“It’s good that you didn’t wed him.”
“I can’t help but think that I should have done something differently.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I might have a husband and children now, if I had. Maybe if I hadn’t talked so much, or maybe if I tried to be more careful with the way I looked.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Caragh.”
She shook her head, not listening. “Then why am I still alone?” Heartbreak resonated in the words.
Styr rolled the dice again, taking a sip from his mead. It was clear that love did matter to a woman like Caragh. He was tempted to speak words of reassurance. To tell her that those men were fools not to want her. But he kept silent, not wanting her to suspect his own thoughts.
Her blue eyes watched him, as if trying to discern an answer. To avoid it, Styr took his final piece from the board.
“You win,” Caragh conceded, drawing her knees up beneath her gown. “I suppose I’ll have to return your cloak now.”
“No, the battleaxe,” he corrected. “Put my cloak over the wall I damaged.” If they were staying, he might consider repairing it. But it wouldn’t matter, once they were gone.
Caragh yawned and began to put away the pieces. Styr helped her, and when the game was put away, she turned abruptly and nearly stumbled. He caught her, to prevent a fall, but her hands rested upon his forearms a moment too long.
“Your wife is a fortunate woman,” she murmured, her gaze upon his. Her violet eyes were studying him in a wistful way that was far too dangerous. The warmth of her hands upon him was more welcome than it should have been. Styr felt thetouch sinking into him, like a balm. He shut down the thought immediately.
“Caragh, don’t. You’ve had too much to drink.”
She nodded, pursing her lips. “I have, yes. But, for a moment...you looked as lonely as I feel.” She closed her eyes a moment, as if gathering courage. “And I wondered if everything was all right between you and your wife. You looked… sad.”
Styr put her hands aside and walked away. “What’s between Elena and myself is no concern of yours.” He didn’t care how harsh his words sounded. The reason for their estrangement had everything to do with her inability to conceive a child, nothing more. Once she became pregnant, all would be well again. He believed that.
He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. The more time he spent around Caragh, the more he found himself wanting to ensure that she was protected, that she had enough to eat. If his thoughts toward her were of a sisterly nature, it wouldn’t bother him so much. But they weren’t. He admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, much as he hated himself for it.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “You’re right. It has nothing to do with me.” With that, she retreated to her pallet and pulled a coverlet over her body.
Styr stoked up the fire, watching the sparks float into the air. The mead had discolored his judgement, and he didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.
He was lonely.
And he would be a liar if he didn’t admit he’d considered ending his marriage. For all he knew, the fault could be his, and perhaps he had been the one cursed with the inability to have children. What right did he have to bind Elena into a marriage where she would never have a child when he knew how desperately she wanted one?
The thoughts plagued him as he returned to his own bed, wondering what would happen when he found her once more.
The sound of the door opening awoke him from sleep. Styr stared into the shadows, the faint glow of the peat fire offering the only light.
The intruder didn’t speak but crept toward the food Caragh had preserved in baskets. Styr had a strong suspicion of who the thief was. He watched the man as he took the basket, sneaking outside again.
Without a warning to Caragh, Styr reached for the battleaxe that she’d returned to him last night. Following the intruder, he caught up to the man and saw that it was Kelan, as he’d suspected.
“Drop the basket,” he commanded.
Kelan spun, and the flash of his blade gleamed against the morning fog. He dropped the basket, advancing upon him.
“Are you that dishonorable, that you would steal food from a starving woman?” Styr demanded. “When she shared what she had with you?”
“She shared with you as well,” the man accused. “And you’re nothing but a murderer. That makes her a traitor to us.” He sliced his knife through the clouded air in an open threat as he circled.
Styr dodged the blow, swinging with his own weapon. He heard the sound of a door striking against the frame, Caragh calling out to him.
“Please don’t fight,” she begged, as Kelan moved in with his blade.
“He’s a thief, Caragh,” Styr countered. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
She darted forward and seized the basket. Styr blocked another blow with the axe and struck out at the man, his fist connecting with Kelan’s jaw. In his enemy’s eyes, he saw desperation and the mark of a coward.
