Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (36 page)

Elena knew why. Yet she didn't want to turn away, behaving as if nothing had happened. She wanted to spend time with Ragnar, trying to make sense of the muddled thoughts in her mind. They had grown so close when they'd been stranded together and she'd come to rely upon him. Now that she was alone again, she didn't want their friendship to end because of her foolish impulse.

She finished making her purchases in the marketplace, while her kinsman Hring shadowed her. Though she would have preferred to go with Ragnar, she'd hardly seen him these past few days.

The sound of merchants arguing with one another blended with the noise of animals being herded through the streets. Elena spied two children chasing one another and it evoked the ache of envy within her. The dream of bearing a child hadn't faded, despite the years. She still wanted to cradle an infant in her arms, no matter how long she had to wait.

Her gaze shifted to the crowds of people and in the shadows, she saw many children with lean faces, their eyes revealing hunger. Some were born of slaves and had almost nothing to call their own. Others had lost their parents in raids.

She walked deeper into the city and in one section the scent of smoke lingered. Several fires had been set by the Danes a few weeks ago, after she'd returned with Styr. At the sight of the skeletal houses, Elena was glad she'd been gone during the attack. She couldn't imagine what horrors that night must have wrought.

She frowned, suddenly realising that many children might have been orphaned that night if their fathers or mothers had fought for them. They might need someone to take care of them, if they had no living relatives.

The idea took root within her, circling with possibility.

‘Where is Ragnar?' she asked Hring suddenly. She wondered what he would think if she fostered some of the orphans. It would give her a sense of purpose, a way of filling up the endless hours of the day.

‘He's been spending his time sparring against some of the Irish. They wager on whether or not he'll win. It's a good way to earn silver.'

Elena frowned, not wanting to think of it. Although Ragnar was undeniably a strong fighter, if he defeated many men, it would also give him more enemies— enemies who wouldn't hesitate to hunt him down and take back their silver.

‘Will you take me to him?' she asked quietly.

Hring obeyed and they crossed through the crowd of people gathering to watch the fighters. Elena pushed her way to the front and saw Ragnar standing off to the side, bare from the waist up. His skin was oiled and it was clear from the blood on his lip that he'd already fought.

She met his gaze and saw not a trace of remorse in him. He'd come here wanting to fight and judging from the pouch at his waist, it seemed that he'd won a few matches.

Elena ignored the people around her and strode forwards to speak with him. Had he forgotten the arrow wound in his leg so soon? Why would he do this? Though she was angry, she forced herself to hold her tongue.

When she stood before him, she suddenly felt small, in contrast to his strength. His biceps were so thick, she couldn't span them with both palms. The gleam of his skin caught her attention and her mouth went dry. Although she knew the oil made it more difficult for an enemy to seize him, she could not help but wonder if a woman had helped to rub it into his skin.

A jolt of resentment caught her and once again, she felt uncertain about her feelings for this man. There was no reason to be jealous.

Yet she could not deny the invisible ties between them, especially after the night he'd touched her.

‘I would like to speak with you, if you've finished here,' she said in a low voice.

‘And if I haven't?' He crossed his arms and again she saw the corded muscles flex across his broad chest.

Her pulse tightened with frustration, but she reached out to rest her hand upon his heart. Slowly, she drew her palm over his oiled skin. ‘Please.'

A low hiss sounded from him and his dark green eyes flared. There was the sound of men laughing and a few ribald jokes. Ragnar silenced them without a word and his hand came to rest upon the back of her neck. When he guided her away, his hand wasn't at all gentle.

Hring was following them, but once they were away from the others, Ragnar ordered the man to return home alone.

‘Do you want to put on your tunic?' Elena asked, feeling suddenly awkward that he was still half-clothed.

‘What I want is to know why you interrupted.' His anger made it clear that he didn't appreciate her interference. She was taken aback by it and her first instinct was to retreat and apologise.

But then, that was what she would have done with Styr. She'd allowed herself to fall away into the background, never once voicing her own opinions.

That woman was gone. Now, she would speak her mind and, if Ragnar did not care for it, what did it matter?

‘You shouldn't fight among the men,' she said. ‘It's dangerous and I don't want you to be hurt.'

‘It's nothing I'm not used to, Elena,' he responded, starting to escort her back.

But she refused to be mollified. ‘You could die.'

‘Not always. Sometimes when blood is drawn, a victor is chosen.'

He made it sound as if there was nothing to fear. But she'd seen fights before and didn't delude herself into thinking that a man could walk away from every battle. ‘It isn't worth the broken ribs or the risk of dying,' she told him.

‘It's a way for me to earn a living. Unless you'd rather I went raiding with the others and left you here.' His palm touched her spine as he guided her through the people.

‘I don't want you to leave, no. But neither do I think you should wager your fighting against theirs.'

He didn't answer her at first. When they reached her house, Elena stopped. ‘Why are you doing this?'

‘Because I need the distraction.' His face turned fierce and she felt her body responding to his words, knowing exactly why he was distracted. Although he could fight to release the restless energy in him, she could not do the same. And with each day that passed, she found herself searching for a way to fill the hours.

‘Fighting is my skill, Elena. I'm not a merchant or a sailor. It's not who I am.'

She knew that and was well aware that he kept up his daily training to maintain strength and agility. In his eyes, she saw the stony pride. It wasn't doubt in his abilities. But this was about a risk she didn't want him to take.

‘Why don't you build houses?' she suggested. ‘You're strong and you have a good eye for it.'

‘No, you're the one with the eye for it,' he countered. ‘It's not what I want, Elena.'

She knew that, but it was the only thing she could think of. ‘I worry about you. I don't want you to be hurt.'

‘Is that the only reason?' he demanded. His voice deepened and she was caught up in the spell of his green eyes.

