To Tempt a Viking

‘You can’t make the journey with that leg. It’s too far.’ With a sigh, Elena began pulling the small makeshift raft across the sand.

Before she could go any further, Ragnar limped towards her and caught her arm. ‘I may be wounded, Elena, but I’m not dead. The wound will heal.’ He didn’t want her to think of him as helpless and he let his hand slide down her arm to grip her hand. A trail of gooseflesh rose over her skin at his touch. ‘You won’t be stranded here. I swear it by the blood of Thor.’

Her hand gripped his and, when she met his gaze, there was a flicker of hesitancy before colour spread over her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

He wanted to pull her close, to taste the lips that had haunted him for so long. But she only turned back to her discarded apron, pulling it over her head and fastening the brooches at her shoulders. She had the innocent demeanour of a maiden, but the body of a woman who had known a man intimately.

Without a word, he began dragging the raft towards the water, suppressing a gasp when the salt water lapped against his bandaged wound. The vicious pain was the reminder he needed to stay away from Styr’s wife.

Elena joined him, holding on to the bound limbs while they made their way towards the mainland. Ragnar kicked with his good leg, grateful that the tide was coming in, aiding them in their journey. But by the gods, the salt against his open wound was shredding apart his control.

The bound wood did give them a means of staying together, without the risk of drowning. As she struggled to swim, he bit back the pain and fought to help her.

‘You look as if you’re hurting again,’ she commented, churning her left arm in the water while she held on with her right.

‘It’s like hot knives searing my skin,’ he admitted, keeping his voice light. ‘Not very comfortable.’

She sent him a sympathetic look. ‘When we reach land, it will be better, I promise.’

If he didn’t drown first. He bit his lip hard against the pain, forcing himself to continue.

The waves pushed them closer and Ragnar concentrated on the strand ahead of them. With every stroke, it seemed further away. The cold water numbed his skin and he felt his eyes beginning to close, his fingers slipping from the wood.

‘Ragnar!’ Elena shouted at him, pulling him back to the present moment. ‘Stay with me. You can’t let go now.’ She made her way to his side, holding his waist. ‘We’re not so very far.’

He knew it, but his body was rebelling against the sea water, his mind fighting to help her. The cold embedded within his veins, making it more difficult to move.

‘I need you,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

It was her voice that forced him onward. She spoke words of encouragement, urging him not to give up. And although they had been in the water for what seemed like an hour, eventually he felt his feet sink into sand. He bit hard to keep his teeth from chattering, and Elena remained at his side, holding on to him. He stumbled through the waves, but she helped him to remain balanced.

They staggered through the sand, his vision blurred and his ears ringing. He damned himself for the weakness, fighting to remain conscious. Elena needed him and he would not fail her.

‘Listen to me,’ she insisted. ‘We’re here. We’re safe now, but you can’t stay on the sand. Just a little further.’

She held his waist, letting him lean on her as she tried to get him past the water’s edge. But when her leg accidentally bumped against his wound, he couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain.

She apologised and pleaded, ‘We’re almost there. Only a few steps more.’ The world tipped, but she held tight, keeping him on his feet.

‘I’m not going to die,’ he told her, but his words sounded thick and slurred.

‘I won’t let you.’ She eased him to sit down with his back against a hillside. Ragnar leaned back, resting his head upon the amber grass while he stared up at the clouded sky.

‘You’re too cold,’ she said. ‘I have to get you warm.’ She moved beside him wrapping both arms around his waist. Though her skin was cool, her presence slipped beneath the pain of his wounds, offering comfort.

* * *

He wanted to tell her what she meant to him, to spill out the words he’d kept buried for so long, but honour kept his lips silent. He would accept the warmth of her embrace, knowing that it could never be more than that.

He was angry with himself for leaving Styr behind, though he’d had no choice at the time. The Irish might kill his friend, for Styr had no value as a hostage and he would never be any man’s slave.

Ragnar glanced over at Elena, who was busy gathering tinder for a fire. Her skirts were cut short to her knees, while her red-gold hair was still bound in a knot at her nape. She moved with efficiency, but as she stacked the wood and arranged the seaweed, the earlier tremors became impossible to stop.

So cold. He couldn’t feel his fingertips or his toes and his muscles felt stiff and ungainly.

‘You’re so pale,’ Elena said, hurrying to strike a spark. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you warm again, as soon as I can start the fire.’ But her own hands were shaking, as if she, too, were suffering from the intense cold of the sea. After several attempts, the spark kept dying out.

His eyelids were heavy and he closed them, surrendering to the temptation of unconsciousness. Sleep was what he needed now.

But a moment later, Elena’s arms were around him and she was supporting his shoulders. ‘Ragnar!’ She shook him lightly, demanding that he open his eyes.

His vision flickered, but he managed to look at her.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she demanded. Her eyes welled up with tears and she commanded again, ‘You can’t leave me here alone.’

‘Just...resting,’ he told her. Sleep would make it easier to bear the pain. The darkness was tempting him to let go, to fall into nothingness.

‘Your lips are blue,’ she told him. ‘If you go to sleep now, you might never awaken.’

He didn’t answer her, for his body had transformed into lead, the last bits of consciousness sliding away. Though a part of him understood what she meant, he lacked the strength to fight it.

‘Don’t you dare die on me,’ she wept, shaking him again. ‘I can’t survive out here alone. Do you hear me?’ she demanded. ‘If you die, I’ll die as well.’

He tried to form the word ‘no’, to tell her he wasn’t going to die at all. But before he could speak, her mouth came down on his in a searing kiss.

Chapter Four

Elena couldn’t say why she’d kissed Ragnar. It was either that or strike him. Anything to shock him into awakening. As she’d hoped, his eyes had sharpened, his body jolting at her touch.

‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded.

It had been only a short kiss, one hardly more than the touch of her lips on his. But he was staring at her with fury and she let go of him, edging her way back on the sand.

‘You weren’t responding. I thought if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t wake again.’ But her face was on fire now and she regretted her actions. Worse, she’d never seen him this angry before.

‘Don’t ever kiss me again,’ he warned.

‘I’m sorry.’ She hadn’t expected him to react so strongly. ‘It was just a way of getting your attention, to make you open your eyes.’

‘The next time you need my attention, use your fist. Not your mouth.’ He grimaced, easing up to a seated position near the fire. ‘Styr is my friend and your husband. You would do well to remember it.’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’ But her face was burning with humiliation. She hurried to finish building the fire, wishing she’d never done anything. ‘It was meaningless, Ragnar. Truly.’

But nothing she said would dispel the anger and frustration in his eyes. She hadn’t truly considered the consequences and his violent response unnerved her.

‘It will never, ever happen again,’ she swore.

‘See that you keep that vow.’ His voice was cold, almost cruel.