Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (38 page)

He'd let her use him. He had savoured the night with her, feeling her body sheathing him.

But she didn't love him. The act was a means of easing physical desire, but nothing more. It burned him that he'd sunk to those depths. And though he wanted her still, it felt like a betrayal of his friendship with Styr.

He continued fighting, meeting his opponent blow for blow. Metal clanged as their weapons struck hard—he used the fight as a means of releasing the sexual frustration.

Elena didn't know the man he was. He'd been careful to shield his darker side, never wanting her to know this part of him. Blinding rage tore through him as he continued the fight. He struck out at the memory of the adolescent who hadn't been good enough for Elena or her father. His forearms strained while he ruthlessly slashed down the memories of his father's temper. As a boy, he'd been unable to fight back against the man who had sired him.

But he could fight now.

He lost himself in a haze of violence, his muscles straining, sweat rolling down his cheeks.

Not good enough
, the blade seemed to chant.

Not good enough.

A battle cry tore from his lips, and he was dimly aware that the crowds were roaring their approval.

Until his blade sliced through flesh and bone.

Thor's blood, he'd never meant the fight to go this far. His opponent was on the ground, writhing in pain, trying to stanch the blood with his hand.

Ragnar took the silver, but the weight of it seemed to burden his soul. He'd cut down another man for this—a man who'd done nothing except challenge him to a fight.

Elena believed he was worth more, but that wasn't true. He was a man of violence, one who could never give her the life she deserved. He couldn't allow himself to believe for a moment that she actually cared about him. He might as well bare his beating heart to her.

Then he would become the warrior who let down his guard for a single moment, only to have his lifeblood spill out.

* * *

Elena didn't see Ragnar at all that night or most of the next morning. Though she suspected he was still fighting for silver, the last thing she wanted was to watch him risk his life. It angered her that he would not relent—that he believed she valued wealth over his safety.

The resentment was growing stronger and she decided a distraction was best. She wanted to find out more about the starving boy Matheus, who had run from her. Her friend, Agata Mánisdotter, might know. Agata was acquainted with most of the Norse who lived in Dubh Linn, and it was possible that she knew where the boy lived. Perhaps the child's parents were unwell. Or he could be suffering from neglect at their hands.

Ragnar had endured the same as a boy. Despite her attempts to help him leave his father, he'd refused. Nothing Elena said or did had changed his mind and it had bothered her to see a close friend suffer at the hands of a man who should have taken care of his son.

Now that it was unlikely she could bear children of her own, it infuriated her all the more to see boys like Matheus suffer from a lack of food or shelter. Something had to be done.

Her footsteps carried her down the pathway leading to Agata's house and when she saw the tall blond-haired woman holding a bucket of water, her friend sent her a knowing look. ‘It's been too long since I've seen you, Elena,' Agata remarked. ‘Come inside and tell me everything.' She opened the door and Elena stepped inside gratefully.

The interior of the house was a wonderful mess of unwashed dishes, scattered clothing and children. Without asking, Elena scooped up Agata's youngest son, who was barely six moons of age. The baby gurgled and grasped a handful of her hair, babbling nonsense words.

The thought of spilling out all of her troubles was a welcome relief and Elena sat down while Agata ordered the rest of the children to go out and play.

‘I heard about what happened between you and Styr,' her friend said. ‘I'm sorry for it.'

Elena ignored the tightness in her stomach at the thought of her failed marriage and nodded. ‘It was the right thing to do. Styr loved someone else in a way he never loved me.'

She rubbed the baby's soft back and Agata brought her a cup of mead. ‘And I suppose now you're wishing you could kill the woman for stealing your man.'

‘No, I wouldn't want that, but—' She stopped short, realising that her friend was right. The muddled feelings inside her were more than just sadness. There was anger and frustration, too. She'd been married for five years, only to have her husband fall in love with someone else.

Then she'd turned to Ragnar for comfort, only to be pushed away from him. He'd offered to send her back to Norway, as if that would make her feel better.

