“I spoke to a shipbuilder a few days ago,” he said. “After I win a few more fights, I’ll have enough for a boat.”
She tried to keep the reaction from her face, but all she could think was:He’s leaving.
Though Ragnar was free to come and go as he pleased, the thought of not seeing him again brought an empty ache to her stomach.
Two thralls were spreading pine tar upon the new wood of a ship they were building for their master. Another mixed yellow ocher with boiled linseed oil to form paint. Elena feigned interest, but she kept wondering why he had brought her here.
They hung back to observe, and Ragnar motioned for them to continue their work.
“It’s fascinating to watch them,” she marveled, pointing to the wood that had been steamed to reshape it. “And the colors are so bright.” Inwardly, she was uneasy about why he wanted a ship and also what he’d done to gain the silver. The more he fought, the greater the risk.
She turned to him and asked, “Why do you want a ship?”
Ragnar leaned in. “I thought you might want to go back to Hordafylke and your family. I could take you there.”
“I’ve no wish to set foot on a ship again,” she admitted. And returning home was the last place she wanted to go. She had no desire to see the pitying looks on the women’s faces when they learned of her divorce. No doubt they would believe Styr had cast her aside for her barrenness.
“Where were you planning to go?” she asked.
“Wherever the wind carries me.” He guided her away from the thralls, and they walked along the water’s edge, continuing until they were past most of the ships.
The hollowness in the pit of her stomach ached, though she tried to ignore it. What did it matter if Ragnar sailed to the other side of the world? He was free to make his own choices. And though he’d sworn to guard her, she was beginning to think that he no longer wanted her at all. They had shared a stolen night and the memory of it warmed her body from deep inside.
Yet now he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
Just like it had been with Styr. She hadn’t known what to do to kindle her husband’s desire and while she’d been obedient, lying beneath him, she’d always felt awkward.
Perhaps she’d been wrong about seducing Ragnar. He’d wanted her before, when she’d been forbidden to him. But now that she’d shared his bed, he no longer desired her.
All along the walk home, she berated herself for succumbing to her own urges. Ragnar had claimed it would never happen again, and it humiliated her to think that she’d destroyed their friendship on the night they’d shared together.
He led her back home again, and she murmured her thanks that he’d escorted her. Before he left, she ventured, “Are you going back to fight again?”
His hardened gaze fixed upon her. “I am.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she confessed.
Dark green eyes fastened upon her with the iron resolution of a man who would not be swayed. Of a man who hardly cared about the risk to his own life.
“Your life is worth more to me than a pouch of silver,” she said, reaching out to touch his heart.
He gripped her fingers for a moment, squeezing her palm before he released her hand. “It isn’t to me.”
Ragnar lunged against his opponent, his sword cutting into the man’s shield. He struck over and over, circling the enemy while all around him voices shouted for blood.
Your life is worth more to me than a pouch of silver.
He tasted the bitterness of regret as he avoided a blow, Elena’s words ringing in his mind. He wanted to believe them. But he was torn by physical frustration and honor. The joining with Elena haunted him, as he remembered her pliant flesh and the way she’d taken her release from him.
He’d let her use him. He had savored the night with her, feeling her body sheathing him.
But she didn’t love him. The act had been a means of easing physical desire but nothing more. It burned him that he’d sunk to those depths. And though he wanted her, it still felt like a betrayal of his friendship with Styr.
He continued fighting, meeting his opponent blow for blow. Metal clanged as their weapons struck hard, and he used the fight as a means of releasing the sexual frustration.
Elena didn’t know the man he was. He’d been careful to shield his darker side, never wanting her to know this part of him. Blinding rage tore through him as he continued the fight. He struck out at the memory of the adolescent who hadn’t beengood enough for Elena or her father. His forearms strained while he ruthlessly slashed down the memories of his father’s temper. As a boy, he’d been unable to fight back against the man who had sired him.
But he could fight now.
