To Tempt a Viking

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 been transformed into lead and the last bits of consciousness were 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 his lips could move her mouth came down on his in a searing kiss.

FORBIDDEN VIKINGS

Resist them if you can!

Styr Hardrata has travelled to Ireland with his wife Elena to save their marriage. They have grown apart and, when he is captured and she kidnapped, both find themselves faced with irresistible temptations …

Fiercesome warrior Styr is captured by the beautiful Irish maiden Caragh in

TO SIN WITH A VIKING Already available

Lonely Elena is stranded with her husband’s best friend, Viking warrior Ragnar Olafsson, in

TO TEMPT A VIKING February 2014

Read both stories in this powerful new duet of forbidden passion by Michelle Willingham

To Tempt a Viking

Michelle Willingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

RITA^® Award Finalist Michelle Willingham has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com

Previous novels by this author:

HER IRISH WARRIOR*

THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH*

HER WARRIOR KING*

HER WARRIOR SLAVE†

THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS††

THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS††

TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR*

SURRENDER TO AN IRISH WARRIOR*

CLAIMED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR**

SEDUCED BY HER HIGHLAND WARRIOR**

TEMPTED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR**

WARRIORS IN WINTER*

THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCE††

TO SIN WITH A VIKING§

Also available in Mills & Boon^® Historical Undone! eBooks:

THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE

THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN

AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION††

INNOCENT IN THE HAREM

PLEASURED BY THE VIKING*

CRAVING THE HIGHLANDER’S TOUCH**

And in M&B: LIONHEART’S BRIDE (part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)

And in M&B eBooks: RESCUED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR (part of Highlanders anthology)

*The MacEgan Brothers †prequel to The MacEgan Brothers mini-series **The MacKinloch Clan ††linked by character §Forbidden Vikings

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

AUTHOR NOTE

TO TEMPT A VIKING is the second book in my Forbidden Vikings series (Book One was TO SIN WITH A VIKING). This duet is centred around the idea that sometimes arranged marriages don’t work … and what will happen when a husband and a wife meet their true soul mates?

Elena Karlsdotter has always dreamed of a loving husband and children, but after being barren for years she blames herself for the failure of her marriage. Her husband no longer desires her, and she’s afraid to let him go, but when she’s stranded with her husband’s best friend, Ragnar Olafsson, she comes to realise that the man of her dreams has been there all along. Fierce and strong, Ragnar holds dark secrets of his own, and Elena helps him to heal old wounds.

I hope you’ll enjoy these Irish Viking stories. Incidentally, the epilogue of this book is based upon a true story about friends of mine who struggled for years to have children.

My other Viking stories include THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE, PLEASURED BY THE VIKING and THE HOLLY AND THE VIKING in Warriors in Winter.

Visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details about my books. I love to hear from readers and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com or write via mail at PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, USA. I can also be found on Facebook at www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans and on Twitter at www.twitter.com/michellewilling.

DEDICATION

Dedicated to all mothers who love their children with special needs.

Your courage and steadfast love are inspiring.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Ireland—AD 875

There was nothing worse than being in love with your best friend’s wife.

Ragnar Olafsson tightened his fists over the oars, pulling hard against the waves of the sea. He shouldn’t have gone with them to éire. But when Styr had asked him to come, he’d agreed in a weak moment. Though he’d buried all traces of his obsession with Elena, the idea of never seeing her again was worse than the torment of seeing her with her husband.

Never once had he let either of them know of his fascination. No one knew of the raw frustration gnawing within him when he watched Styr take the woman he loved into his hut. It was a dark torture, seeing them together.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

As he rowed, Ragnar kept his gaze fixed upon Elena. Her fair hair held glints of red, like touches of fire upon gold. She was like a beautiful goddess—he worshipped her from afar.

