Page 61 of The Outlaw Viking

“Get them out of my sight,” Selik ordered Gorm through gritted teeth.

“But, master,” Ubbi intervened, “her husband was a Ravenshire churl fer many a year. He died yestermorn of the fever, and she must get to her family in Jorvik.”

“I care not if her husband was a bloody king. I want no ba…” His words trailed off for a moment as he sought to control the shakiness of his voice; then he amended, “I want no more blathering, shrewish, troublesome women in my company. I have more than enough with these two,” he said, waving a hand toward Rain and Blanche. “Thank the gods I will be done with them both when I reach Jorvik.”

“But, master, ’tis cruel ter leave her here without a mate ter protect her and give her sustenance.”

“Let her help Bertha in the kitchen. Or let her go to bloody hell. ’Tis not my concern.” Selik jerked his head at Gorm, who followed his orders by roughly pulling the woman and the squalling child off the horse. Selik ignored the tears streaming down the young woman’s face and turned his horse toward the gatehouse, leading the chain of horses over the bridge. Stiff-backed, he never once turned back to look at the crying babe or its sobbing, forlorn mother.

And Selik refused to look at Rain, knowing the condemnation he would see on her face.

Did your own wife seek escape before the Saxons came? And was she refused aid, like this woman? the voice said.

Selik swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. What was happening to him? A month ago, a year ago, he would not have hesitated to turn the woman and her bloody babe out to fend for themselves. In fact, he would have pulled them from the horse himself.

Without looking at Ubbi, who rode beside him, he reached into his tunic and withdrew a small sack of coins. Tossing it at the startled servant, he ordered in a gruff voice, “Give it to the maid and arrange for her later transport.”

Ubbi’s cloudy eyes brightened, and he turned his horse back toward Ravenshire, never once questioning which maid Selik referred to, nor his motives. But Selik thought he heard Ubbi mutter, “I knew ye would. I jist knew ye would.”

Selik did not like the turn his life had taken of late. It lacked control. Too many people were attaching themselves to him. He determined to rid himself of the whole bloody lot of leeches once he reached Jorvik. Then off he would go again on his quest of vengeance against his Saxon enemies. And Steven of Gravely. Alone. That was the path he had chosen long ago. There was no turning back, no fork in this life-road for him. He would not allow it.

Hah! The single word echoed in response to his thoughts.

Selik sneered at the damned voice in his head. Bloody hell! If it was God, then he had an ungodly sarcastic tongue. He turned quickly to see if anyone had spoken nearby, but his companions stared straight ahead, concentrating on the rough road. He shrugged, refusing to believe the impossible. No doubt he had spoken aloud. Yea, that was it. He could not accept that it might be that voice in his head again. Never would he believe that it was God—may all the saints preserve his sanity!

You’d better believe it.

He groaned and Ubbi looked his way, raising an eyebrow in question. Selik said a foul word and spurred his horse forward, feeling the need for a good gallop to clear his senses.

Rain could barely contain her excitement when they arrived in Jorvik the next morning. Selik’s men surrounded them and kept a wary lookout for Saxon soldiers as they crossed a bridge over the River Ouse, then followed the traffic moving along a thoroughfare Ubbi identified as Micklegate or “Great Street.”

Rain’s mother had long ago told her that Jorvik, the tenth century name for York, was the gateway between Scandinavia and Anglo-Saxon England. Its trade routes reached out to Ireland, the Shetlands, the Rhineland, the Baltic and even farther.

Her head pivoted on her neck as she tried to absorb all the marvelous sites as they moved through the narrow streets of the market town, shaded by the overhanging thatch eaves of the wattle-and-daub buildings.

The ancient Roman walls, with their eight massive towers that surrounded the city, and some of the buildings lay in ruins in places, thanks to Saxon assaults of recent years. But Ubbi told her no Norse king ruled at the moment, and everywhere an air of rebuilding and prosperity prevailed, the new quickly blending in with the old. Like the people, Rain thought—a vast assortment of Norse, English, Icelanders, Normans, Franks, Germans, Russians, even traders from the Eastern cultures.

The cacophony of their musical, sometimes guttural, tongues provided a discordant background to the sounds of the busy city. Merchants and sailors swore fluently in various tongues as they discharged exotic items from the wide-bellied cargo ships at the confluence of the Ouse and Foss Rivers—which Ubbi identified as fine wines from Frisia, amber, furs and whalebone from the Baltics, soapstone from Norway, lava querns from the Rhineland and rainbow-colored silks from the East.

Craftsmen called out their wares from where they sat in stalls in front of their primitive homes, selling their handiwork—ivory combs, bone ice skates, bronze brooches, belt buckles and armlets, strings of glass and jet beads, wooden bowls and cooking utensils, jewelry of silver and gold imbedded with precious stones. Oddly, each of the streets, or “gates” as the Norse called them, seemed to cater to tradesmen in a particular product; there was a street of woodworkers, another of jewelers, still another of glassblowers.

“This is like a giant craft festival,” Rain said with awe as she drew up next to Selik. He had been ignoring her since yesterday, but he didn’t turn away now.

“Yea, the artisans impressed your mother, as well,” he recalled, seeming to find amusement in her fascination with the enchanting city streets. “This is Coppergate, the street where many of the workshops are located.”

Enthralled, Rain stared at the main crosstown artery of the tenth century city, knowing that some point on this thoroughfare was the site of the later Viking museum.

“Selik, this was the starting point of my journey in time.”

He groaned at her mention of time-travel, which he reluctantly accepted but didn’t like her to discuss. “No doubt you expect to stand on Coppergate the minute my back is turned and just fly through the air with your angel wings to your own time. Please, my lady, I hope you will invite me to witness that wondrous event.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. I didn’t say that I wanted to return home.” I might have thought it at one time, but not anymore. I don’t know what I want now.

Their entourage came to a halt suddenly as an oxen cart passed in front of them. Selik’s soldiers, who rode point guard before and after their traveling party, watched alertly for signs of danger.

“I would love to have a strand of those amber beads,” Rain commented casually of the orange-yellow, citrine-like stones being cut and polished by one highly skilled jeweler who sat on a nearby stool. Then she laughed. “Do you think they’d take a check?”

Selik smiled, scrutinizing her with what could only be called fondness, and Rain’s heart skipped a beat. She relished the rare moment of companionship and wished she could lean across the small space that separated them and brush his beautiful, flowing hair back from his face. Or trace the outline of his firm lips, curved now in an enchanting smile. But he would probably rebuff her gesture or make some sarcastic remark.