Michelle Willingham Read online

  A moment later, the door flew open. Caragh ran forwards. ‘No! Release him!’

  Styr held on until the man lost consciousness. ‘Would you have rather he killed me?’ He struggled to his feet, ignoring the blood that ran down his leg.

  She paled at the sight. Her gaze shifted to the other man, and her emotions held a trace of regret.

  Taking the fallen knife, she hid it among her possessions, leaving both of them weaponless. When the man started to revive, Caragh helped him to his feet. Quietly, she ordered, ‘Leave my home, Kelan.’

  The look in the man’s eyes was murderous. His voice was hoarse as he gritted out, ‘Why did you save him? He doesn’t deserve to live, Caragh.’

  ‘Go,’ she repeated. ‘He is my prisoner, not yours.’ Though she kept her voice calm, Styr sensed her unease with the man.

  Kelan’s gaze swept over her, lingering over her body. ‘You’re not safe with him.’

  She shielded her thoughts, her violet eyes growing cold. ‘It’s no longer your concern.’

  A dark flush came over Kelan’s face. ‘He slaughtered our kin, or did you forget?’

  ‘Our brothers attacked them first,’ she reminded him.

  ‘You’re defending a murderer?’ The disbelief in his voice held venom. ‘He’s worth nothing at all, Caragh.’

  She gave no reply but opened the door in a silent command to leave. Although the man obeyed, Styr knew it was only a matter of time before Kelan attacked again. And next time, he might not be able to save himself. His earlier resolve to free himself was now critical.

  Caragh closed the door and lowered her head for a moment, not facing him. Her shoulders slumped, and he realised she was trying not to cry. The weight of the world seemed to bear down on her, and he saw her swipe her hands across her eyes before she turned to face him.

  Her gaze drifted to his wounded leg. ‘He hurt you.’

  Styr shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Just a slight cut.’ But despite his insistence, she was already reaching for water and a cloth to tend it.

  She was entirely too soft-hearted. Too trusting and naïve, especially with a man like him who knew nothing of forgiveness.

  ‘Who was he to you?’

  Her mouth tightened, but she shrugged. ‘He’s a member of our clan, that’s all.’

  ‘No. He was more than that.’ Styr hadn’t missed the underlying tension between them.

  Caragh let out a sigh. ‘He wanted to wed me once. But I refused him.’ Before he could voice another question, she met his gaze squarely. ‘And I don’t want to talk about it any more.’

  As soon as she touched his thigh with the damp cloth, he reflexively jerked.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try to be gentle,’ she assured him. But it wasn’t the touch of her hands against the knife wound. It was the sudden softness of female fingers, perilously close to his groin. Though he told himself that the sudden response would have happened to any man, he felt himself tightening with an unwanted arousal.

  Styr 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 f
ire. ‘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 couldn’t move, and for a long moment, he rested his cheek against the earthen floor. His wrists were slick with blood, and they throbbed 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 hope. Her gaze passed over his wounds. The cut upon his leg didn’t seem to be bleeding any more, but his head wound was still swollen.

  ‘Thank you for helping me,’ she said. ‘I pray that this will work.’

  In the dim light of her house, she noticed a difference in his posture. There was something unusual about the way he was sitting.

  Frowning, she started to approach, but he said, ‘Go and set the lines before your torch dies out.’

  ‘All right.’ She reached for her basket and the torch, adding, ‘If I do catch any fish, I promise I’ll free you in the morning.’

  He sobered, giving a single nod. Though she didn’t know if it was safe to make such a vow, she was a woman of her word. And their lives depended on catching these fish.

  * * *

  Styr crept outside, shadowing Caragh. Immediately, he noticed that she was choosing the wrong location for her lines. No fish of any size would swim near the pools where she’d set the bait. He remained hidden, watching as she moved from one line to the other. In all, she set out a dozen, in various locations along the shallow waters. He waited until she was further away and then knelt down, using his shackled hands to pick up the first line, moving it out into deeper water.