Elena let him be and she turned to Ragnar. “Will you warm some water for me? Agata is going to bring over some new clothes and I want to see about any other bruises he might have.”
The boy was shaking hard, his face pressed against one of the walls as if he wanted to fit inside it. He was terrified, unable to express himself.
Ragnar knew exactly what that felt like. But he had a feeling Elena had underestimated Matheus. She wasn’t prepared for a child who had been violently hurt. But he put aside his doubts for now.
He lifted the heavy iron pot and brought it to fill with water. Agata came by a moment later and handed Ragnar the clothes. Beneath her breath, she murmured, “His mother tried to drown him. Elena saved the boy’s life.” With a conspiratorial smile, she added, “She’ll need your help this night.”
The boy had nearly been murdered? His blood turned to ice and when he stared at the child, he realized that Matheus’s wet hair and sodden clothing had nothing to do with bathing.
Elena had saved this child. Just as she’d tried to save him, when his own father had beaten him.
Ragnar took the clothes from Agata, thanking her, and lifted the heavy pot with his other hand. He moved without thinking, his mind caught up in the horror of what this boy had endured. After he hung the pot over the fire to heat, he gave the clothing over to Elena. Although it was likely the clothes would be too large for the boy, they were clean and better than the wet rags he was wearing now.
When Elena reached out and touched the boy’s shoulder, he let out a howl and began crying hard. A moment later, his sobs turned into screams.
There was a steel calm beneath Elena’s expression, as if she’d expected this. “Bring me some of the warmed water with soap and a cloth.”
Ragnar didn’t argue, though he suspected this would only be the first incident of many. The boy was now curled up into a ball, his shudders overtaking him.
Though he didn’t know how Elena had taken Matheus away from his parents, he didn’t blame her at all. He only wished he’dbeen there to confront the man and woman who had done this to a child.
He gave Elena the soap and a cloth, dipping warmed water into a small wooden bucket. “Do you want me to stay or go?” He suspected the boy might lash out at her if she tried to touch him.
“I would be grateful if you’d stay,” she said. She walked over to the boy, ignoring his crying as she sat down a short distance away.
“You’ve had a terrible day, Matheus,” she said to him, dipping the cloth in the water. But as she spoke, she caught Ragnar’s eyes. He saw the compassion in her and the gentleness in her voice drew him to stand closer.
He’d come back to her, his body aching from the fight earlier. One more competition would bring him enough silver for a boat. When he glanced down at his hands, he realized that they were still stained with his opponent’s blood. He didn’t even know if the man was alive.
He’d tried to kill a man today while Elena had saved a child. The contrast between them was so great, Ragnar was tempted to leave them at this moment. But he’d made a promise to stay.
“I want to help you,” she said to Matheus. And though Ragnar knew the words weren’t meant for him, he sensed that she’d wanted to do the same for him, when he was an adolescent. But some wounds couldn’t heal.
The child behaved as if he hadn’t heard a word that was spoken. When Elena reached out for his hand, she washed his palm and hand with the cloth. His crying quieted, as if he’d never felt warm water before. Though Matheus didn’t look at Elena, he reached out for the bucket and touched the surface of the water. An expression of startled awe came over him.
“It won’t hurt you,” she said again, reaching for his other hand. Gently, she washed his skin while he experimented with touching the water and submerging his hand.
In Elena’s sea-green eyes, Ragnar saw a woman who had waited all her life for a child. The boy allowed her to wash the dirt from his face and hands, and when she brought over the clean tunic, Matheus touched the soft wool as if he’d never felt such a texture before.
“Will you bring him some food?” Elena asked Ragnar. “I think there’s some bread and meat left over from this morning.”
He washed the blood from his hands first, his mood somber. While he gathered the food, he kept his gaze upon the pair of them. Elena’s hair was matted, but there was a new softness to her face. She watched over the boy as he played in the water. And in this moment, Ragnar realized how very deeply she’d wanted a child.
Her husband should have found someone for her to foster, long ago. It might have bridged the rift between them if she’d had someone to look after. Everything about Elena had focused inward, shifting her attention to caring for someone else. But although she had given the boy nothing but kindness, not once had the child looked at her. All of his attention was focused on the textures of the wool and the water.
Ragnar brought over the rest of the bread, along with some cold mutton and boiled eggs. Elena sliced a piece of the meat and offered it to the boy. When he stared at it and only held it, she had to put it to his mouth before he tried a bite. Once he tasted it, his expression transformed again. Ragnar half-expected the child to begin devouring the food, but instead, he tasted each bite as if he’d never eaten anything like it.
He could see Elena struggling to hold back tears. She, who had wanted a child for so long, would have given this boy everything. And yet the gods had given Matheus to parents who would sooner kill him because he was different.
When at last the boy had eaten his fill, she guided him up to her own bed and tucked him under a blanket. Matheus begancrying again, curling up on his side. He kicked off the blanket, his bare feet hanging off the edge. Elena tried to put the blanket over him again, but he fought it, as if fearing she would smother him with the wool.
“It’s here if you want it,” she told the boy. But although his sobs had quieted, it was clear that he would not sleep for a while.
Ragnar didn’t know what to say. Elena’s demeanor held such worry, but she didn’t approach the boy, granting him space.
He knew he should leave now. But something held his feet in place. Without warning, Elena turned and embraced him, burying her face against his neck. “Thank you for being here. It helps.”
“I haven’t done anything,” he protested. But he couldn’t stop himself from bringing his arms to her waist, idly stroking her spine. The light scent of her hair smelled of soap and an herb he didn’t recognize.
