To Sin with a Viking

But now, he had a means of leaving this place. A way of retracing the path of his wife and kinsmen. Thank the gods.

With a quick glance, he saw that Caragh was starting to return. Styr rose from the water and hurried towards the shore. He melted back into the shadows, running towards her hut. Though a close glance would reveal that he was no longer bound to the post, he hoped he could feign sleep. His clothing might dry by morning, though it was doubtful. He leaned against the post, curling his body to hide his chains.

Within minutes, the door creaked open. ‘Styr?’ Caragh whispered.

He didn’t answer, hoping she would go to sleep and leave him alone. The wind blew against his back, making his wet clothing more uncomfortable.

With his eyes shut tightly, he ignored the footsteps approaching, willing her to leave him alone. Before he realised what was happening, she had laid his cloak over him. The wool was warm from where she’d set it by the fire.

Her scent clung to the cloak, and it rendered him motionless. No one had ever done anything like this for him. He doubted if she’d even realised the significance. Kindness came to Caragh as naturally as breathing.

He closed his eyes, damning himself for a fool. There was no way he could leave her behind now, even if they did catch fish. It would haunt him for the rest of his life if she starved to death.

Whether or not she wanted it, he was going to take Caragh with him when he went in search of his wife.

Someone had to look after her.

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