LITMIR.BIZ

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not be among them. They’d lost their freedom because he’d been unable to guard Elena. He would not allow them to lose their lives, as well.

      He rested his hand upon Onund’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. ‘You will be freed in the morning. This I swear, upon the blood of Odin.’ He met his kinsman’s gaze steadily, though inwardly, he didn’t know how he would achieve it. He needed to negotiate with Ivar for their release. To each of them, he gave one of the silver coins he’d won.

      Styr bade the men a good night, and when they’d gone, Ronan confronted him. ‘You’ve made plans, haven’t you?’

      ‘Plans to free them, yes.’ He said nothing more, knowing Ronan had not understood the Norse language.

      ‘And what about our sister? Or have you changed your mind about being her protector?’

      Styr evaded the question. ‘There are dozens of men, Irish even, who would make a better protector.’ Unmarried men, who can give her the kind of life She deserves, he didn’t say.

      Ronan’s blue eyes met his own. ‘I see the way she looks at you. She hasn’t looked at any man in that way, in over a year.’

      He had no response to give. It would be far better if Caragh saw him for what he was—a man bent upon vengeance and nothing else.

      ‘You look at her in the same manner,’ Ronan commented. ‘And given all the invasions, I think it would be wise to ally our men. You can live at Gall Tír, and we’ll join our forces together.’

      ‘There can be no alliance between Caragh and myself.’ No longer would he give the man false hopes. Ronan deserved the truth. ‘I’ll help you find your brother, while I search for the rest of my men,’ Styr told him. ‘Then we’ll go.’

      Ronan’s gaze turned cold. ‘You’re planning to break her heart, then.’

      ‘She’s always known that there would never be anything between us. I was her captive. I paid my debt when I saved her life. We’re even now.’

      ‘Then you’re nothing but a Lochlannach bastard,’ Ronan countered, reaching out towards his throat.

      Styr caught the man’s hand and shoved him against the back wall. Already his temper was stretched taut, and he needed no man to tell him what to do.

      ‘Don’t,’ Caragh protested, moving between them. When she pushed him back, there was a slight shift in her posture, almost as if she were afraid.

      And perhaps she should be. He let out a slow breath of air, not regretting what he’d said to Ronan. It was better to leave her be, so she could pursue her own future.

      Her dark hair was gathered over one shoulder, baring a slight glimpse of pale skin. In the firelight, he saw the gooseflesh rise upon it. Whether she was cold or uncomfortable at his presence, he didn’t know. But he handed her his own cloak and returned to the back of the room. Caragh dared to glance at him, and when she did, she pulled the cloak tightly around her.

      When he reached the far end of the longhouse, he made a sleeping place for himself. In his palm, he gripped his battleaxe, believing that it wasn’t at all safe in this house.

      Caragh sat in the darkness with her knees drawn up. She’d been unable to sleep, her mind caught up in worry. From across the room, she heard the whisper of footsteps approaching.

      ‘My lord bids you come to him,’ came the low voice of a female thrall. She spoke Irish well, but the command made Caragh’s skin tighten.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘He knows your dreams are troubled. He wishes to speak with you and offer you a spiced wine to help you sleep.’

      But Caragh held no trust towards Ivar. If he gave her a rich wine, it would only muddle her decisions more. From across the room, she spied him seated near a bronze oil lamp. Though he was shadowed, she sensed what he wanted from her.

      Around her shoulders, she wore Styr’s cloak, fastened with a silver brooch. Upon the heavy wool, she scented his presence, and it lent her comfort. She tightened her grip, knowing she could not obey the summons.

      She stood from her pallet, the fear creeping within her veins. Darkness enveloped the longhouse, but she did not follow the servant. The woman protested in a soft whisper, but Caragh ignored her. Instead, she tiptoed across the room, past her sleeping brothers, to the one man who did make her feel safe.

      Styr slept in the corner of the far end of the house. A battleaxe rested in one hand, and the moment she knelt down beside him, his eyes flew open.

      Caragh touched a finger to her lips, silently willing him not to speak. Without asking permission, she lay down beside him on the cold earth. She unpinned the brooch and loosened the cloak, reaching to place it over him.

      He moved towards her, his hard body against her own. ‘Why are you here, Caragh?’

      She turned her lips to his ear. ‘You were right about Ivar. He tried to summon me to him this night.’

      Styr sat up, his hand closing over the battleaxe. ‘Did he harm you?’ He kept his voice just above a whisper, but his tone was fierce.

      ‘No. But I didn’t believe it was safe to stay on the other side.’

      ‘It’s not safe here, either,’ he reminded her. ‘You should have gone to your brothers.’

      He was right. Being here wasn’t wise, but she couldn’t say what had drawn her to him. She didn’t understand the forbidden feelings he’d conjured or why she yearned to be at his side. But there had been no question in her mind that she would only find sleep if she lay beside him.

      ‘Do you want me to go?’ her hand rested upon the cool chainmail he hadn’t removed.

      Styr said nothing at all, but guided her to lie back down. Her heartbeat trebled at his nearness and all the silent reasons why he hadn’t sent her away. Their bodies didn’t touch, but she felt the cold earth against her as she tried to sleep.

      ‘Keep the cloak,’ he said. ‘You’re cold.’

      ‘So are you,’ she whispered, ignoring the command.

      But a moment later, he dragged her to rest beside him, her back resting against his chest. ‘Little fool.’ With one hand, he adjusted the cloak until it covered both of them.

      But closing her eyes didn’t shut out the feelings he evoked inside her. Beneath the cloak, though his skin was cool, she sensed it warming against her. She was torn between moving away from him, and craving the heat of his body.

      Go to sleep, she ordered herself. She’d come to him only for sanctuary. Not to awaken any dangerous, forbidden feelings.

      As she lay against him, she relived the moment of Ivar’s kiss. It had been sensual, yes. But it had not taken possession of her, the way Styr’s had. With this man, she’d lost sight of herself. She’d been unable to think or breathe.

      Rolling over to her side, she saw that he was not sleeping, either. His dark eyes were staring at her with an expression she didn’t understand. In the softest whisper, she murmured, ‘This was a mistake, wasn’t it?’

      Styr didn’t answer. Time hung between them, the seconds passing into a minute. In the end, he sat up and tucked the cloak around her before rising to his feet. He stood against the wall, watching over her like a silent sentry.

      The gathering was a blend of Norse and the Irish, led by a council of men. Caragh remained at the side of her brothers, though she felt the gaze of Styr upon her.

      He had kept vigil over her for the rest of the night, though her dreams had been troubled. She’d woken up once in a silent scream, imagining her brother lying dead, blood spilling from his throat. Her heart had pounded, and Styr had laid a hand over her shoulder to reassure her that it was nothing. But she refused to tell him of the vision.

      Her mind was torn apart, wanting desperately

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