‘We should get some sleep before our journey on the morrow,’ Styr told her, tossing another peat brick on the fire. He moved to the furthest side of the room, intending to block her from his mind.
‘I can’t sleep,’ Caragh protested. ‘It’s still so early.’ Without asking his consent, she went to a trunk on the far side of the room and returned with a board. ‘Don’t go to bed so soon,’ she pleaded. ‘We could play a game.’
‘I don’t play.’ He’d gambled before with dice, but it wasn’t a pastime he’d engaged in very often.
Caragh moved towards his pallet, giving him no means of escape. She set the wooden board on the ground between them, and he recognised it as a variant of duodecim scripta, a game he’d known from his homeland. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘My brother won it off a traveller from Burgundy.’
The board consisted of two opposing rows of black triangles with game pieces made of bone. The dice were carved from antlers, and she gave him his pieces, explaining the rules which were similar to those he already knew.
‘You must move the pieces to your home ground and afterwards, you can begin removing them. Whichever of us removes all the pieces first will win.’
He took a sip of his mead, watching as she set out her own pieces. A long lock of dark hair hung over one shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed from the drink. Her blue eyes held merriment and a trace of wickedness as she said, ‘Are you prepared to lose, Lochlan nach?’
His sense of competition sharpened, and he took the dice from her, his hands brushing against her warm fingers. ‘And what if you lose?’
‘Then I’ll have to pay a forfeit. Just as you will.’ When she leaned on one arm, the neckline of her gown slipped down one shoulder, revealing bare skin. Styr dropped the dice rapidly, wrenching his gaze away as he moved the first game piece.
‘And what could you possibly offer me?’ His instincts heightened, wondering what she would say.
‘Your weapons and your cloak,’ she offered. ‘They are mine now, since I took you prisoner.’
‘And what would my forfeit be, if by some miracle of the gods, you were to win?’
She smiled. ‘More food for me and my people.’
Her honesty diffused his tension, as he realised that she was respecting the boundaries between them. Earlier, when her hands had touched his chest, she’d looked like a woman waiting to be kissed.
By the gods, if he were unwed, he’d have taken her. He’d have captured her mouth, pulling her slender body to his and exploring those curves with his hands.
Tasting and touching her until she broke forth a throaty moan.
Odin’s blood, but the sexual abstinence was taking command of his senses. When he found Elena again, he intended to coax her back into desiring him. His blood was hot, his needs making it impossible to think clearly.
With effort, he wrenched his mind back into reality. ‘Where do you think your brother took Elena and the others?’
‘Possibly Áth Cliath. Or Dubh Linn,’ she admitted, moving her own piece. ‘He’s been there before with my father, when he was a boy. But even if he did, I’m not certain what he planned to do with his prisoners. He might have released them along the shore.’
Styr didn’t believe it. If his kinsmen had let themselves be taken captive, it was for Elena’s sake. More likely they had killed Brendan and the other Irishmen. He moved his pieces again, taking one of Caragh’s. ‘We’ll sail at dawn to find them. Enough time has been wasted.’
He made his next move, but she captured his piece, taking it for her own. ‘Your wife is unharmed,’ she promised. ‘I believe that.’
Releasing a slow breath, she contemplated her next move, while he rolled the dice. As they played, she kept his goblet full of mead, and he used it to drown out the voices of betrayal in his mind.
Caragh was winning the game, and her smile was triumphant as she moved the piece again. In the golden firelight, her face was haloed, her blue eyes filled with excitement. Her gown mirrored the intense colour, and it made him frown when he made his next move.
‘You said you kept this gown, when you should have sold it. Was there a reason?’
‘I was to be married in it.’ She rolled the dice, considering where to move the next piece.
‘What happened?’
She captured another piece of his and shrugged. ‘I found Kelan sharing another woman’s bed.’ Though she spoke in a calm tone, he caught the note of anger in her voice.
‘You’re well rid of him,’ Styr said. He couldn’t imagine Caragh betrothed to a man like that. It explained Kelan’s jealous behaviour, but he didn’t know why she would have agreed to wed him in the first place.
‘Perhaps.’ She shook her head, her lips drawn in a line as she studied the board.
There was no perhaps about it. Why would Caragh lower herself to a man like that?
She removed one of her pieces from the board. ‘My brothers were angry and wanted to kill Kelan for me. I refused to allow it.’
His estimation of her brothers rose a notch. ‘He hasn’t given up on you, has he?’ He took one of his own pieces off the board.
‘No. He wants my forgiveness, but I can’t bring myself to forget what he did. He said he loves me, and it was a moment of weakness.’
Styr snorted. ‘Loves you?’ He moved another piece across the board and shook his head. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
‘Once, I did.’ Her face furrowed, and she slid a game piece to a darker triangle. ‘Don’t you love your wife?’
‘Love has nothing to do with marriage. I owe her my protection, and I intend to find her.’ The idea of love had been beaten out of him as a boy. His parents had trained his brother and him to be a future jarl, as was their duty, but there was no love involved in his upbringing.
Absently, he reached a hand up to his chin, fingering the scar where his father had struck him. He’d learned not to weep or show any sign of emotion. Emotions were for the weakminded, and they never served a man well in battle.
Styr moved another game piece, not wanting to reveal more. The truth was, he did care about Elena. He’d wanted her to be happy in their marriage, although when her barrenness was evident, she’d begun refusing him. She didn’t love him, if she ever had—that was clear enough. But now, it was rare to see her smile.
Divorcing her was possible, but he didn’t want to admit his own failure. And she’d agreed to come here, which meant she wasn’t entirely ready to give up on their marriage. What kind of man would he be if he’d taken her from her homeland, only to leave her?
No, somehow, they would solve the problems between them.
‘Elena has been a good wife to me,’ he admitted. ‘I respect her.’
But Caragh’s expression held confusion, as if she didn’t understand. ‘Was your marriage arranged?’
He nodded. ‘I agreed with my father, that the match was a strong one. Her family approved of it, as well.’ It was only Elena who had seemed intimidated by the marriage. She’d hardly spoken to him after their betrothal.
Now, he wondered if she had objected to it. No one had said anything to him in the past…but had they forced her to wed him? He frowned at the thought.
Caragh removed another piece, leaving only two remaining. ‘It hurt, when Kelan turned to another,’