But she was so confused about what to do now. Matheus was chasing his puppy around the room and, for the first time, she heard him laugh. The sudden burst of joy caught at her heart, and when she neared him, the boy threw his arms around her waist.
It was exactly what she needed right now. His small embrace broke down the barrier of tears she’d held back. Elena swung him up on her hip, striding away from everyone else. This boy, her adopted son, had taken a large piece of her broken heart and had begun to mend it. Though she might never bear a child of her own flesh and blood, she still had him. And for now, it was enough. She held him close, weeping silently.
She needed time to think, to sort through the confusing emotions that plagued her. Her footsteps led her toward Agata once again, for she needed the woman’s friendship and advice. She set Matheus down, holding his hand while the puppy trailed behind them. He found a gnarled stick upon the ground and handed it to her as if it were a blossom of heather.
“Thank you,” she told him, leaning down to the boy. In answer, he wiped the wetness from her cheeks.
By the gods, this child was an answer to her prayers. She hugged him again, so grateful for his quiet presence. He was a gift she’d never expected. A son, not from her body, but one who was, nonetheless, a part of her heart.
“We need to convince Ragnar to stay with us,” she told him solemnly, not knowing whether or not the boy understood. “I am going to talk to Agata for a while and you may play with her children.”
The boy’s expression never changed, but she took his hand in hers and continued walking toward her friend’s house.
Agata was talking to one of her daughters, just outside the doorway. The moment she spied Elena, she stood and smiled before telling the children to go and play.
Elena released Matheus’s hand and gave him a gentle push toward the other children. He didn’t join them but instead sat down nearby, holding his puppy.
“Will you come in for some mead?” Agata asked. When she saw the direction of Elena’s gaze, she added, “You’ll be able to watch over him from the doorway. Come in.”
She did and chose a stool that gave her a view of her son. Then she faced her friend and admitted, “Ragnar is going to leave. He’s decided he wants me to return to Hordafylke, to stay with my family.”
Agata’s gaze turned pensive. “Isn’t that just like a man? Believing he knows what’s best for a woman.” She handed Elena the cup of mead and added, “Has he been unkind to you?”
She shook her head, explaining what had happened with Matheus and herself this morning. “It’s as if he believes he has no right to be happy with me. I don’t know how to convince him to try.”
“Do you love him?” Agata asked.
Elena grew quiet, afraid to think of it. Her head warned that it was far too soon after divorcing Styr. She had no right to love someone else.
And yet…Ragnar had been there beside her from the beginning. He’d saved her life upon the island and had fought to protect her. The thought of never seeing him again went deeper than the loss of a friend. She couldn’t even imagine the pain and loneliness.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do love him.”
“Then fight,” Agata urged. “Stop thinking the way a woman would and think in the manner of a warrior. Don’t allow him to command you.”
An idea took root within Elena, one that was not at all something she would have considered in the past. But shewanted this man and wasn’t about to stand in the shadows and let him dictate her life.
She told Agata her plan, and the woman brightened. “It’s perfect, Elena.”
“He’ll be so angry with me.”
“If he cares at all about you, that won’t matter. In the end, he’ll be glad that you brought him to his senses.”
She hesitated, so afraid that it wouldn’t work. Before she could voice a protest, Agata intervened. “You already know what to do, Elena. Now give me Matheus to watch over and go do what you must.”
Ragnar didn’t go to the waterfront, as he’d thought he would. Instead, he found himself back near the fighting matches, watching the men as they struck hard at each other with their fists. The roar of the crowd and the cries of men wagering on the match filled his ears, but he held back.
One of the fighters could hardly be more than seventeen. Lean and untested, the young man reeled when the older man struck him across the jaw. Ragnar held steady, watching. It was as if he were viewing himself, years ago, when his father had hit him.
He’d been punished for anything and everything. And when men like Elena’s father had claimed that Ragnar wasn’t good enough for his daughter, it had been easy enough to believe. If his own father saw him as worthless, why wouldn’t anyone else?
But Elena had never seen him in that way.
The young boy was on the ground now, his shoulders hunched over as the blows came. Ragnar’s fists tightened with the desire to interfere, though he knew he could not.
Elena had tried to save him from this. She’d never once treated him as less than a man. And when they’d been stranded together, he’d discovered what he’d feared all along—that the attraction to her went far deeper than he’d ever imagined.
He knew he was a poor substitute for Styr, but last night, she had given herself freely, wanting him. She’d granted him a taste of Valhalla in her arms, a glimpse of the afterworld.
