Page 35 of The Outlaw Viking

Selik shook his head at the coincidence of their thinking. “Mayhap fate has ordained that you be goddess to this god then.

“Come,” he encouraged her, then quickly soaped her entire body from shoulders to toes, stopping here and there to show his appreciation for each delectable spot he discovered. When he soaped his hands and massaged the globes of her breasts into hard points, pressing against his palms, she gasped throatily, “I have never, never, wanted a man as much as I want you.”

Selik wanted to scoff at her words, but the unexplainable joy they brought blocked his throat. Without words, he handed the soap to her, and she returned the favor, lathering his body. Her delicate surgeon’s hands gently eased his muscles and turned his skin hot, even in the cold air and water. When she began to work her wiles on his manhood, he stopped her, reluctantly. “Nay, I cannot take so much pleasure.”

The soap dropped between them, and Selik pulled her once more into his embrace. Their soap-slick bodies moved sensuously against each other, and they both smiled.

“Oh,” they said in unison, and smiled again.

Selik rubbed his chest against her soapy breasts and delighted as she arched her neck, closed her eyes, and pressed herself tighter against him. “I ache for you,” she whispered.

“Enough!” He dropped down into the water, taking her with him and hastily rinsed the soap from both their bodies, then pulled her toward the bank, where he grabbed a fur cloak he had dropped a short time ago and wrapped it about her, but not before nipping and kissing all the sensitive curves of her delicious body.

She stood docilely, staring up at him, aroused to the point of mindlessness. He was in no better condition.

Selik wrung the water from his hair, shook himself like a shaggy dog, then wrapped an arm around Rain’s shoulder, pulling her against his side. He began to walk back toward his tent, uncaring of his nudity, taking her with him.

They had almost passed the area where the horses were picketed when Rain stopped short and shook her head as if to clear it. “The horse,” she said in a suddenly cold voice. “You promised I could see your horse.”

Confused by her sudden change of mood, Selik nodded his head and led her toward Fury, who whinnied softly in welcome when Selik stroked his mane.

“Where’s your saddle?” she asked in an oddly shrill voice.

“What troubles you, sweetling?” Selik asked, suddenly alarmed.

“Just show me your saddle.”

He pointed to a spot nearby and watched through narrowed eyes as she found his saddle, bent to examine it, then dropped to her knees. He could tell by her heaving shoulders that she was crying. Tilting his head in puzzlement, he drew closer.

“Tell me,” he urged, dropping down beside her. Despite his naked flesh, he did not feel the cold.

“These,” she said, gagging. “Did you take these?”

He saw the half dozen scalps hanging from the saddle horn and stiffened. Bloody hell! He had intended to destroy the vile things. In truth, he had not even realized he had taken the scalps during his berserk rage that day until they were almost back to the campsite. Though many of his fellow Norsemen took scalps after every battle, he had never done such before. The horror of the carnage he had witnessed that day must have turned his mind. But he refused to explain himself to the sanctimonious wench.

“Yea, ’tis the behaettie, a noble Norse practice to prevent our enemies from entering the gates of heaven.”

She shook her head in denial and rocked back and forth on her heels, weeping silently.

“’Tis not a pretty sight, I know, but ’tis no worse than the Saxon’s trophies. They skin Norsemen alive and pin the hides on their church doors.”

“Violent men always find excuses for their bestiality,” she said wearily, looking him directly in the eye now. The sadness of her condemnation chilled him as the freezing water and cool night air had not.

He shivered and the ever-present ache of his lost soul hung over him like a winter cloud.

Chapter Six

Heartsick, Rain staggered to her feet, clutching the length of fur around her naked body. She shivered, but not from the cold. Her mind reeled with shock from the ghastly sight of human scalps hanging from Selik’s saddle.

Oh, God! This man—this man who is somehow becoming precious to me—not only takes human lives, but he keeps souvenirs of his depravity.

Selik stood before her, nude and unapologetic, with his head tilted questioningly. The wet strands of his hair blew slightly as they dried in the night breeze. Even in the moonlight, she could see that her horrified reaction to the scalps had transformed his beautiful eyes, which had been luminous with passion moments before, back to their usual blank soullessness.

Briefly, her eyes skimmed his body from wide shoulders, past tightly fisted hands braced on his slim hips, over his flat stomach, even over his well-formed genitals, to long, sinewy thighs and calves and bare feet. She shook her head in awe before his beauty and the fact that it did not matter to her that he was a magnificent animal. Because that was the key word—animal. He was, in fact, a wounded beast.

“Yea, I am a beast. I forewarned you of the fact, but you insisted you could save me.” Selik’s voice rasped thickly with scorn and self-deprecation.

Rain had not realized she’d spoken the words aloud, but perhaps it was best that Selik knew exactly how she felt. Not that it would change anything. A man who could do such a horrible thing was irredeemable.