Page 67 of The Outlaw Viking

Rain circled the building, tears streaming down her face, alternately stepping closer and jumping back when the magnetic pull increased. Every time she felt the compulsive need to jump over the edge, an even stronger urge held her back. She frowned, not understanding why she hesitated.

“Do not go. Not yet.”

Rain jerked with surprise, then turned.

Selik stood a few feet away from her, his usually tanned face pale with what seemed to be fear and concern. For me? Rain swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, barely able to make out his features through the gossamer veil of her tears.

Silently, he held out one hand to her, his silver eyes entreating her to come to him. He refused to step forward, as if he sensed the power of the aura that surrounded the scene and how close to the cliff of time she stood.

Rain tried to remind herself that Selik loved another woman, that she had no future in the past. The logical, scientifically trained part of her brain told her of priorities, about right and wrong, and rational choices. The other, softer, womanly part of her brain triumphed, however, as she moved step by slow, inexorable step away from the aura toward her brilliant lodestar in the past.

When she had moved only a few steps, Selik pulled her into his arms, and Rain felt as if she had come home. He hugged her to his chest, his arms wrapped around her back, his long fingers alternately caressing her shoulders and back and waist and hips, even buttocks. Then he pressed her harder against him, as if afraid she would flee again.

Finally, he pulled away a little and held her by both shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her skin, his face no longer pale with caring, but red with anger. In a harsh voice, he accused her, “You lied, Rain. You promised that if I would do no more behaettie, you would not try to escape.”

Selik’s beautiful eyes flashed angrily, like shards of gray ice. The jagged scar on his cheek stood out whitely against his furiously reddened face. He could barely hiss out his venomous accusation through his gritted teeth.

“I don’t break promises lightly, Selik, but I was upset to see you with Tyra.”

“Whether I am with Tyra, or Blanche, or a hundred other women is no excuse for breaking your oath. We will discuss this further when we get back to Gyda’s home.” With those clipped words, he pulled her along behind him toward Fury, who was nibbling contentedly on the grass near the roadway. In one rough movement, he put both hands about her waist and lifted her sideways onto Fury’s back. He then swung up into the saddle behind her.

Rain scrutinized him intently, amazed at his vehemence. “Selik, I would think you would be relieved to have me gone. I know I’ve annoyed you lately. Why? Why do you care if I stay or go? Is it my value as a hostage?”

Selik’s narrowed eyes assessed her boldy, as if weighing her merits. Apparently, she came short in his scales, she decided when he looked away, snapping at her, “I owe you no explanations. In truth, you have been treated too softly in the past. That will change now that your word can no longer be trusted.”

Rain stared up at him, trying to reconcile this fierce anger with the obvious fear he’d shown moments ago when he’d thought she was about to leave him. When the horse quickened its pace through the narrow streets, she grabbed his waist for balance.

He inhaled sharply.

She decided to test the confusing waters further and slid her hips closer to him.

The edge of Rain’s thigh brushed against the rigid hardness between his legs. He jerked as if she’d just short-circuited him. And a sudden, heart-lightening thought occurred to her. Perhaps it was she, and not the beautiful Tyra, who turned him on.

“Move.”

Rain looked up and saw Selik’s teeth gritted, his lips drawn in against his teeth.

“Wha—”

“Move, now, or I swear afore all the Norse gods and Christian saints, that I will turn you in the saddle astride my lap and take you here and now atop my horse in the midst of Coppergate.”

Rain considered that enticing possibility for a moment, finding it not at all as appalling as Selik undoubtedly thought she would. But she moved away slightly nonetheless.

“Why did you bring me to Jorvik if you knew Tyra waited here for you?” she asked bleakly.

“I have answered enough of your questions. Know this, wench, there will be a reckoning yet for the trouble you have caused me this day.”

“Will you whip me?” she teased, nuzzling her cheek against his warm chest, despite the stiffening of his body.

“Mayhap.”

“Perhaps you will resort to the behaettie again and scalp me.”

He made a small scoffing sound deep in his throat.

“But, no, I don’t think you would do that. You told me once that my hair was like spun gold. No one ever said anything so nice to me before, Selik. Did you know that?” She rubbed her cheek, cat-like, against the warm wool of his tunic where it was exposed between the lacings of his leather doublet. With satisfaction, she noted the rapid jumpstart of his heart’s acceleration.

“Do not be so sure of yourself, wench,” he growled.