gritted his teeth, pressing his temple against the post to evoke the harsh pain of his head wound. He needed something to distract himself from Caragh’s hands. He could imagine her palm sliding up his inner thigh, cupping his arousal. Elena had never done such a thing but usually lay beneath him while he’d joined with her.
Sometimes…he wished she would have touched him in return. To know that she desired his attentions instead of accepted them.
He let out a hiss of air as Caragh finished cleansing the wound. ‘It doesn’t need to be stitched,’ she agreed. ‘You were right.’
Thank God for that. She stepped away, but as she did, he spied the redness around her dark blue eyes and remembered that she’d been crying.
‘You were gone a long time,’ he said. ‘Did something happen to upset you?’
She shrugged. ‘I walked for miles, but there was still no food.’ Her eyes gleamed again and she admitted, ‘I was angry with myself. There was a rabbit, but my stone missed him. I couldn’t catch him while running because I lost my breath.’ Her features tightened with anger. ‘We’re going to run out of food tonight.’
The desperation in her voice affected him more than he wanted it to. He should ignore it for, once she was out of food, she’d have to free him.
But he heard himself saying, ‘You live by the sea. You won’t run out of food.’
‘Our nets have been empty for some time now.’
‘Go out further,’ he said. ‘The large fish are in the deeper waters.’
‘I can’t.’ She trembled a little, as if too afraid of the sea. There was danger in the deepest waves, true, but Styr revelled in the adventure of sailing. Harnessing the wind was like trying to steal the power of the gods. Even during the wild storm on the journey here, he’d welcomed the reckless force of the waves. It was freedom in its purest form.
‘You also need bait,’ he continued. ‘Go out to the beach with a torch. Look for crab along the shoreline. Search near the seaweed.’
‘I haven’t seen crab in weeks. There aren’t—’
‘Trust me,’ he insisted. ‘More of them come out at night. You’ll need them for the fishing lines.’
‘I shouldn’t leave you here alone. Kelan might return.’
He sent her a disbelieving look. ‘I can defend myself, Caragh. Or did you forget that I defeated him even while I was chained?’
She ignored him and let out a rough sigh. Opening her basket, she revealed a bunch of clover and changed the subject. ‘I’m afraid this is all I could find. I have enough grain for us tonight, but that’s all.’
‘So you’ll run out of food and starve to death, without a fight. You won’t even try.’ He stood up, hoping to provoke her anger. In her eyes, he could see the hopelessness, the physical weakness dragging her lower.
‘It’s not about trying.’ She dropped the basket and confronted him. ‘Do you think I haven’t scoured the shores, looking for food? Don’t you think all of us have tried?’
‘I think you’d rather wait on your brothers to save you than try to save yourself.’ He deliberately spurred her temper, knowing it would overcome the fear. Rage was the best weapon against the suffocating doubts.
‘Perhaps I should have let Kelan kill you,’ she muttered. ‘Then there’d be one less person to feed.’
‘You haven’t fed me today,’ he reminded her. ‘And from the look of it, you haven’t eaten, either.’
And at last, her fury got the best of her. Tears of frustration streamed down her face. ‘I haven’t eaten for nearly a fortnight, save a few greens and a soup that’s mostly water. I can’t remember the last time I had meat, and I’m so hungry, I can hardly walk anywhere without getting tired.’ She tore down the woollen cloth from where it covered the hole in the wall.
‘Then you had to come and destroy the only home I have.’ She wrapped the brat around her head and shoulders, holding on to herself as if she could hold back the emotions. ‘I don’t know what to do any more. It’s frustrating to have nothing to show for my efforts.’
He said nothing at first, for this woman wasn’t his responsibility. She’d taken him prisoner, and there was no reason to offer his advice.
But when he saw her shadowed face, he could think only of his wife. Was Elena hungry, as well? Was anyone watching over her? Or had they turned their backs on her?
If Caragh died, none of the others would free him. She was his only hope of escaping. And the only way to do that was to gain her trust.
‘Set me free, and I’ll help you get food,’ he said at last. ‘Then you can guide me to find my wife and kinsmen.’
She shook her head slowly, a rueful smile on her face. ‘You’d only abandon me here, as soon as I let you go.’
Of course she would believe that. But he wasn’t about to spend any longer, waiting until her brothers arrived. He would keep trying to free himself, no matter what he had to do.
Caragh took a branch from her supply of kindling and made it into a torch, lighting it in the fire. ‘I suppose I could try to look for crab for a little while. Wait here, and I’ll return within the hour.’
As if he had a choice.
He leaned back against the post, determined to do anything necessary to make his escape.
Styr tested the chains behind his back, lifting the manacles as far up as he could, to his shoulders. He leaned against them with his full body weight, stepping against the post. Though his wrists burned from the effort, he walked backwards up the post, lifting the chains with every step. After falling back down several times, he realised he had to keep the chains taut. Inch by inch, he guided himself up, gritting his teeth against the ache. It was the thought of freedom that pushed him past the edge of pain, while he twisted the chains and continued higher.
The support beam reached up to the ceiling. Slowly, he pulled himself up, until his shoulders touched the thatch. Sweat beaded against his forehead as he fought to keep his balance. If he could just lift his arms a little higher, he could raise the chains over the top of the post. It was attached to the roof, but the other beam was thinner, perhaps the width of his wrist.
Every muscle in his body cried out with agony, but he pushed past the pain. he would endure this for Elena’s sake.
His shoulder nearly dislocated when he shoved the chain over the top of the beam. He hung, suspended, from the smaller piece of wood, and his body weight strained against the beam.
Come on, he pleaded. Break.
He gulped for air, swinging against the wood while he feared it was his wrists that would break. In his mind, he pictured the face of Elena and her haunted sadness.
She needs you.
With a Herculean effort, at last the smaller beam cracked and he fell to the ground against his knees.
He
