“What did you find?” Styr asked.
“Your ship was taken by the Danes,” Ronan answered, confirming what he’d learned from Onund. “My brother Brendan and your men were sold into slavery.” He nodded towards Ivar. “I understand you found some of them.”
Styr told him what he’d learned, ending with, “We are still looking for your brother.”
Ronan gave a nod, but his eyes were fixed upon Ivar and Caragh. “What of the Norseman? You seem to be allowing him to spend time with our sister.”
“That is her choice to make.” He turned back to the man, considering whether or not to tell him the truth about Elena. Already he’d allowed the man to draw false conclusions about Caragh and him. Though he’d wanted the use of their ship, it might be wiser to break the alliance.
Before he could say another word, Onund approached them. At his side were three more of Styr’s men.
“There will be a ritual in the morning,” Onund informed him. “There have been sightings of many ships approaching, and the men here intend to summon avolvato predict whether or not to attack the Danes.”
“The women have begun grinding barley for the bread on the morrow,” another said. “Ivar intends to host a feast and offer his own sacrifices.”
“Does he intend to sacrifice any of the thralls?” Though animals were most often sacrificed to the gods, there were sometimes human sacrifices, as well.
Onund glanced at his kinsmen, his face unreadable. “He has not spoken of it.”
Which meant it was possible.
Styr knew that in times of peril, greater sacrifices were demanded. But his men should not be among them. They’d lost their freedom because he’d been unable to guard Elena. He would not allow them to lose their lives, as well.
He rested his hand upon Onund’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “You will be freed in the morning. This I swear, upon the blood of Odin.” He met his kinsman’s gaze steadily, though inwardly, he didn’t know how he would achieve it. He needed tonegotiate with Ivar for their release. To each of them, he gave one of the silver coins he’d won.
Styr bade the men a good night, and after they’d gone, Ronan confronted him. “You’ve made plans, haven’t you?”
“Plans to free them, yes.” He said nothing more, knowing Ronan had not understood the Norse language.
“And what about our sister? Or have you changed your mind about being her protector?”
Styr evaded the question. “There are dozens of men, Irish even, who would make a better protector.”
Unmarried men, who can give her the kind of life she deserves, he didn’t say.
Ronan’s blue eyes met his own. “I see the way she looks at you. She hasn’t looked at any man in that way, in over a year.”
He had no response to give. It would be far better if Caragh saw him for what he was—a man bent upon vengeance and nothing else.
“You look at her in the same manner,” Ronan commented. “And given all the invasions, I think it would be wise to ally our men. You can live at Gall Tír, and we’ll join our forces together.”
“There can be no alliance between Caragh and myself.” No longer would he give the man false hopes. Ronan deserved the truth. “I’ll help you find your brother while I search for the rest of my men,” Styr told him. “Then we’ll go.”
Ronan’s gaze turned cold. “You’re planning to break her heart, then.”
“She’s always known that there would never be anything between us. I was her captive. I paid my debt when I saved her life. We’re even now.”
“Then you’re nothing but a Lochlannach bastard,” Ronan countered, reaching out toward his throat.
Styr caught the man’s hand and shoved him against the back wall. Already his temper was stretched taut, and he needed no man to tell him what to do.
“Don’t,” Caragh protested, moving between them. When she pushed him back, there was a slight shift in her posture, almost as if she were afraid.
And perhaps she should be. Styr let out a slow breath of air, not regretting what he’d said to Ronan. It was better to leave her be so she could pursue her own future.
Her dark hair was gathered over one shoulder, baring a slight glimpse of pale skin. In the firelight, he saw the gooseflesh rise upon it. Whether she was cold or uncomfortable at his presence, he didn’t know. But he handed her his own cloak and returned to the back of the room. Caragh dared to glance at him, and when she did, she pulled the cloak tightly around her.
When he reached the far end of the longhouse, he made a sleeping place for himself. In his palm, he gripped his battleaxe, believing that it wasn’t at all safe in this house.
