Forbidden Nights With A Viking. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
pulled the blanket around her shoulders, trembling as she waited for an answer. Her wet hair was darker, almost black against her pale skin. Her face was damp, her mouth drawing his attention.
‘I think you know exactly why we can never be friends,’ he said, not caring how harsh he sounded. Without another word, he left the tent, letting it fall closed behind him.
Styr’s harsh anger kept coming back, resonating within Caragh’s mind. Ever since she’d kissed him, he’d taken her actions the wrong way—as if she were threatening him.
She wasn’t trying to steal him away from his wife. Nothing could be further from the truth. Aye, he was handsome enough, but he was far too callous for her. Too demanding.
The longer she was around him, the more he made her heartbeat quicken, setting her nerves on edge. The memory of his raw kiss came rushing back, and her skin prickled with unease. No, she understood now, what he meant. They could never be friends, for she could feel his resentment. It bruised her spirits, for she’d never meant to imply that she wanted him.
The more she thought of it, the angrier she grew.
She peeled away the wet gown, even removing the damp shift until she was naked inside the tent. Carefully, she spread them out, hoping they would dry in the next few hours. Then she rolled up within the blanket, covering her body from neck to ankle.
With each minute that passed, she found it more difficult to sleep. She had never been in a position like this, as if she were a fallen woman trying to lure a man. Styr had saved her life, that was all. And she’d kissed him in an effort to save his. If she’d given the word, her brothers could have slaughtered him where he stood. Didn’t he realise that?
‘Caragh,’ came a male voice. It was Styr.
She bit her lip and tightened her hold around the blanket. ‘What is it?’
‘Your brothers sent you food.’ Without waiting for her to say a word, he entered the tent and set a folded cloth before her. For a moment, his expression tensed when he saw her clothing spread out.
‘Why didn’t they bring it, instead of you?’ she asked, keeping her voice low. He shrugged, but she already knew the answer. It was because her meddling brothers were starting to believe her false story.
Before he could leave, she released the storm of bitterness within her. ‘No, don’t go. Not until I’ve had my say.’
He raised an eyebrow at that, but she gripped the coverlet and raised her chin.
‘Whether or not we are ever friends, let me be clear that I didn’t kiss you because I wanted you. You saved my life, and I tried to save yours with my deception. I didn’t want my brothers to kill you. That’s all.’
‘They couldn’t have killed me,’ he responded.
‘You’re wrong. And though I’m glad you saved me from drowning, I’m angry that you think I have no honour at all.’ Her heartbeat quickened, and she continued talking, giving him all the reasons why she didn’t want him.
By the time she reached the fifth reason, she realised he wasn’t listening to her at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the back of the tent, as if he found it fascinating.
He could have left, she supposed. Instead, he’d remained without speaking a single word.
‘Well? Have you nothing to say?’ she prompted.
‘I have never met a woman who talks as much as you do,’ he said at last. His impassive expression irritated her even more.
‘Don’t tease me.’ She knew she talked a great deal, but it wasn’t her intent. It was simply the desire to fill the empty space, to blot out the discomfort he made her feel.
Styr pushed the food towards her. ‘Eat the fish. There’s bread, as well, that your brothers brought.’
‘Bread?’ She couldn’t control the delight at the thought of tasting bread again. She didn’t care if it was green with mould or the texture of rocks.
When she tasted it, she had to suppress her sigh of delight. She devoured the bread, nearly finishing the last piece, when she suddenly remembered that Styr might not have eaten, either.
‘Have you had anything to eat this night?’ She offered him the rest of the bread, in case he hadn’t.
Styr nodded and sat across from her. He waited for her to finish, and as the uncomfortable silence stretched on, she said, ‘Will you tell me about your wife?’
‘Why?’ His tone sounded disgruntled, as if he wanted to share nothing about Elena.
Because she thought the topic would put him at ease, truthfully. Instead, she said, ‘You miss her, don’t you?’
‘I want her to be safe. It’s different.’
Caragh frowned. ‘Tell me more about her. I know she’s very beautiful.’
Some of his frustration subsided, and he nodded. ‘She is.’ His expression relented and he admitted, ‘I used to tease her about her red hair. I didn’t like the colour when I was younger, and she was angry with me for saying so.’
‘I can’t imagine,’ she responded drily.
His mouth twitched. ‘She tried to cut off my hair while I was sleeping. I was nine years old at the time.’
She picked at the fish, savouring each bite. As she ate, she was careful not to reveal any of her nakedness. ‘What did you do?’
‘When I woke up, I caught her with a length of my hair. I tried to hit her, but my father caught me.’
‘Did he thrash you for it?’
Styr nodded. ‘And he cut off the rest of my hair in punishment. So that everyone would know I tried to strike a girl.’
Her amusement faded at that. ‘But you forgave her, didn’t you?’
He nodded. ‘When I was older.’
When Styr offered nothing else about his wife, Caragh asked another question, though already she suspected the answer. ‘Do you have children?’
‘No.’ The quiet answer held a grim ring to it, and she realised she’d touched upon a delicate subject.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.’
‘Be ready to leave at first light,’ was all he said, taking away the cloth that had contained her food.
All night long, Styr had been haunted by the image of Caragh’s bare shoulders. Though she’d kept herself covered throughout their conversation, his mood had darkened as his mind turned to other memories.
He thought of Elena and the way she often kept herself covered, even during lovemaking. She’d been shy of her body, never wanting him to see her bare skin…almost as if she were ashamed. Then, too, she’d kept her mind veiled as well, never revealing the thoughts she’d hidden within herself. He’d been married to her for five years, and it still felt as if they were strangers.
He reached towards the pouch at his belt and loosened the ties. The leather was stiff and damp, but he managed to pull out the ivory comb. As he stared at it, a tight fear rose up inside. He should have given it to Elena on board the ship. He should have spoken the words of reassurance that she’d needed to hear.
But then, he’d tried to talk to her, only to be spurned. He wasn’t good with words or trying to explain himself.
Caragh was the opposite. Like a small bird, she chattered and revealed everything she was thinking. Sometimes she revealed too much.
A note of danger threaded through his mind, as he thought