“What is he doing?”
“He has offered to fight,” Ivar answered. “If he defeats his opponent, that man will take his place as the sacrifice.”
“And if he loses?”
Ivar met her eyes with a steady resolution. “You know the answer to this already, Caragh.”
She squeezed his hand, her heart beating so fast, she could hardly breathe.
“What is this man to you, Caragh?” Ivar asked. “Does he have a prior claim?”
Inwardly, her mind was crying out with fear. No, there was no claim. She should feel nothing at all for this man. Especially when he was one she would never have. He loved his wife and honored her. Every touch between them had been of her own doing.
But she found herself nodding. “I do care for him.”
Ivar’s hand came up to cup her chin. “He is not worthy of you,kjære. You should have a man who worships you.”
“There is no man who feels that way for me.” At Ivar’s piercing gaze, she predicted, “Not even you.”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Have you thought about my offer?” He reached out for her hand, holding her fingers gently. “You hold the power to free his men.”
“I can only think of my brother now,” she answered honestly. But Ivar’s suggestion made her aware that she would owe Styr a debt that could never be repaid. He was risking his life for a boy he despised.
From across the space, his eyes met hers for the barest flicker of a second. As if to remind her that this was not his choice. Not his battle to face.
He was doing this for her, because she’d asked it of him. And in his eyes, she saw the strength and determination to win.
In that moment, her heart was impossibly lost. She could no longer deny that she was in love with a man who could never belong to her. Tears heated her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. Instead, she drank in the sight of him, trying to remember every line of his face, every feature.
She gripped her hands together, willing herself to meet his last look.
“He is a fool,kjære, if he does not see the woman before him.” With a dark smile, Ivar bent down and brushed his lips against hers. “You will soon learn that I can give you far more than Hardrata ever could. Perhaps it might one day be enough to win a smile.”
She said nothing, turning all of her attention to the fight. In the morning sun, Styr’s hard body revealed his battle skills. Upon his torso were carved the deep lines of muscle. Not only in his strong arms but also in his abdomen.
He moved like a predator, attacking his opponent with a skill she’d never imagined. His long blond hair hung over his shoulders, and upon one upper arm, she saw the gleam of a golden armband.
The enemy Norseman slashed his blade toward Styr, and he blocked it with his shield, his battleaxe arcing towards the man’s head.
Ronan and Terence stood by Brendan, who was still chained. Her brother's dark hair was matted with blood, his bones showing against his pale skin. Before Caragh could take another step forwards, Ivar held her back. He kept one arm around her waist, the other just above her breasts. “No closer,” he warned.
In his arms, she watched as Styr dived to the ground, narrowly avoiding the sword. The tip of the blade caught his arm, drawing blood. At the sight of it, the people began to shout, calling out for more blood.
A cry caught in her mouth, though she pushed it back. She couldn’t understand what terrible Fate had led her to love this man. But the thought of Styr dying sent a phantom pain into her own body.
The drumbeat intensified, mirroring her heart. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and when his enemy let out a roar,plunging his sword, she gripped Ivar’s arm, her nails digging into his skin.
Styr raised his shield, and his enemy’s blade embedded within the wood. He ripped back the shield, disarming the man, and within seconds, his enemy lay upon the ground.
Her knees went weak, and when Ivar let her go, she couldn’t stop herself from running. Not to her brother, who was already unchained and guarded by Ronan.
But to Styr.
Blood ran freely down one arm, and perspiration gleamed upon his skin. But Caragh ignored all of that and embraced him hard, not bothering to hide her tears.
“Thank you for saving him,” she whispered.
His arms came around her in a tight embrace, a shocking response. She’d expected him to push her away, or to turn cold. Instead, she rested her cheek against his chest, shutting out the world for a moment in his arms. She blocked out the sounds of death and sacrifice, finding sanctuary in him.
