Years should have mattered more than days.
Yet she’d never seen her husband look at her in this way. He was tormented inside, and bitterness took root in Elena’s stomach.
Why couldn’t he love her like that? Was she not woman enough for him? Had her past failings as a wife made him so eager to turn to another?
The woman was crying, and Elena watched while her husband wiped away her tears and embraced her hard again.
And when she walked to the water’s edge, waiting for the fishing boat to approach, Elena realized that the woman wasn’t going to stay. She was sailing away, while Styr had chosen to remain with her.
But never before had she seen such desolation on her husband’s face.
Ragnar hadn’t wanted to see them together. Not after all this. He’d walked a long distance, needing the space away from everyone. He walked nearly a mile away from the shelter before he realized that Styr had followed him. They stood near a small copse of trees beside a large clearing.
“Abandoning her again, are you?” Ragnar stopped walking and turned to face the man who had once been his friend.
“I was a captive,” Styr countered. “I was only freed a few days ago.”
“By her,” Ragnar said. “The woman you brought with you.”
Styr gave no answer, but his expression tensed. “I wanted to thank you for looking after Elena.”
“While you were betraying her with that Irish whore?”
The words provoked the response he’d wanted. Styr’s temper erupted and his tone was rigid. “Don’t call her that.”
“You’re a bastard who doesn’t deserve Elena.” Ragnar gripped Styr’s tunic with both hands, slamming the man up against a tree. After seeing her weep over him, after the way she’d fought for their lives, she deserved far more than Styr.
“She’s my wife. I know my obligations.” Styr wrenched himself free, sending Ragnar off balance. They circled one another, each looking for an opening to throw a punch.
“She deserves better than you,” Ragnar countered. “You took a mistress and only stayed because of the baby. If Elena weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t be here now.”
When he didn’t deny it, fury boiled within him. Ragnar threw himself at Styr, knocking the man to the ground. “Did you think of her even once while she was fighting to live? When she threwherself off a ship to escape slavery and nearly drowned? Or when she was nearly killed yesterday by Norsemen?”
He knocked Styr’s head against the ground, driven by the need to avenge Elena. She’d wept over this man, trying to find out what she’d done wrong in their marriage.
Styr’s fist caught him across the jaw, and Ragnar rolled away before the man could strike again.
“I’m staying with her, damn you.” Styr’s breathing was heavy, and he got to his feet, wiping at a bloody lip. “I never lay with Caragh.”
“But you’re in love with her.” It was obvious, from the way Ragnar had seen them together last night. Styr had carried her across the water, holding her as if he’d never wanted to let go.
Styr’s silence was the answer he’d dreaded. “I won’t divorce Elena. Not now, not when she’s wanted this baby so much.”
Ragnar let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Don’t hurt her, Styr. You don’t know what she’s been through these past few days. If you turn from her now—”
“I won’t.” Styr crossed his arms and leveled a glare at him. “Whatever was between Caragh and me is over. I’m taking Elena back to Dubh Linn, and we’ll settle there, among our people.” A heaviness crossed over his expression and he added, “We’ll be all right.”
Ragnar eyed the man, seeing a reflection of himself in the man’s restless demeanor. “Don’t make her unhappy,” he warned.
Or I’ll steal her away from you.
At nightfall, Elena walked alongside the shoreline with Styr’s hand in hers. When he’d returned from talking with Ragnar,both men had bruises and cuts from fighting. She didn’t know what they’d said to one another, but neither did she ask. Her suspicions centered on the young woman who had left.
Although Styr had let her go, Elena wanted to know how strong his feelings were. She wanted so much to believe that they were acquaintances and that her suspicions were unfounded. But she feared what she’d observed between them.
“I’ve seen the woman before,” she began, trying to keep her voice calm as if his answer didn’t matter.
“Caragh Ó Brannon,” he admitted. “Brendan was her younger brother.”
