She never failed to take his breath away. He rested his mouth against her hair, wanting to kiss her. And yet he forced his hands to remain where they were.
“You’ve given me support,” she admitted in a whisper. Eyeing the boy, she added, “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill a child.”
Ragnar thought back to his own father and the beatings that had come from a man half mad with grief. Fermented brews had become his father’s comfort, and he’d often forgotten about his son. There were no reasons for the violence; only a sense that Olaf had been lost in the moment.
“You were good with the boy,” he said. “Matheus will come to trust you in time.”
She shrugged, drawing back to look at him. “I want to believe that. But he’s never known what it is to be safe from harm. It may take a very long time for him to believe that I want to give him a home.”
She was likely right in that assessment. But an idea occurred to Ragnar, one that might quiet the boy’s weeping. “Wait here,” he suggested. The boy might not trust either of them yet, but there was another way of granting him comfort.
When he returned, Elena was startled to see a squirming puppy in Ragnar’s hands. The dog was milky white in color and his ears flopped against his face.
“This might help,” he offered. He went to sit upon her bed, still holding the pup in his hands. Matheus rolled over. When Ragnar placed the animal beside him, the boy’s tears ceased, and he curled up with the animal.
It was exactly what the child had needed, though Elena knew Ragnar wasn’t aware that the boy had lived with a dog. Her heart softened at the sight of the pair of them together, and she was grateful that he’d brought the puppy.
“Where did you get him?” she asked Ragnar.
“There was a litter born a few weeks ago. I traded for one of the pups.” He came to sit across from her at the table. In time, the boy fell asleep and only then did Elena begin to relax. Her mind was spinning with confusion, for everything had happened so fast.
Even so, she didn’t regret saving the boy. He would have died if she hadn’t thrown the door open and stopped the woman. And now he belonged to her.
The interior of her house was warm from the fire, and Ragnar brought over some of the leftover meat and bread. “You haven’t eaten.”
She couldn’t have imagined eating—not after all that had happened thus far. “I was distracted,” she admitted, thankinghim for the food. Ragnar broke off a piece of the bread and handed it to her. The slight touch of his hands was another distraction. She found herself aware of his firm mouth, remembering how he’d kissed her.
Without knowing why, she reached for the bread and broke off another piece, feeding it to him. Her fingers brushed against his mouth, and he caught her hand. A warning look flashed in his eyes, as if he wanted her to stop. His entire body went rigid and a swirl of hunger caught her.
Elena thought of her conversation with Agata earlier.If you’ve the desire to take him to your bed, that’s your choice.
“I should go,” Ragnar said.
She didn’t want him to. But when she stood and approached him, she grew aware of the fresh bruises upon his jaw and the scabs upon his knuckles. A pouch was fastened at his waist, and she knew what had happened.
“You were fighting today.” She stood before him and touched the fresh wounds. He didn’t deny it, and if she spoke a word against it, she suspected he would go.
Elena pulled her stool beside him, and the weight of silence hung between them. She leaned her head against his shoulder, fully aware that he had no desire to be here.
“There was a time when I could tell you anything,” she said, keeping her voice low. “When we were younger, I always went to you. Not to Styr.” She reached out to his hand and said, “I don’t like the way you’re so angry with me now.”
When he didn’t answer her, she laced her fingers with his. For a long moment, neither spoke. But eventually, he let go of her hand and his arm curled around her waist. “I’m not angry with you.”
“I want it to be the way it used to be between us,” she whispered. “I won’t ask anything from you, I promise.”
But don’t go, she wanted to say. The thought of him leaving her was an invisible blow, a wound that would never heal.
She didn’t know what her feelings for Ragnar were. After the end of her marriage, she’d reached out to him in desperation and discovered that beneath the need for human comfort was something more—feelings that had been there for years, buried deep.
In his arms, Elena was too afraid to speak, for fear that he would go. A single misstep might send him away, and the thought made her bereft.
“What are you going to do with the boy?” he asked.
“Take care of him as best I can.” So long as Matheus was fed and protected, he would be fine.
“Fostering a child isn’t easy alone,” Ragnar warned.
“I know.” She stood and went to stand over the boy’s bed. Matheus was curled against the puppy, and the new clothes Agata had given him were too large against his bony frame. The urge to embrace him came strong, but she only smoothed his dark hair. In spite of his troubles, he’d already taken a piece of her heart.
