smaller pieces that he could use to form crutches. Once she realised
what he was doing, Elena gave him the use of her tools and said, ‘Wait here. I
have something that will help.’
Ragnar began shaping the crutches, using notches to fit the top
piece into the bottom poles. He tied them together with some strips of leather.
After a short time, Elena returned with more leather and the leftover fur of a
rabbit she’d skinned a day ago. ‘You can use this for padding,’ she offered,
arranging the fur and leather on top of the crutches.
While she helped him, he ventured, ‘How are you feeling? Any
sickness?’
She finished tying down the fur and shrugged. ‘The same,
really. Sometimes I forget about the baby, because it’s still too early to feel
movement.’ Her hand moved down to her womb and her face grew wistful. ‘I can’t
wait to hold him for the first time in my arms. Or her.’
The joy on Elena’s face took away all of the tension in her and
she smiled openly. By the blood of Freya, she stole his breath. Her sea-green
eyes held him spellbound, while her fiery golden hair tangled around her face.
He wished again that it was his unborn child, and
not Styr’s, growing within her. But the child was a fervent reminder that she
did not, and would not, ever belong to him.
Still, he thought it strange that she’d experienced so few
symptoms. His sisters had shared with him their own woes, often in more detail
than he wanted. Sometimes, he wondered if it was true at all that Elena was
pregnant.
She believed it, and he would say nothing to diminish her joy.
But it was so early...women often miscarried or discovered their mistake.
His conscience berated him for even thinking such a thing.
Elena and Styr had waited a long time for a child. She wanted it desperately and
regardless of the jealousy within him, he hoped all would go well. ‘I’m going to
go look around the shore to see if there are any ships,’ he told her. He needed
a few moments to clear his head and remind himself that he had to forget about
this woman.
‘All right.’ But after he took the crutches, Elena turned back
to her work as if it were the most fascinating task imaginable.
Though she behaved as if there was nothing wrong, he saw the
dark flush against her cheeks. There was a barely discernible change in Elena,
as if she, too, sensed that the next few days were going to test their
honour.
Chapter Eight
S he dreamed of him that night.
In her vision, the fires of a battlefield raged, while the scent of death hovered around them. Bodies littered the ground and the carrion birds swooped overhead. The Viking warrior rode towards her, searching. His helm covered his face and his armour was stained with the blood of his enemies.
He was like a god of war, coming to claim her.
The warrior’s eyes locked upon her as he rode through the carnage. He reached down and Elena went willingly, knowing that she was his prize of war.
Her heart pounded when he drew her up in front of him on the horse. From behind her, she could feel the iron muscles of his chest, the powerful thighs surrounding her legs. His body held the caged restlessness of a predator, and he rode hard across the field, taking her miles away from the battle.
Until they were alone.
The small thatched hut was hardly any shelter at all, but when she went inside, hot coals glowed in the hearth. The air was warm with anticipation, and his cold eyes stared at her with unfettered lust.
‘Remove your clothing.’
Fear balled in her throat, along with the need to refuse. But before she could speak, he turned his back and removed the iron helm, then his chainmail corselet and gloves.
Her pulse quickened at the sight of his bared skin, for she knew why she was here. What he wanted from her.
Elena turned towards the fire, her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.
‘Obey me,’ came his husky voice.
In this place, she belonged to him. She was his to command and she revelled in the desire to
what he was doing, Elena gave him the use of her tools and said, ‘Wait here. I
have something that will help.’
Ragnar began shaping the crutches, using notches to fit the top
piece into the bottom poles. He tied them together with some strips of leather.
After a short time, Elena returned with more leather and the leftover fur of a
rabbit she’d skinned a day ago. ‘You can use this for padding,’ she offered,
arranging the fur and leather on top of the crutches.
While she helped him, he ventured, ‘How are you feeling? Any
sickness?’
She finished tying down the fur and shrugged. ‘The same,
really. Sometimes I forget about the baby, because it’s still too early to feel
movement.’ Her hand moved down to her womb and her face grew wistful. ‘I can’t
wait to hold him for the first time in my arms. Or her.’
The joy on Elena’s face took away all of the tension in her and
she smiled openly. By the blood of Freya, she stole his breath. Her sea-green
eyes held him spellbound, while her fiery golden hair tangled around her face.
He wished again that it was his unborn child, and
not Styr’s, growing within her. But the child was a fervent reminder that she
did not, and would not, ever belong to him.
Still, he thought it strange that she’d experienced so few
symptoms. His sisters had shared with him their own woes, often in more detail
than he wanted. Sometimes, he wondered if it was true at all that Elena was
pregnant.
She believed it, and he would say nothing to diminish her joy.
But it was so early...women often miscarried or discovered their mistake.
His conscience berated him for even thinking such a thing.
Elena and Styr had waited a long time for a child. She wanted it desperately and
regardless of the jealousy within him, he hoped all would go well. ‘I’m going to
go look around the shore to see if there are any ships,’ he told her. He needed
a few moments to clear his head and remind himself that he had to forget about
this woman.
‘All right.’ But after he took the crutches, Elena turned back
to her work as if it were the most fascinating task imaginable.
Though she behaved as if there was nothing wrong, he saw the
dark flush against her cheeks. There was a barely discernible change in Elena,
as if she, too, sensed that the next few days were going to test their
honour.
Chapter Eight
S he dreamed of him that night.
In her vision, the fires of a battlefield raged, while the scent of death hovered around them. Bodies littered the ground and the carrion birds swooped overhead. The Viking warrior rode towards her, searching. His helm covered his face and his armour was stained with the blood of his enemies.
He was like a god of war, coming to claim her.
The warrior’s eyes locked upon her as he rode through the carnage. He reached down and Elena went willingly, knowing that she was his prize of war.
Her heart pounded when he drew her up in front of him on the horse. From behind her, she could feel the iron muscles of his chest, the powerful thighs surrounding her legs. His body held the caged restlessness of a predator, and he rode hard across the field, taking her miles away from the battle.
Until they were alone.
The small thatched hut was hardly any shelter at all, but when she went inside, hot coals glowed in the hearth. The air was warm with anticipation, and his cold eyes stared at her with unfettered lust.
‘Remove your clothing.’
Fear balled in her throat, along with the need to refuse. But before she could speak, he turned his back and removed the iron helm, then his chainmail corselet and gloves.
Her pulse quickened at the sight of his bared skin, for she knew why she was here. What he wanted from her.
Elena turned towards the fire, her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.
‘Obey me,’ came his husky voice.
In this place, she belonged to him. She was his to command and she revelled in the desire to
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