The women had dressed her in a vibrant red gown, with gold brooches fastening the shoulders of a white apron. Her hair was still wet, but they had braided it back with silver combs tucked within the single plait. A golden torque adorned her throat, and when the light illuminated her face, he was struck by the sight of her wearing such finery. She moved slowly to avoid revealing her limp.
Ivar rose from his place, not bothering to hide his appreciative smile. Caragh held herself with poise, but when she sent him a quiet look, he saw the shadow of nerves.
“You are breathtaking,kjære,” the Norseman remarked, offering her his arm. He brought her to a low table and bade her sit upon a silken cushion. Styr didn’t know what possessed him, but he took his place on Caragh’s opposite side.
Ivar sent her an amused look. “Your protector is like an older brother, isn’t he?”
“He isn’t my brother.” Her voice held the coolness of anger, but Styr wondered if she understood the game she was playing. Nikolasson wasn’t a man who would let a woman tease his interest without responding.
Styr reached for her hand under the table, gripping her fingers in a warning. But Caragh jerked her hand free of his, sending him a look that would have frozen water.
“I like you, Caragh Ó Brannon,” Ivar admitted. “You are very much like the women of my homeland.”
“I’m not nearly as tall as they are.” She accepted the goblet of wine he offered and took a sip.
“But you are beautiful and spirited.” He cut off a piece of roasted mutton and offered it to her. “I am eager to learn more about you.”
Styr had no doubt of that. But he wasn’t about to leave Caragh with him. “We were discussing my men,” he said. “Negotiating for their freedom.”
“What else can you offer in return?” Though the words were directed to Styr, Ivar’s gaze drifted lower, over Caragh’s body.
“She is not part of our negotiation,” he said, tightening his palm upon Caragh’s hand.
Ivar gave a shrug, and offered his open palm to Caragh. “You have captured my interest, lady. Should you desire to be...friends, you have only to say the word. And if you want me to free those men, I would do as you ask.”
“She is not interested,” Styr retorted.
But Caragh lowered her head in agreement. “I would like you to free his men. Because it’s the right thing to do—not because I ask it of you.”
The Norseman eyed her again, withdrawing his hand. “If I did this, you would be in my debt.”
“I am not the sort of woman who offers her favors in exchange for men’s lives.” She crossed her arms, revealing her dissatisfaction at the idea.
Good. Nikolasson deserved that response, and Styr was glad to see her rejecting the man’s advances.
“That was not what I meant,” he corrected. “I would merely like to make your acquaintance. Perhaps bring you gifts that would complement your beauty.”
“I am not beautiful,” she answered. Though some women might have said it in a teasing manner, Styr realized that she believed it. As if she had been told this by someone. The thought irritated him.
“Then you are blind,” Ivar responded. He reached out for her palm, and Caragh hesitated before giving him her hand. She eyed him for a moment, confusion clouding her gaze. When she glanced back at Styr, he looked away.
Yes, she was beautiful. But more than that, she was strong. She’d fought to survive, and her bravery was greater than any woman he’d ever known. Beneath her fragile beauty lay a woman who had endured more than most.
Yet it was her compassion that lifted her above her kinsmen. He didn’t doubt that the Irish would not have taken him prisoner. Men like Kelan would have enjoyed killing him. Styr knew he was alive because of her.
And yet, you want to kill her brother, his conscience reminded him.
“What has brought you to our city?” Ivar asked. “Was it your...protector?”
Caragh shook her head. “I came to search for my brother.” Before Ivar could ask anything else, she described Brendan, asking, “Did you see him among the others?” Her face revealed her worry, and she added, “He’s only ten and seven.”
“A young man, then. Not a boy.”
It was exactly what Styr had been thinking, but it was clear she still thought of him as a child.
“I need to find him,” she said. “It’s why I journeyed here.”
“There is a gathering in the morning,” Ivar said. “I could ask among my friends if they have seen him.”
