A splinter of anger irritated her mood. She’d tried to change herself to be the woman she thought Styr wanted. The thought made her weary, for she didn’t want to go back to being that wife.
When she glanced behind, she saw Ragnar leaning against a large boulder, his leg wrapped in bandages. His expression was unreadable, but she grew aware of the way his muscles tightened against the tunic he wore. He’d always been a strong warrior, stronger even than Styr. Though he lacked high-born blood, he’d been one of the greatest fighters in their tribe.
A cold chill caught her as she remembered the terrible price he’d paid for that honor.
“What is it,søtnos?“ Ragnar asked. “You look as if you’ve seen an evil spirit.”
Elena pushed away the memories, blurting out, “I saw a ship just now.” She pointed out toward the waves, and even as shestared out at the gray water, she questioned what she’d seen. Yet, after all these years, she knew her husband’s profile. There was a strong chance that it had been him.
“Was it our ship?” Ragnar asked. He leaned in, his interest suddenly piqued. “Did our men escape from the Danes?”
She shook her head. “It was a fishing boat.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “But one of the men looked like Styr.”
Ragnar started to rise to his feet, but she shook her head. “It’s too late. They’ve already sailed east.”
“Do you want to search for him?”
“No.” She closed her eyes and went to sit beside him on the rock. “I should have shouted. I should have run into the water and made noise to get their attention. But instead, I just watched them leave. I don’t know why.”
That wasn’t the truth. She knew why she’d stood there—because she’d been too startled to respond in time. It had seemed impossible that it could be her husband...and yet, she couldn’t let go of the thought. Styr wasn’t the sort of man who would turn his back on her. He would find her, no matter how long it took.
What she didn’t understand was the sense of foreboding that had caught her. Dread mingled with anticipation, and those were the wrong things she should be feeling. If it had been her husband, shouldn’t she be overjoyed?
Her hand moved down to her middle, and the old fears rose up to taunt her. “Do you think I’m a cold woman? The way Styr does?”
“He doesn’t think you’re cold,” Ragnar responded. “He knew you were upset about not having children, and he didn’t know how to make you feel better.”
She took a deep breath, willing back the feelings of insecurity and doubt. “I want to believe that this child will improve our marriage.”
Ragnar eased himself to stand, putting little weight upon his leg. “It’s a lot to ask of an infant.”
“Maybe. But if it doesn’t help...” She rubbed her arms, so afraid of the alternative. For so long, she’d rested her hopes upon a baby. And now that it had come to pass, she ought to feel happier than she did.
Sometimes it didn’t feel real. It was as if she’d only imagined the pregnancy, but she couldn’t deny that she’d missed her monthly and would likely miss it again in another fortnight.
Ragnar’s gaze passed over her body once more, but she couldn’t read the thoughts within him. It was as if he knew something she didn’t.
“Let’s go back and eat,” he suggested. “You can think about what you want to do.”
But she had already made her decision. “We won’t leave yet. Not until you’ve healed.” The Irish had no horses to make the journey easier and it was unfair to ask him to walk such a distance.
“The wound will be fine in a few days,” he told her. “It’s already closing up, if you want to see it.” A hint of amusement crossed over him. “And the healer took out all the garlic, so it isn’t so bad anymore.”
She started toward him, but then a sudden shyness overtook her at being so close.You’re being foolish, she told herself.It’s a wound, nothing more.
A few days ago, she’d cut away his leggings near the wound. But now, hen she knelt down before him, she was intensely aware of Ragnar’s body. His muscles were visible beneath the tunic he wore, and his thigh was strong and powerful. When she touched him, Ragnar gave a slight intake of breath—and the forbidden nature of her thoughts sent a sudden tingle of arousal through her.
Her breasts rose up against her gown and between her legs, she began to ache. As she began to unwrap the bandage, she was deeply aware of his masculine scent. It was leather mingled with salt and a hint of pine. It made her want to rest her cheek against his heart, burrowing against him.
Stop this, her mind commanded her. But her breathing was unsteady, in spite of her willpower.
As she pulled back the bandage, she saw that Ragnar was right. His skin had grown together and, despite it being raw, she imagined within a few more days he would be able to put his full weight upon it.
“It is better,” she admitted. “And if we wait here a little longer, you’ll be able to walk on it.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” he said, his eyes narrowing upon her. Her face burned as she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. No, it wasn’t wise to be alone with him for that long. Not even if he’d once been her best friend. She could sense things shifting between them, the barrier weakening.
“The Irish would be able to guide us back to the settlement,” he continued.
