Oh. Her embarrassment deepened at the realization that he wasn’t at all speaking about the wisdom of being alone together.
Elena took a breath. “I believe it was Styr sailing past us. And it’s possible that he’ll start searching along the coast. It will make it easier for him to find us if we remain in one place.”
“And what if he doesn’t return?”
She shook her head, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “We can decide what to do later. But if we stay, you’ll heal. And then we’ll know.”
She drew his arm around her shoulders, helping him to stand up as they returned to the others. But even as Ragnar leaned against her, Elena felt sensitive to his touch. His arm around her was only for balance, but her mind was conjuring more vividdetails. Worse, she remembered lying with him this morning. He’d been aroused by her and, though she knew it was a reaction any man might have in the morning, it made her uneasy.
Because she’d softened against him, aching for a man’s touch.
His touch.
She told herself that it was only a natural reaction, that if it had been Styr, he’d have turned and made love to her. Perhaps, now that she’d had so many weeks of distance from her husband, she was beginning to crave a joining. She’d been so caught up in her desire to have a child, it had taken away the pleasure of being with a man. That was what she needed—her husband to fulfill her needs.
But Ragnar wasn’t her husband. And she would have to spend a few more days alone with him. She would have to find a way to occupy herself, to drag her mind away from the forbidden thoughts.
When they reached the others, Ragnar stopped walking but didn’t take his hand from her shoulders. His dark green eyes moved over her as if he were drinking in the sight. Elena grew flustered, wondering if it was just her imagination.
“The Irish have given us some of their supplies,” he said. “Including one of their tents to take with us. We should be comfortable enough.”
Though he spoke in a nonchalant air, the idea of sleeping beside him another night was intimidating. She couldn’t say why, but perhaps it was because she’d slept in his arms last night. Her mind was conjuring up all sorts of strange imaginings.
Even though there was nothing wrong with sharing a tent with this man, she began to think that it wasn’t wise at all. He was a temptation and the thoughts within her were a betrayal of her husband.
“I’m going to get the tent and work on our shelter again,” she told him. “Why don’t you rest here?” She needed to take her mind off the stormy thoughts brewing. Hard work was what she needed to stop thinking of this man.
Something had made her nervous. Ragnar couldn’t say what it was, but from the moment the Irish departed, Elena had begun finding ways to stay away from him. She’d gathered enough wood to build twelve bonfires, sticks of varying sizes, along with larger logs.
“How many fires do you think we’ll need?” he asked, when she returned with her sixth load of firewood.
“This isn’t for a fire,” she said. “It’s to improve our shelter.”
She set the load down and began sorting the wood according to size and length. Her hair had spilled free of the tight braids she usually wore and several locks hung against her face. Irritated, she shoved them out of the way while struggling to lift the heavier logs.
“We’re only staying here a few days longer,” Ragnar reminded her. “We’ll watch for Styr’s ship and if we see it, we’ll signal them.” But she was behaving as if they were going to live here permanently.
She was focused upon measuring the wood and he saw her unwrap a small axe. Soon, she began the work of chopping notches from the larger logs. “I’d rather not sleep in the rain again,” was all she told him. “The ground is still wet after the storm.”
But there was an undercurrent of tension within her. She was filling her hours with this task, behaving as if she were desperate for a distraction.
“Where did you get the axe?” he asked her.
“It was a gift from the Irish after I helped you get rid of the other Norsemen.” She set it down a moment and regarded him. “You don’t think the invaders will come back, do you?”
“No. You had them convinced that they would be cursed if they did.” But it might be wise to investigate the surrounding area. Ragnar rose to his feet and hobbled toward Elena.
“I don’t need your help,” she protested, but that wasn’t why he was there. He reached down for two long poles and took them from her pile, then chose some smaller pieces that he could use to form crutches. Once she realized what he was doing, Elena gave him the use of her tools and said, “Wait here. I have something that will help.”
Ragnar began shaping the crutches, using notches to fit the top piece into the bottom poles. He tied them together with some strips of leather. After a short time, Elena returned with more leather and the leftover fur of a rabbit she’d skinned a day ago. “You can use this for padding,” she offered, arranging the fur and leather on top of the crutches.
While she helped him, he ventured, “How are you feeling? Any sickness?”
She finished tying down the fur and shrugged. “The same, really. Sometimes I forget about the baby, because it’s still too early to feel any movement.” Her hand moved down to her womb, and her face grew wistful. “I can’t wait to hold him for the first time in my arms. Or her.”
The joy on Elena’s face took away all of the tension in her, and she smiled openly. By the blood of Freya, she stole his breath. Her sea-green eyes held him spellbound, while her fiery hair tangled around her face. He wished again that it washisunborn child, and not Styr’s, growing within her. But the child was a fervent reminder that she did not, and would not, ever belong to him.
Still, he thought it strange that she’d experienced so few symptoms. His sisters had shared with him their own woes, often in more detail than he wanted. Sometimes, he wondered whether Elena really was pregnant.
