Caragh walked through the neat rows of barley, pulling a few stray weeds. Her brothers had gone out fishing, and she’d busied herself with inspecting the harvest. It would not ripen for another few months, but at least they had the promise of more grain to sustain them. The tribe had planted more, after the seeds Terence and Ronan had brought back from their travels. She hoped that the sun and rain would be kind to them this season, allowing them to restore their losses.
Despite the countless hours she’d spent working, it did nothing to diminish the heartache. She’d let herself love Styr, and it burned to know that once again, the man she’d cared about had chosen someone else.
She strode through the fields, hastening her pace. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it any more. She’d known from the beginning that he was not free to be with her. As she crossed through the open meadow, she shielded her eyes to the morning sun. There was her brothers’ boat, moving out to sea. And to the east…another ship.
She frowned, not recognising it at first. Was it the fishermen returning to Gall Tír?
But when she saw the striped sail, her stomach plummeted. The Lochlannach had returned. For what purpose? Were they invaders or was it Styr’s ship? Neither was particularly welcome.
She hurried down to the shore, grasping her skirts. Some of the elderly Ó Brannons were busy scraping hides while others prepared meat for drying. Caragh went out as far as she dared, peering hard at the water. And when she saw the bronze weathervane of Styr’s ship, her tension didn’t diminish.
Why had he come? Was he wanting to settle here with his wife and later, their children? The thought of seeing him each day with Elena filled her with a crushing pain. A part of her wanted to flee, to hide where he wouldn’t find her. But then, she wasn’t a coward. She might not know why he had returned, but she would stand here and face him.
She sat upon a large stone on the water’s edge, waiting. His ship drew closer, until at last, she saw him tying up the sail, steering closer to land.
He was still as handsome as she remembered, his dark gold hair tied back. The weather had grown warmer, and he wore no armour this time.
And then he saw her waiting. His stare locked with hers, as if remembering the night they’d shared together.
Caragh studied the boat but saw that he had come with only two men. Elena was not with them.
If she could have shielded her heart with stone, she would have. Styr had left her behind, choosing the woman he’d married and their unborn child. There was nothing that would change that.
He strode through the water, moving towards her. The waves sloshed around his thighs, but he ignored the frigid water. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.
‘I have nothing to say to you. Or to your wife.’ She stood from the stone, ignoring him.
‘Elena is not my wife any more,’ he called out to her back. Her face flooded with colour, but she continued walking away. Whether it was true or a lie, a storm of confusion muddled her thoughts. When she reached the grassy hillside, she stopped walking but didn’t look back at him.
Was he expecting her to fall into his arms, to somehow rejoice that she was his second choice? Had something happened to Elena or their unborn child?
Anger and sorrow choked her, but Caragh got no further before he caught up with her, catching her in his arms. ‘As I said, we need to talk.’
‘Put me down,’ she demanded, trying to push her way out of his arms. When he only tightened his grip, she relented. ‘All right, I’ll talk with you. But not here.’
Not where others could see her being carried off by a Lochlannach. Styr didn’t appear to trust her promise, for he didn’t let her down at all. ‘It’s been too many weeks, søtnos.’ He embraced her, as if he wanted to meld her skin into his.
In passing, he nodded to his men who had begun unloading their ship, carrying her past the ringfort and towards the open meadow.
‘Styr, please,’ she said. ‘I can walk.’
‘I don’t want you to run away,’ was his response. ‘You’ve a right to be angry, but we’ll talk in private.’
‘What about your child?’ she asked. ‘If you’re no longer married to Elena—’ Her words broke off as she realised what had likely happened. Even to mention it was cruel.
‘There never was a child,’ he admitted. ‘She believed there was, but it was a mistake.’
In his voice, she heard a trace of regret, almost as if he wished the child had come to be. ‘Please, let me down,’ Caragh repeated.
He did, but he didn’t release her wrists. His grip was firm enough to remind her that he wasn’t going to let go.
‘What do you want from me?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why did you come back?’
He took her face between his hands and kissed her hard. His hands tangled in her long hair, pulling her to him as he coaxed her mouth. The familiar rush poured through her with awakening desire. And though she accepted his kiss, she didn’t return it.
‘You’re angry,’ he murmured against her mouth.
‘You can’t believe that I’ll let you come from another woman’s bed into mine.’ She turned her face from him, hiding the hurt within.
‘I never lay with her. Nor did I touch her.’
Caragh shook her head. ‘It’s too soon, Styr.’ To her embarrassment, the weeks of hurt welled up within her, and she blurted out, ‘You had no choice, I know. But I don’t want my heart to bleed like that a second time.’
‘It won’t,’ he swore. ‘I don’t intend to leave you again.’
His intense gaze reached inside her, pushing back against the barriers around her heart.
‘I don’t know what’s right any more,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps we should be friends for a time,’ she offered. ‘We could get to know one another without…’
‘Without Elena between us,’ he finished.
She nodded.
A dark expression came over his face, as if he didn’t like the idea of waiting. His hands moved down to the base of her spine, and he remarked, ‘I won’t be bringing you flowers or trying to win your heart, Caragh.’ He reached below her hips, picking her up until her body was flush against his.
‘I’m a Lochlannach. And I take what I want.’ To emphasise his words, he kissed her, invading her mouth with his tongue. He ravaged her mouth like the warrior he was, claiming and consuming her until she was breathless. Against her body, she felt the length of his arousal, and it sent a rush of need between her legs.
His mouth travelled down her jaw, to the soft part of her throat. ‘Perhaps you’ll be my prisoner, this time.’
Her mind spun with images of being chained and at his mercy. A sigh escaped her when he lowered her again, sliding her against him.
But she raised her chin and said, ‘No.’ Before he could carry her off again, she pointed a finger to his chest. ‘I hardly know you. And you know very little about me.’
‘You like food,’ he offered. ‘And you’re not fond of sailing.’
‘I’m not fond of drowning,’ she corrected. She’d learned to overcome her dislike of the water, especially after she’d continued to fish alongside her brothers. Never again would she let her fear prevent them from getting food.
‘You like the colour blue, and you have a sense of adventure. You like to try new things.’ He took her hand in his, and added, ‘You cheat when