Michelle Willingham - To Tempt a Viking

‘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?’