Let my death be swift and painless, he prayed. And let my sister be safe.
* * *
Elena’s heart slammed into her chest, her pulse beating so fast, she was dizzy from fear. The icy water struck her like a fist, her gown weighing down upon her. Though she moved her arms and legs, it was not enough to swim—more like treading water.
Now that she was free of the ship, it seemed that the outcropping of rock was impossibly far away. Her breathing quickened and she fought with her arms and legs, struggling to keep her head above water. Behind her, she heard the shouts of men and the clash of swords.
Her face dipped beneath the wave and she choked upon the salt water, coughing as she struggled again to reach land. In the darkness, she could barely see anything around her and she doubted if she could make it to the small island.
Fear penetrated her to the bone. You’re not strong enough to reach land. You’re going to drown.
Her resolve was weakening, but she continued churning her arms, until there was a sudden splash. A strong arm grasped her around the waist, pulling her to him. When she looked up, she saw Ragnar holding her. He propelled them through the water with immeasurable strength, like a ship cutting through the waves. She gripped him around the neck, thankful that he, too, had escaped.
‘Swim!’ she heard Ragnar say. ‘Don’t look back.’
She was desperately afraid, her mind seizing with shock. Her face dipped below the water again, but a strong arm dragged her up. Ragnar urged her to keep moving, holding his arm at her waist. They swam together while behind them, they heard the shouts of the Danes taking command of the ship.
Freya, protect me, she prayed, as they fought to reach land. The crescent moon slid from behind a cloud, reflecting its light upon the surface of the water. She stared at the light, her fear closing in again.
She had to live. Despite her terror, she would fight to survive. Even if they were the only two left alive.
Chapter Three
Her arms were leaden, her body freezing from the icy water. But with Ragnar at her side, she took courage. He was speaking words of encouragement, though his pace had slowed.
When at last her feet touched the bottom, Elena breathed a sigh of relief. Her body was exhausted and trembling, but they were both on land.
Ragnar’s steps were heavy, his body leaning upon hers as she strode through the water. She couldn’t understand why he was struggling to walk, until the moonlight gleamed upon him, revealing the arrow protruding from his upper thigh.
‘You’re hurt,’ she breathed, offering him her support as they stumbled to the sand.
Ragnar didn’t answer and she felt the urge to panic. How badly was he wounded? A dark fear rose up that she couldn’t survive on her own.
A moment later, she pushed aside the errant thoughts. He wasn’t dead yet, and if she tended his wound, he might live.
Her mind sealed off all thoughts except those that would aid her. She needed to take out the arrow, bind his wound and get them a fire and shelter. There was enough wool in her gown to tear off for a bandage.
‘Ragnar,’ she said. ‘Look at me.’
He did, but there was so much pain in his gaze, she feared the worst. His hose and tunic were soaked with seawater, the chainmail armour gleaming against the moonlight. She needed to take off his armour to examine his wound.
‘I’m going to help you over to those rocks,’ she said. ‘Can you manage to walk that far?’
He gave a nod, as if it took too much energy to speak. Blood streamed down his leg from the arrow in his thigh, but at least it wasn’t pumping out. She eased him to sit down and helped him remove his armour and the padded tunic beneath. Then she used the knife at his waist to cut long strips from her skirts. The thought of pressing more salt water against his wounds was excruciating, so she looked around for an alternative. There were patches of moss and she dug at the stones, trying to find something to make a barrier against the wet wool.
‘We need a fire,’ Ragnar reminded her, reaching inside his tunic. ‘You might...build one.’
‘Soon,’ she promised. ‘I’m going to take out the arrow.’
‘I might bleed out if you do,’ he said quietly.
‘I can’t leave it, can I?’ She placed her hands on his shoulders, kneeling down before him. ‘You kept me protected. I’ll do everything I can to help you.’
For a single moment, she caught a glimpse of a fierce longing in his eyes, before he shielded it and looked away. She didn’t know how to respond, for fear that she’d misread him.
Elena took a deep breath and reached for the arrow. It would pain him more if she told him when she was planning to take it out. Though she’d never before removed an arrow from a man’s skin, it didn’t look too deep. She questioned whether to force it all the way through the skin or whether to jerk it out. Both would cause pain, but pushing it through would likely be easier.
‘I don’t want to cause you pain,’ she said steadily. ‘But this must be—’ with one huge push, she forced the arrow through the opposite side ‘—done,’ she finished, snapping off the tip and sliding the shaft free. He let out a gasp of pain, but she packed the wound with moss and bound it tight with the first strip of wool.
‘I thought you would give me more warning than that,’ he breathed, fighting against the pain.
‘Anticipated pain is worse than reality,’ she responded.
‘And you’ve had an arrow tear through your flesh before?’ His voice was harsh, but it was done now.
‘It wasn’t that deep,’ she offered. ‘The bleeding isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.’ Thank the gods for that. If it had gone any deeper, she doubted if she’d have had the strength to force the arrow through the other side. His rigid muscles would have made it impossible.
* * *
Once Ragnar was bandaged, she left him sitting against the rocks. There was a tremor in his body, as if he were unable to stop himself from shaking.
He was right; they did need a fire to warm them. But first, she had to find flint. It was too dark to see the stones, however.
Her mind stumbled with panic, the freezing air and the darkness starting to undermine what little courage she had left. They needed shelter and warmth to protect them this night. Their survival depended on it.
Elena forced herself to think of the smaller details, knowing that a fire would help them both more than anything. She still had Ragnar’s knife. ‘I’ll try to find flint among the stones,’ she told him.
‘Wait.’ He reached into his tunic and pulled out a stone that hung from a leather thong around his neck. ‘This is flint.’
She tried to loosen the knot while her hands rested against his throat.
‘You weren’t hurt, were you?’ he whispered. His voice resonated between them and a spiral of warmth rippled through her. She grew aware that her hands were around his neck, almost in an embrace.
‘No.’ To calm her beating heart, she murmured, ‘Don’t speak now. Just rest while I build a fire.’
When the knot wouldn’t untie, she lifted the leather thong over his head, taking the flint and his blade. The scent of his male skin was unlike her husband’s, but it held the familiarity of a close friend. How many times had she relied upon Ragnar over the years? They’d been friends all her life, and if she had to be stranded with anyone, she was grateful it was him.
She renewed her courage and slipped into the comfort of routine, gathering dried seaweed for tinder and driftwood along the beach. It was clear that in