He lost himself in a haze of violence, his muscles straining, sweat rolling down his cheeks.
Not good enough, the blade seemed to chant.
Not good enough.
A battle cry tore from his lips, and he was dimly aware that the crowds were roaring their approval.
Until his blade sliced through flesh and bone.
Thor’s blood, he’d never meant the fight to go this far. His opponent was on the ground, writhing in pain, trying to stanch the blood with his hand.
Ragnar took the silver, but the weight of it seemed to burden his soul. He’d cut down another man for this—a man who’d done nothing except challenge him to a fight.
Elena believed he was worth more, but that wasn’t true. He was a man of violence, one who could never give her the life she deserved. He couldn’t allow himself to believe for a moment that she actually cared about him. He might as well bare his beating heart to her.
Then he would become the warrior who let down his guard for a single moment, only to have his lifeblood spill out.
Elena didn’t see Ragnar at all that night or most of the next morning. Though she suspected he was still fighting for silver, the last thing she wanted was to watch him risk his life. Itangered her that he would not relent—that he believed she valued wealth over his safety.
The resentment was growing stronger, and she decided a distraction was best. She wanted to find out more about the starving boy Matheus, who had run from her. Her friend, Agata Mánisdotter, might know. Agata was acquainted with most of the Norse who lived in Dubh Linn, and it was possible that she knew where the boy lived. Perhaps the child’s parents were unwell. Or he could be suffering from neglect at their hands.
Ragnar had endured the same as a boy. Despite her attempts to help him leave his father, he’d refused. Nothing Elena said or did had changed his mind, and it had bothered her to see a close friend suffer at the hands of a man who should have taken care of his son.
Now that it was unlikely she could bear children of her own, it infuriated her all the more to see boys like Matheus suffer from a lack of food or shelter. Something had to be done.
Her footsteps carried her down the pathway leading to Agata’s house and when she saw the tall blond-haired woman holding a bucket of water, her friend sent her a knowing look.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, Elena,” Agata remarked. “Come inside and tell me everything.”
She opened the door, and Elena stepped inside gratefully.
The interior of the house was a wonderful mess of unwashed dishes, scattered clothing, and children. Without asking, Elena scooped up Agata’s youngest son, who was barely six moons of age. The baby gurgled and grasped a handful of her hair, babbling nonsense words.
The thought of spilling out all of her troubles was a welcome relief, and Elena sat down while Agata ordered the rest of the children to go out and play.
“I heard about what happened between you and Styr,” her friend said. “I’m sorry for it.”
Elena ignored the tightness in her stomach at the thought of her failed marriage and nodded. “It was the right thing to do. Styr loved someone else in a way he never loved me.”
She rubbed the baby’s soft back, and Agata brought her a cup of mead. “And I suppose now you’re wishing you could kill the woman for stealing your man.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that, but—” She stopped short, realizing that her friend was right. The muddled feelings inside her were more than just sadness. There was anger and frustration, too. She’d been married for five years, only to have her husband fall in love with someone else.
Then she’d turned to Ragnar for comfort, only to be pushed away from him. He’d offered to send her back to Norway, as if that would make her feel better.
Anger such as she’d never known was starting to take hold, like a flame coursing through oil. “Or maybe you’re right. I would like to knock Styr in the head for the way he made me feel.” And Ragnar as well, she thought. He’d claimed to want her, only to distance himself after she’d given herself to him.
Elena glanced down at the baby, whose blue eyes were staring at her. “I suppose that’s awful of me to think such a thing.”
Agata raised her own cup in a mock toast. “You could dig his heart out with a sharp stick. That’s what I’d do if my husband dared to look at another woman. I’d end him before I’d let him end our marriage.”
Elena only smiled. The baby was starting to fall asleep, and she went to put him down. “Agata, what’s wrong with me? I keep asking myself what I could have done to make Styr love me.”
Her hand started to shake and she forced herself to take a deep sip of the mead. “I did everything I could to be a good wife to him. I shared his bed, I kept his house clean—”
“It’s unnatural, the way you clean,” Agata interrupted. “But even so, I’ll agree with you. You were right to divorce him and let him go off to thatskjøge.”
“He claims he never touched her.” Elena sighed. “I imagine she’s a good woman. Even if she did take him captive.”
