Something within her stirred at his request. It was dangerous to be so close to this man. Although he was a close friend,instinct held her back. Elena took a few steps away, needing the space.
“I should gather more wood,” she argued, fumbling for an excuse.
“It’s going to be all right, Elena,” he assured her.
She wanted to believe it. But they were miles from anywhere, and her husband was a prisoner. Their men were held captive, taken as slaves or killed. She felt herself hovering on the brink of tears. As she gathered up more twigs and small bits of driftwood, she glanced up at the crescent moon once again.
A ripple of uneasiness filled her, but she brushed the feeling aside. Right now, she had to concentrate on surviving the night ahead. Doggedly, she continued searching for wood, letting the mindless task blot out the horrifying fears. The night temperature had begun dropping and she returned to the fire, stacking the sticks and twigs she’d gathered.
“Do you think my husband is alive?” she asked Ragnar, thinking of Styr.
“I’ve no doubt of it.” He leaned against one of the stones, gritting his teeth when he moved his leg.
Though it should have made her feel better, the longer she sat by the fire, the more despondent she grew. In the space of a few hours, she’d lost everything—her husband, her people, their ship, and even a shelter. Silent tears welled up and spilled over, against her will.
“Come here, Elena.”
She ignored him, needing a good cry. She deserved it, after all that had happened.
“Are you really going to make a wounded man drag himself across the sand to get to you?” Although his voice held teasing, there was enough determination that made her aware that he’d do it.
“I’ll be fine.” But she obeyed, returning to sit beside him. When his arms came around her, she wept in earnest. His kindness was her undoing, for she didn’t know how to gather up the pieces of her life or how to begin anew from here. Her husband, as well as their kinsmen, could be dead. They had no ship and they were stranded in a foreign land, far away from home.
Ragnar said nothing at all but held her tightly, and his presence did bring her comfort. She wasn’t alone, despite all that had happened. That, at least, was a consolation.
His skin was warm from the fire, and she rested her cheek against him, closing her eyes. “Sleep,” he urged. “I’ll just lie here and count the hours until I stop hurting.”
Although he was trying to make light of the injury, she knew he was suffering. “I wish I had something to take away your pain.”
An enigmatic smile crossed his face. “It would be worse if you weren’t here at all.” With a heavy sigh, he added, “In the morning we’ll decide how to get to the mainland.”
She lay beside the fire, but sleep would not come. The heavy weight of her wet clothing was making it difficult to dry off. Elena unfastened the brooches at her shoulders and peeled off the wet outer apron, leaving on the cream-colored gown. She set it upon the rocks to dry, though she doubted this was possible by morning. Still, she might sleep better without the heavy layers of wetness.
She huddled upon the sand, leaving the fire between them. Ragnar’s face was as exhausted as hers, his dark green eyes solemn. “You can sleep beside me without fear, Elena.”
She hesitated, for never had she slept beside any man except Styr. But then again, there was no shelter here. Sleeping alone would be uncomfortable for both of them.
But did she dare sleep beside Ragnar? Her reluctance must have been evident, for he shrugged and leaned up against one of the rocks as if it were no matter.
With a sigh, she realized that she was being foolish. Sleeping beside Ragnar would mean nothing at all. He would never threaten her marriage, not when her husband was his closest friend. Her apprehensions were groundless.
Silently, she rose from her place on the sand.
Dawn came far too soon. Ragnar had hardly slept at all, but the warmth of Elena’s body was pressed against his back. His wounds ached, but he didn’t move at all, not wanting to disturb her.
Her hair was still damp, in a tangled red-and-gold mass around her shoulders. The braids had come undone and the strands held the wildness of bent curls. Her pale gown outlined her slender body with curves, and he forced the sinful thoughts away.
Not yours, he reminded himself.
Her eyes opened and she yawned, sitting up. “Did you sleep?” Eyeing his wounds, she added, “Are you in much pain?”
He was, but he welcomed the dull ache. To lie beside Elena had been a dream he’d never imagined and his torn flesh had reminded him of the boundaries between them. If he had died last night, he could think of no better place to spend his last hours.
His leg burned, but he forced himself to answer, “I’ll be all right. We need to reach the mainland today.”
She knelt before him and unwrapped the bandages. At the sight of his wounded flesh, she blanched. “It doesn’t look good.”
He shrugged. “I’m alive.”For now, he thought, but didn’t say so. If he developed a fever, that could slay him quicker than the arrow wound.
