“I don’t know,” Brendan admitted, shaking his head. “They fought hard at first, and when I took the woman back to the ship, one of them followed. I wasn’t planning to harm her.”
It must have been Ragnar, Styr guessed. His friend would have done whatever was necessary to protect Elena. “And the others?” he prompted.
“They fought against the Irish. But the man who followed me suddenly spoke a command to them. I didn’t understand it, but they dropped their weapons and came toward the boat. My friends followed, because they knew I would die at their hands.”
Brendan shook his head in confusion. “They wanted me to give up the woman, but I knew if I did, they would kill us all.” His face paled, and Styr’s hands curled into fists.
“They—they became our prisoners,” he said. “I don’t know why. They didn’t struggle when we bound them.”
Styr was starting to gain an understanding. Ragnar must have ordered the rest of the men to feign surrender, until they reached the open sea. It would have been easy for the men toregain control of the vessel, especially if the Irish believed them incapable of fighting.
“We were planning to let them all go, to slip out at night and swim to shore,” Brendan admitted. “But when we reached the southern coast, we were attacked by another ship.”
Brendan’s gaze turned to Styr, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want the woman to be taken by the Danes, so I cut her free. The other man jumped overboard with her, and the rest of us were taken captive.”
“Did they make it to shore?”
Brendan stared at him, confessing, “I don’t know.”
Styr stood without a word and took back his weapons from Terence. He strode from the interior and walked outside, his mind numb with what he’d learned. Though he knew where he wanted to search, he couldn’t be certain if Elena was still there. Weariness pooled within him. He didn’t want to leave Caragh here, but neither did he have the right to take her with him.
He stood outside, staring at the sights and sounds of the city, unsure of what to do now. From behind him, he sensed her standing there. Without turning around, he said, “I’m not going to kill him.”
“Thank you.” There was an audible sigh, as if she were relieved to hear it.
Styr said nothing more about it. Brendan had made poor decisions, but he’d suffered, too. And if the worst had happened...if Elena was dead...killing the young man wouldn’t bring her back. A heaviness weighed upon him, not knowing what had happened to any of them.
Caragh’s eyes stared straight ahead, while the sunset cast golden streaks across the sky. “I believe you’ll find her. The prophetess said she was alive.”
“I hope so.” He wanted his wife to be safe and well; there was no question of it. But with every moment he’d spent withCaragh, the differences between them only magnified. Logically, he knew it was best for them to part, to never look upon her face again.
But when her hand slipped within his, he did nothing to push her away. He simply held her warm fingers while he wished for a moment, that another life could be his.
“Why are you staying with Ivar?” he asked. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” she murmured. “But I wanted to do something for you. You need your men to help you.”
“And what ofyourneeds?” He turned, forcing her to face him. Her violet eyes were troubled, her complexion pale. “Do you intend to share his bed?”
She lowered her gaze. “I don’t know what will happen. He seems to care for me, though he can be proud and stubborn. Like someone else I know.” Her face softened into a sad smile.
A harsh ache clenched his gut at the thought of her lying in Ivar’s arms. The vision burned him like a fiery brand. “Don’t stay with him, if you don’t desire him.”
Her hand moved to touch his heart. “What choice do I have, when I can never have the man I do desire?”
He froze, disbelieving what he’d heard. Caragh’s face flushed, but she turned and went back inside, leaving him to stare at the darkening streets.
She desired him. And God help him, he wanted her, too, as dishonorable as it was.
But he could not forget Elena. After all she’d endured, he could never abandon her.
The last of the fading light slipped beneath the horizon, and a strange sense of awareness caught Styr without warning. There were lights in the distance and the flare of torches. Something was wrong.
Warning shouts resounded, and within moments, an acrid scent caught his nostrils.
Smoke.
The fires began to spread, from one house to another, and he threw the door open, ordering his men to arm themselves.
