every step, the silver jingled as if she wore bells. When they were alone, she folded her hands before her. ‘You have your men now. And my brothers will accompany you on your search. Since you saved Brendan’s life, they owe you that debt.’
‘Do they know about her?’
She shook her head. ‘I should have told them. But I’ll leave that to you.’ There was uncertainty in her voice, as if she held a thousand regrets.
‘Your brothers won’t allow you to stay here alone,’ Styr insisted. ‘And neither will I.’
Her face held regret, mingled with a sad acceptance. ‘I’ve made my decision, Styr. And right now, I know you want to find Elena and go back to her.’
It wasn’t the truth any more. Instead, he was fully aware of the sacrifices Caragh was making for him. He drank in the sight of her, of the brown hair the colour of polished wood. And those blue-violet eyes looking upon him, as if she wanted so much more.
He didn’t move, didn’t breathe at all. Inwardly, he admitted the truth to himself—that he would miss Caragh. That he welcomed the warmth of her embrace and would savour the memory of each moment in her presence.
His thoughts were on unstable ground, and he knew better than to voice the words rising up.
‘I’ll miss you,’ she admitted. Before he could answer, she fled his presence, returning to her brothers.
His gaze followed her, and he saw Brendan seated near Ronan and Terence. Seeing the young man was enough to remind him of his purpose. He needed to question Brendan, to understand what had happened on board the ship before they were taken by the Danes. He welcomed the familiar anger, needing it to push away thoughts of Caragh he didn’t want to face.
The young man owed him restitution for putting Elena in danger. By Odin’s bones, he would get the truth.
He crossed the room, shadowing Caragh until he came to stand before Brendan. As soon as the young man caught sight of him, all the blood drained from his face.
Styr seized him by the throat and shoved him against the wall. Beneath his breath, he growled, ‘You have much to answer for.’ He pressed against the young man’s windpipe, making it clear how easy it would be to kill him.
Within seconds, Ronan and Terence were dragging him back, and Caragh stood between them. ‘Styr, no,’ she pleaded, as if he were a wild beast, poised to strike.
With all of his strength, Styr shoved back her brothers, unsheathing the blade at his waist and pressing it to Brendan’s throat. ‘You owe me the truth.’
‘Please,’ the young man beseeched him.
He lowered his voice to a whisper only Brendan could hear. ‘Was this what you did to Elena?’ he demanded, drawing blood. ‘Did she beg you for mercy, the way you’re begging me now?’
A hand touched his shoulder, and Caragh moved before him. ‘Let him go, Styr. He will tell you everything he knows.’
When he released Brendan, the young man’s hands were shaking. He sank back down on the bench, struggling to draw breath.
Out of the corner of his eye, Styr spied movement, and he spun, dodging Terence’s fist before it could clip him across the jaw. Before any of them could intervene, he cut them off. ‘You will do nothing to hinder my questions. I could have let your brother die today.’ He stared hard into Terence’s eyes. ‘He may be your blood, but he is to blame for the suffering of my people.’
‘You may question him,’ Ronan interrupted, coming to stand by his brother, ‘but you cannot touch him. He’s already hurt, and—’
‘You will answer all of my questions,’ Styr warned Brendan, ‘and if I find that you have lied to me, you will suffer for every moment my kinsmen suffered.’ The fury festered within him, along with frustration at what had happened because of this young man’s decisions.
‘Give me your weapons,’ Terence ordered, ‘before you question him.’
Styr handed over the battleaxe and the blade, but his mouth tightened into a line. ‘I need no weapons to kill him.’ He wanted Brendan to be afraid, to understand that he had to give every truth.
The young man gave a nod, sitting down once more, as if he didn’t trust himself to stand.
Before he could voice his first question, Caragh interrupted with one of her own. ‘Why did you leave Gall Tír with your friends?’ she demanded. ‘You knew there was no food. And yet, you left me behind.’ Hurt and anger blended in her voice, as she came to sit beside her brother.
‘My friends thought we should capture the Lochlannach and take them out to the open sea,’ Brendan began. ‘We thought it would keep the rest of you safe, if we lured them away.’
‘How did you capture them?’ Styr asked. ‘There were a dozen men, all trained fighters.’ He’d been unconscious and whatever memories that remained were blurred.
‘I don’t know,’ Brendan admitted, shaking his head. ‘They fought hard at first, and when I took the woman back towards the ship, one of them followed. I wasn’t planning to harm her.’
It must have been Ragnar, Styr guessed. His friend would have done whatever was necessary to protect Elena. ‘And the others?’ he prompted.
‘They fought against the Irish. But the man who followed me suddenly spoke a command to them. I didn’t understand it, but they dropped their weapons and came towards the boat. My friends followed, because they knew I would die at their hands.’
Brendan shook his head in confusion. ‘They wanted me to give up the woman, but I knew if I did, they would kill us all.’ His face paled, and Styr’s hands curled into fists.
‘They—they became our prisoners,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why. They didn’t struggle when we bound them.’
Styr was starting to gain an understanding. Ragnar must have ordered the rest of the men to feign surrender, until they reached the open sea. It would have been easy for the men to regain control of the vessel, especially if the Irish believed them incapable of fighting.
‘We