She considered him a friend, but nothing more than that. It wasn’t surprising. A woman like Elena deserved a strong marriage to a high-born warrior. Her match with Styr had been arranged years ago and Ragnar wasn’t the sort of man to steal a woman away from a friend. Especially not his best friend.

She’d made her choice and Styr had done everything to make her happy. For that reason, Ragnar had stepped aside.

He’d tried to find another woman over the years. Although he was a strong fighter and several maidens had cast their eyes on him, none of them compared to Elena. Perhaps no one ever would.

He studied her as she stared off at the grey waters. Something had changed in the past few months. She and Styr were hardly speaking to one another any more. Her barrenness was eating away at her spirit, drowning her in misery. When she stared out at the sea, her face was unnaturally pale. There were no words to mend the broken pieces, nothing Ragnar could say to her.

As the boat neared the shore, the waters were shallower than they’d guessed.

‘We’ll stop here,’ Styr ordered. Glancing at the others, he moved to stand beside Ragnar. For a moment, his friend stared out at the shoreline. ‘Will you stay behind with Elena?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want her near the front, if there’s danger.’

‘I’ll keep her safe.’ He would bathe his sword in the blood of any enemy who dared to threaten Elena. Though she didn’t belong to him, she was his to guard. He wouldn’t hesitate to offer his life, if it meant saving her.

Styr rested a hand upon Ragnar’s shoulder. With a dark sigh, he admitted, ‘I am glad you came with us. A journey like this could only be endured with friends.’

‘None of the men has slept in three days,’ Ragnar agreed. ‘We all need a good meal and rest.’ Their vessel had been tossed upon the waves as if the gods had wanted to claim them as a sacrifice. They’d fought the hard winds, trying to battle the storm. And they’d won, at the cost of sleep. His body and mind were so strung out, he could hardly piece together any thoughts other than the desire to collapse upon the sand.

‘A pity you haven’t a woman to warm your bed,’ Styr added with a shrug.

Ragnar sent him a wry look. ‘The last I heard, there are women in éire. I might find one yet.’

He’d had a few women over the years, but none of them compared to her. Though he’d tried, time and again, to purge Elena from his mind, there were many nights when he awakened, covered with sweat...his shaft hard with visions of the woman he loved.

By the blood of Thor, he had to stop thinking of it. Elena belonged to Styr and there was never any hope that it would change. Once she quickened with her husband’s seed, she would find her happiness. Ragnar tightened his hand upon his sword and reached for a shield to distract his mind.

Styr took his own shield, adding, ‘I’m glad you’re here. I need strong fighters among my men.’ To emphasise his point, he lightly punched Ragnar’s upper arm.

Ragnar responded by seizing Styr’s wrist and holding it fast. ‘I’ve bested you a time or two.’

‘Because I allowed it.’ But his friend sent him a dark smile. Styr was like a brother to him. He had taught him how to fight, after Ragnar’s father had neglected to do so. They had trained together in secret, until Ragnar could wield a sword as well as him. In truth, Ragnar was the better fighter, but Styr would never admit it.

Ragnar said quietly, ‘I’ll always guard your back.’ And so he would. Despite his traitorous feelings, he would never betray his greatest friend.

* * *

After dropping their anchor, they waded through the waist-high water. Elena remained on board the ship, as if uncertain whether or not to approach.

‘You can stay on the ship if you want,’ Ragnar told her. ‘We’ll see if it’s safe.’

She appeared troubled but shook her head. ‘No, I want to go with the others. Perhaps if they see me, they won’t think you’re attacking.’

Her reasoning made sense, for invaders rarely had a woman among them. But still, he intended to keep her behind the others.

Ragnar helped her down, trying not to let his hands linger upon her slender form. She wore a cream-coloured gown with a softer rose apron, pinned at the shoulders with golden brooches. Her hair was in tight braids, pinned to her head, and she winced as she made her way through the frigid water.

‘We’ll build a fire for you, soon enough,’ he promised.

