Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (43 page)

Not the face of his friend or a young child. Not the face of Elena. He drew up his knees, covering his face with his hands to let go of the terrible dream.

Last night, after he'd made love to her, they had both dressed again and slept beside Matheus. He hadn't slept that soundly in months.

‘You wouldn't have hurt me,' Elena said gently. But when Ragnar dared to look at her, he saw that the boy was inching away. Matheus traced his fingers over the surface of the wall, as if he didn't trust him. Given how close the boy had come to being beheaded, that wasn't surprising.

Ragnar exhaled slowly, rising to his feet. ‘I should go and see about the boat.'

Elena stepped in front of him. ‘Wait.' Her arms came around his waist and she embraced him hard. It was likely meant to reassure him, but though he squeezed her in return, he couldn't help but remember what he'd done.

You're not trustworthy. You could have killed her without opening your eyes.

‘I'm going to take you back to Hordafylke,' he said. ‘Some of our kinsmen may come, but we'll likely need a crew to sail with us.'

‘I already told you, that isn't where I want to go.'

‘It's where you'll be safe.' He turned his back to go outside and wasn't at all surprised when she followed him.

‘Am I a child now, who needs to return to her parents?' she demanded. Her green eyes flashed with anger. ‘What makes you believe I'll go there willingly?'

‘You don't have a choice.'

‘And when did you decide you wanted to be rid of me?' Her face darkened with embarrassment and she took him by the hand, leading him back inside his house. The interior was dark, but she was right—this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with so many around them.

She gripped her hands into fists at her sides. ‘Was it that bad last night when I shared your bed? Are you so eager to leave me now?' Her face was crimson and he couldn't believe she'd think such a thing.

‘No.'

Elena picked up a cloth and dipped it in a bucket of water. Without thinking, she began scouring the table.

‘I don't think you need to clean just now.' He took a step back, planning to return to the waterfront. ‘Not when we'll be travelling soon.'

She threw the wet cloth at him and it struck him in the chest. ‘I don't understand you at all. Last night, I thought we could...be together. That you cared about me.'

His chest tightened, and it took an effort to hold his silence. Though he wanted to be with her, to love her as he had all his life, he didn't trust himself.

‘Were you using me last night?' she whispered. ‘Were you trying to prove yourself better than Styr?'

The words enraged him. ‘No.' He unsheathed his weapon and tossed it down on the table. ‘But I was caught up in you.' He reached to the nape of her neck and guided her to the centre of his house. ‘This morn, I remembered who I am.' He pointed down to the earthen floor. ‘I'm a warrior who kills, Elena. And the other night when Matheus's father died, I nearly struck down the boy.'

She went pale at that, as he'd wanted her to.

‘Your eyes were closed,' he went on. ‘You didn't see when I raised my weapon to kill the man. I swung hard, just as the boy came up behind him. I nearly killed Matheus when I tried to slay his father.'

‘But you didn't,' she said, a moment later. Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘You held back your weapon.'

‘I might not have.' He wanted her to be afraid, to understand that he had not been in control of himself. One misstep, and the boy would have been dead.

‘Stop it,' she said. ‘Just stop.' Elena moved forwards and grabbed his tunic with both hands. ‘You would never hurt me or Matheus. Not in a thousand years.'

‘My own father died at my hands, when I got angry,' he pointed out. ‘I couldn't stop myself then.' Though he'd never intended to harm Olaf, there was no denying that the man had died only days after their fight.

‘He didn't die because of you.' Elena relaxed her hold upon him and forced him to look at her. ‘He was drinking too much and he was weak of heart.'

But still Ragnar blamed himself. Though his father had beaten him often, he knew the man had been torn apart by grief. Olaf had numbed the pain by drinking too much mead and he'd lost the man he'd been.

His father's blood ran within him and Ragnar couldn't know if, one day, the battle lust would turn him against those he loved.

‘You cannot blame yourself,' Elena said. ‘I trust you with my life.'

He reached out to touch her face, tangling his hands in her hair. ‘But I don't trust myself. Even this morning, I could have hurt you without knowing it.'

She covered his hands with her own, her eyes bright with tears. ‘You're wrong. I see the man you are. And I intend to follow where my heart leads.'

She leaned up to kiss him, but Ragnar pressed his mouth against her forehead. ‘Not this time,
søtnos
.
'

Though it tore him apart, he would endure the heartache of losing her, if it meant keeping her safe. He'd become a man he didn't recognise, a fighter who had taken too many lives.

He let go of her and opened the door, only to see Matheus standing outside it. In his arms, the boy held his puppy. For the first time, he met Ragnar's gaze steadily.

‘Go inside,' he bade the boy. ‘Your mother needs you to help her pack your belongings for the journey.'

