Page 37 of The Outlaw Viking

With a snarl of disbelief, she dropped the fur cloak and slid down into the bed furs on the ground, but not before she noticed Selik’s eyes graze the cold-peaked tips of her breasts. A slight twitch at the side of his mouth told her, loud and clear, that her nudity affected him.

Mentally chastising herself for a momentary flush of pleasure at his appreciative scrutiny, Rain burrowed deep under the furs, hiding Selik from view and her flushed face from his too observant stare.

When he blew out the candle and slid in behind her, Rain moved as far away as she could so their bodies would not touch. Still, she felt the heat of his body and imagined that his warm breath tickled her shoulder blades.

She awakened some time before dawn and found that she had turned and lay willingly in his arms, her cheek pressed against the silken hairs of his chest; one of his legs draped intimately over both of hers. For several long moments, she lay still, feeling his steady heartbeat against her ear, and in her half-sleep she admitted something she could not when fully awake. She didn’t hate this man, no matter what he’d done or planned to do. She just couldn’t hate him.

She had to help him. But how?

When slivers of light began to creep through the opening in the tent, Rain carefully slipped out of Selik’s arms and out of the bed furs. She quickly donned Selik’s braies, uncaring of the fact that they were six inches too long and bagged at the ankles. His wool tunic was much too big, but it felt warm and smelled faintly of the not unpleasant masculine skin she had been inhaling all night.

Gorm sat stationed near the captives, sitting with his head leaning back drowsily against a tree trunk. He sat up straighter but didn’t stop her when she rummaged through the utensils near Ubbi’s cooking fire. When she finally found what she wanted, she turned stoically and headed toward the horses.

I ought to earn two sets of angel wings for this one, Lord.

Selik slept past dawn the next morning, the battering of his body and mind the last few days finally catching up with him. The troublesome wench was gone from his bed furs, but that did not really surprise him. The foolish witch paid no attention to his orders and blithely did just as she pleased.

Selik bristled as he thought about Rain’s harsh condemnation yestereve of his taking scalps. A beast, she had called him. Well, mayhap she was right.

But then, the wench was critical of everything he did. She acted as if he were a naughty kitten and she the mistress. Hah! Best she be careful or she would discover she had a tiger in her domain and she was the delectable morsel on which he would dine. Selik smiled at his own mind jest. Mayhap he would repeat it to her later, but he misdoubted she would see the humor. Especially if her mood had not improved overnight.

Selik rose from the warm furs, imagining he could still smell Rain’s enticing Passion. He shook his head in wonder at the strange woman who had come into his life—was it only three days ago? It seemed as if he had known her forever. And what a strange creature she was! Imagine, naming a perfume! Did she name her soaps as well? he wondered, smiling. Or her combs?

Selik yawned hugely and scratched his chest as he donned a clean pair of braies and a dark blue tunic. He cinched a wide, silver-linked belt at his waist and put the heavy armlets Astrid had once given him on his upper arms, caressing the fine etchwork lovingly with a forefinger.

He approached the cook fire where the young Saxon girl he had taken captive was stirring a pot. She pulled several loaves of flat bread out of the coals and laid them on a rock to cool. Having ignored the hunger cramps in his empty stomach too long, he grabbed one of the loaves and tossed it back and forth from hand to hand to cool it more quickly.

He never said a word to the quietly working maid. Nor did he comment on her release from the string of captives. He assumed Ubbi had gladly given up his cooking chores.

Breaking off a chunk of the manchet bread, he ate hungrily as he walked toward the horses, where Ubbi was doling out the precious feed he had brought back yestereve.

“Did ye find Sveinn?” Ubbi asked, looking up at him as he worked.

Selik nodded.

“And Ragnor?”

“Yea, and Tostig and Jogeir and Vigi, as well,” he answered wearily.

“All buried?”

“All buried. ’Twas the best we could do. The rite of fire would have brought too many Saxons down on our heads. As it was…” His words trailed off, but he did not need to finish. Ubbi had been with him long enough to know many Saxons had come and died at his hands once again.

“With all respect, my lord, it has to stop.”

“Foolish man, I am nobody’s lord. I am a bloody nithing.”

Ubbi inhaled sharply with shock at this extreme self-insult. And, good Lord, tears glittered in Selik’s eyes. Tears! Was everyone losing their senses?

“I care naught what ye say,” Ubbi said vehemently, “ye are as noble as the best of ’em. ’Tis jist that ye have stumbled on the bitter stones life has thrown in yer path. The way will git better, though. I jist know it.”

“Bitter stones! More like boulders!” He looked around then. “Where didst my guardian angel fly off to now?”

Ubbi darted him a guilty look, then avoided his eyes.

“Oh, Holy Thor! What now?”

“I think you’d best check Fury’s right foreleg, master. Seems a mite sore to me.”