Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (41 page)

“And you think that excuses your planning my wedding without my knowledge? Because you think it’s for my own good?”

“Yea,” he said and smiled broadly, folding his arms across his chest.

Rain shook her head in wonder. “That’s the most convoluted, twisted logic I’ve ever heard in all my life,” she said, laughing.

“I love you,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes, trying to wipe out Selik’s image saying those wonderful words. She couldn’t.
She clenched her fists and scrunched her eyes tighter.

“I love you,” he repeated.

Her pulse raced, and she felt an odd humming in her ears, rather like a wedding march. She opened her eyes and pleaded, “Selik, even if I could forget everything you’ve done, it doesn’t erase the fact that, at the first major injustice that arises, you are going to go off seeking revenge. It’s the kind of man you are.”

He smiled and breathed a deep sigh of relief, as if he’d just won a major battle. “’Tis odd you should mention that.” He pushed her onto a stool by the examining table and laid a heavy parchment in front of her. “There.”

She looked down at the thick paper with the indecipherable scratchings. “Selik, I can’t read medieval English. What is it?”

“A wedding contract.” He ignored her gasp and went on blithely, “I will read it for you.”

She looked up at him in amazement, and the humming in her head grew louder.

“I promise to love you forever, of course.”

“Of course.”

The humming intensified.

“And I will give you a dozen children.”

“A dozen? There are already a dozen children running around out there.”

“Nay, I mean a dozen more of your own.”

She slanted a cynical look up at him.

“Do you doubt my ability?”

“Never,” she laughed. “It’s my ability to care for so many children that I doubt.”

He waved a hand airily. “I will help you.”

Rain made a scoffing sound.

“And I promise that every morning you will awaken with a smile on your face.”

“You are outrageous.”

“I know. ’Tis one of the wonderful things about me.”

“Selik, you have a way of making me smile even when I’m so mad at you that I could spit.”

He beamed. “’Tis another wonderful asset of mine.”

“Would you like me to read the rest for you?” he asked, smiling at her with such open adoration that Rain felt blessed. “I think you will like this part. It says you may stick needles in me if you want…”

She laughed.

“…and I promise to never embark on any act of deliberate revenge or violence without my wife’s consent. Even when it involves my own beloved wife and children.”

Rain put a palm to her chest in dismay. She was sinking fast, and Selik was her only anchor.

His face turned suddenly somber then, and he knelt on one knee to bring himself eye-level with her. “Will you marry me, Rain?”

The music in her head turned into a full-blown orchestra.

“Yes,” she said softly, taking his face between her hands and kissing him gently.

At first, Selik was not sure he had heard Rain right. He stared at her, stunned. But then her single word sank in, and he let out a whoop of delight, “Thank God!”

You’re welcome
.

“Oh, dearling, I have been trying so hard to please you. I truly am trying to change. But still I was fearful you would never give in. ’Tis about time.”

You can say that again
.

Later that night, after the most wonderful wedding in history, Rain lay in bed in her new home with her new husband. She didn’t think she could be any happier.

“Are you sure you can be content staying in the
past, sweetling? Will you not miss your mother?” Selik asked, leaning up on an elbow to gaze down at her.

“Believe me, my mother will understand.”

“And your hospital? Someday you may regret the lack of more advanced medicines and tools.”

Rain shook her head. Her heart filled almost to overflowing at the mere thought that this wonderful, handsome, outrageous man was her husband. How could he think she’d want anything more? “I can do a great deal of good here in the clinic you built for me. We both can.”

“I worry that you will be sorry someday.”

“Selik, I love you. As long as I have you, I’ll never be sorry.”

“I love you, too, dearling,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck and then lower, and still lower. He chuckled and raised his head suddenly. “I forgot to show you your bride gift.”

“Selik, you have already built me a house and a clinic. I think that’s more than enough.”

“Yea, but this is more…personal. Since you were so gracious to mention the G-Spot to me when we first met, I am going to introduce you to the famous Viking S-Spot.” He tickled her in a very sensitive spot for emphasis.

“I don’t believe there is such a thing.”

“Hah! Woe to the unbelievers!” he said, quoting the infernal voice, which had disappeared once Rain agreed to be his wife. He ducked his head, laughing. “The tricky thing about the S-Spot is that it can only be found with the tongue.”

Rain gasped. “Oh…oh, I think you’ve found it.”

And she soon became a believer.

And the god-spirit looked down and was pleased
.

A Viking museum does exist in York today, as depicted in this novel. It commemorates the great Coppergate archaeological dig, which unearthed many treasures related to Viking Age England, 800–1000 A.D., shedding new light on the proud, fierce Norsemen.

However, the massive oil painting of the Battle of Brunanburh that brutally ended Viking domination in England, with my war-ravaged hero Selik in its center, is pure fiction.

Or is it?

Modern scientists are just beginning to understand genetic memory, and, truth be told, my family tree on my father’s side can be traced directly back to Viking times through thirty-three generations to the great Viking Rollo (or Hrolf the Ganger).

Perhaps the scenes I describe in Viking England are mere figments of an overactive imagination based on an innate attraction to these magnificent
people who are a biological part of me. Logic would certainly say so.

On the other hand, couldn’t they be more than that?

Perhaps, somewhere in an ancient, moldering castle or a long-neglected museum corridor, there hangs just such a portrait of Viking history. I like to think so.

Stranger things have happened.

About the Author

SANDRA HILL
is a graduate of Penn State and worked for more than 10 years as a features writer and education editor for publications in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Writing about serious issues taught her the merits of seeking the lighter side of even the darkest stories. She is the wife of a stockbroker and the mother of four sons.

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