‘If you have need of us, you have only to ask,’ he said. With a squeeze of her hand, he hobbled back to his wife.
After he’d gone, Caragh returned and set to work cleaning the fish as best she could. It was work she didn’t mind at all, and she carefully saved the scraps, which could be used for stews or soups. Her joy was so great, that when she set several chunks of fish over the hearth to bake, she returned to her father’s work space.
She stood in the darkened space, breathing in the ashen scent of the forge. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine her father’s presence and his hearty laugh.
Am I making a mistake, Father? she wondered. Do I dare take the risk? She reached for an awl and her father’s hammer, wondering what to do. Styr had proven himself this day, taking her out to find fish. They’d caught enough to survive a little longer…or to travel in the search for Brendan.
In her heart, she knew the Viking had saved her life. And for that, he deserved his freedom.
Don’t let him hurt Brendan, she prayed inwardly. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the hammer and awl, returning to her hut.
Styr was seated near the fire when she returned, and as soon as he spied the hammer and awl, his eyes lit up.
‘I owe you my thanks,’ Caragh said, ‘for helping me to find fish today. And in return, I will keep my promise to remove the chains.’ She watched him, meeting his eyes with her own. ‘I ask only that you grant me my brother’s life in return. Show him mercy.’
Styr gave her no answer, but she could only pray that he would spare Brendan. Crossing behind him, she reached for his wrists. Upon his skin, she saw dried blood and heavy bruises. Clearly he’d tried to free himself and had suffered in the process.
She hammered at the pin that bound the manacles closed until his first hand was free. Then the second.
Styr drew his hands in front of him, flexing his wrists, as he breathed with relief. ‘Thank you.’
Having him unchained made her suddenly more aware of his presence. Though she didn’t believe he would harm her, she couldn’t stop the prickle of uneasiness. She busied herself with cooking the fish, remarking, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t left yet.’
‘As I told you, I’m taking your father’s boat in the morning,’ he said. ‘And you’re coming with me.’
She made no refusal, for she wanted to protect Brendan. ‘I won’t go as your hostage.’
His gaze turned harsh, but his eyes seemed to warn her that he would use her in any manner necessary.
Caragh’s hands trembled as she gave him his portion of fish. Fool, she cursed herself. This man wasn’t safe. He might have helped her to get food, but he could not be trusted.
But she forgot about her uncertainties, the moment she tasted the delicate white fish. ‘Oh heaven,’ she breathed, eating the first piece so fast, she nearly choked on it. The second piece disappeared nearly as fast, and she cooked more portions, knowing that Styr was as hungry as she was. To pace herself, she poured each of them a cup of mead, and the sweet, honeyed taste was delicious. Even though she knew it was unwise to drink it quickly, she couldn’t stop herself.
‘Slow down,’ Styr ordered. ‘Or you’ll make yourself sick.’
She did, concentrating on the drink instead. It made her head feel lighter, and a pleasant airiness seemed to surround her. ‘Did you get enough to eat?’
He nodded, leaning back beside the fire. ‘If you salt the remaining fish, we can preserve it for a few days.’
She nodded her agreement and went to cut the remaining fish into pieces the size of her hand, salting them heavily and covering them. As she worked, a dizziness made her unsteady on her feet. The room seemed to be a faraway place, but she took another sip of mead.
When she had finished preserving the fish, she washed her hands and walked unsteadily towards the fire.
‘How many cups of mead have you had?’ Styr asked, frowning.
‘Two. Perhaps three,’ she answered.
‘You shouldn’t have anything else to drink,’ he said, taking the cup from her. ‘You’ve already had too much.’
A lazy smile curved over her. ‘It tasted so good.’ When he drank the rest of her mead, her gaze settled upon his mouth. My, but he did have a wonderful mouth. So firm and fierce. It was a shame that a man like this was already wed. It would be interesting to kiss him.
‘Are you as wicked as the other Lochlan nach?’ she asked, warming her hands before the fire. ‘Do you pillage the homes of people, taking their women?’
His gaze turned enigmatic. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you could…if you wanted to.’ Her head was still buzzing, but she found herself saying whatever words came to her mind. A startled laugh broke free. ‘But this time, I took you.’
He looked irritated at her reminder, but she added, ‘You weren’t nearly as bad a man as I thought you were.’
‘Don’t.’ He cut her off, reaching out to grasp her chin. Though his gesture was meant to be threatening, it didn’t hurt. ‘Don’t try to pretend I’m harmless.’ His hand moved back to grasp her nape, and a thousand tremors poured through her skin. There was power in his touch, a ruthlessness that held her spellbound.
Her traitorous mind suddenly imagined more than a kiss. She envisioned his bare skin and what it would be like to run her fingers over him. With his hand still tangled in her hair, she reached out and rested her hands against his chest.
Styr didn’t move. He knew Caragh wasn’t thinking clearly, that her actions were dictated by the mead. But when she rested her head against his chest, a part of him wanted to hold her. He wanted to feel a woman’s arms around him, to inhale the delicate scent of her skin.
His heartbeat pounded beneath her fingertips, his treacherous body responding to her nearness.
Gently, he extricated her and stepped back. ‘Did you get enough to eat?’
A soft smile transformed her face. ‘For the first time in months. Yes, I did.’ She busied herself with clearing away their wooden dishes. But although Caragh washed and put them away, she did not clean every part of the dwelling or straighten the furnishings. Instead, she sat by the fire, smiling at him. It occurred to him that never had Elena stopped to relax after a meal. She spent her time cleaning, straightening, and scouring their home.
Caragh drew up her knees by the fire, her face golden in the light. All the while, his mind replayed the image of her hands touching him, her face pressed against his heart. The hunger for affection roared through him, and he cursed the instincts he couldn’t control.
It had been so very long since Elena had reached out to him. Time and again, he’d tried to tempt her, even to hold her, only to be pushed away. Her resentment at being childless festered like an open wound, one that wouldn’t heal.
Sometimes, he wished they could start over. That there was a way to be friends again, with no tension between them. The last time that had happened, they had been hardly more than adolescents. Once they’d been betrothed, Elena had grown more serious, putting all her concentration on becoming a good wife. And she’d refused to accept their failure to have children.
When she’d finished putting away the food, Caragh asked, ‘What would you like to do now?’
Her voice held energy, a restlessness that conjured up memories of bare