Читать книгу To Tempt a Viking - Michelle Willingham - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Elena couldn’t say why she’d kissed Ragnar. It was either that or strike him. Anything to shock him into awakening. As she’d hoped, his eyes had sharpened, his body jolting at her touch.

‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded.

It had been only a short kiss, one hardly more than the touch of her lips on his. But he was staring at her with fury and she let go of him, edging her way back on the sand.

‘You weren’t responding. I thought if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t wake again.’ But her face was on fire now and she regretted her actions. Worse, she’d never seen him this angry before.

‘Don’t ever kiss me again,’ he warned.

‘I’m sorry.’ She hadn’t expected him to react so strongly. ‘It was just a way of getting your attention, to make you open your eyes.’

‘The next time you need my attention, use your fist. Not your mouth.’ He grimaced, easing up to a seated position near the fire. ‘Styr is my friend and your husband. You would do well to remember it.’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’ But her face was burning with humiliation. She hurried to finish building the fire, wishing she’d never done anything. ‘It was meaningless, Ragnar. Truly.’

But nothing she said would dispel the anger and frustration in his eyes. She hadn’t truly considered the consequences and his violent response unnerved her.

‘It will never, ever happen again,’ she swore.

‘See that you keep that vow.’ His voice was cold, almost cruel.

Elena backed away, wishing there were words enough to apologise for what she’d done. Why couldn’t he understand that it was only an impulse, one intended to awaken him? Instead, he acted as if she’d tried to seduce him.

The forbidden thought of this man claiming her swirled inside her. Of his mouth opening against hers, taking her down against the sand.

She closed her eyes against the dark heat that poured over her. No, she would never fall under such a spell of madness.

Finally, Ragnar said, ‘We’ll need food and shelter. Go and look around at the terrain. But stay nearby, in case you have need of me.’

Elena didn’t point out that his injuries would prevent him from defending them. Instead, she welcomed the chance to leave, to escape her embarrassment and make herself useful. She hurried from the shore, shielding her eyes against the sun as she searched for a way to make shelter.

She crossed over the rise of a hill and saw a wide oak tree with many branches. The leaves might shelter them from the rain, but there was still too much exposure from the wind. Her mind turned over the problem while she gathered as many fallen branches as she could find. She began to organise the branches by length and width, laying them out in neat stacks.

Some were tall enough to make a lean-to shelter, but nothing larger than that. She was grateful that it would only be temporary, for it would force her to sleep close beside Ragnar once again.

The bitter taste of shame lingered, for she’d made such a foolish mistake, thinking the kiss would pull him back from losing consciousness. She winced to remember it.

If it had been Styr, he would have kissed her back, taking command of the embrace. Ragnar’s mouth had been cool, his lips firm. And though the kiss had meant nothing, her body had unknowingly responded to him. She took a slow, deep breath, ignoring the sensitivity of her breasts against the linen shift. Styr was the only man who had ever touched her. The only man who ever would.

But their lovemaking had grown stagnant, a duty they had both endured for the sake of conceiving a child. Sometimes her thoughts drifted away and she found herself going through the motions. Lying with Styr had been pleasurable and she hadn’t minded it. But as of late, her thoughts had been so focused upon whether or not his seed would take root within her, she’d forgotten to enjoy it.

Finally, she’d asked him to stop trying. The bitter memory burned inside her, for she’d allowed her festering grief to transform into anger. She didn’t want her husband to share her bed any more, for every time he lay with her, she was reminded of her failures as a wife.

Elena stopped sorting the wood, her eyes blurring with tears before she forced them back. She was stronger than this. She had to be. Sooner or later, they would find a way back to the ringfort and they would rescue Styr. Then she would do what she could to heal their shattered marriage.

It was best to ignore the kiss with Ragnar, as though it had never happened. It had been a foolish thing to do and his volatile reaction only reassured her that she had nothing to fear from sleeping close to him. Breathing a little easier, she walked back to the beach, her mind already envisioning the shelter. She would build a watertight lean-to that would keep out the rain and any harsh weather.

Along the way, she spied some wild strawberries and picked them, tying them into her apron. There were also some carrots, hardly bigger than her thumb, but they would still do well enough. Further inland, she spied the silvery surface of a pond.

Water. She breathed a sigh of relief, letting herself hope for the first time that they could survive here.

She wasted no time in getting a drink. Then she found a leaf larger than her hand and curled it into a cone, filling it with water for Ragnar. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, until she could find another container. There was so much to do; her mind was reeling from all of it.

