Michelle Willingham - Forbidden Nights With A Viking

Styr awoke at dawn, surprised that he’d slept as late as he had. It was as if all the exhaustion of the past few weeks had caught up with him. Last night, he’d dreamed nothing at all, finding a peace.

But in the morning, he sensed the phantom fragrance of Caragh, as if she were still here.

He never should have bent his head to her breast, but he’d been unable to stop himself. She’d been so close, almost agonised in her need. And when his touch had brought her such a violent release, he’d revelled in it. If he could have spent the rest of the night watching her come apart, he would have savoured every moment.

Just the memory of last night brought him a physical ache, and he adjusted his erection within his hose, donning a padded tunic and chainmail to hide what he could. He crossed the sleeping camp, staring at the hills and wondering if he would find Elena this day.

When he reached Caragh’s tent, he opened the flap and ducked inside. She was still asleep, her hand half-open as if waiting for him to hold it. Instead, he reached into his pouch and withdrew the ivory comb. He laid it in Caragh’s palm, and the moment he did, she awakened.

Her face flushed, as if in memory of last night. When her hand curled over the comb, she asked, ‘What is this?’

‘A gift for you.’

She turned it over, examining the ivory. ‘It has a woman’s face upon it.’

‘The goddess Freya,’ he explained.

Her violet eyes met his, a sadness descending over her mood. ‘This was meant for her , wasn’t it?’

He made no denial. ‘I want you to have it.’

She sat up, and her gown slipped, baring one shoulder to him. At the sight of her skin, desire welled up once again. But the look on her face spoke of a woman who held regrets.

‘I don’t want a gift to remember you by,’ she admitted. ‘I’d rather have you.’ With her knees drawn beneath her, she looked like an innocent girl. ‘You’re going to find her today, I know it.’

He nodded. ‘I need to talk with her.’

‘I want to believe that we can be together,’ she said. ‘That I can love you.’

Her words held an emotion he’d never guessed, and he moved closer, needing to touch her. But she shied away, turning her face. ‘I’m afraid, Styr. You’ve been with her for so long. When you see her again—’

He cut her off, embracing her. ‘Don’t.’ At this moment, he couldn’t say what would happen. But he let his actions speak for him, drawing her against him. ‘Wait for me here while we search. And when I return to you, we’ll go back to Gall Tír. We’ll start over.’ He took the comb from her and drew it through her long brown hair. The ivory contrasted against the dark strands, and when he glimpsed the carving of Freya, he believed there was a reason why he’d never conceived a child with Elena. It was never destined to be.

Caragh took the comb from his hand and returned it to him. ‘Give her the comb, the way you intended to. And don’t return to me until you are free.’

The solemnity on her face proclaimed her resolve. ‘My men will guard you.’

But Caragh shook her head. ‘No. My brothers are waiting for me. I’ll return home with them.’

Styr frowned, for he’d not bothered to look out from the shore. He left her tent, shielding his eyes against the sun. Just as she’d predicted, a small fishing boat lay anchored a short distance away.

‘I knew they wouldn’t let me go,’ she admitted from behind him. ‘My brothers are too protective. And I suppose they were right to come. It’s probably best that I don’t meet your wife.’ She drew a brat over her head and shoulders, wrapping the wool around her against the chill.

He hadn’t thought of it, but likely it would be terrible if Elena and Caragh shared the same vessel for travelling. Better if he gave command of his ship to Ragnar and let him take Elena and his men home again. Or anywhere else they wanted to travel. Then he could return with Caragh and her brothers.

‘I’m going to begin searching for them,’ he said. ‘Stay here, and don’t leave until I return.’

She nodded, and at the sight of her worry, he bent and kissed her cheek. ‘It will be all right. I promise you.’

But as he took his leave of her, a sense of dread filled him at the thought of what he must say to Elena.

‘Let go of me,’ Caragh demanded.

Onund had gripped her by the arm, holding her fast. ‘You are commanded to stay here until he returns. You may not follow them.’ His expression was like granite, his bearded face shielding any trace of sympathy.

His imperious attitude darkened her mood, and she tried to pry his hand away. ‘I won’t interfere. They won’t even know I’m there.’ She craned her neck to meet his eyes, hoping he would understand. ‘I just want to see them together.’

If she could see the look in Styr’s eyes when he saw his wife for the first time, she would have the answer she needed. She would know.

Onund loosened his grip upon her. He stared at her as if trying to discern her purpose. ‘I saw him watching you. And I saw him go to your tent this morn.’

She shielded her feelings from him. ‘He did nothing to dishonour his marriage.’ Though she wondered if that were true. In the end, he’d hungered for her, and she’d writhed at the touch of his mouth upon her bare breast. Even now, the memory sent a ripple of desire through her.

‘Their marriage is a shadow,’ Onund admitted. His expression narrowed upon her, as if trying to read her thoughts. ‘It was duty that kept him at Elena’s side. He should have put her aside long ago, choosing another woman to give him sons.’

His answer startled Caragh, for she’d not known that the others were aware of their marital difficulties. Nor had she realised the emphasis the Lochlannach placed upon bearing children.

‘Whatever choice he makes, I want him to be happy,’ she told Onund.

The man folded his arms across his chest, and Caragh doubted if he would allow her to take a single step inland. ‘Styr needs sons,’ he repeated. Taking her hand, he led her through the sand towards the hills.

As they approached the top, he added, ‘You will remain hidden.’ Onund reminded her, ‘You cannot reveal yourself. No matter what you see.’

‘I won’t,’ she swore. Grateful for his assistance, she walked alongside him. Styr had gone with a handful of men earlier, tracking the path of Ragnar and Elena. There was no way of knowing how far they’d gone or whether they would find them.

But with every footstep closer, her dread heightened. Within her bones, she sensed that Styr would never leave Elena behind.

Onund led her through the meadows, towards a river that wound through the land. Traces of smoke from a fire revealed the presence of a campsite.

‘Stay back,’ Onund warned. There was a small copse of trees, hardly more than a dozen, nearby. He guided her there, and when they reached the edge, he warned, ‘Not a word. You don’t reveal us, or Styr will have my head for it.’

She nodded, crouching low. Her stomach burned when she saw Styr speaking to another man who she supposed was Ragnar. Their features were similar, though Ragnar’s hair was a darker gold blended with brown, and he was shorter.

There was a tension between them, though she didn’t know what they had said to one another. Styr was eyeing his kinsman with suspicion, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Then, a moment later, the woman emerged from within a crude shelter. Her face softened with relief at the sight of Styr, and she looked as if she wanted to embrace him.

The ugly claws of jealousy sank into Caragh, though she knew Styr was bound to Elena and had shared her bed. the image of the two of them together made her lungs constrict, and she gripped her skirts at the thought.