Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (3 page)

He raised a hand to rake his wet hair off his face, and Rain gasped as she noticed the word
rage
carved into one forearm. The raised white scars had to have been made with a sharp knife long ago. What did it mean?

Rain looked back to his face. His arresting good looks totally captivated her, even though she recognized that many modern women would consider him too rugged and muscle-bound—not hesthetically correct.

Selik must have sensed her perusal. He opened his eyes lazily, and Rain could have easily drowned in their changeable grayish-green depths. But no emotion emanated from their coldness, just a soulless lack of interest.

“Who the hell are you?”

Some welcome!

But at least Rain could understand his language. She’d been worried that she wouldn’t be able to communicate with these primitive people. Actually, Selik should be speaking some form of medieval English, Rain realized with a frown. Hell, he probably was, but God, or whoever the mastermind of this fiasco was, had given her some built-in translator. If it was a dream, the lack of a language barrier was understandable, Rain reasoned. If it was time travel, language was the least of her concerns.

She shook her head to clear it and answered his question about her name. “Rain. Rain Jordan.”

“Rain? What manner of name is that?” he scoffed disdainfully as he looked her over slowly, insultingly,
from head to toe and back again. “Why not snow or sleet or mud?” Then he added scornfully, “Or tree?”

Tree!
Hey, it was one thing for a little boy who didn’t know any better to insult her about her height, but a screwed-up, vicious Viking whose life she’d just saved? No way!

“You ungrateful bastard! I just saved your life.” She blinked to stem the tears in her eyes.

Selik rose and stretched his arms wide to remove the kinks of his long ride. “’Tis no favor you did me, wench,” he commented flatly. “’Twould be far better if I had died. This life holds naught for me.”

Rain glared at him angrily, uncaring now if he saw her humiliating tears. “How dare you value life so little? Do you know how many men you killed today?”

“Nay. Dost thou?” he asked in a bored tone of voice as he put his mail armor back on. “Didst thou keep a death tally?”

Rain felt blood rush to her face. “No, but I’ll bet it was hundreds. Don’t you feel any remorse for your butchery?”

“Nay. Why should I? They deserved all they got and more.”

“How can you say that, especially about the young boy with the banner you killed near the end?”

“I killed a boy?” Selik tilted his head questioningly, obviously trying to remember the incident. How could anyone kill another human being and not remember? Rain wondered sadly. Finally, Selik shook his head as if it didn’t matter. “Every Saxon is my enemy, man or boy. So the runic words say on the scorn pole erected I against King Athelstan long ago.” Then he looked at her suspiciously. “Are you perchance one of Athelstan’s camp followers?”

“Camp follower!” Rain’s cheeks burned with an unwelcome blush. “No, you jerk, I’m not a whore—or a Saxon.”

Rain realized then that Selik had mounted the horse and was preparing to depart.
Without her!

“Wait! You can’t leave me here.”

Selik arched one eyebrow in a haughty, just-watch-me attitude, and started to turn the horse. “Can I not?”

“That’s my horse,” she fabricated quickly.

“Liar,” he countered with a maddening smile.

“Come back here!”

“Nay, I will not do your bidding, harpy.” He grinned. “But fear not, ’tis certain other hesirs will pass by. Mayhap one of those soldiers will be more overcome than I with the bloodlust of battle and offer his protection in return for a hot cellar for his manroot.”

Manroot!
Rain bristled with indignation. “You insulting pig. I wouldn’t be a root cellar for any man—let alone a damn barbarian like you.”

Selik just laughed, flashing a dazzling display of straight, white teeth, a sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

The shock of his imminent desertion held her immobile for a moment. Rain panicked then as Selik proceeded to leave the clearing. Icy fingers of despair clawed at her composure.

What would she do in this strange time and place without Selik as her lodestone, loathsome as he was just now? She racked her brain for a solution and came up with only one idea.

“Selik!” she shrieked desperately to his departing back. “What would your old friend Thork think of your abandoning his daughter like this?”

He stopped immediately.

Uh oh!
Rain’s heart began to hammer wildly as Selik spun in the saddle and pierced her with icy gray eyes. He walked the destrier slowly back to her, and Rain was tempted to turn and flee.