* * *

When she returned, she saw that he was leaning on his side, his eyes closed. Pain tightened over his face and blood darkened the bandage on his thigh.

Guilt flooded through her, for she shouldn’t have left him this long. The cone of water fell from her hand and she ran to kneel beside him.

‘Ragnar.’ She tried to awaken him, shaking him slightly. He didn’t respond and she loosened the torn fabric, peeling back the bandages. The skin was an angry red and at the sight of it, her spirits sank. He was beyond her healing abilities and she didn’t know where she could go or what she could do.

‘I’m not a healer,’ she muttered, as she touched his cheek. ‘But you can’t give up. Not now.’

His wound was swollen and she racked her mind to think of any herbal knowledge she’d heard of. Ragnar remained unconscious and she didn’t know what to do for him.

There were no people here. There was no one to help, no one to tell her the proper way to treat his wounds. He would die if she did nothing.

She had to reach inside and find a place of calm. Surely if she studied him more carefully, she would find the answers.

Elena took a deep breath, then another as she examined his leg. His skin was hot to the touch, so tight as if it were an animal skin bulging with water.

It needed to be drained, she decided. Some of the healers drew blood to bring out the evil spirits. Perhaps if she released some of the pressure, it would help.

She pulled her dagger from its sheath, starting to lose the edge of her courage. The idea of hurting him more, of causing him to bleed, made her wince. But neither could he tolerate this pain.

Beneath her breath, she murmured prayers to all the gods as she cleaned the knife with a cloth and began probing his wound. His hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes flew open when she touched the raw flesh.

‘Don’t,’ he gritted out.

‘I’m going to ease the pain,’ she said. ‘The wound needs to be lanced.’

His eyes were wild, his mouth tight as she reopened the wound. The moment her blade touched the swollen area, it sliced through the poisoned flesh. Blood and pus mingled from the wound and she fought to hold back the wave of nausea. But as she bled him, the swelling did seem to recede. She couldn’t tell how long she would have to let out the bad blood, but eventually, she held the edges of his flesh together and wrapped his leg tightly.

All she could do now was pray. She tried to make him as comfortable as possible, but inwardly she knew they needed a better shelter or they would both die. And that meant leaving his side to build it.

Only when she was certain he was asleep did Elena venture out again. Though it bothered her to leave him, their survival depended on it.

* * *

‘Ragnar.’

Her voice awakened him from the harsh pain that flowed like a never-ending stream. It was twilight and the sunset haloed Elena’s hair from behind.

By the gods, he’d never known anyone more beautiful. But he’d learned to mask any emotions, never to let her see what he felt. Even if he died here, he refused to surrender to the traitorous thoughts he felt towards her.

Her hand came to touch his cheek, and he didn’t speak a word, taking comfort from the warmth of her palm.

‘The rain will come soon,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve built us a small shelter for the night. Can you lean on me to walk?’

He almost laughed at that, but one glimpse of the sky made him realise that he could either struggle and walk with her or lie here on the sand while the rain poured down over them. The clouds were thick and a fog was rolling in off the shoreline.

She leaned down and put both arms around him, guiding him up to a seated position. At such a close distance, he saw the tints of red within her hair and her sea-green eyes held such fear, there were no words to allay it. Words would not stave off the hand of Death, if it came for him.

Ragnar bent his good leg and grimaced as she pulled him up to stand. The moment he did, white spots spun in his vision, threatening to pull him under. ‘Elena, I don’t know how far I can make it.’

‘You’re strong enough to get there,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve gathered some food and made a fire for us.’ She continued talking, bearing the heavy weight of him as best she was able. The journey seemed endless. At one point, he asked, ‘Why did you build it so far away?’

‘I needed a tree to support the driftwood,’ she explained. ‘And we don’t want our shelter caught in the tides.’

He hardly heard any more of what she said, for he was lost in his own sea of pain. But as they moved in closer, he thought he scented something cooking.

Surely he was imagining it. But the heady aroma of a roasting fowl made his mouth water.

‘Did you catch something?’ he asked, squinting at the glow of the fire ahead.

The chagrined smile on her face confirmed it. ‘I set some snares, yes. And when we’ve both eaten, the night will be easier.’

He doubted if any food would settle the aching inside, but he would say nothing to cast a shadow over what she’d done to help them both. A ringing resounded within his ears and she caught him before he could fall, holding his waist.

‘We’re almost there.’

Thank the gods for that. It seemed to take an hour before he finally reached the tiny shelter she’d built of fallen limbs around a thick tree trunk. At first, it appeared crude, a mass of large branches and leaves. But as she eased him down, he realised it was wider than it appeared. The structure was circular, with stout branches as supports and smaller, more flexible limbs woven between them.

