threatened to flare up, but he suppressed it. Hadn’t he stayed? Countless other men would have taken Caragh as a concubine, but he’d remained loyal to his wife.
‘Then why are you so angry?’ she shot back. Her eyes pierced through him, discerning the truth. ‘If she were nothing to you, you wouldn’t be acting this way.’
The familiar coolness slid over her expression as she collected herself. Styr had no response, for anything he said would reveal his frustration. Instead, he redirected the conversation. ‘I heard from Onund that you jumped from the ship to escape.’
She inclined her head. ‘We were attacked by the Danes and there was only one chance to escape. Ragnar helped me reach the shore.’
‘Both of you could have died,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t about to let myself be sold into slavery.’ Her green eyes welled up, and she admitted, ‘This might be the only baby I’ll ever have.’
He sobered, letting out a slow breath. For a long time, he didn’t speak but stared out at Caragh’s boat disappearing in the mist. Guilt filled him up, and he deserved the aching loss of her. Finally, he spoke. ‘Do you know how long I searched for you? I thought you had died.’
Elena stood behind him so he could not see her face. ‘I didn’t think they would let you live, either.’ She moved closer, standing by his side. ‘But I’m glad you returned.’
The awkwardness stretched between them, and he didn’t know what to say. He turned to walk back to the beach, letting her follow.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Several days. The Danes wounded Ragnar, but he kept me safe.’ A flush came over her cheeks at the mention of the man. ‘We found food and built this shelter.’
A memory flashed through Styr, of Caragh’s struggle to survive. She’d nearly starved without her brothers to help her, and he wondered if there were enough supplies to see them through to the harvest. He hadn’t forgotten her unbridled joy when he’d helped her find fish. Or the way she’d embraced him in her happiness.
It occurred to Styr that he hadn’t greeted his wife properly. Not once had he welcomed her with an embrace, when he owed her that. He turned, intending to take her in his arms, but when he reached towards Elena, she instinctively backed away.
‘What are you—?’ Then she seemed to realise his intent and apologised. ‘You caught me unawares.’ She leaned in, offering a slight hug. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. But the gesture rang false, as if she’d felt obligated.
To change the subject, he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
‘The same,’ she admitted. ‘I wouldn’t have known about the baby, if it weren’t for the fact that I haven’t bled in two moons.’ She reached down to touch her slim stomach. ‘It seems so strange to think of a child growing inside me.’
As she continued to talk about her pregnancy, his thoughts grew distant, his mood sombre. He wouldn’t abandon Elena now, not while she needed him. Perhaps when the child was born, it might mend their broken marriage, making it easier to care for her again.
But as he walked back with Elena, he couldn’t help but wish it was Caragh who was pregnant with his child.
Three weeks later
Elena wasn’t a fool. She knew her husband had feelings for the Irishwoman. Oh, he’d been polite and respectful, seeing to her needs and comforts. But he might as well be gone. At night, he lay beside her, but he never tried to touch her. He kept a slight distance between them, and the longer it went on, the lonelier it was.
At least she had the baby to console her. A third month had passed with no bleeding, and she was positive that there must be a child. But it bothered her that her body remained slender, her breasts the same size. Shouldn’t she be changing more than this? Instead, she felt nothing at all.
They had settled just south of Dubh Linn, near some friends of her mother’s, but the threat of the Danes lingered. Elena had never felt quite safe here, and she was grateful for Ragnar’s presence when Styr was away. At least he listened to her and didn’t utter one-word responses.
This morning, Styr had gone to the marketplace, leaving her behind. She had cleaned every inch of their house, sweeping it four times. The table and chair were tidy, and she had begun digging a garden, ensuring that each row was perfectly straight, one hand-width apart.
But despite her efforts to maintain order, she could do nothing to change her husband’s mood. She had no doubt at all that he’d fallen in love with the Ó Brannon woman, from the way he was pining for her. And though he swore he’d never touched her, that her accusations were unfounded, Elena might as well have been married to a stone.
She’d prepared Styr’s favourite foods, arranged for his armour to be cleaned, and had done everything to make his life comfortable. But he hardly noticed any of it.
Ragnar was busy working upon his own house, and she hoped to speak with him. She knew very little about what men wanted from a wife. Perhaps he could help.
But the longer she stood near him, the more he continued wielding a hammer, pounding the beams into place.
‘May I join you?’ she asked, coming to sit near him.
He said nothing, but from the way he continued hammering, she could tell that his mood was even worse than Styr’s. She came forwards to offer him a drink of water, but he tossed the hammer to the ground, pushing the drink away.
‘Stay away from me, Elena.’
She was so taken aback by his anger, she didn’t know what to say. Before she could leave, he wiped his brow upon his sleeve and apologised. ‘I’m in no mood to see anyone just now.’
‘I came to ask for your help. But if it’s not a good time, I’ll go.’ She didn’t understand what was bothering him, but she knew better than to press him. He rested his palms upon the wall for a moment, taking time to calm his temper. When he faced her, she grew nervous, seeing the dark look in his eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to ask advice from him.
Ragnar let out a breath and walked to stand before her. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Styr,’ she admitted. ‘Ever since he came back, I don’t know what I can do to please him.’
A tightness invaded Ragnar’s expression. ‘We are not having this conversation.’
She flushed. ‘No, I didn’t mean…that. We haven’t—not since the baby.’ By the goddess, why was she even talking about it? But the words spilled forth as if they were waves, crashing forth against her will.
‘He won’t even talk to me. He’s so distant, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Why do you stay married to him?’ Ragnar demanded. ‘If you have no feelings for one another and you don’t talk, what reason is there?’
‘He’s been good to me,’ she said. ‘And there’s the baby.’
‘You’re not pregnant, Elena.’
Her hands moved to her womb, and she stood up. ‘Yes, I am. It’s been months now. I must be.’
‘I’ve had sisters who have had children. If you were truly with child, you would be much bigger by now.’ He stood and returned to his hammer. ‘Go and speak with the midwife. She’ll tell you.’
A bleakness spread over her at the thought. Her eyes filled up with tears, and she hugged her waist. ‘If there’s no baby—’
‘Then you have no reason to remain wed to him. Let him go, Elena. You’ll be happier for it.’
She got up to leave, feeling as if someone had cut her in half. Her eyes burned as she made her way to the door, before a hand pulled her back.
‘Come