LITMIR.BIZ

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calm herself. She was aware of him watching her, but she tried to ignore his gaze.

      ‘Why did they leave you here?’ he asked. ‘Don’t your brothers believe in protecting their women?’

      She pulled at the comb, not looking at him. Aye, she did feel uncertainty at her future and a sense of hurt that they’d gone off without her. But she wouldn’t reveal it to him. ‘I can care for myself.’

      ‘Can you?’ He eyed her, and beneath his gaze, she felt embarrassment at her thinness.

      ‘I haven’t given up hope. My brothers will return, and—’

      ‘—and you’ll starve in the meantime.’ His scorn irritated her, for he behaved as if she weren’t lifting a finger. ‘The women of my country would be out hunting for food, scouring the land instead of waiting at home.’ He gave a shrug, and his diffidence infuriated her. ‘But then, you’re Irish.’

      How did he dare to mock her, when she’d given up her own share of food on his behalf?

      ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.

      He only sent her a sardonic look, as if she could guess which insult he’d implied. Aye, she might not be a sword-wielding warrior, but she wasn’t weak. Not by half.

      She glared hard at his unsympathetic face, wondering how he dared to criticise her. ‘What would you have me do, were you in my place?’

      ‘Leave. Find a man to protect you and care for you if your brothers won’t take the responsibility.’

      ‘Sell myself, you mean.’ Though he might be right, she hated the thought of giving her body in exchange for survival. She’d rather die.

      ‘You wouldn’t have to sell yourself,’ he said. His dark eyes fastened upon hers, his voice deepening. ‘Most men are weak when it comes to women in need. And you’ve a fair enough face.’

      Though his words were spoken with no innuendo, she felt herself blushing. It wasn’t at all true. The men in her tribe wanted a demure, modest woman who rarely talked. Not one who spoke her mind and questioned everything.

      ‘I’d rather survive using my wits,’ she admitted. She stepped backwards, adding, ‘And if I’m to find any more food for us in the morning, we should both get some sleep.’

      ‘If you set me free tonight, you won’t have to feed me at all,’ he pointed out.

      She ignored the suggestion. ‘I can’t do that.’

      ‘Because you’re too afraid?’

      ‘I captured you, didn’t I?’ she shot back. ‘I doubt if any of your women could say the same.’

      ‘Only because I was unconscious,’ he admitted. ‘In my homeland, many wanted to capture me, but only one other succeeded.’

      His wife, he meant. Caragh crossed her arms and stared at him. ‘She must have the patience of a saint, then.’ Putting up with a man of such arrogance would be a true test of any woman.

      ‘She likes me well enough,’ was his answer. But she caught a sense of brooding in his tone. Almost a reluctance to speak of Elena.

      ‘I hope you find her,’ Caragh said quietly, ‘and that she’s unharmed when you do.’ It was the truth. She’d seen the agony on the woman’s face when Caragh had struck down her husband. She didn’t want to be the cause of any suffering between them.

      Styr stood up again and stepped forwards, testing the length of his chains. ‘Oh, I will find her,’ he warned.

      His brown eyes turned foreboding with a violent edge. ‘But I’m not going to wait around to be murdered by your brothers. One morning, you’ll awaken, and I’ll be gone.’

       Chapter Three

      The hours spent alone were gruelling. Not only was Styr’s stomach snarling from lack of food, but Caragh had been gone from sunrise until evening. It was as if she were seeking revenge for his earlier remark about the women of his country. This time, she had indeed left him alone all day. He’d used the time to study his chains, trying to determine how the manacles were fastened. It seemed they were attached with iron pins, ones that could only be removed with a hammer and an awl.

      He’d tried to kick at the support beam to loosen it, but to no avail. His wrists were bloody after trying to squeeze his hands through the manacles, and again, it was no use.

      Never in his life had he been any man’s captive, let alone a woman’s. Though Caragh might eventually free him, it wouldn’t be soon enough to suit him. Elena was at the mercy of those men, and although they’d had their marital troubles, she was still his wife. He was bound to protect her, and he couldn’t stop until he’d freed her.

      The image of Elena’s face haunted him with the fear that she’d been dishonoured or hurt. A man protects his woman, his father had said, time and again. He is merciless to those who threaten her.

      Styr turned to face the top of his post. There was a way to free himself, if he was willing to destroy Caragh’s dwelling. He studied the structure, at the way the beam supported the house. It was possible…

      Where was Caragh now? Was she even planning to return? His mouth was parched with thirst, and the water in the bucket on the far side of the room seemed to taunt him.

      The door swung open, and a younger man entered the hut. His mouth curved in a sneer. ‘So, this is Caragh’s new pet. I heard she captured a Lochlannach.’

      Styr said nothing at all, pretending he didn’t understand a single word. Even so, he adjusted his stance, in case he needed to fight.

      ‘Why is she keeping you here? Does she need a man that badly?’ His enemy circled him, as if taking his measure. From his stance and the possessive tone, Styr suspected the man desired Caragh, but she’d spurned him.

      ‘She shouldn’t have kept you alive, Loch­ lannach.’ Rage coloured the man’s voice as he unsheathed a blade. ‘You killed our kinsmen.’

      Styr never took his eyes off his enemy, for he had only one opportunity to save himself. He gathered up the chains until there was no slack and they were locked tight against the wooden beam.

      The man raised his knife, the blade slashing downwards towards his heart. Styr gripped the post and swung his legs out, tripping the man. The edge of the blade caught his leg, but the cut was shallow.

      He locked his legs around the man’s neck, squeezing until the man began to choke. A coldness settled within him, with the bitter resignation that he had no alternative—it was this man’s life or his own. Seconds ticked by and his enemy’s muscles grew limp.

      A moment later, the door flew open. Caragh ran forwards. ‘No! Release him!’

      Styr held on until the man lost consciousness. ‘Would you have rather he killed me?’ He struggled to his feet, ignoring the blood that ran down his leg.

      She paled at the sight. Her gaze shifted to the other man, and her emotions held a trace of regret.

      Taking the fallen knife, she hid it among her possessions, leaving both of them weaponless. When the man started to revive, Caragh helped him to his feet. Quietly, she ordered, ‘Leave my home, Kelan.’

      The look in the man’s eyes was murderous. His voice was hoarse as he gritted out, ‘Why did you save him? He doesn’t deserve to live, Caragh.’

      ‘Go,’ she repeated. ‘He is my prisoner, not yours.’ Though she kept her voice calm, Styr sensed her unease with the man.

      Kelan’s gaze swept over her, lingering over her body. ‘You’re not safe with him.’

      She shielded her thoughts, her violet eyes growing cold. ‘It’s no longer your concern.’

      A dark flush came over Kelan’s

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