Rough, yes. He wouldn’t mind that at all.
“Will you show me how to use the drawknife?” she asked softly.
Ragnar hesitated, for it would mean having her sit between his legs in front of him. Being so close to her would be a mistake, especially when she was trying to reconcile with Styr. He didn’t want her pressed against his arousal, breathing in the scent of her skin. It would only deepen the temptation.
“No,” he told her, standing from his place. He walked over to her and stood facing her, so that no one else could hear his words. “I don’t want you that close to me.”
She gave a nod, but her eyes remained clouded. “Nothing would happen, Ragnar.”
Did she believe that? After all the time they’d spent together, she thought he had that much restraint? He’d been going out of his mind over the past few weeks, dreaming of her. When he went to bed at night, he imagined her lying with Styr, and jealousy boiled within his veins.
The only reason Ragnar had stayed in Dubh Linn was because he suspected Elena would soon learn that she wasn’t pregnant after all.
He had sisters and all of them had borne children. Most had been sick in the mornings, but all had fallen asleep in the middle of the day. His sister Jorga had complained of her growing midsection, and she’d burst into tears over something as ridiculous as another woman holding a newborn. He was well accustomed to being around pregnant women, and Elena had experienced none of their symptoms.
Her stomach had remained flat and he suspected the worst.
Even more than that, his friend Styr was treating her as if she were a ghost. He hardly spoke to his wife and, no matter howElena tried to please him, it was clear the man had no interest in her.
“Go home to your husband, Elena,” he advised. “We’ll finish building on our own.”
Elena stared at the wall while Styr sat at the table for the meal she’d prepared for him. It was midday and her mind was filled with uncertainty. Styr had been distracted all these weeks, and he’d shown little joy in the prospect of a child.
No longer did he sleep close to her at night. He slept far away from her, and not once had he touched her since they’d left Norway. He didn’t love her anymore, and he didn’t want their baby.
He wanted the other woman, Caragh Ó Brannon.
The knowledge burned through her with a blend of anger and pain. For no matter what she did or said, her husband had fallen in love with someone else.
She took a bite of her own stew, but although the flavor was good, her stomach twisted at the idea of eating. Perhaps it was the child growing within her...or perhaps it was her own anxiety.
The truth shadowed her heart, filling her with unrest. The marriage with Styr had been arranged, yes. They had tried to be happy together. But he’d never loved her, no matter how she had tried to change herself.
“Don’t you like the food?” she ventured.
“It’s good.” He tried to smile, but she suspected he would have said the same thing had she served him sawdust.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” she ventured. “I cleaned your armor earlier today.” She didn’t like how desperate she sounded, but she wanted conversation from him in some way.
“No, there’s nothing.” He started to clear away the food, but she took it from him.
“I’ll take care of it.” But at the grim look in his eyes, Elena set down the cup she’d taken. She needed to know if the growing distance between them could be healed at all. Was there any chance to bring back the husband who had been her friend? Or was he lost to her, now that he loved another?
He started toward the door, but she asked, “Wait. Before you go...”
He paused to look at her, and she steeled her courage. If he would not make the first move to ease the tension, she could.
Elena moved forward to embrace him, hoping he would accept the affection. There had been a time when he’d hugged her often, stroking at her braid.
But although he accepted her arms around him, his returning squeeze was hardly there at all. It was as if he were embracing a child, not his wife.
“I’ll see you later,” was all he said when he departed. There was no kiss, no offer for more. He’d become a living, breathing stone with no life in him at all.
Elena stared at the remaining food and his cup. It was hard to catch the breath in her lungs, she was so angry. When had she become such a meek shadow of a woman? Why was she twisting her life around his, doing everything to please him when he couldn’t even be bothered to speak to her?
He doesn’t love you, her mind insisted.He never did.
Then why stay? Why keep trying to heal a marriage that held so many scars, it bled from the wounds they’d inflicted on each other?