Chapter Eighteen

E
lena held herself together by strength of will, though she was furious with Ragnar. How could he think she would stand back and let him go? Her heart was bleeding at the loss of this man who had been with her from the very beginning.

She should have known that the easy friendship she'd found with him was what she'd needed all along. And when she'd pushed past friendship, he'd taught her that she wasn't as cold as she had once believed. With Ragnar, every touch stirred her senses, making her yield to his pleasure.

There was more at play here, more he hadn't said. But she knew that when she'd startled him from sleep, his reaction had shaken him.

It didn't bother her, for she'd known he would never hurt her. Neither did his confession about Matheus cause her any concern. He had stopped his sword the moment he'd spied the boy.

But she was so confused about what to do now. Matheus was chasing his puppy around the room and, for the first time, she heard him laugh. The sudden burst of joy caught at her heart and when she neared him, the boy threw his arms around her waist.

It was exactly what she needed right now. His small embrace broke down the barrier of tears she'd held back. Elena swung him up on her hip, striding away from everyone else. This boy, her adopted son, had taken a large piece of her broken heart and had begun to mend it. Though she might never bear a child of her own flesh and blood, she still had him. And for now, it was enough. She held him close, weeping silently.

She needed time to think, to sort through the confusing emotions that plagued her. Her footsteps led her towards Agata once again, needing the woman's friendship and advice. She set Matheus down, holding his hand while the puppy trailed behind them. He found a gnarled stick upon the ground and handed it to her as if it were a blossom of heather.

‘Thank you,' she told him, leaning down to the boy. In answer, he wiped the wetness from her cheeks.

By the gods, this child was an answer to her prayers. She hugged him again, so grateful for his quiet presence. He was a gift she'd never expected. A son, not from her body, but one who was, none the less, a part of her heart.

‘We need to convince Ragnar to stay with us,' she told him solemnly, not knowing whether or not the boy understood. ‘I am going to talk to Agata for a while and you may play with her children.'

The boy's expression never changed, but she took his hand in hers and continued walking towards her friend's house.

* * *

‘Ragnar is going to leave,' Elena told her friend. ‘He's decided he wants me to return to Hordafylke, to stay with my family.'

Agata's gaze turned pensive. ‘Isn't that just like a man? Believing he knows what's best for a woman.' She handed Elena a cup of mead and added, ‘Has he been unkind to you?'

She shook her head, explaining what had happened with Matheus and herself this morn. ‘It's as if he believes he has no right to be happy with me. I don't know how to convince him to try.'

‘Do you love him?' Agata asked.

Elena grew quiet, afraid to think of it. Her head warned that it was far too soon after divorcing Styr. She had no right to love someone else.

And yet...Ragnar had been there beside her from the beginning. He'd saved her life upon the island and had fought to protect her. The thought of never seeing him again went deeper than the loss of a friend. She couldn't even imagine the pain and loneliness.

‘Yes,' she whispered. ‘I do love him.'

‘Then fight,' Agata urged. ‘Stop thinking the way a woman would and think in the manner of a warrior. Don't allow him to command you.'

An idea took root within Elena, one that was not at all something she would have considered in the past. But she wanted this man and wasn't about to stand in the shadows and let him dictate her life.

She told Agata her plan and the woman brightened. ‘It's perfect, Elena.'

‘He'll be so angry with me.'

‘If he cares at all about you, that won't matter. In the end, he'll be glad that you brought him to his senses.'

She hesitated, so afraid that it wouldn't work. Before she could voice a protest, Agata intervened. ‘You already know what to do, Elena. Now give me Matheus to watch over and go do what you must.'

* * *

He didn't go to the waterfront, as he'd thought he would. Instead, Ragnar found himself back near the fighting matches, watching the men as they struck hard at each other with their fists. The roar of the crowd and the cries of men wagering on the match filled his ears, but he held back.

One of the fighters could hardly be more than seven and ten. Lean and untested, the young man reeled when the older man struck him across the jaw. Ragnar held steady, watching. It was as if he were viewing himself, years ago, when his father had hit him.

He'd been punished for anything and everything. And when men like Elena's father had claimed Ragnar wasn't good enough for his daughter, it had been easy enough to believe. If his own father saw him as worthless, why wouldn't anyone else?

But Elena had never seen him in that way.

The young boy was on the ground now, his shoulders hunched over as the blows came. Ragnar's fists tightened with the desire to interfere, though he knew he could not.

Elena had tried to save him from this. She'd never once treated him as less than a man. And when they'd been stranded together, he'd discovered what he'd feared all along—that the attraction to her went far deeper than he'd ever imagined.

