A low hiss sounded from him, and his dark green eyes flared. There was the sound of men laughing and a few ribald jokes. Ragnar silenced them without a word and his hand came to restupon the back of her neck. When he guided her away, his hand wasn’t at all gentle.
Hring was following them, but once they were away from the others, Ragnar ordered the man to return home alone.
“Do you want to put on your tunic?” Elena asked, feeling suddenly awkward that he was still half-clothed.
“What I want to know is why you interrupted.” His anger made it clear that he didn’t appreciate her interference. She was taken aback by it, and her first instinct was to retreat and apologize.
But then, that was what the old Elena would have done with Styr. She’d allowed herself to fall away into the background, never once voicing her own opinions. That woman was gone. Now, she would speak her mind and, if Ragnar did not care for it, what did it matter?
“You shouldn’t fight among the men,” she said. “It’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“It’s nothing I’m not used to, Elena,” he responded, starting to escort her back.
But she refused to be mollified. “You could die.”
“Not always. Sometimes when blood is drawn, a victor is chosen.”
He made it sound as if there was nothing to fear. But she’d seen fights before and didn’t delude herself into thinking that a man could walk away from every battle. “It isn’t worth the broken ribs or the risk of dying,” she told him.
“It’s a way for me to earn a living. Unless you’d rather I went raiding with the others and left you here.” His palm touched her spine as he guided her through the people.
“I don’t want you to leave, no. But neither do I think you should wager your fighting against theirs.”
He didn’t answer her at first. When they reached her house, Elena stopped. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need the distraction.” His face turned fierce, and she felt her body responding to his words, knowing exactly why he was distracted. Although he could fight to release the restless energy in him, she could not do the same. And with each day that passed, she found herself searching for a way to fill the hours.
“Fighting is my skill, Elena. I’m not a merchant or a sailor. It’s not who I am.”
She knew that and was well aware that he kept up his daily training to maintain strength and agility. In his eyes, she saw the stony pride. It wasn’t doubt in his abilities. But this was about a risk she didn’t want him to take.
“Why don’t you build houses?” she suggested. “You’re strong, and you have a good eye for it.”
“No, you’re the one with the eye for it,” he countered. “It’s not what I want, Elena.”
She knew that, but it was the only thing she could think of. “I worry about you. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Is that the only reason?” he demanded. His voice deepened, and she was caught up in the spell of his green eyes.
“No,” she whispered.
Ragnar reached for her hand, and she threaded her fingers with his. The warmth of his palm was a touch that pulled her deeper into an awareness of him.
“I would never want anything to happen to you,” she said quietly. “And I want things to be as they once were between us.”
He pulled her closer, leaning in against her ear. “You already crossed the line,søtnos. It won’t ever be the same.”
Her face colored and she bit her lower lip. There was a new tension between them, now that Styr was gone. And it was entirely her fault, for seeking him out that night. No longer was there the easy sense of camaraderie between them. It felt as if she’d not only lost her husband, but she’d also lost her best friend.
“Don’t waste your pity on me,kjære. I’ll do what I must to earn my way.”
“It’s not pity,” she insisted. Although he likely wanted to turn from her now, she wanted to confront him, to make him see the truth.
Elena opened the door and waited for him to follow. He hesitated, crossing his arms as if he had no desire to enter. But a moment later, he did.
The air within her home was cool, for the fire had died down. Yet the anger emanating from Ragnar was a fire in itself. He didn’t want to be here—that much was clear.
Elena set down her basket and added a few bricks of peat to the hearth. The space had grown tighter somehow, and she felt her skin rise with gooseflesh in memory of the other night. His silent stare was unnerving her right now.