Not only had the question not brought out his
protective impulses, Selik looked as if he might kill her. Muscles bunched tensely in his arms from clenched fists to massive shoulders. His full lips thinned to a compressed white line of fury. His eyes glittered with threat. Reaching for the dagger at his belt, Selik glided off the horse smoothly and walked purposefully toward her.

Rain did turn then and ran for her life.

Cursing angrily, Selik chased the tall woman into the forest, sprinting to catch up.
Christ’s blood!
He was wasting precious time on the troublesome wench.

“
Halt!
”

The giant wood sprite responded by letting a branch swing back and hit him smack in the face as she laughed shrilly, a note of hysteria edging her voice. Never stopping, she continued to dart swiftly through the thickly wooded area on long legs covered with unseemly male leggings.

“You dare much to claim Thork as father,” he shouted with exasperation. “’Twill be a pleasure to skin you alive, you lying bitch.” When she didn’t answer and eluded him still, he threatened, “I will pull your lying tongue out of your head and eat it raw.”

Selik heard her gasp at his last, ridiculous words and say something incoherent that sounded like “Yeech!” A slow, secret smile twitched his lips. So, the lackwit thought he was a barbarian? Hah! Well, he would show her.

“If you stop now,” he cajoled, getting closer, “’twill be a swift death for you. Mayhap a neat lop of your head. Do you persist in this useless chase, though, you force me to prolong your pain.” That should paint the wench some vivid mind-pictures.

“Go to hell,” the impudent vixen yelled back.

Damn her impertinence!
Didn’t the foolish maid know the danger she faced in rousing his temper? He had killed many a man for less.

“Perchance your golden eyes would look good without eyelashes,” Selik offered smoothly, meanwhile breathing raggedly from the exertion of his pursuit and the aftermath of battle weariness.

He furrowed his brow.
Golden eyes?
Holy Thor, when had he noticed the color of her eyes? He shook his head to clear the unwelcome image and lashed out ruthlessly, “Damn your eyes! Mayhap I could remove your eyeballs, as well.”

The woman snorted in disdain, or disbelief, and another branch swung back, this time hitting him in the abdomen, opening the sword wound he had received earlier.

Now he was really angry.

Blood oozed from the cut, and he hurt like hell—another reason to beat the impudence out of the dull-headed troublemaker.
Odin’s spit!
He squandered valuable minutes pursuing the silly creature when he must needs put as much distance as possible between himself and his Saxon enemy.

There was an additional threat here, as well. Selik had recognized the man he killed earlier, the noble thane hoisted on his standing pike. It was Elwinus, Athelstan’s own cousin. The king had put a bounty on Selik’s head before the battle; now the Saxon bastard would want him alive and kicking for the slowest torture possible.

And worse yet, Elwinus claimed to be Steven of
Gravely’s brother. Bloody hell! He and Steven had more than enough reason to kill each other on sight without this latest fuel added to their mutual hate. Had Steven been at the battle site? Selik wondered suddenly, and he considered returning to end their blood feud once and for all time.

But then Selik looked toward the mad wench who ran in front of him. He could not disregard the sly wench’s outrageous claim. He knew she was not Saxon. Her stature, pale honey hair, and fine features told the truth of her Nordic heritage. But neither could she be daughter to his dead friend, Thork, and she would pay dearly for missaying the truth and delaying him needlessly.

“Enough!” Selik roared finally. The witch had bedeviled him overlong. With a mighty lunge, he tackled her from behind. She hit the ground with a loud “oomph!” and he landed flat atop her.

The fall knocked the wind out of Selik. He lay still for several moments with his face buried in the burnished gold web of the maid’s luxuriant hair, which had come loose from its braid. Its sweet, seductive fragrance, an odd mixture of flowers and spices, overwhelmed his senses, making him forget momentarily the brutality and emptiness of his life and remember a time when he had relished the leisure to appreciate the little things of life. Like a woman’s scent. Or the feel of lush feminine curves molded perfectly in the cradle of his body.

Selik’s frozen heart thawed for a second with feelings he had long disciplined himself to disdain.
Oh, Astrid
, he thought suddenly, and a pain so fierce he could not stand it swelled his heart and threatened to burst the walls of his aching chest. He missed her so much. Tears welled in his eyes in memory of the last time he had seen his wife. The bloody, gruesome mind-picture tormented him endlessly. Would it ever go away?

