He nodded, pointing further inland. “It was coming from over there.” Leaning against the staff, he continued his pace, moving towards the sound. It was as if a large group of people was approaching.
Her face broke into a smile. “Thank the gods. They’ll have food and supplies. I think we’re saved.”
But as the sounds grew louder, he realized what he was hearing. These people were fleeing, not traveling. Dozens of men, women and children were running across the plains, while behind them, he spied men pursuing them on horseback.
Warriors with weapons drawn, ready to strike them down.
Chapter Five
Elena’s heart was racing and Ragnar pushed her toward the fleeing women. “Run!” he commanded.
She started to obey, but then saw that he was holding his ground, staring at the riders. Though he had only a sword, he held it steady, waiting for the men to approach.
The calm in his eyes belied the storm that was to come. She’d seen Ragnar fight before, and he became a different man when the battle rage swept over him. His sword became part of him, cutting down any enemy who threatened those under his protection.
Few survived and he granted no mercy.
But this time, he stood as a wounded man. Upon his face she saw the grim determination of a man who would sacrifice himself before he’d allow any man to harm her. But even with his strength and fighting prowess, he could not hope to bring down their enemies. He was outnumbered, and likely he was shielding her, granting all of them time to get away.
She froze in place, stopping one of the fleeing Irishmen. “He needs help,” she pleaded. “He can’t stop them alone.”
The man stared at her before she realized he could not understand her words. But he cast a glance at Ragnar, his expression holding surprise that a wounded man would stand against their enemy.
One of the raiders lifted his sword, prepared to strike Ragnar down. Instead of raising his own weapon, he stood calmly, waiting for the killing blow.
Freya, protect him.
She knew what would happen—she’d witnessed it a thousand times. He would hold steady, and the act of suicidal madness twisted his enemy into questioning their actions. No sensible man would stand and face charging horses.
Even as she trusted him, Elena couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to Ragnar. He’d been her friend for so long, always there when she’d needed him. She bit her lip hard to prevent herself from interfering and when she stepped back, the rider’s attention flickered for a moment.
It was enough for Ragnar to twist his sword, slicing the rider from his horse. The animal whinnied, rearing up, and Ragnar seized the reins, barely dodging another blow before he swung up on the horse, protecting his wounded leg.
It took all of Elena’s courage to remain among the Irish instead of running toward him. She knew she was a distraction and a danger if she dared to intervene.
He guided the horse forward, keeping his sword poised.
“You’re Norse,” one of the enemy riders said in their tongue.
“I am,” Ragnar countered. “My name is Ragnar Olafsson from Hordafylke. We came to Éire a few days ago.” He kept his voice calm, but Elena heard the trace of steel beneath it. He was not about to stand down and let these raiders continue their attack.
“I am Alfarr Gelinsson,” their leader replied. His gaze narrowed upon Ragnar. “Why would you defend these Irishmen and women? They’re not your people.”
“No, but we need supplies. They can offer that to us.”
“Join us,” Alfarr offered. “We’ll take from them and share what is left.”
From behind her, Elena sensed the Irish growing uncertain about the continuing conversation in a foreign tongue. She raised her hands in reassurance, hoping they would not interfere with the negotiation.
“Why do you not trade with them?” Ragnar asked calmly, drawing his horse closer until he was within reach of their leader.
Alfarr stared over at the Irish and then spit on the ground. “They are weak. Taking their supplies would be an easy victory.”
“You look like a man who enjoys fighting,” Ragnar challenged. “Would you rather make a wager?”
What was he doing? Elena took a step forward, wondering what his intentions were. Ragnar wasn’t strong enough to fight these men, not with his wound. She’d bandaged it heavily, but no doubt the other Norsemen were well aware of the injury. It would affect his speed, no matter how strong he was.
She wanted so badly to interrupt, but she held her tongue, knowing that if she spoke, it would weaken his position before the men.
