It unsettled her, for she was trying to lay all the accusations at his feet when she had made mistakes of her own. The past few days had brought her closer to Ragnar. She’d relied upon him to survive, and he’d supported her through the darker days.
“We found food and built this shelter,” she finished.
For a moment, Elena looked at the water, wondering if he could see the blush of her own guilt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Styr’s arm coming toward her and without thinking, she took a step backward. “What are you—?”
Oh. He’d been trying to embrace her in welcome. She couldn’t believe she’d misread his actions that badly. “You caught me unawares.” She leaned in, putting her arms around him in a light embrace. But he didn’t hold her tight, the way a husband missing his wife would.
To emphasize her welcome, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Again, he didn’t return the gesture, which made her feel uncertain about this.
Styr pulled back and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“The same,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have known about the baby, if it weren’t for the fact that I haven’t bled in two moons. I thought it was only seasickness.” She reached down to touch her stomach, wondering when she would begin to feel movement. “It seems so strange to think of a child growing inside me at last.”
His face had gone distant again, staring out at the water, and she began to talk faster. “I think the child will be born in early spring next year, if I’ve counted right.”
He gave no answer, and she suspected he wasn’t listening to her. His mind was focused upon the horizon and the woman who’d left. “We’re going to be all right, aren’t we, Styr?” Her voice was barely a whisper, all of her hopes bound up in that sentence.
But when he gave no answer at all, she feared the worst.
Chapter Ten
Dubh Linn—three weeks later
Ragnar tried to stay away from her, but despite Elena’s valiant attempts to restore her marriage with Styr, he could see the sadness beneath her forced smile. She was hurting, and it killed him to stand by and do nothing.
He’d helped Styr build a small house, and he’d poured his efforts into constructing another dwelling for himself and his kinsmen. Thankfully, none of them were slaves now. During a fierce battle against the Danes, the men had fought bravely and earned their freedom.
Elena had asked to help today and he’d been amused as, once again, she began comparing the lengths and widths of the various logs.
“This needs to be carved smoother,” she said, pointing to a raised edge. “It will fit more tightly together and keep the wind out.”
“Go ahead, then.” Ragnar pointed to the handheld drawknife that they’d used to smooth out the wood.
Elena eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. “I haven’t the strength to carve the wood and you know this.”
“It’s not hard. Come and try.” He wanted to take her mind off her troubles and he hoped that the distraction of work would be welcome. Her hair was unbound, except for a section she’d pulled back from the crown and tied off with a bit of thread.
“There are things I need to do at home,” she argued. “I haven’t swept the floor or cleaned or—“
“You did those things yesterday. And the day before. You can spare one hour.”
He gestured for her to come and sit astride the log and handed her the drawknife. “You’ll pull this back across the surface of the wood and smooth out the space you want to flatten.”
She tried it, but when she pushed it forward, the angle was wrong and the blade caught in the wood. “This isn’t right.”
“It’s not a downward motion. Pull it toward you.” He motioned for her to get up and demonstrated until curls of wood fell to the ground. “Like this.”
A smile played at her mouth. “Keep going, Ragnar. You’re doing well.” Her sea-green eyes were bright with amusement and, despite her initial protest, she appeared interested in learning how to use the drawknife.
He stopped using the tool and propped his hand upon the log. “You think I’ll do all the work for you?”
A laugh broke from her. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
He held out the drawknife to her. “You were the one who thought it needed to be smoother.”
“You like it rough, don’t you?” she challenged. But from the words, his mind abruptly conjured a different meaning—one she’d never intended.
He imagined making love to her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist while he conquered her. Heremembered the way she’d grasped his hand that night in the tent, arching in release when he’d touched her breast.
