“You’re not pregnant, Elena.” He couldn’t stop himself from saying the words he believed. It had been too long, and it was the only strand holding Styr and her together.
Elena’s hands moved to her womb, and she stood up. “Yes, I am. It’s been months now. I must be.”
The worry in her voice held enough fear that he wished he didn’t have to say this to her. “I’ve had sisters who have had children. If you were truly with child, you would be much bigger by now.” He returned to his hammer, adding, “Go and speak with the midwife. She’ll tell you.”
It was a cruel thing to cut down her dreams and he knew it. But if he was right, better for her to learn it now, rather than later.
When he turned back to Elena, her eyes were filled with tears. The visible heartbreak made him feel as if he’d just cut her off at the knees. But he couldn’t take back the words.
She hugged her waist, meeting his gaze. “If there’s no baby—”
“Then you have no reason to remain married to him. Let him go, Elena. You’ll be happier for it.” She looked as if he’d just knocked her down with the words, and he hated seeing the pain on her face.
But Styr was in love with someone else, enough that he was grieving for the loss. Elena had no hope of winning him back. Not now.
“Come here,” Ragnar commanded, drawing her into an embrace. He pulled her close, not even caring who saw them.
She started crying and admitted, “I’ve already lost him, haven’t I?”
“You haven’t lost me,” he said. Nor would she, even after all this. He refused to feel guilty about offering her comfort. Her tears dampened his tunic, but he didn’t care at all.
When she finally left, he suspected that she would indeed seek out the midwife. And regardless of the answer, it wouldn’t change the fact that she was still in love with Styr.
She hadn’t gone to see the midwife. There had been no need.
After she’d begun bleeding that afternoon, Elena knew that Ragnar was right. There was no child and never had been. The realization had drowned her in sorrow, and she’d remained in bed the rest of the day, staring at the wall. Styr had found her there, and the interior of their house was dark, the fire burned down to only coals.
Though she’d cleaned up her earlier mess, she hadn’t bothered to prepare anything for an evening meal. When Styr walked inside, he paused a moment and stared at her, seeming to sense that something was terribly wrong.
“What is it?” he asked.
Elena shook her head, pulling back the coverlet upon their bed. “The baby.”
The baby that had never existed. Even speaking the words made her grieve. It had broken away a piece of her heart to think that her greatest dream had never come to pass. She was still barren and might always be.
Styr was staring at her with such fear, she forced herself to tell him all of it. “I was wrong,” she admitted. “There never was a baby. I-I began bleeding today.”
The raw pain wrenched a sob from her and she couldn’t stop herself from weeping. “Sometimes a woman doesn’t have her courses if she faces peril or times of fear.”
And certainly she’d endured that. Still, she’d never before missed her menses, and she’d had every reason to believe she was with child. It made her question if she’d offended the gods or done something to deserve this barrenness.
Styr’s arms came around her, and she gripped him hard, still crying as she said, “I wanted this so much.”
“I know.” His voice was heavy, and she knew that he was truly sorry for her. He might not love her, but he did care. She clung to him, and in that moment regretted the times when she’d pushed him away. Especially the times when he’d wanted to share her bed and she’d refused him.
It was just that she’d been so caught up in the desire for a child, after a time there was no joy in being together. That was her fault, not his.
“And I haven’t been a good wife to you. Not in the way I should have.” Not only because of the moments she’d spent with Ragnar, but...everything.
“I tried to keep everything orderly,” she continued. “But it wasn’t enough.” She now understood that he’d never cared about whether their home was clean and organized. He’d never understood that it was her way of taking command of one aspect of her life, since she couldn’t control her ability to bear children. It had annoyed him, though he’d never said it.
Elena stared at her husband, at his dark blond hair and the sadness in his eyes. Styr was a good man who deserved to be happy. She’d seen the way he’d looked at the Irishwoman—it was as if he’d lost the best part of himself. It had hurt, knowing that he had never loved her like that, not once in all five years.
“I never cared about the house.” He rubbed her back and the gesture of comfort somehow made everything worse. She didn’t want his kindness now. Anger and frustration she could bear...but not the man who had once been gentle and tender.
“You wanted to travel across the seas,” she said. “And I never let you go.” When there was dissent over who would become the next leader of their tribe, he’d taken her away from home rather than fight against his older brother to become jarl.
She’d been afraid to travel, for she hated sailing. But she’d gone with him to Éire in a last effort to make him happy. Perhaps if she’d let him follow his own dreams, sailing across the seas to distant lands, he might not have resented staying at home.