A gentle nudge jarred him back from his unwelcome reverie. The horse had followed him through the woods.

Thor’s blood!
he growled in silent self-disgust over his maudlin daydreams. It was years since he had allowed himself such extravagant self-indulgence over his long-dead spouse.

Raising himself on straightened elbows, Selik realized that the woman did not move beneath him. Had she died from the force of his hitting her with his substantial weight?

“Mumpfh!”

“What?”

The wench raised her head and grumbled, “Get off me, you big oaf. You must weigh as much as that horse—
my
horse, incidentally. Do you want to crush me to death—before you have a chance to eat my tongue?”

With a soft, reluctant chuckle, Selik allowed her to roll over on her back but kept her pinned to the ground with his lower body.

“Your shrewish tongue outruns your good sense, wench. Methinks ’twould be too tart for my taste.”

Brush burns, grass and dirt covered her face and lips. Pieces of grass and twigs stuck in her disheveled hair and marred her silky shirt. She spit rudely to clear her mouth.

Selik momentarily forgot the reason for his anger, so entranced was he by the allure of the woman who lay beneath him. He brushed several loose strands of golden hair off her shoulder. Like amber silk, it was. He rubbed the threads sensuously between his calloused fingers.

Turning his eyes upward, he noticed a fearsome bruise high on her forehead, its purplish tones stark against her creamy skin. Selik couldn’t stop himself from touching it gently with a forefinger, and her full lips, like crushed rose petals, parted involun
tarily on an indrawn breath of pain, showing off uncommonly even white teeth.

The wench’s honey-brown eyes held his, questioning, probably wondering what he would do next, and for long moments Selik could not help himself from gazing at her with longing. The vast emptiness inside him felt suddenly full and warm. When had he last felt this way?
Astrid
, he realized immediately and berated himself scornfully once again.

Suddenly, Selik saw the foolishness of his action. He was behaving like a besotted lackbrain dawdling with a maid while the Saxon hounds nipped at his heels. He pulled out the dagger at his belt and held its razor edge against her neck.

“What do you here, wench?”

“What would you have me do? I can’t move,” she snapped.

“Do you deliberately mistake my words? You must needs take your situation more seriously.” He pressed the gleaming blade tighter and drew a thin line of blood like a drizzle of wine in new snow. “Your paltry life means naught to me.”

“Oh, really! Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” the foolish witch said scornfully, as if she feared him not. “Besides, it would be a lot less messy if you didn’t cut my jugular vein. I would suggest here at the kidney, or here through the diaphragm.”

She pointed to two places on her body that Selik knew would bring instant death, as well as the large blood-pumping spot on her neck. How did a simple female know such? And what was a die-frame?

Rain saw the confusion on Selik’s face.

A voice echoed in her head,
Save him
.

Surprisingly unafraid then, she stared up at the hardened warrior hovering over her. “Would you really kill me, Selik?”

“In a trice.”

“I don’t think you would,” Rain asserted with more confidence than she felt, “and furthermore, even though you act like a bear, I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you are truly a halfwit, I warrant.”

Rain shrugged, trying to ignore the words in her head that kept repeating,
Save him. Save him. Save him…

Selik frowned, seeming disturbed by her brave front. Couldn’t the fool hear her teeth chattering?

“How dost thou know my name? Why were you at Brunanburh?”

“I’m not sure,” Rain admitted hesitantly. “I think…I think God sent me.”

Selik snorted rudely in disbelief. “Why would God do thus?”

“To save you,” Rain offered weakly.

“Me? God cares naught for such as me.” He surveyed her through slitted eyes while he sheathed his knife, then asked reluctantly, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying the words, “Save me from what?”

“From yourself.”

Selik slapped both hands to his head in disbelief. Still kneeling atop her, he threw his head back and hooted with laughter.

Rain knew Selik didn’t believe her. Who would, under the circumstances? She lowered her lashes quickly to hide the disappointment, then waited patiently for Selik to recover from his infuriating fit of laughter.

Finally, he wiped his eyes and shook his head in wonder at her arrogant claims. “’Tis too much. The maid declares herself my guardian angel. Sweet Freya! The battle today must have unhinged my mind. Mayhap the wench got hit on the head as well.” He looked pointedly at the bump on her forehead. Little did he know it had happened a thousand
years from now in a Viking museum. Or was it this morning? Rain wondered with a frown.

