Page 129 of The Outlaw Viking

“Now, will you remain silent when I take my hand from your mouth?”

She nodded.

He removed his hand, and she breathed deeply, trying to get her galloping heartbeat under control.

“Rain—’tis your name, I believe,” he said with a sneer. “We are going to walk back to the castle together. You will act as if we are friendly acquaintances. Not by a look or a word will you betray your less than fond affections for me.”

She said nothing, and he punched her in the stomach.

Rain bent over, moaning, “Oh—oh, God!”

“Do I make myself clear?”

She tried to nod as she straightened, but apparently she hadn’t responded quickly enough. He slammed her shoulders back with two palms against her chest. Her head hit the stone wall with a dull thwack.

“Speak, bitch.”

“I understand,” she said dully, her ears ringing from the head blow.

He put his arm around her shoulders in what any passerby might consider gentleness and led her out through the bailey, into the great hall of the castle, up stairways, through corridor after twisted corridor, until they reached his bedchamber. Along the way, Steven nodded but did not stop to speak to those they passed. She saw no one she recognized, except for Blanche, who smirked, then laughed derisively, probably thinking she’d dumped Selik for this handsome nobleman.

When they got to his remote chamber, Steven opened the door and shoved her inside roughly. A young man and a young woman, both well-dressed and exceptionally attractive, looked up in a bored fashion from the far side of the room, where they were playing chess.

The man, about sixteen years old, raised one brow lazily and commented, “It did not take you long to nab The Outlaw’s wench.”

“Did you think it would, Efric?” Steven asked dryly, throwing his fur-lined cape over a chest, and dropped down to a low chair. He extended his long legs, and Efric came over and knelt before him, smiling in an oddly sweet manner, then proceeded to remove his soft leather boots.

“Did she come willingly?” the slim, blond-haired woman said, coming toward them in a pronounced mincing fashion, her hips swinging. The deepness of the woman’s voice confused Rain until she realized, with a gasp, that the woman was really a man. A cross-dresser, for heaven’s sake.

“Not quite willing, Caedmon. It took a little convincing.”

Caedmon’s pouty lips parted expectantly, and Rain suspected that the idea of her pain turned the loathsome man on.

“You can be sure that she will be more than willing afore long, though.” Steven grinned conspiratorially at his two cohorts.

Both Caedmon and Efric looked at Rain, licking their lips as if she were a tasty morsel being offered to them.

“I will never be willing where you are concerned, you filthy pervert,” Rain snapped, moving away from Steven and his slimy friends. “I will scream this castle down. King Athelstan will never allow you to keep me captive here.”

“Oh, you will not be captive,” Steven said. “You can walk out that door right now if you choose.” He poured a goblet of wine and sipped as if he could not care less what she did. “’Tis your choice, but…”

Rain began to edge toward the door.

“…but then Selik would be dead afore morn.”

Rain stopped, gulping. She turned on him, spitting out, “You are evil.”

“Thank you.” Steven shrugged, gazing at her with amusement. “Goodness is an overrated commodity, in my opinion. Whereas evil—’tis amazing how quickly so-called good people accept evil when ’tis to their benefit. You, for example.”

Rain was afraid to ask what he meant.

“Now, I wonder…I wonder just what evil you are willing to accept in order to gain your lover’s release.”

Rain shivered deep inside.

“Of course, I will have to kill Selik eventually. ’Tis a shame. He is a pleasure to torment. Honorable men always are.”

How ironic, Rain thought. Honor was the one thing Selik thought he had lost long ago. “Why do you hate Selik so?”