Anger such as she'd never known was starting to take hold, like a flame coursing through oil. ‘Or maybe you're right. I would like to knock Styr in the head for the way he made me feel.' And Ragnar as well, she thought. He'd claimed to want her, only to distance himself after she'd given herself to him.

Elena glanced down at the baby, whose blue eyes were staring at her. ‘I suppose that's awful of me to think such a thing.'

Agata raised her own cup in a mock toast. ‘You could dig his heart out with a sharp stick. That's what I'd do if my husband dared to look at another woman. I'd end
him
before I'd let him end our marriage.'

Elena only smiled. The baby was starting to fall asleep and she went to put him down. ‘Agata, what's wrong with me? I keep asking myself what I could have done to make Styr love me.'

Her hand started to shake and she forced herself to take a deep sip of the mead. ‘I did everything I could to be a good wife to him. I shared his bed, I kept his house clean—'

‘It's unnatural, the way you clean,' Agata interrupted. ‘But even so, I'll agree with you. You were right to divorce him and let him go off to that
skjøge
.'

‘He claims he never touched her.' Elena sighed. ‘I imagine she's a good woman. Even if she did take him captive.'

Agata's eyes gleamed. ‘She did what?'

Elena shrugged. ‘I believe Styr was chained up for a few days in her house.'

Her friend started to laugh. ‘By the goddess, I believe I would have paid gold to see that. Can you imagine how furious he must have been?'

‘He wants to wed her!' Elena blurted out. ‘After all that she did to him, he's in love with her. I gave him everything and he fell in love with a woman who locked him up!' Her rage flooded through her until she clenched her fists.

A snort escaped Agata. ‘Perhaps the Irishwoman had a good idea with that one.'

Elena didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but when her friend began to smirk she buried her face in her hands. ‘And then I seduced Ragnar.'

Her friend let out a snort of laughter. ‘That's the first sensible thing you've done, then. Ragnar is a wickedly handsome man and he would do anything you asked.'

Elena didn't doubt it, but that was one thing she wished she'd never asked of him. ‘Now
he
wants nothing to do with me,' she said, her gaze passing over the sleeping infant. ‘Perhaps I'm behaving like a
skjøge
.' She winced at the thought.

‘I don't think so.' Agata patted her shoulder. She tilted her head to one side, studying Elena. ‘After your husband did that to you, it's only natural that you'd want a man to feel better about yourself.'

‘It was a stupid impulse and it will never happen again,' Elena said. She should never have let her body's needs outweigh common sense. ‘I don't even know why I seduced him.'

Agata glanced down at her sleeping baby and sent her a rueful smile. ‘Because it was fun?'

Elena's face turned crimson, not wanting to answer that. ‘He's been avoiding me ever since. I shouldn't have done it.'

‘He's guilty,' Agata predicted. ‘There's not a man alive who doesn't enjoy a woman who seduces him. And if you've the desire to take him to your bed, that's your choice.'

‘I don't know what I want,' she admitted. For so long, all the decisions in her life had been made for her. Her father had arranged the marriage to Styr when she was hardly more than seven and ten. She'd never questioned it. And then her former husband had made the decision to come here.

‘You have time enough,' Agata reassured her. ‘And you are fortunate to have no one to answer to but yourself. There are days when I would love to walk through that door and never come back, especially when the children are whining and crying.'

‘Even if I never wed again, I
do
want to be surrounded by children,' Elena said. It reminded her of her purpose in coming here and she told Agata what she had seen that morning. After describing Matheus to the woman, she added, ‘He looks half starved. I want to find his home and see if anyone is taking care of him.'

Agata eyed her for a moment. ‘He's not like other boys, Elena. They call him simple-minded.'

She had guessed as much, when he'd been tracing his hand along the walls. Which meant he needed help even more than the others.

‘I want to see where he lives,' she insisted.

Agata shrugged. ‘I'll show you, then.'