Ahead, Styr had his battleaxe firmly in his grasp and all of them studied the settlement. It was unnaturally silent, which set Ragnar on edge. The scent of outdoor fires lingered and he saw evidence of a tribe that had fled. A pot of liquid boiled, the steam rising in the cold air...but there was no one to tend it. A length of cloth lay discarded on the ground, as if its owner had fled too quickly to take it.

‘Stay back,’ Ragnar warned Elena. As he trudged through the water, his vision seemed to blur, his footing growing less stable. The lack of sleep from the violent storms was starting to affect him. He pushed back against the spinning sensation, ignoring his body’s demands for rest.

Something was wrong within the settlement. There were no people and no animals. With each step forwards, his mind dulled. He couldn’t seem to grasp a clear thought and, when he blinked, the world seemed to tip on edge. Ragnar took a moment to steady himself, claiming a deep breath. He would not allow exhaustion to overcome his strength.

When he glimpsed movement, he turned back to Elena. ‘You should return to the boat,’ he commanded. ‘Stay there until we know what’s happening.’ He didn’t want her caught in a battle if the Irish misunderstood their reasons for coming here.

She shook her head. ‘If I stay there alone, I’m unprotected.’ Ragnar started to argue, but she insisted, ‘I’m not going back. I’ll stay here, at the water’s edge, but I need to be on land.’

‘Behind me, then,’ he acceded. Before they could venture another step, he stopped to look at her. Her sea-green eyes held him captive, her skin as pale as milk. So many nights he’d dreamed of sinking his hands into her fiery hair, claiming her soft lips in a kiss.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, her face flushed at his stare. It was as if she could read his forbidden thoughts.

Ragnar focused on the sand ahead. ‘No. Nothing at all.’ He scanned the ringfort for movement. In the distance, he spied shadows moving behind one of the huts. The silence was unnerving, as if they were the prey of some unknown attacker. They continued walking through the water until they stood upon dry land.

Ragnar moved several steps towards the shadows, gripping his shield in his left hand, a short sword in the other. More than ever, he was starting to believe that Elena should have stayed on the ship. She remained behind him, on the edge of the sand. Waves washed around her ankles, while she waited with her hands gripped together.

‘Stay back,’ he warned. ‘Call out if you see anything.’ She nodded and Ragnar hesitated. Instinct warned him not to leave her...and yet he wasn’t about to risk endangering her from an unseen attacker. ‘Will you be all right?’

‘Yes.’ But her voice held no confidence at all. She reached to her belt and gripped the hilt of a dagger.

Ragnar moved cautiously towards the shadows, while the others followed Styr. Their gait was heavy, as if the weight of the past few days remained upon their shoulders. All could fight, if necessary, but fatigue had set in.

He kept walking, his mind focused upon any threat, when suddenly, he heard Elena’s scream cut through the stillness. He spun, raising his sword...and found her surrounded by four men.

By the gods, where had they come from? Like ghosts, they’d emerged from the mist that surrounded her.

A dark violence awakened within him. The blood rage pushed away the exhaustion and he raced back to Elena, his sword in hand. He lunged at one of the young men, only to have his sword blocked by a shield. Renewed energy coursed through his veins as he fought with all of his strength. Two men attacked him and he used his shield to deflect a blow, slashing his sword down with his right hand.

He let the battle madness sweep over him, releasing the rage inside. When metal clashed against wood, he slid into the familiar fighting. Everything else faded away except the primal need to protect her.

Another enemy crept up behind him and he saw the wild look in Elena’s eyes. He didn’t care that he was outnumbered. He would not let anyone harm her—not while he had breath in his body. With a crushing blow, he used his shield to knock down the third man, slashing a savage blow to the other.

One of the men grabbed Elena from behind, twisting her wrist until her dagger fell to the sand. He dragged her backwards and Ragnar fought with all his strength to break free of the Irishmen.

But he didn’t know if he’d reach her in time.

