Ragnar supposed that was due to the abuse the boy had suffered with his parents. “What else have you learned about him?”
She motioned for him to sit down. Although she told him about Matheus’s likes and dislikes, he sensed that Elena was holding back more.
“He likes to draw patterns in the dirt,” she finished. “Each night he makes a new picture for me.”
As if to illustrate her words, the boy bent down to the earthen floor and began tracing lines with a stick. Each line was even with the previous one and Ragnar realized that Elena didn’t care that Matheus was unlike the other boys, nor did she feel he had any less value. Instead, she saw beyond his problems and found his strengths.
The dark yearning for her caught him like a fist. If she belonged to him, he’d reach across the table and kiss her hard, drawing her back to their bed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear.
Because he wanted more from her. Not just a smile or a stolen moment together. He wanted her at his side, though he knew he didn’t deserve her.
He gave her no answer but stood up when he saw a shadow cross the window. Although it could have been anyone passing by, his instincts rose up. Ragnar stood and went closer, his hand upon his sword hilt.
“What is it?” Elena asked.
He didn’t know, but he strongly suspected it had to do with Elena’s earlier fears that someone was following them. “Wait here,” he commanded. “And bar the door behind me.” No one would threaten them—not if he could help it.
He opened the door and hastened to follow a man who was walking quickly toward a throng of people. The figure had no distinguishing features—from the back, his hair was a dark blond, and he wore no colors to set him apart. But the fact that he was hurrying was reason enough to pursue him.
Ragnar pushed his way through the crowd until he caught up to the man. “Wait,” he ordered, catching him by the arm.
The man stopped, a questioning look on his face. “I don’t know you.” His words were spoken in a calm tone, but his eyes shifted, as if searching for a means to escape.
“No, but you stopped at my house. I want to know why.” Ragnar didn’t let go of the man’s arm, waiting for an explanation.
The man glanced around him for a moment and shrugged. “I didn’t know it was yours. I only wanted to look in at my son.”
His son? Ragnar tensed, studying the man’s features and realized that they were similar to Matheus’s. “Your wife tried to murder him a few days ago,” he pointed out.
The man’s face set in a line. “So I heard. He’s not good for much, but my blood runs through his veins. I wanted to see how he was.”
Although it was a father’s right to ensure his son’s welfare, Ragnar didn’t trust the look in the man’s face. He didn’t appear at all remorseful over his wife’s actions. “He’s well enough.”
With that, Ragnar started to walk away, but the man called out, “If we allow you to keep Matheus, we deserve compensation in some form.”
So this was the man’s reason. Ragnar turned back, keeping his temper shielded. “We saved his life. You’ll get no compensation from us.”
A sly look crossed the man’s face. “I could accuse the pair of you of kidnapping him. It would be my right, as his father.”
“And I could accuse your wife of attempting to drown him,” Ragnar countered. “Let the boy go and be on your way. If you wanted to be rid of him, you are. And he’s better for it.”
“I want gold,” he said. “A body price for the son I’ve given up.”
Rage boiled inside Ragnar. How did this man dare demand coin in return for a child? He closed his hands over the man’s throat and slammed him against the wall of a house. Slowly, he closed off the man’s air, lifting him off the ground. He waited until the man’s struggles diminished, before he dropped him.
“There. You can have your miserable life as compensation. But if you come anywhere near Elena again, you’ll lose it.”
One week later
Blood was streaming from Ragnar’s temple and his jaw was swollen. Every muscle in his body ached, but he’d won his prize of silver. It was enough.
“What’s happened to you?” Elena demanded, when he came inside. The boy was in the corner, playing. Before Ragnar could give her an answer, she predicted, “You fought again, didn’t you?”
“And won.” He tossed a heavy leather bag onto the table. Over the past few weeks, he’d earned a reputation as a ruthless fighter. He’d defeated every last opponent until now, there were few men who would challenge him.
“I don’t know why you’ve come to me,” Elena shot back. “Were you wanting me to heal your cuts and bruises after I asked you not to fight?” She tossed a linen cloth at him. “If you won’t listen to me, you can heal your own wounds.”