‘How did you ever have time for this?’ he questioned.

Her face flushed and she shrugged. ‘I kept returning to check on you, but you were sleeping. It seemed like a better use of my time.’

The wind was increasing and he eased backwards until he was inside the shelter. Elena tended the fire and adjusted the roasting meat until the fowl was fully cooked.

He’d never smelled anything so good in his entire life. When she broke off a piece, she blew on it before bringing it to him. He tasted the meat and found it delicious.

‘Styr is a fortunate man,’ he remarked. Though he kept his tone even, it was far more than the food. It was the way she had laboured over the shelter, managing to build something of this complexity in a short amount of time. ‘I don’t think he realises half of what you do for him.’

The look in her eyes turned startled, as if she’d never expected him to say such a thing. Perhaps it was the belief that he might die that caused him to speak so freely.

‘I am his wife. I want to make his home comfortable.’ She ate but no longer looked at him.

Ragnar knew that in the past few months, Elena and Styr’s marriage had suffered. Her barrenness had taken its toll upon her, and Styr had confided their troubles. It had put Ragnar in an awkward position. He’d urged Styr to talk to Elena, but he was torn between wanting them to reconcile...and wanting the marriage to end.

He was such a selfish bastard. What good would it do, if she and Styr parted ways? Elena would never turn to him. She knew his darkest secrets, of the vicious adolescence he’d endured...and the violence that still dwelled beneath his skin. He knew better than to think she would consider someone like him.

As the wind grew stronger, Elena moved deeper within the shelter and pulled out a panel he hadn’t noticed. It had been disguised amid the other branches, but it formed a door. Almost within seconds, the rain began to pour down over the shelter.

But they didn’t get wet. He stared up and realised that she’d layered the leaves so thickly that they were fully protected from the storm.

‘You did well, Elena,’ he complimented. ‘I suppose you’re tired from the work.’

She nodded. ‘A little. How is your leg?’

‘It hurts. But it’s not nearly as swollen as it was before.’ The wound ached, but the pain was more bearable.

‘I’ll try to find some garlic bulbs or other herbs to draw out the poisoned blood,’ she promised. ‘When it stops raining.’

‘In the morning will be soon enough.’ He finished eating and an awkward silence descended between them. She wouldn’t look at him and he realised that she was still embarrassed by what she’d done.

‘I’m sorry for what I said before.’ He leaned back against the structure, well aware of how close she was. ‘I know you meant nothing by the kiss.’

She let out a heavy sigh. ‘Thank you for that. I don’t know why I did it. It was truly just to keep you conscious.’

He studied her. Though the rain had extinguished the fire outside their shelter, in the dim space, he caught a shadowed glimpse of her beautiful face. He wished he could admit the truth, that the softness of her kiss had caught him stronger than any blow might have. She tasted of innocence, and dreams that would never be.

‘We will find a way to return,’ he said to her. ‘I’ll bring you back to Styr, once my wounds heal.’

She nodded and as the rain poured faster, she moved across to him. ‘I’m afraid for him. Even though we had our differences, I don’t want him to die.’

When she leaned against him, he brought his arms around her. She was quiet, but he could feel the dampness of her cheeks as she silently wept.

‘We’ll find him,’ he said to her. ‘I promise you that.’

She sniffled again, and then admitted, ‘There’s another reason why I’m afraid. It—it’s the moon.’

He didn’t understand what she meant and waited for her to elaborate.

‘When we left Norway, it was a full moon. It’s gone through all of its phases and almost a second phase.’

She sat up, then, though he could not see her face as the night grew darker. ‘I—I haven’t had my woman’s flow since we left Norway, Ragnar.’ There was tremulous hope in her voice as she admitted, ‘I think I may be pregnant at last.’

* * *

The night had been brutal. Visions and dark dreams haunted him, his body burning with fever. He was hardly aware of anything, except Elena offering him drinks of cool water.

He didn’t want to admit the possibility of death, but he would not lie here and yield quietly. He’d vowed to bring Elena back to Styr.

‘Elena,’ he muttered, his voice sounding like a growl, ‘we can’t stay here.’

‘We don’t have a choice.’ She moved beside him, as if to lend the physical comfort of her presence. ‘You have to rest to heal.’

He sensed the fear in her voice, but he refused to dwell on the chance of death.

‘To return to Styr, you must go southwest along the coast. Keep the morning sun to your left side and—’

‘I’m not leaving you,’ she interrupted.