Blood thundered in his veins as Ragnar released a battle cry. He cut through the men surrounding him, his blade slashing towards his enemy. Dimly, he was aware of Styr charging forwards as well.

Two men tried to cut them off, but he and Styr divided their enemies. When his attacker struck out, Ragnar threw himself to the sand, rolling free while a sword sliced the place where his head had been.

More of the Irish charged forwards and while he continued to fight, Ragnar saw a young man seize Elena, holding a blade to her throat. There was desperation in the young man’s eyes, of a captor who had never killed before. That made him even more dangerous.

With a renewed surge of aggression, Ragnar pushed his way free, just as Styr raced towards his wife. Before Styr could tear Elena’s captor apart, everything changed.

Another woman emerged, shouting at both of them. In her hands, she held a thick staff as her weapon.

Ragnar ignored her, all of his attention focused on Elena. The young man was distracted, giving him an opening to free her. He inched his way closer, waiting for the right moment.

For an instant, the young man faltered, as if considering whether to let Elena go. He seemed to recognise that if he did, Styr would split his head open with the axe.

But Ragnar could attack from behind, catching the young man unawares. If he struck true, he could free Elena before anyone knew what had happened.

Closer...

He lifted his sword, prepared to strike. Before he could move, the woman brought her wooden staff across Styr’s head, catching him on the ear. His friend dropped to the ground.

Thor’s blood. Ragnar didn’t think, but lunged, just as another man raised his blade for the kill.

‘Styr!’ Elena cried out in anguish, just as Ragnar blocked the blow. She was reaching towards her fallen husband, while the other woman was speaking foreign words that sounded like an apology.

The young man dragged Elena back, stepping towards the water. Deeper he moved, until she was submerged to her waist. He could drown her if he tried.

Ragnar shouted to the others, knowing that all of them were needed to protect Elena and Styr. His friends kept their weapons drawn, their shields at the ready as they approached. Upon the sand, he saw the dark-haired woman binding Styr’s wrists and ankles with long strips of leather. An older man helped her drag him away.

‘Ragnar,’ Elena pleaded. ‘Save him.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, her sea-green eyes holding her fear of death.

He was torn between saving his best friend...and saving Elena. Gods help him, this was a decision he’d never wanted to make.

‘What should we do?’ his friend Onund asked.

In the end, there was only one choice. He had to save the woman he loved, even at the cost of the man who was like a brother.

‘If anything happens to her, Styr will hold us all to blame.’ Ragnar raised his sword and shield and started towards the water.

Chapter Two

Elena watched in disbelief as Ragnar laid down his weapon and shield upon the sand. What was he doing? He was stronger than any of these men and she didn’t doubt he could kill them all. Why would he surrender?

Unless he had another plan she didn’t know about.

Ragnar moved in closer, the water pooling against his leather boots. He wore chainmail armour and an iron helm while his rough brown hair hung down past his shoulders. Dark green eyes gleamed with purpose, his face holding the merciless cast of a warrior who intended to slaughter his enemies.

And so he would. Elena had seen him training alongside her husband and had witnessed his skills firsthand. There was no fighter stronger than Ragnar Olafsson, and he moved with a speed no man could match.

‘Let her go,’ Ragnar called out to her captor. ‘We’ll return to our ship.’

He spoke to the Irishman as if he believed the man could understand the Norse language. His words were calm, his hands raised up in surrender. But beneath the gesture lay an unspoken threat.

For Ragnar would never bargain with an enemy. Her heart pounded faster as the other Irishmen began to close in.

What was he planning to do? Sacrifice himself? No. He wasn’t the sort of man to play the martyr.

Onund stared at Ragnar with fury. ‘You might intend to surrender, Ragnar, but we won’t. We outnumber them!’ the man snapped, refusing to lay down his weapons.

A flare of irritation slid over Ragnar’s face and it was then that Elena understood his deception.

The Irish might have taken them by surprise, but the same could be wrought upon them, if they believed in the surrender. Ragnar was granting their kinsmen time to gather together. Couldn’t Onund see that?

