“I hate snakes,” she admitted. “I still feel as if my skin is crawling.”
“I don’t know how you found one. I thought there were no serpents here.”
She squeezed his hand. “I saw it after I voiced a prayer. I don’t know how, but it was here when I needed it. Perhaps the gods did favor us.”
The sky was growing darker and rain was inevitable. The Irish had set up several fires, the women hurrying to cook a meal before the downpour. “For you and your mate,” the Irish maiden said, offering Elena the choicest piece of venison. She didn’t know where the roast had come from, but after an hour of warming themselves by the fire, the scent of meat was wonderful. She lacked the words to correct the woman, that Ragnar was not her husband, but what did it matter? In a few days, she’d never see these people again.
There was an air of rejoicing, in spite of the impending weather. While she and Ragnar ate, the children ran around with the dogs, laughing. One of the older men began to tell stories and though she could not understand him, Elena was caught by the deep tone of his voice. He used his hands to weave the tale, and Ragnar’s palm came over to her spine. The heat of his handwarmed her skin and he leaned in close. “Could I ask you to tend my leg, if you’ve a moment?”
“Of course.” She swallowed the cup of ale the Irishmen had given her, rising to her feet. “But I think they have a healer who may be able to help you more than I can. We’ll go together and speak to her.”
With his hand in hers, she led him towards one of the older women. In her own language, she asked, “Do you have a healer in your tribe?” Though the woman could not understand her, Elena pointed to Ragnar’s wound and the meaning became clear.
The woman called out a command to someone else and an older matron approached, carrying a basket.
“Sit down,” Elena ordered Ragnar. He did and she began unwrapping the bandage she’d tied around him. The wound was slick with blood and the flesh would undoubtedly bruise from the blows he’d received. But all of them were alive and she gave thanks for that.
The healer dipped a cloth in cool water and washed away the blood. Then she muttered words beneath her breath, packing the wound with a poultice made of more herbs.
“I feel like a roast being seasoned,” he remarked dryly, wincing as the woman wrapped the bandage tightly.
“But you’ll heal,” Elena reassured him. She moved to sit by him and used a damp cloth to wipe the dust from his face. Though it was meant only to help him, his dark green eyes held her captive. She grew conscious of his sun-darkened skin and the firm line of his jaw. This man was a warrior, not an ordinary man.
When her attention rested upon his mouth, her skin tightened with heat. She’d kissed him only once, never imagining the feelings he would conjure.
There might be no harm in studying a handsome man. But she was a married woman, one who might be pregnant. She had no right to let her imagination wander over a fair face.
When the healer had finished wrapping Ragnar’s wound, the woman reached for Elena’s hand and spoke words in Irish, joining her palm to Ragnar’s.
“What do you think she said?” Elena asked him.
“Probably that you should take care of me and see to my every need.” His eyes flashed with a glint of humor. “You should bring food and serve it to me.”
“Clearly, your enemy knocked your brains loose,” she retorted, but didn’t hold back her smile. “Or you’re dreaming.”
His hand closed over hers, gripping her palm. “Perhaps I am.” The heat of his skin against hers made her feel awkward and uncertain. But she didn’t pull away.
The Irish seemed grateful to both of them and as they built fires and prepared food for a meal, many smiled at them. One young boy toddled over to her with his arms outstretched. Elena caught him before he could tumble and he laughed. She gave him back to his mother, smiling warmly at the woman.
Though she didn’t know for certain if she would bear a child of her own, her heart wanted to believe. And now, instead of mourning her barrenness, she had a future to look forward to. She could only pray that Styr had survived and would be a part of it.
Like a physical blow, the memory of his capture slammed into her. She couldn’t shut out the vision of him being struck down and later dragged away in chains. Was he alive? Would she ever see him again? Her heart faltered, for although they’d had their marital troubles, she did care about him.
The weight of the past few days burdened her with so much fear. There were so many unanswered questions, but she could not indulge in cowardice. She had to stand strong and believethat they would find Styr. Once they did, she could rebuild their lives when she gave birth, come the early spring.
Her hand passed over her womb, and she tried to imagine her body changing its shape while a precious baby grew within.
“Are you hungry?” Ragnar interrupted her thoughts, holding out a piece of the roasted venison. She took it, but although it was likely delicious, it tasted like dust in her mouth.
“You’re troubled,” Ragnar predicted. “Tell me.” He motioned for her to sit and he found a large rock to lean against. Though his tone was sympathetic, she was aware of how difficult this day had been for him. Behind his eyes, she sensed he was hiding the physical pain.
“It’s been a hard day for both of us,” she admitted.
“But we’re alive.” He motioned for her to come closer and when she stood before him, she felt as if he shared her burdens. His hand closed over hers and he squeezed it gently.
The comfort he gave nearly dissolved the tight control upon her emotions. She wanted to drop to her knees and sob out her frustration. But if she did, he would draw his arms around her, offering the comfort of his embrace.
She couldn’t deny that the past week had altered their friendship. Ragnar had always been there, but being alone with him only forced her to compare him to her husband. Both were handsome and strong...but the touch of his hands upon her evoked a restless yearning she didn’t want to face.
