“Wait,” he commanded. It took no longer than a few seconds before the merchant caught up to them, holding two pies.
“Your silver?” he asked.
Styr paid the man one coin and handed Caragh both pies. She had no chance to ask any questions, before the man took the rest of his pies and disappeared among the people.
“You don’t think he knew anything about your wife?”
Styr shook his head. “He would have said anything he thought we wanted to hear.”
Caragh started to give him one of the pies, but he refused. “You’re hungry,” she insisted. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Not as hungry as you.”
But Caragh broke off a piece of the steaming pie, touching it to his mouth. “I will enjoy mine more, if I know that you aren’t hungry.”
He accepted the bite of food and finally took the pie. Caragh found a stack of wine barrels on the other side of the square and asked for a moment to sit down.
Her shoes were so worn, she could feel the rocky soil beneath her soles. It wouldn’t take long to wear holes through the weak leather, and already she could feel the swelling of blisters.
But sitting down made it easier to endure. Styr leaned beside one of the wine barrels, while she finished as much as she could. When her stomach could hold no more, she gave the rest to him.
“Don’t you want to save it for later?”
She shook her head. “I know the past few days have been hard on both of us. And you need your strength.” Her gaze slid over to his muscled arms, and his expression shifted as if she’d physically touched him. Though he said nothing, his eyes passed over her. And this time, his hunger had nothing to do with food.
Her body was well aware of the direction of his thoughts, though he had spoken not a word. Against her will, a shimmer of interest echoed in her body. She imagined his hands upon her, his forbidden touch shattering every last defense.
God help them both.
“Th-thank you for letting me see the market,” she said, sliding down from the barrel. “We should go back and find out what we can about Elena and Brendan.”
Styr inclined his head, and they returned to the marketplace, asking several other merchants about what they had seen. Nonehad any information, but they suggested asking another man whose stall was closest to the slave market.
Strangely, Caragh didn’t recognize the man’s wares. She stared at the selection of ivory and polished wood, along with vials of oil.
“We’re not stopping here,” Styr said, trying to move her on. But her curiosity was heightened. The man’s eyes lit up when he saw the two of them. He was one of the Norsemen, shorter than Styr, but barrel-chested.
“For you, lady.” He offered her a tiny vial, contained in wood. “Try it with your lover.”
Her cheeks went crimson, and she shook her head. “But he’s not my—”
“We’re leaving,” Styr repeated, gripping her hand.
The merchant grinned at him and spoke words in his language. Styr argued back, shaking his head in refusal. Whatever it was the merchant wanted him to buy, Styr was having none of it.
“But what is he selling?” she asked. “I don’t recognize his wares.”
“Your brothers wouldn’t want you here,” he said.
His declaration only heightened her interest. She ignored his wishes and moved in closer. Styr was trying to hide something, and she couldn’t think of what.
“Please,” the merchant insisted. “Take the oil. But if you wish to buy this, other women will tell you of the pleasure you will know.” He held out an ivory cylinder with a rounded, ridged top.
The moment she saw it, Caragh frowned. As the merchant instructed, she held it in her palm, still unclear on what it was for.
“Use the oil, lady.” He began to explain more, but his Irish was broken, and he switched back into the Norse language, making it impossible to understand.
When she shook her head, the merchant took her hand and curled it over the ivory. He showed her how to move it up and down, and when she glanced at Styr, his shoulders were shaking, his mouth tight.
