To Tempt a Viking. Michelle Willingham

      Chapter Three

      Her arms were leaden, her body freezing from the icy water. But with Ragnar at her side, she took courage. He was speaking words of encouragement, though his pace had slowed.

      When at last her feet touched the bottom, Elena breathed a sigh of relief. Her body was exhausted and trembling, but they were both on land.

      Ragnar’s steps were heavy, his body leaning upon hers as she strode through the water. She couldn’t understand why he was struggling to walk, until the moonlight gleamed upon him, revealing the arrow protruding from his upper thigh.

      ‘You’re hurt,’ she breathed, offering him her support as they stumbled to the sand.

      Ragnar didn’t answer and she felt the urge to panic. How badly was he wounded? A dark fear rose up that she couldn’t survive on her own.

      A moment later, she pushed aside the errant thoughts. He wasn’t dead yet, and if she tended his wound, he might live.

      Her mind sealed off all thoughts except those that would aid her. She needed to take out the arrow, bind his wound and get them a fire and shelter. There was enough wool in her gown to tear off for a bandage.

      ‘Ragnar,’ she said. ‘Look at me.’

      He did, but there was so much pain in his gaze, she feared the worst. His hose and tunic were soaked with seawater, the chainmail armour gleaming against the moonlight. She needed to take off his armour to examine his wound.

      ‘I’m going to help you over to those rocks,’ she said. ‘Can you manage to walk that far?’

      He gave a nod, as if it took too much energy to speak. Blood streamed down his leg from the arrow in his thigh, but at least it wasn’t pumping out. She eased him to sit down and helped him remove his armour and the padded tunic beneath. Then she used the knife at his waist to cut long strips from her skirts. The thought of pressing more salt water against his wounds was excruciating, so she looked around for an alternative. There were patches of moss and she dug at the stones, trying to find something to make a barrier against the wet wool.

      ‘We need a fire,’ Ragnar reminded her, reaching inside his tunic. ‘You might...build one.’

      ‘Soon,’ she promised. ‘I’m going to take out the arrow.’

      ‘I might bleed out if you do,’ he said quietly.

      ‘I can’t leave it, can I?’ She placed her hands on his shoulders, kneeling down before him. ‘You kept me protected. I’ll do everything I can to help you.’

      For a single moment, she caught a glimpse of a fierce longing in his eyes, before he shielded it and looked away. She didn’t know how to respond, for fear that she’d misread him.

      Elena took a deep breath and reached for the arrow. It would pain him more if she told him when she was planning to take it out. Though she’d never before removed an arrow from a man’s skin, it didn’t look too deep. She questioned whether to force it all the way through the skin or whether to jerk it out. Both would cause pain, but pushing it through would likely be easier.

      ‘I don’t want to cause you pain,’ she said steadily. ‘But this must be—’ with one huge push, she forced the arrow through the opposite side ‘—done,’ she finished, snapping off the tip and sliding the shaft free. He let out a gasp of pain, but she packed the wound with moss and bound it tight with the first strip of wool.

      ‘I thought you would give me more warning than that,’ he breathed, fighting against the pain.

      ‘Anticipated pain is worse than reality,’ she responded.

      ‘And you’ve had an arrow tear through your flesh before?’ His voice was harsh, but it was done now.

      ‘It wasn’t that deep,’ she offered. ‘The bleeding isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.’ Thank the gods for that. If it had gone any deeper, she doubted if she’d have had the strength to force the arrow through the other side. His rigid muscles would have made it impossible.

      * * *

      Once Ragnar was bandaged, she left him sitting against the rocks. There was a tremor in his body, as if he were unable to stop himself from shaking.

      He was right; they did need a fire to warm them. But first, she had to find flint. It was too dark to see the stones, however.

      Her mind stumbled with panic, the freezing air and the darkness starting to undermine what little courage she had left. They needed shelter and warmth to protect them this night. Their survival depended on it.

      Elena forced herself to think of the smaller details, knowing that a fire would help them both more than anything. She still had Ragnar’s knife. ‘I’ll try to find flint among the stones,’ she told him.

      ‘Wait.’ He reached into his tunic and pulled out a stone that hung from a leather thong around his neck. ‘This is flint.’

      She tried to loosen the knot while her hands rested against his throat.

      ‘You weren’t hurt, were you?’ he whispered. His voice resonated between them and a spiral of warmth rippled through her. She grew aware that her hands were around his neck, almost in an embrace.

      ‘No.’ To calm her beating heart, she murmured, ‘Don’t speak now. Just rest while I build a fire.’

      When the knot wouldn’t untie, she lifted the leather thong over his head, taking the flint and his blade. The scent of his male skin was unlike her husband’s, but it held the familiarity of a close friend. How many times had she relied upon Ragnar over the years? They’d been friends all her life, and if she had to be stranded with anyone, she was grateful it was him.

      She renewed her courage and slipped into the comfort of routine, gathering dried seaweed for tinder and driftwood along the beach. It was clear that in the morning they would have to move inland to get food. They couldn’t survive here without fresh water or shelter. Yet she didn’t know if Ragnar could manage to swim again.

      Don’t think of that now, she ordered herself. Dawn was soon enough to worry about the rest of it.

      When she’d arranged the wood and tinder, she struck the flint with his blade, until she caught a spark and blew it to life. Slowly, she fed the fire until the warmth blazed.

      Her clothing was sodden, but it felt good to sit beside the flames. When she looked back at the water, there were no ships anywhere—only the cool lapping of waves against the shore of the island. ‘What do you think happened to the others? Do you suppose they’re alive?’

      ‘I overheard the Danes talk of selling them as slaves.’ He grimaced, adjusting his position against the rocks. ‘If they didn’t murder all of them.’

      Elena rubbed her upper arms, trying not to imagine it. The idea of being the only survivors from their voyage was impossible to grasp. Even the thought made her fears well up inside, before she pushed them back.

      ‘You’re