“And when did you decide that you wanted to be rid of me?” Her face darkened with embarrassment, and she took him by the hand, leading him back inside his house. The interior was dark, but she was right—this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with so many around them.
She gripped her hands into fists at her sides. “Was it so terrible last night when I shared your bed? Are you so eager to leave me now?” Her face was crimson and he couldn’t believe she’d think such a thing.
“No.”
Elena picked up a cloth and dipped it in a bucket of water. Without thinking, she began scrubbing the table.
“I don’t think you need to clean just now.” He took a step back, planning to return to the waterfront. “Not when we’ll be traveling soon.”
She threw the wet cloth at him, and it struck him in the chest. “I don’t understand you at all. Last night, I thought we could…be together. That you cared about me.”
His chest tightened, and it took an effort to hold his silence. Though he wanted to be with her, to love her as he had all his life, he didn’t trust himself.
“Were youusingme last night?“ she whispered. “Were you trying to prove yourself better than Styr?”
The words enraged him. “No.” He unsheathed his weapon and tossed it down on the table. “But I was caught up in you.” He reached to the nape of her neck and guided her to the center of his house. “This morning, I remembered who I am.” He pointed down to the earthen floor. “I’m a warrior who kills, Elena. And the other night when Matheus’s father died, I nearly struck down the boy.”
She went pale at that, as he’d wanted her to.
“Your eyes were closed,” he went on. “You didn’t see when I raised my weapon to kill the man. I swung hard, just as the boy came up behind him. I nearly killed Matheus when I tried to slay his father.”
“But you didn’t,” she said a moment later. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You held back your weapon.”
“I might not have.” He wanted her to be afraid, to understand that he had not been in control of himself. One misstep, and the boy would have been dead.
“Stop it,” she said. “Just stop.” Elena moved forward and grabbed his tunic with both hands. “You would never hurt me or Matheus. Not in a thousand years.”
“My own father died at my hands, when I got angry,” he pointed out. “I couldn’t stop myself then.” Though he’d never intended to harm Olaf, there was no denying that the man had died only days after their fight.
“He didn’t die because of you.” Elena relaxed her hold upon him and forced him to look at her. “He was drinking too much, and he was weak of heart.”
But still Ragnar blamed himself. Though his father had beaten him often, he knew the man had been torn apart by grief. Olaf had numbed the pain by drinking too much mead, and he’d lost sight of the man he had once been.
His father’s blood ran within him, and Ragnar couldn’t know if, one day, the battle lust would turn him against those he loved.
“You cannot blame yourself,” Elena said. “I trust you with my life.”
He reached out to touch her face, tangling his hands in her hair. “But I don’t trust myself. Even this morning, I could have hurt you without knowing it.”
She covered his hands with her own, her eyes bright with tears. “You’re wrong. I see the man you are. And I intend to follow where my heart leads.”
She leaned up to kiss him, but Ragnar pressed his mouth against her forehead. “Not this time,søtnos.”
Though it tore him apart, he would endure the heartache of losing her if it meant keeping her safe. He’d become a man he didn’t recognize, a fighter who had taken too many lives.
He let go of her and opened the door, only to see Matheus standing outside it. In his arms, the boy held his puppy. For the first time, he met Ragnar’s gaze steadily.
“Go inside,” Ragnar told the boy. “Your mother needs you to help her pack your belongings for the journey.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elena held herself together by strength of will, though she was furious with Ragnar. How could he think she would stand back and let him go? Her heart was bleeding at the loss of this man who had been with her from the very beginning.
She should have known that the easy friendship she’d found with him was what she’d needed all along. And when she’d pushed past friendship, he’d taught her that she wasn’t as cold as she had once believed. With Ragnar, every touch stirred her senses, making her yield to his pleasure.
There was more at play here, more he hadn’t said. But she knew that when she’d startled him from sleep, his reaction had shaken him.
It didn’t bother her, for she’d known he would never hurt her. Neither did his confession about Matheus cause her any concern. He had stopped his sword the moment he’d spied the boy.