He knew he was a poor substitute for Styr, but last night, she had given herself freely, wanting him. She'd granted him a taste of immortality in her arms, a glimpse of the afterworld.

The honourable path was to let her go, to take her home again. But the warrior within him wanted to damn the consequences and claim Elena for his own. He wanted every night in her arms, seeking only to worship her.

Dimly, he was aware of others watching him. They knew how many matches he'd won and several glared at him for the wagers they'd lost.

‘I know you,' one said. ‘You're one of the fighters.'

Ragnar's hand moved to his sword, eyeing the man with wariness. ‘I didn't come here today to fight.'

‘But you will,' came another voice. ‘You murdered my brother Vakri and stole his son.'

The crowd of people had fallen quiet and the earlier fighting match had ceased. The young man stumbled away, his face and hands covered in blood.

‘Vakri tried to kill my woman. I defended her life and took his.' Ragnar unsheathed his sword. ‘I will pay the required body price, when judgement is passed.'

The man unsheathed his weapon, his dark eyes holding the promise of vengeance. From behind him, Ragnar saw others surrounding them with their own weapons at the ready. They were men who had lost silver, men who wanted their own retribution.

‘I don't want your silver,' the man said, gripping a battleaxe. ‘I want your head.'

* * *

Elena had finished preparing her home, but there was no sign of Ragnar. Although he wouldn't like what she'd done, she hoped to convince him to stay with her. She would no longer be the quiet, meek woman to stand aside and do what she was told.

No, she was a Norsewoman with power of her own. The blood of warriors ran through her veins and she would stand up for what she wanted.

But the longer time went on, the more worried she grew. What if he had already left? Although he'd said he would escort her away from Dubh Linn, something might have happened.

When there came a knock at her door, she opened it, only to see Agata standing there. ‘It's Matheus,' she said, her face mirroring Elena's fear. ‘He slipped away and we can't find him.'

Fear roiled inside her, that someone else had taken the boy. Elena seized a blade to arm herself. ‘And what of Ragnar? Has anyone seen him?'

Agata shook her head slowly.

Freya help me
, Elena prayed. Terror mingled with determination to find both of them. She didn't know what had happened, but she wasn't about to stand by and weep.

To Agata, she ordered, ‘Find Hring and tell him to bring several of our kinsmen to help me search.'

She prayed that no one would harm Matheus or Ragnar. It didn't matter that he was not her sworn husband. He belonged to her in every sense of the word, just as Matheus was her adopted son. And by the gods, she intended to fight for her family.

* * *

The haze of bloodlust possessed him as Ragnar swung his blade. He was surrounded by men who wanted him dead, but he would not go down without taking several with him.

He let the wrath consume him, transforming him into an instrument of Death. His sword bit into flesh, but he heard no screams. He was lost in the moment, unaware of anything save raw instinct.

A blade sliced his arm, but it was only a scratch to him. There was no pain, no sense of anything, except the need to survive.

Until he saw the boy.

Awareness jolted back into him when he saw Matheus walking alone to the centre of the fighting ring. The boy continued moving towards him, heedless of the fighting.

‘Get back!' Ragnar ordered, his voice hoarse as he cried out. But the boy did not understand his words, as each step brought him closer.

Soon Matheus would walk in the midst of the fighters and his life would be forfeit.

A renewed surge of purpose filled Ragnar, as he cut down one man, then the next. He held up a hand to Matheus, willing the boy to stay in place. He seized a shield from one of the fallen men, swinging his sword wide.

He kept his gaze fixed upon his enemies as he took slow steps towards the boy. ‘Go home,' he ordered. But once again, the child did not heed his words. Instead, he ran forwards to Ragnar and stood beside him, facing the men.

Thor's bones, the last thing he wanted was a child caught in the middle. But then it occurred to him—he'd ceased fighting the moment he'd seen Matheus. The battle lust had not taken away his awareness the way he'd thought it would.

He drew the boy behind him, handing him the shield. ‘Hold this and don't let go.'

The presence of Matheus did nothing to deter his attackers. Instead, the man who had named himself Matheus's uncle had a thin smile upon his face, as if he'd been waiting for a distraction like this.

‘You can't win,' he said smoothly. ‘There are too many of us.'

‘Tell that to the men who are already dead,' Ragnar countered. He raised his sword and the blade was covered in blood.

‘Lay down your weapon and we'll let the boy go,' his enemy said.

But there was no trusting a man like this. He would say what he wanted to and the lies held no meaning. If Ragnar dared to set down his weapon, he and Matheus would die.

One slashed his battleaxe towards the boy and Ragnar spun, deflecting the blow. Though he knew the odds were not in his favour, he would do all that he could.

And then he heard Elena's scream.