‘If we attack, he’ll slit her throat. And they’ll kill Styr as well.’ Ragnar lowered his voice, and Elena could no longer hear his plan while her captor dragged her into deeper water. They had almost reached the ship and she didn’t know what Ragnar intended to do.

He had never once taken his gaze from her. The hard look in his eyes spoke of a man determined to get her back. Her mind flashed to the strange way he’d stared at her earlier. It had shaken her senses, for his look had held desire. As if he wanted her...intimately.

The memory of it made her heart pound faster, for she’d never seen him look at her that way before. His green eyes permeated her defences, reaching deep within. She didn’t understand her own reaction to him and her skin prickled from more than the frigid water.

A horrifying thought occurred to her. Ragnar didn’t want Styr to die, did he? Her husband was now a prisoner of the Irish and somehow they had to rescue him.

But what if Ragnar wasn’t intending to save him? What if he turned his back on Styr?

Never could she imagine Ragnar as a traitor, but she couldn’t let go of the unbidden fear.

At last, the others followed his lead, setting down their shields and returning to the water. One by one, they followed, while the Irish closed in behind them.

‘Some of you should stay behind for Styr,’ she called out in warning.

But the instant she spoke, the Irishman plunged her head beneath the icy water. In shock, she lost her breath, her hands clawing at the surface. He jerked her from the water, her hair sodden and blinding her. Harsh words were spoken, his voice issuing warnings she didn’t understand. And before she realised what was happening, he’d hauled her back on to their ship. She never had the chance to fight back, for the cold had penetrated her body, seizing her with shock.

Her consciousness grew hazy and she was only dimly aware of the blade at her throat while he gripped her wrists and found a length of rope to bind her. At last, he secured her to the front of the boat.

Before long, her kinsmen emerged from the water, four Irishmen behind them. They didn’t try to fight, but allowed themselves to be taken. She strongly suspected they would wait for the right element of surprise.

And yet there was no one to help Styr. With a sinking heart, she stared back at the shoreline. Her husband was already gone and there was no way to know if she’d see him again. Although they’d grown distant over the past few months, she knew it was her own fault for turning him away. He was a good man, a warrior who deserved better than a barren wife like herself.

The knife of self-pity slid into her and she forced it back. It would do her no good now. She needed to gather her courage and do what was necessary to survive. It was their only hope.

When Ragnar climbed aboard, he kept his eyes upon her as they bound him. She couldn’t guess his plans, but the message was clear. He had every intention of freeing them from captivity.

The Irish had taken the oars, but with only four of them, the ship didn’t move very fast. Her captor, whose name she learned was Brendan, took command of the sails, letting the wind pull them far away from land.

Only when Ragnar was shoved a few feet away from her did she dare to whisper at him, ‘What will become of Styr? You left him behind with no one. He could already be dead.’ A chill crossed her at the thought and hot tears rose to her eyes.

‘If they’d wanted him dead, they wouldn’t have taken him prisoner,’ Ragnar pointed out. ‘They’ll try to use him as a hostage. But we’ll return before any harm can come to him.’

She didn’t know what to believe. For all she knew, they might torture Styr or kill him as an act of vengeance. ‘What if you’re wrong?’ she murmured.

‘I’m not. Trust me.’

She locked her eyes with his, silently pleading with him to strike sooner. ‘You can’t abandon him.’

His demeanour shifted into a man who resented her accusations. There was no softness, no mercy upon his face at all. ‘I swore to him that I would guard you with my life. And so I have.’ He leaned in, his dark green eyes demanding her attention. ‘We’re going to take back the ship, this night.’

‘Your hands are bound,’ she argued.

‘Are they?’ His voice held such indifference, she began to wonder if she was wrong to doubt him. Upon her face, she felt the warmth of his breath. His long brown hair held hints of gold, his face rigid like a conqueror’s. The look had returned to his eyes, one that made her falter. It reached beneath her desperate fear, sliding through her veins until he held her captive.