‘If I don’t heal, you must go.’ The last thing he wanted was for her to suffer beside him, starving in the middle of nowhere. Already, his stomach was roaring with hunger.

‘You aren’t going to die,’ she insisted. ‘Your wounds are much better. Though I imagine you’re half starving, since you’ve been asleep for so long.’ She drew back the door of the shelter she’d made. The sun blinded him, and he glanced down at his wound.

Although it was still painful, it wasn’t nearly as swollen as he’d expected. Elena had made a poultice of garlic bulbs and he wondered how many times she’d changed it during the night. His entire body reeked of garlic. It was a wonder she could stand to be near him.

She brought him a bowl of stew and Ragnar questioned when she’d had time to make it. Within the hot liquid, he tasted rabbit and other vegetables. ‘Has it only been one day since we arrived on this shore?’ he asked.

Elena shook her head. ‘We’ve been here for three days. Your fever was terrible and I didn’t know if you’d awaken. I tried to feed you as best I could, but...it was difficult.’

Three days? It seemed impossible that the time had passed so swiftly. And yet he could not deny the truth of what he saw. The edges of the wound had begun to close and it wasn’t nearly as hot to the touch.

‘I was glad to find the garlic,’ Elena continued. ‘My mother told me it was good for healing wounds and she was right. I crushed up some of it.’

‘I smell terrible,’ he admitted wryly. But if it had kept him alive, it was well worth it. The question now was whether he was capable of walking again.

Slowly, Ragnar eased himself out of their shelter and used her help to rise to his feet. With only a little weight on the wounded leg, it wasn’t too bad.

Elena looked weary from the past few days but was no less beautiful. Her red-gold hair was braided back into a single tail and it brought into sharp relief her pale skin and heart-shaped face. Her green eyes studied him with relief.

‘In another few days, you’ll be fighting other battles,’ she predicted. ‘Though the scars will remain.’

‘All warriors bear scars.’ It was a physical reminder that they had conquered death, defeating their enemies. ‘But I owe you thanks for my life.’

She shook her head. ‘You saved mine on board the ship. You owe me nothing.’

‘No. I swore a vow to Styr,’ he reminded her. A vow he’d made to protect her. Although they were alive, he needed to bring her back to the ringfort settlement.

‘I know you’ll heal and we’ll find him, as you said,’ she promised.

His gaze moved down to her flat stomach, remembering what she’d told him about her pregnancy. Elena saw the direction of his attention and flushed slightly, moving her hand over her womb. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t felt sick so far.’

‘Not every woman suffers during the early months,’ he remarked. ‘My sisters never did.’

Her mood lightened and he saw the hope in her eyes. She had wanted a child for so many years.

God help him, he was jealous of Styr. He wished that Elena were his wife, that she were pregnant with his child. He wanted to awaken beside her, reaching over to feel the babe move within her skin.

He forced himself to walk, ignoring the dull pain in his thigh. The worst of the danger was over; he’d live. But with every day that passed, he wanted Elena more than ever. She was an obsession he couldn’t abandon and all women paled beside her.

Why, by the gods, did she have to belong to his best friend? If she were with any other man, he’d damn the consequences, claiming her as his own. She was a desperate craving he needed to satisfy. When he glanced back, he saw the peaceful expression on her face, for she believed she would finally have the child she wanted.

An honourable man would be glad for her. She would return to Styr and this babe would heal the breach between them. No longer would she suffer in silence; she had achieved her greatest desire.

Ragnar stopped walking, staring down at the water below them. The grass was damp from earlier rainstorms, but now the sun warmed the earth. He didn’t know how they were going to make it back, but likely their best course of action was to travel along the coast. If they happened to see ships, they could try to hire one to take them back.

‘You shouldn’t push yourself too hard,’ Elena warned. ‘You need to regain your strength.’

No, what he needed was space away from her. A chance to clear his head so he wouldn’t give in to the instinctive urges taunting him.

Ragnar reached down for a fallen branch, using it to help support his weight as he moved across the field. A faint noise caught his attention and he stopped, listening hard.

Elena frowned. ‘Did you hear something?’

He nodded, pointing further inland. ‘It was coming from over there.’ Leaning against the staff, he continued his pace, moving towards the sound. It was as if a large group of people was approaching.

Her face broke into a smile. ‘Thank the gods. They’ll have food and supplies. I think we’re saved.’

But as the sounds grew louder, he realised what he was hearing. These people were fleeing, not travelling. Dozens of men, women and children were running across the plains, while behind them, he spied men pursuing them on horseback.

Warriors with weapons drawn, ready to strike them down.