Michelle Willingham - Forbidden Nights With A Viking

She extricated herself from his embrace, pulling her gown back up. Taking a deep breath, she voiced the words that needed to be said. ‘But we still need to talk about what will happen to us if I cannot have children.’

‘We won’t know until we try.’

She took a breath, steadying herself. ‘Would you end our marriage?’

He stared at her, as if uncertain of what to say. His hesitation multiplied the fears inside her, but at last, he admitted, ‘Yes.’

The hurt balled up inside her, her throat closing up. She could not wed a man who wanted a child more than he wanted her.

‘It would be the right thing to do,’ he said quietly. ‘If I cannot give you a child, then I’ll let you go.’

His words were knives, slicing away at the tremulous fear within her. Did he truly believe that children were more important than all else? That she would want another man, all for the sake of a babe in her arms?

She tried to shield herself against the pain, voicing the other truth that plagued her. ‘If Elena were still carrying your child, you never would have left.’

His eyes grew harsh at the accusation. ‘What would you have me say?’ he demanded. ‘Never would I turn my back on my son.’

She had no answer for that. But she wanted so much more from Styr. She wanted him to love her, to be with her, even if there were never any children.

Was it worth risking her heart, knowing that he might break it a second time by leaving?

The heavy weight of silence spread between them, and she waited for him to speak, to say anything at all. She needed reassurance from him.

‘I love you,’ she said at last. ‘And I won’t lie to you. I do want a child. A son with your eyes, or a daughter with your smile.’

She reached out to touch his hand, and his arms stilled upon the oars. ‘But I won’t live from one month to the next, wondering if this will be the day when you leave me. I’d rather be alone than endure that heartache again.’

Styr spent the rest of the evening brooding among his men. He’d brought Caragh back to her home with all the gifts he’d given her, but his foul mood lingered.

Thor’s teeth, but women were impossible to understand. He’d come back to her, hadn’t he? Yet somehow what was supposed to be an afternoon spent in her arms had become an argument that twisted him into knots. He’d given her the truth, even if she hadn’t wanted to hear it.

If she wanted a babe and he could not give her a child, he’d rather release her from their marriage than have her look upon him with hatred. He cared about her too much, wanting only her happiness.

He wished he could find the right words—to talk to her, to tell her all the reasons why he wanted to be with her. Damned words were of no use to him. He didn’t know what to say or what she wanted to hear.

Styr rubbed the scar on the back of his head, unsure of what to do. But he wasn’t going to abandon this. Not yet.

They made camp and Onund went out to hunt. Styr had spitted a trout he’d caught and was waiting for the fish to cook.

‘May I join you?’ came the voice of a wizened old woman. He’d seen her before, but didn’t know her name.

Styr gestured for her to sit across from him, and she smiled, saying, ‘No, I can’t, my boy. If these old knees bend, they won’t get up again.’

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, though he suspected that wasn’t the reason for her conversation.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I came to lend you my advice, since you’re failing in your quest.’

He lifted a peat brick and tossed it on the fire. ‘And what quest is that?’

‘Why, to win our Caragh’s heart. She wept over you, you know. She tried not to let us see it, but you hurt her. You’ll have to atone for it.’

Styr said nothing, for he wasn’t about to beg. He wanted Caragh, but what more did she want?

‘Give her time,’ the woman suggested. ‘Build her a house and show her that you’re not leaving.’

He studied the old woman and saw that her face was sombre. ‘I have no intention of giving her up.’ But neither did he want to wait for weeks, giving Caragh the chance to say no.

‘I think you already know what to do, Loch­ lannach.’ The old woman smiled. Leaning on her walking stick, she hobbled back to her husband.

An idea took root in his mind, one that suited his intent perfectly.

Over the next few days, Caragh hardly saw Styr at all. He’d negotiated a truce with her brothers, and she half-wondered if it was in return for keeping his distance.

But on the night Ronan and Terence took Brendan to visit a neighbouring clan, she found Styr awaiting her inside her home. He was seated on a stool, both hands enclosed in manacles, while a longer chain looped around the post where she’d once held him captive. His hands were in front of him this time, with each bound separately, to give him more freedom to move.

And he wore nothing but his hose.

At the very sight of his muscled chest, words failed her. He was magnificent, his sun-darkened skin gleaming against the fire. His shoulders were corded, lean and strong, while his stomach was flat and ridged.

Caragh couldn’t imagine what had happened to him, but the heated look in his eyes drew her closer.

‘Wh-what are you doing here?’ she asked, pushing back the storm of unexpected feelings. ‘Who’s done this to you?’ Had Ronan or Terence ordered him chained? She wouldn’t put it past her brothers. But if that were the case, they wouldn’t have confined him here.

‘Close the door,’ Styr answered. ‘This was my decision, with the help of Onund.’

‘Why?’ she blurted out, not understanding what would possess him to do such a thing. It reminded her of the first nights they’d spent together, when she’d held him captive.

‘Because I’m not good with words.’

Caragh bit her lip to keep her mouth from falling open. He had chained himself here? For what purpose?

She studied him, taking another step closer. He was bared to her, his body chained so that he could not leave.

And she understood what he was trying to say.

‘Promise me,’ she whispered. ‘No matter what happens between us.’ Her hand came up to cover his heart. ‘Our marriage will not rest upon the condition of having children.’

He leaned in, resting his cheek against hers. ‘I want to give you children.’ His hands moved to rest upon her waist. ‘I want to watch you grow round with my child, your breasts heavy with milk.’

His words held a power that entrapped her, as if she were the one wearing manacles. Against her body, she felt the rise of his arousal.

‘Your brothers are gone this night,’ he reminded her, nipping her cheek with a light kiss. ‘We’re alone.’

Her body responded to his sensual promise, aching for him. Against her gown, her breasts tightened.

‘What do you want from me?’ she whispered.

‘Everything.’ His voice was resonant, pushing past her defences. ‘Did you think I was going to let you walk away?’

She had no idea what to say, but eyed the chains. ‘This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’

‘It’s more interesting.’

Her eyes widened, her skin warming at his suggestion. But she could not resist the urge to run her hands over his shoulders, feeling the strength of his bare skin.

It felt wicked, having a man chained for her pleasure. Deliciously so.

‘This isn’t fair to you,’ she whispered.

A slow smile curved over his mouth. ‘ Søtnos , there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t dream of this.’

She realised, then, that this was his way of atonement. When he’d left her before, she’d nearly crumbled under the weight of her grief. He had chosen to stay with his wife out of honour and duty to their unborn child. She’d understood that, though it had devastated her.