‘No,' she whispered.

Ragnar reached for her hand and she threaded her fingers with his. The warmth of his palm was a touch that pulled her deeper into an awareness of him.

‘I would never want anything to happen to you,' she said quietly. ‘And I want things to be as they once were between us.'

He pulled her closer, leaning in against her ear. ‘You already crossed the line,
søtnos
. It won't ever be the same.'

Her face coloured and she bit her lower lip. There was a new tension between them, now that Styr was gone. And it was entirely her fault, for seeking him out that night. No longer was there the easy sense of camaraderie between them. It felt as if she'd not only lost her husband, but she'd also lost her best friend.

‘Don't waste your pity on me,
kjære
. I'll do what I must to earn my way.'

‘It's not pity,' she insisted. And although he likely wanted to turn from her now, she wanted to confront him, to make him see the truth.

Elena opened the door and waited for him to follow. He hesitated, crossing his arms as if he had no desire to enter. But a moment later, he did.

The air within her home was cool, for the fire had died down. Yet the anger emanating from Ragnar was a fire in itself. He didn't want to be here; that much was clear.

Elena set down her basket and added a few bricks of peat to the hearth. The space had grown tighter somehow and she felt her skin rise with gooseflesh in memory of the other night. His silent stare was unnerving her right now.

‘I don't like fighting with you,' she said at last. ‘I used to be able to talk with you about anything. After all that's happened, I don't want to lose that.' She reached out to take his hand and his rough palm was warm against hers.

His expression remained dark and stoic. ‘You don't want a man like me, Elena.'

From deep inside, she found a courage she'd never expected. ‘But you want a woman like me. Don't you.' It wasn't a question. She kept her eyes locked upon him, daring him to walk away.

Ragnar stepped forwards, backing her against the wall. Instead of feeling cornered, she felt as if she'd fallen under his possession.

She didn't understand the power Ragnar held over her, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from him. Once again, the sudden ripple of awareness slid over her body, making her wonder what was happening between them.

‘I've always wanted a woman like you,' he murmured. ‘But you deserve better.'

‘I think you're afraid of me.' Another breathless flood of warmth passed over her. She didn't understand the stormy feelings, but she didn't want him to walk away now.

‘You don't owe me anything, Elena.'

She stared at him, realising that he was trying to push her away. He didn't want or need her opinions.

But this time, his words fired up more anger. She
did
care about what happened to him, whether he believed it or not. ‘I owe you my life,' she said. ‘You guarded me when we were both stranded and you saved me from the men who tried to attack me.'

She took a step forwards, adding, ‘Fighting to save lives is one matter. Fighting for profit is too grave a risk.' She softened her tone, trying to make him see. ‘I don't want anything to happen to you, Ragnar. You're—' She struggled to find the right words. ‘You're important to me.'

‘No.' He pulled her hands away from him, holding them fast. ‘You're only hurting after losing your husband. You want someone to take his place.'

Did he truly believe that? Elena frowned, because she didn't want another husband. She simply wanted Ragnar to be safe after all that they'd endured together. ‘That's not true.'

‘What about the other night when you came to me?' His gaze locked upon hers. ‘Did you think I wouldn't guess why you were there?'

His fury was seething and she'd had enough of his suspicions. ‘I came to you for comfort.' She stood up to him, adding, ‘I thought we were friends.'

‘I'm not your friend, Elena.' His voice cracked against the silence like a roll of thunder.

‘No,' she whispered.
You're more than that.

Anticipation heightened within her, the memories of his touch compelling her. He said nothing and she leaned back to look into his dark green eyes.

‘I feel as if I don't even know you,' she admitted. ‘Not the way I thought I did.'

‘You know exactly who I am.' His body tightened with tension. ‘And you know what I've done in the past.'

‘What happened to your father wasn't your fault.' Elena reached up to frame his face in her hands. ‘I don't blame you for it.'

Ragnar strode away from her, as if he didn't want her touch. He tossed his weapons, one by one on the table before he crossed over to her. ‘Don't make the mistake of believing I'm safe, Elena. When Styr was between us, honour kept my hands off you.' Slowly, he took her hand in his, leading her towards the bed. He pressed her back on the mattress, trapping her wrists with his hands until she lay beneath him. ‘I can't make that promise now.'

Her heartbeat slammed within her chest as she felt the evidence of his arousal pressed close. Her body responded instantly, flaring with needs she couldn't name. ‘You're trying to frighten me.' When he held her imprisoned in this way, she felt like a conquest of battle, about to be taken. But she was not afraid. Not of the man whom she knew would die before harming her.

Ragnar's eyes were like stone, his mouth a firm slash. He moved in lower until she felt the weight of his body against her.

She knew he was waiting for her to push him away. He was trying to provoke her into hatred and she could not name the reason. But she saw through his actions to the man who believed that he was worth nothing.

‘Tell me to leave you alone,' he demanded, while his mouth descended to the softness of her throat. A thousand shivers broke forth. Though she knew she should speak, no man save Ragnar had ever made her feel this way.

He was reaching past the years of hurt, pushing back the boundaries until she was made new again. She was weary of being made to feel that her body was only meant for childbearing and that she was a failure. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of his mouth.

‘It's too soon for this,' he said against her skin. He moved his hand up the hem of her skirt until his palm touched her bare skin. ‘If you let me touch you, you'll hate me for it.'

In spite of his dark anger, the merest pressure of his fingers sent her body into shock. He drew his hand between her thighs, his knuckles brushing against her intimate opening.

She was wet already, almost ashamed at how fast he'd made her respond. His expression was unyielding and she forced herself not to move. Ragnar fumbled with the ties of his leggings and, a moment later, she felt his arousal pressed against her.

‘Is this what you want from me?' he demanded. ‘To forget about Styr by using me?'