Michelle Willingham - To Tempt a Viking

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.