The honorable path was to let her go, to take her home again. But the warrior within him wanted to damn the consequences and claim Elena for his own. He wanted every night in her arms, seeking only to worship her.
Dimly, he was aware of others watching him. They knew how many matches he’d won, and several glared at him for the wagers they’d lost.
“I know you,” one said. “You’re one of the fighters.”
Ragnar’s hand moved to his sword, eyeing the man with wariness. “I didn’t come here today to fight.”
“But you will,” came another voice. “You murdered my brother Vakri and stole his son.”
The crowd of people had fallen quiet, and the earlier fighting match had ceased. The young man stumbled away, his face and hands covered in blood.
“Vakri tried to kill my woman. I defended her life and took his.” Ragnar unsheathed his sword. “I will pay the required body price, when judgment is passed.”
The man unsheathed his weapon, his dark eyes holding the promise of vengeance. From behind him, Ragnar saw others surrounding them with their own weapons at the ready. They were men who had lost silver, men who wanted their own retribution.
“I don’t want your silver,” the man said, gripping a battleaxe. “I want your head.”
Elena had finished preparing her home, but there was no sign of Ragnar. Although he wouldn’t like what she’d done, she hoped to convince him to stay with her. She would no longer be the quiet, meek woman to stand aside and do what she was told.
No, she was a Norsewoman with power of her own. The blood of warriors ran through her veins, and she would stand up for what she wanted.
But the longer time went on, the more worried she grew. What if he had already left? Although he’d said he would escort her away from Dubh Linn, something might have happened.
When there came a knock at her door, she opened it, only to see Agata standing there.
“It’s Matheus,” she said, her face mirroring Elena’s fear. “He slipped away, and we can’t find him.”
Fear roiled inside her, that someone else had taken the boy. Elena seized a blade to arm herself. “And what of Ragnar? Has anyone seen him?”
Agata shook her head slowly.
Freya help me, Elena prayed. Terror mingled with determination to find both of them. She didn’t know what had happened, but she wasn’t about to stand by and weep.
To Agata, she ordered, “Find Hring and tell him to bring several of our kinsmen to help me search.”
She prayed that no one would harm Matheus or Ragnar. It didn’t matter that he was not her sworn husband. He belonged to her in every sense of the word, just as Matheus was her adopted son. And by the gods, she intended to fight for her family.
The haze of bloodlust possessed him as Ragnar swung his blade. He was surrounded by men who wanted him dead, but he would not go down without taking several others with him.
He let the wrath consume him, transforming him into an instrument of Death. His sword bit into flesh, but he heard no screams. He was lost in the moment, unaware of anything, save raw instinct.
A blade sliced his arm, but it was only a scratch to him. There was no pain, no sense of anything, except the need to survive.
Until he saw the boy.
Awareness jolted back into him when he saw Matheus walking alone to the center of the fighting ring. The boy continued moving toward him, heedless of the fighting.
“Get back!” Ragnar ordered, his voice hoarse as he cried out. But the boy did not understand his words, as each step brought him closer.
Soon Matheus would walk in the midst of the fighters and his life would be forfeit.
A renewed surge of purpose filled Ragnar, as he cut down one man, then the next. He held up a hand to Matheus, willing the boy to stay in place. He seized a shield from one of the fallen men, swinging his sword wide.
He kept his gaze fixed upon his enemies as he took slow steps toward the boy. “Go home,” he ordered. But once again, the child did not heed his words. Instead, he ran forward to Ragnar and stood beside him, facing the men.
Thor’s bones, the last thing he wanted was a child caught in the middle. But then it occurred to him—he’d ceased fighting themoment he’d seen Matheus. The battle lust had not taken away his awareness the way he’d thought it would.
He drew the boy behind him, handing him the shield. “Hold this and don’t let go.”
