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 toward her.
His dark eyes held a steadiness, willing her to believe in this. A tightness seized up in her chest, for she desperately wantedto 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 farther away and then knelt down, using his shackled hands to pick up the first line, moving it out into deeper water.
Thor’s blood, he shouldn’t be interfering like this. But there was no choice. He needed supplies and food before he could go after Elena.
The tide was going out, and Styr crouched down, searching for a place where the line would lure larger fish. Though his clothing grew soaked, he waded toward a sandbar. He grippedthe baited line behind him, searching until he found the right place. Luck was with him, and his foot pressed against a stone, one large enough to hold the line. Kneeling down in the water, he maneuvered his hands until he was able to secure the line with the stone.
When he turned back, he was startled to glimpse the outline of a boat, anchored near the shore. Caragh had said nothing about it, claiming that the fishermen had taken their boats with them. This one was set apart from the settlement, almost as if someone had tried to hide it.
But now, he had a means of leaving this place. A way of retracing the path of his wife and kinsmen. Thank the gods.
With a quick glance, he saw that Caragh was starting to return. Styr rose from the water and hurried toward the shore. He melted back into the shadows, running toward her hut. Though a close glance would reveal that he was no longer bound to the post, he hoped he could feign sleep. His clothing might dry by morning, though it was doubtful. He leaned against the post, curling his body to hide his chains.
Within minutes, the door creaked open. “Styr?” Caragh whispered.
He didn’t answer, hoping she would go to sleep and leave him alone. The wind blew against his back, making his wet clothing more uncomfortable.
With his eyes shut tightly, he ignored the footsteps approaching, willing her to leave him alone. Before he realized what was happening, she had laid his cloak over him. The wool was warm from where she’d set it by the fire.
Her scent clung to the cloak, and it rendered him motionless. No one had ever done anything like this for him. He doubted if she’d even realized the significance. Kindness came to Caragh as naturally as breathing.
He closed his eyes, damning himself for a fool. There was no way he could leave her behind now, even if they did catch fish. It would haunt him for the rest of his life if she starved to death.
Whether or not she wanted it, he was going to take Caragh with him when he went in search of his wife.
Someone had to look after her.
Chapter Four
There were no fish. Caragh cursed and stared at the empty hook on the seventh line she’d checked. Seven crabs...all gone. Her mind bordered on hysteria, for if she hadn’t listened to the Lochlannach, she could have had crab meat last night, instead of cooked grain. Furious tears rose up, but she refused to weep. It would do no good at all.
The eighth and ninth lines were empty, as well. When she reached the tenth, she sat down upon the rock, almost trembling with the knowledge of what she would find. Or wouldn’t find, in this case.
“Did you catch anything,a chara?“ An elderly female voice broke the stillness and she spied frail Iona, standing on the beach.
“No.” She picked up the tenth line, and saw a crab still dangling from the hook. “But take this.” She unhooked the crab and held it out to the old woman. “It’s not much, but perhaps it will help a little.”
Iona smiled and shook her head. “You’re a dear one, Caragh, but no. I see what’s before me, and my days are numbered. Why waste it upon an old crone like me, when it’s a young woman like you who needs it more?”
Caragh ignored her and moved forwards, pressing the crab into her hand. “Boil it and you’ll have meat and broth. Please.” She folded the old woman’s fingers over the crab, and a softness entered Iona’s eyes.
She raised her hand to Caragh’s forehead. “You’re a good child. How I wish you and Kelan had wed.”
The smile froze upon her face. Once, the handsome man had made her laugh, telling stories that had made it easy to be with him. She’d believed that the rest of their days would be filled with happiness. But he’d tossed it aside for someone else.
