Caragh came closer again, pleading, “Stop this. I don’t want either of you to be hurt.”
“I suppose you’re sharing his bed, aren’t you, Caragh? Whoring yourself to the enemy.”
She stumbled back, her face flushed. “I’ve done no such thing. He was my prisoner until last night.”
“I suppose he was glad to be chained up, for your use,” Kelan taunted. When she covered her mouth with her hands, appalled, he backhanded her, sending her to the ground. Reaching for the basket of fish, he started to flee, but Styr seized him. He ignored the knife and rolled with his enemy on the ground, determined to protect her.
Fury raged through Styr. Kelan was a dishonorable thief, one who ought to be punished for his deeds.
He raised his battleaxe, prepared to slice the man’s throat, when suddenly, strong arms dragged him backwards. Two men, with strength to equal his own, hauled him away from Kelan. Though Styr tried to break free, they held him back.
“Kelan was trying to steal food from me,” Caragh explained to the men. She stood before them, and from their physical resemblance, Styr guessed who they were.
“Take your belongings and leave the ringfort,” the taller man commanded Kelan. “If you set foot upon Gall Tír again, your life will be the forfeit.”
Kelan’s face was murderous as he stood. But he moved toward his own home within the ringfort. Caragh’s shoulders lowered with relief when he’d gone.
“Let the Lochlannach go, Ronan,” she ordered, reaching past Styr to hug the taller man. “Terence, you, too. He was only defending me.”
Her brothers, he guessed. And from the dark look in their eyes, they were wondering whether or not to kill him. Behind the men, he spied two horses burdened with large bundles that likely contained food and supplies.
Caragh came to stand beside him. “This is Styr Hardrata.” Though her words were steady, Styr caught the warning flash in her eyes. He couldn’t quite tell what she wanted, but held his tongue.
“And why would my sister be harboring a Lochlannach?” Ronan demanded. “Were you attacked?”
Styr gave no answer but nodded to Caragh, letting her give what explanation she would.
“Brendan attacked them when they arrived a few days ago,” she explained. “He and his friends were planning to steal their supplies.”
Styr eyed the two brothers, and the taller man stared back, his face set in a grim line. “Where is he now?”
Caragh shook her head. “I don’t know. We were going to search for him in Father’s boat.”
Ronan expelled a curse, and then his gaze tightened upon his sister. “We?” From the dark look in his eyes, Styr knew what the man was thinking.
“Yes.” Caragh lifted her chin as if to defy her brother. “At first, Styr was my prisoner,” she confessed. “But...now, he is...” She faltered as if searching for a reason.
Desperate, she caught his gaze and abruptly moved her arm around his waist. She managed a smile for her brothers, as if her action were explanation enough.
The touch of her arm around him sent up a flare of warning. Styr didn’t know what her intentions were, but the unexpectedtouch was far too familiar. She was trying to make her brothers believe that there was more than friendship between them, and the gesture bothered him.
Worse, he was acutely aware of the soft heat from her skin, the scent of her hair. He tensed, as if that could stop him from feeling anything at all. Frustration coiled inside him, but he didn’t push her away. Not until he understood what she was trying to do.
“But now?” Terence repeated, eyeing his sister with distrust. The man rested his hand upon the sword hanging from his scabbard. Though he kept his tone calm, his gray eyes held a warning. “Give me a reason why I should spare the life of a Lochlannach.”
Caragh took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. She didn’t look at Styr, but neither did she release him. “Now, he has come to mean far more to me.” She tightened her grip around Styr’s waist, as if pleading with him not to speak. “Don’t harm him, Terence. You saw for yourself how he defended me.” Her hand moved up to rest upon Styr’s heart, her fingers grazing the skin beneath his throat.
That was all it took for his body to respond to her. His heartbeat quickened, and he loathed himself for the involuntary reaction. Gently, he removed her hands and remarked, “I don’t need your protection, Caragh.”
There was a glint of approval in Ronan’s eyes. Styr suspected he might be the leader of the tribe, from the way he stood back, assessing both of them. He was tall, with dark hair like his sister. His beard was sheared close to his skin, and there was a leanness to him, as if he, too, had suffered from the famine. Even so, from the protective nature of the man, Styr guessed that Ronan wouldn’t take kindly to anyone speaking against Caragh.
“Why did you come here?” Terence demanded. The shorter man was thin, like his brother, but still heavily muscled. Therewas a hint of darkness to his tone, as if he were trying to provoke a fight.
“We came to trade and to settle here before your brother attacked us.”
Terence smirked. “Then you were defeated by adolescent boys. I’d have liked to see that.”
Styr’s hand shot out and gripped the man’s throat. He squeezed just hard enough to make his point. “My men hadn’t slept in days, after the storms at sea. They were not at their full strength.”