Selik continued to chuckle.

Rain clucked her tongue, chafing now under his continued ridicule. Good heavens! Her words weren’t
that
funny.

But Rain wasn’t really annoyed. Despite the danger of the Saxon pursuit and Selik’s threats, her troubled spirits calmed, and she felt a strange peace being with the ruthless Viking, as if she’d finally found her place in life.

And, besides, she rationalized, Selik had been through absolute hell that day…and probably had for years. It showed in the scars and poorly healed broken bones and empty eyes. No matter how much she hated his brutality, Rain couldn’t stop herself from admiring Selik, the man, almost as she would a wounded animal with a fine pedigree that had been battered but still maintained its innate beauty.

Save him
.

Rain almost groaned aloud at the persistent inner voice. How would she ever be able to penetrate the utter emptiness at the bottom of his desolate eyes? Would he let her get that close?

“My mother was right about you,” Rain whispered huskily, still pinned to the ground by his body.

Selik raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Selik snorted rudely. “’Tis of no importance. And do not dare try your paltry charms on me. ’Twill not work. Leastways, I lost whatever looks I had many years past.” Then he hesitated, as if pondering something. “You mentioned your mother. Do I know her?”

“You did. Her name was Ruby…Ruby Jordan…before she married—”

“Argh!” Selik jumped up, glaring down at Rain.
Then he pulled her roughly to her feet, noticing something for the first time. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he pointed to the brooch on her lapel and asked, “Where did you pilfer
that?
”

“My mother gave it to me.”

“’Tis impossible.” He put a hand to his brow and rubbed, obviously troubled. “Nay, not Ruby. You cannot be her daughter. Or Thork’s.”

He searched her face then, looking for a resemblance, which Rain knew was there if he’d only see it. Suddenly, Selik seemed to remember something. Before she had a chance to react, he took her blouse by the lapels and tore it apart, uncaring of the rips or popping buttons.

“How dare you?” Rain sputtered and tried futilely to hold the edges of the shirt together. Selik knocked her hands aside.

He stared at her breasts incredulously, but not with lust. “For the love of Freya! You wear Ruby’s strange undergarment. Lingerie, methinks she named it.”

“This is not my mother’s bra.” Rain clamped her jaw shut defiantly, then demanded to know, “How did you ever see my mother’s underwear?”

“Hah! Every man in King Sigtrygg’s court saw the scandalous garment when she removed that traitorous Brass Balls shirt of hers. She even went into business making the wispy things while she lived amongst us.”

Criminey!
Selik was repeating the same ridiculous story her mother had told for years. And no one had believed Ruby, herself included. Maybe this wasn’t a dream, after all. Rain clasped both widespread hands to her mouth in horror.

Oh, my God! Could time-travel really be possible?

“Listen, I assure you that Ruby is my mother, and she always said Thork was my father.” Rain decided not to tell him—at least, not yet—that her mother also said Jack Jordan was her father as well.
“I can give you all the explanations you want, but don’t you think we should get away from here first? If the Saxons capture us, it won’t matter who I am.”

Selik nodded reluctantly and whistled between his closed teeth. The dumb horse came ambling toward him like a lovesick swain. How did Selik do that? It was probably a female, Rain decided with disgust, wondering if he had the same effect on women in general.

Selik put his left hand on the saddle and vaulted onto the horse, then looked down at her expressionlessly while she scrambled to repair the damage to her blouse as best she could and rebraid her hair.

“I will take you with me—
for now
—but heed me well, wench,” he said finally, “do you play me false, I will not hesitate to kill you.” Then he reached down and grabbed her by an elbow. With one rough motion, he swept her up into his arms, weightlessly, and held her snugly across his lap.

Rain rubbed her elbow in chagrin but decided not to push her luck by complaining.
Holy cow!
Aside from the unnecessary roughness, Rain marveled that Selik could have lifted her so easily. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had picked her up. She was too big. Wasn’t she?

“And do not wiggle your arse like you did afore,” Selik ordered insolently as the horse began to move. “Your bawdy games will gain you naught. Even if I had the time, I would not rut with such as you.”