with pain.
But he’d done it. He was free to move, free to leave this place. Though his hands were still bound in chains, no longer was he confined to Caragh’s hut.
Styr rose up to his knees, letting out a shuddering breath. It was better to wait until morning to go after Elena. This land was unknown to him, and he needed to plan his journey.
That meant gathering supplies and food—if there were any to be had. He sobered, for he’d travelled enough to know that he couldn’t go off blindly trying to track down Elena and Ragnar. Since they’d gone by boat, they could be anywhere along the coast.
He needed a ship of his own, to travel the same path. And he needed to break free of these chains.
Slowly, he stood, eager to escape the confines of this place. He struggled to open the door, but when he stepped outside, he breathed in the scent of freedom. All was quiet, the night cloaking the sky with darkened clouds. In the distance, he spied the flare of a single torch.
Caragh.
He gripped the chains to hold his silence as he tiptoed into the night. Soundlessly, he made his way towards the beach where he saw her staring intently at the sand. Alone, with no one to help her.
In her face, he saw the dogged determination to survive. It was breaking her down, but she kept searching. He’d known men who were quicker to give up than her.
She walked alongside the water, the torch casting shadows upon the sand. In the faint light, her face held a steady patience. Her skin was golden in the light, her brown hair falling over her shoulders in untamed waves.
She was far too gentle for her own good. What kind of a woman would capture a Norseman and then give up her own food? Why would she bother treating his wounds, when he’d threatened her?
And why was there no man to take care of her? No husband or lover…unless Kelan intended to offer his protection. From her coolness towards the man, she wouldn’t want him near.
Styr remained in the shadows, even knowing that he shouldn’t be here. He ought to be studying the perimeter of the ringfort, searching for hidden supplies or information about these people.
Instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off Caragh, as if she were the vision of Freya, sent to tempt him. Like the women of his homeland, she possessed an inner strength he admired. Though Fate had cast her a bitter lot, she’d faced the grimness of her future.
Taking him prisoner had been the action of a desperate woman, not a cruel one. He knew within his blood, that if he left her now, she would starve to death.
He shouldn’t care. Because of her, he’d been helpless to look after his wife and his men. He owed her nothing.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Perhaps it was the way she’d tended his wounds…or the way she’d wanted to protect her brother. He understood loyalty to family.
He cursed her for weakening his resolve, but he couldn’t leave until she had enough food to survive a little longer. Turning his back, he returned to her shelter, his mind filling up with plans of how to gain a boat.
Once he’d found fish for Caragh, he’d have his own supplies, too. Then, he could go out in search of his wife.
Caragh sat upon a large stone, watching the sand for any sign of movement. Styr had claimed that she might find crabs at this time of night, but she doubted there would be anything.
His accusation stung, that she would rather wait on her brothers than try to save herself. Of course she’d tried to survive. she’d done everything she could to find food.
Every breath was a fight to live, and she’d grown accustomed to hunger. The emptiness inside her was a constant reminder of how capricious Fate could be. But the Lochlannach’s words had bruised her feelings.
The familiar dizziness blurred her vision, and she took slow, deep breaths to keep from fainting. In time, the ringing in her ears stopped, and she concentrated on the water once more.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she raised the torch. She was startled to realise that Styr’s prediction was right. There were crabs underwater at night. Quickly she reached for one and placed it in her basket. Though it was too tiny for meat, if she caught enough of them, they could make a good soup.
One by one, she saw more crabs and added them to her basket, feeling her spirits lift.
After another hour passed, she decided she’d caught enough. Though there were only a dozen, they would provide sustenance. She smiled with relief, covering the basket to protect her catch.
It was late, but she was so hungry, she hardly cared. Right now, she wanted to boil some of the crabs for food. Hurrying back, she opened the door and saw the Viking exactly where she’d left him. When he spied her, his eyes seemed to say: I told you so.
‘You were right,’ she admitted, revealing the crabs she’d caught. But she hardly cared what he thought. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. ‘I’ll boil these and make a soup.’
The Lochlannach shook his head. ‘Don’t. You’ll catch fish if you bait lines with the crab tonight. Put them where the tide comes in and you’ll have bass or flounder in the morning.’ He gave her further instructions about the kind of fishing lines she needed and the hooks.
Caragh put up her hands, not listening. ‘No. We should eat now. I know you must be as hungry as I am.’
‘We’ll eat the grain tonight,’ he corrected. ‘Fish in the morning.’
‘If there are any fish.’
‘There will be,’ he promised. ‘I was right about the crabs, wasn’t I?’
She eyed her basket in dismay, wanting so badly to eat them. But they were no bigger than the palm of her hand…and the promise of large fish made her mouth water.
‘I’m afraid of losing the crabs,’ she confessed. ‘What if I bait the lines and get nothing for my trouble?’
‘It’s possible,’ he told her. ‘But I’ve spent my life living off the sea. I know how to catch fish.’
Caragh regarded him. If so, then it might be their salvation. She’d never been able to catch anything but small fish in the shallow water.
She pulled out some of the fishing lines belonging to her brother and Styr repeated his instructions, explaining how she should pierce the shell with the hook.
‘Set out the lines,’ he said. ‘And in the morning, you’ll see.’
He appeared confident that it would work, but Caragh wasn’t so certain. The sea was unpredictable, and more often than not, she’d caught nothing.
She placed the bait and the fishing lines in her basket, walking slowly past Styr. His demeanour was stoic, almost arrogant in his belief that she could not fail in this. But when he turned to look at her, there was a slight shift in his expression, almost as if he held empathy towards her.
His dark eyes held a steadiness, willing her to believe in this. A tightness seized up in her chest, for she desperately wanted to