Trust me, he’d demanded. She wanted to believe in him, for he was their best hope of returning to the ringfort. But once again, he was watching her in a way that made her pulse quicken. It only deepened her discomfort.

A moment later, one of the Irishmen grasped him and shoved him back. Though his words were incomprehensible, she couldn’t tear her gaze from Ragnar. If he had somehow freed himself, he’d done a good job of disguising it.

The winds had swelled again, the skies growing darker. She was growing hungry, but no one offered food or water. When the Irishmen explored the ship, they quickly found Styr’s store of supplies below deck. They devoured the food savagely, eating every bite of dried meat and preserved fish without offering them a single morsel. Only the bag of grain remained. Glancing at the Irish, Elena suddenly noticed how thin they were. It was as if they had been starving, their faces were so gaunt.

For the second time, she wondered if it had been wise to surrender. These men had not the strength of the Norsemen. But in their eyes, she saw that they were bent upon survival now, as if all traces of humanity were gone. Like animals, they fought amongst themselves for the choicest pieces of food.

Her earlier frustration with Ragnar diminished. Men who cared for nothing but their own lives would do anything. They would kill with no remorse.

Their leader, Brendan, was hardly more than an adolescent. But in his eyes, she saw determination. Whatever he planned to do with them, he would not be swayed from his course.

Though it had been hours since she’d been dragged back to the ship, she’d been unable to get warm. Her body was freezing, while her wet hair was clammy against her skin. Fear magnified the discomfort and her mouth grew dry with thirst.

‘Could I have some water?’ she asked Brendan, even knowing he did not understand her words. She glanced over at the men, who were drinking wine, nodding to them to convey the meaning.

His mouth closed in a grim line and he ignored her question, adjusting the mainsail instead. When she studied her friends and kinsmen, she watched to see if Ragnar was right. Had they managed to free themselves? They sat motionless, their arms behind their backs. None would look at her.

Perhaps...

Ragnar spoke to the men, his voice a calm echo against the sea. ‘At moonrise.’

She took a breath, glancing at the Irish to see if they’d understood him. They were too busy gorging on food, but Brendan’s brow furrowed. Without a word, he unsheathed his blade and crossed the boat until he sat behind her. She felt the kiss of the blade upon her throat, and the young man stared back at Ragnar in a silent challenge.

* * *

Ragnar intended to gut the Irishman, before the night was over, for daring to touch Elena. He’d sliced through his bonds, using a hidden blade that he’d passed to his kinsmen, one by one. Now, the blade was his again and he was waiting for the right moment to strike.

They had been sailing for hours and several of the Irish had fallen asleep—all, save the man holding Elena captive. Brendan seemed to sense that the moment he let her go, his life would be the forfeit.

The sun had descended below the horizon, and the moon was beginning to rise. Ragnar eyed the other men, silently warning them to be ready. He kept his gaze fixed upon Elena, watching for the moment to seize her. She appeared tense and, upon her throat, he saw the barest trace of blood.

His fist clenched upon the dagger, while he vowed his own vengeance upon the man who kept her captive. Elena’s shoulders were held back, her body stiff as if she didn’t dare move.

Ragnar needed a distraction, a way of diverting Brendan’s attention away. Taking a hostage or possibly attacking without warning. His brain went through a dozen possibilities, all of which were feasible, but held an inherent risk.

Gods above, why couldn’t this be any other hostage but Elena? If it were, he’d simply drag her away, slicing her attacker’s throat. But the threat was too strong. Elena meant everything to him and he would do nothing to endanger her life.

He saw her glance up at the crescent moon, which had slid out from behind a cloud. At the sight of it, her face went white. Ragnar wanted to say something, to reassure her that all would be well.

‘Elena.’ He couldn’t stop himself from speaking her name, despite the risk. Don’t be afraid. I’ll free you.