‘Behind me, then,’ he acceded. Before they could venture another step, he stopped to look at her. Her sea-green eyes held him captive, her skin as pale as milk. So many nights he’d dreamed of sinking his hands into her fiery hair, claiming her soft lips in a kiss.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, her face flushed at his stare. It was as if she could read his forbidden thoughts.
Ragnar focused on the sand ahead. ‘No. Nothing at all.’ He scanned the ringfort for movement. In the distance, he spied shadows moving behind one of the huts. The silence was unnerving, as if they were the prey of some unknown attacker. They continued walking through the water until they stood upon dry land.
Ragnar moved several steps towards the shadows, gripping his shield in his left hand, a short sword in the other. More than ever, he was starting to believe that Elena should have stayed on the ship. She remained behind him, on the edge of the sand. Waves washed around her ankles, while she waited with her hands gripped together.
‘Stay back,’ he warned. ‘Call out if you see anything.’ She nodded and Ragnar hesitated. Instinct warned him not to leave her...and yet he wasn’t about to risk endangering her from an unseen attacker. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Yes.’ But her voice held no confidence at all. She reached to her belt and gripped the hilt of a dagger.
Ragnar moved cautiously towards the shadows, while the others followed Styr. Their gait was heavy, as if the weight of the past few days remained upon their shoulders. All could fight, if necessary, but fatigue had set in.
He kept walking, his mind focused upon any threat, when suddenly, he heard Elena’s scream cut through the stillness. He spun, raising his sword...and found her surrounded by four men.
By the gods, where had they come from? Like ghosts, they’d emerged from the mist that surrounded her.
A dark violence awakened within him. The blood rage pushed away the exhaustion and he raced back to Elena, his sword in hand. He lunged at one of the young men, only to have his sword blocked by a shield. Renewed energy coursed through his veins as he fought with all of his strength. Two men attacked him and he used his shield to deflect a blow, slashing his sword down with his right hand.
He let the battle madness sweep over him, releasing the rage inside. When metal clashed against wood, he slid into the familiar fighting. Everything else faded away except the primal need to protect her.
Another enemy crept up behind him and he saw the wild look in Elena’s eyes. He didn’t care that he was outnumbered. He would not let anyone harm her—not while he had breath in his body. With a crushing blow, he used his shield to knock down the third man, slashing a savage blow to the other.
One of the men grabbed Elena from behind, twisting her wrist until her dagger fell to the sand. He dragged her backwards and Ragnar fought with all his strength to break free of the Irishmen.
But he didn’t know if he’d reach her in time.
Blood thundered in his veins as Ragnar released a battle cry. He cut through the men surrounding him, his blade slashing towards his enemy. Dimly, he was aware of Styr charging forwards as well.
Two men tried to cut them off, but he and Styr divided their enemies. When his attacker struck out, Ragnar threw himself to the sand, rolling free while a sword sliced the place where his head had been.
More of the Irish charged forwards and while he continued to fight, Ragnar saw a young man seize Elena, holding a blade to her throat. There was desperation in the young man’s eyes, of a captor who had never killed before. That made him even more dangerous.
With a renewed surge of aggression, Ragnar pushed his way free, just as Styr raced towards his wife. Before Styr could tear Elena’s captor apart, everything changed.
Another woman emerged, shouting at both of them. In her hands, she held a thick staff as her weapon.
Ragnar ignored her, all of his attention focused on Elena. The young man was distracted, giving him an opening to free her. He inched his way closer, waiting for the right moment.
For an instant, the young man faltered, as if considering whether to let Elena go. He seemed to recognise that if he did, Styr would split his head open with the axe.
But Ragnar could attack from behind, catching the young man unawares. If he struck true, he could free Elena before anyone knew what had happened.
Closer...
He lifted his sword, prepared to strike. Before he could move, the woman brought her wooden staff across Styr’s head, catching him on the ear. His friend dropped to the ground.
Thor’s blood. Ragnar didn’t think, but lunged, just as another man raised his blade for the kill.
‘Styr!’ Elena cried out in anguish, just as Ragnar blocked the blow. She was reaching towards her fallen husband, while the other woman was speaking foreign words that sounded like an apology.
The young man dragged Elena back, stepping towards the water. Deeper he moved, until she was submerged to her waist. He could drown her if he tried.
Ragnar shouted to the others, knowing that all of them were needed to protect Elena and Styr. His friends kept their weapons drawn, their shields at the ready as they approached. Upon the sand, he saw the dark-haired woman binding Styr’s wrists and ankles with long strips of leather. An older man helped her drag him away.
‘Ragnar,’ Elena pleaded. ‘Save him.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, her sea-green eyes holding her fear of death.
He was torn between saving his best friend...and saving Elena. Gods help him, this was a decision he’d never wanted to make.
‘What should we do?’ his friend Onund asked.
In the end, there was only one choice. He had to save the woman he loved, even at the cost of the man who was like a brother.
‘If anything happens to her, Styr will hold us all to blame.’ Ragnar raised his sword and shield and started towards the water.
Chapter Two
Elena watched in disbelief as Ragnar laid down his weapon and shield upon the sand. What was he doing? He was stronger than any of these men and she didn’t doubt he could kill them all. Why would he surrender?
Unless he had another plan she didn’t know about.
Ragnar moved in closer, the water pooling against his leather boots. He wore chainmail armour and an iron helm while his rough brown hair hung down past his shoulders. Dark green eyes gleamed with purpose, his face holding the merciless cast of a warrior who intended to slaughter his enemies.
And so he would. Elena had seen him training alongside her husband and had witnessed his skills firsthand. There was no fighter stronger than Ragnar Olafsson, and he moved with a speed no man could match.
‘Let her go,’ Ragnar called out to her captor. ‘We’ll return to our ship.’
He spoke to the Irishman as if he believed the man could understand the Norse language. His words were calm, his hands raised up in surrender. But beneath the gesture lay an unspoken threat.
For Ragnar would never bargain with an enemy. Her heart pounded faster as the other Irishmen began to close in.
What was he planning to do? Sacrifice himself? No. He wasn’t the sort of man to play the martyr.
Onund stared at Ragnar with fury. ‘You might intend to surrender, Ragnar, but we won’t. We outnumber them!’ the man snapped, refusing to lay down his weapons.
A flare of irritation slid over Ragnar’s face and it was then that Elena understood his deception.
The Irish might have taken them by surprise, but the same could be wrought upon them, if they believed