When they stepped outside, Agata called her oldest daughter to come and watch the baby. Then she took Elena's arm in hers, and they began walking towards another part of the city.

She followed Agata through the quadrants of longhouses, past the Irish dwellings on the other side. They passed the wealthier homes and moved into the shadowed part of the city where Ragnar had taken her the other morning.

The houses were closer together and the scent of earth and human waste mingled in an unpleasant way. Elena moved her hand to the small knife she carried with her and she glanced back at her friend. ‘I don't think we should be here without an escort.'

Agata shrugged. ‘It isn't far. But you did say you wanted to know where he lived. It's just over there.' She pointed to a small dwelling on the far side. The roof thatch appeared to be rotting and Elena didn't like the look of the place.

‘He doesn't speak,' Agata continued. ‘He never has, from what I've heard.'

Elena's hands tightened at her sides and she suspected she would not like what she discovered when she reached the boy's home. ‘Is he Irish?'

Her friend shook her head. ‘He's Norse, like us. But they built their home further away from the others.'

When they reached the door, a sudden rise of nerves took hold in Elena's stomach. ‘How old is he?'

‘Six or seven, as far as I can tell.' Agata led her to a rectangular dwelling that was shadowed. Her friend stopped outside the door, looking upset. ‘When I came this far the last time, they were beating him. I wanted to stop it from happening, but I was alone.' Her face reddened, as if she were embarrassed that she had done nothing.

Elena knocked lightly on the door, but no one answered. Inside the house, she overheard the sound of water splashing. At first, she thought it might be someone washing, but a choking noise caught her attention.

An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach when there was another loud splash. Something was very wrong.

Instinct made Elena throw the door open, only to see a woman holding Matheus's head under the water. She was trying to drown him.

Elena didn't stop to think—she threw herself at the woman and pulled her off the boy, dragging him out of the water. He was choking and coughing, his face nearly blue from lack of air.

‘What are you doing?' she demanded, though she already knew the answer.

The woman glared at her. ‘He's cursed by the gods. Nothing but an empty-headed fool who can't do anything. He should have died when he was born.'

‘And now you're trying to kill him?' Elena was aghast at the thought. ‘He's just a boy.' She went over to Matheus, who was on his hands and knees, water dripping down his matted hair. He wouldn't look at her, nor did he speak.

‘He won't obey and I've had my fill of it. No one will foster one such as him.'

Elena touched the boy's shoulder, but he wouldn't look at her. He sat upon the dirt floor and had wrapped his arms around his knees. He was trembling hard. In the corner, an older dog whimpered, his tail thumping the ground.

His mother opened the door wider. ‘If you're wanting to take him, do it now before my husband returns.'

The boy appeared in a state of shock and he seemed younger than the age of seven. His arms were thin and bony. Bruises covered his small frame and a few cuts had scabbed over on his legs. She couldn't even tell the colour of his eyes.

‘I will take him,' Elena heard herself saying. ‘But he won't come back to you when he's grown. Not after you tried to drown him.'

‘I don't care what happens to him.' The woman spat on the ground. ‘If you want a boy who's naught but trouble, I won't be sorry. He's just a mouth to feed. He'll never be of any use to anyone.'

Elena glanced back at Agata, who was still waiting outside. Her friend peered inside and asked, ‘Do you need my help?'

She wasn't certain. Though she hoped the boy would come of his own accord, he might cry or scream if she tried to touch him. Gently, as if approaching a wounded animal, Elena said, ‘I'm going to pick you up and you'll come with us now. We won't harm you, I promise.'

He didn't protest when she lifted him up and he was so light, she could hardly believe he'd been fed at all. Possibly he hadn't.

Agata held the door for her, not speaking a word. Elena's heart was heavy as she turned her back on the boy's mother, but there was a renewed sense of purpose. She would take the boy home and look after him, teaching him that cruelty did not have to be a part of his life.

‘My name is Elena Karlsdotter,' she told him.