Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (7 page)

“And where should I put Fury?” Ubbi asked sheepishly.

“
Fury!
You brought Fury here?”

“Yea. Methought you might have need of your horse.”

“Fury! That figures. Only you would give your horse such a morbid name,” Rain commented.

Selik swept her with a contemptuous, dismissing glance. “Go stick a needle in someone’s eye—preferably a Saxon’s.”

“I did
not
stick a needle in Tykir’s eye,” she asserted defensively, “but I’d like to stick one in yours. And a few other choice places. Have you ever heard of a vasectomy?” she asked innocently. At his dumbfounded look, Rain explained just what a vasectomy entailed. She was pleased to see Selik’s face pale at the idea of needles pricking his precious manhood.

“Needles? Eye?” Ubbi sputtered, pivoting his head
back and forth from Rain to Selik as they exchanged insults.

“You stuck them everywhere
but
his eye,” Selik accused.

“He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Humph! You no doubt waved your bloody angel wings over him.”

“You just can’t admit that a mere woman is a physician.”

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous! Ridiculous! Hah! I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous. It’s you and all these other Dark Age warriors,” she shrieked, sweeping her arm outward to indicate the battered soldiers flooding the vast fields. “You think that war and the taking of human life solve your problems. That’s what’s ridiculous.”

Ubbi, Sigrid, Gunvor, and all the other spectators who’d gathered nearby gaped at her in stunned disbelief that she would dare to yell at the fierce outlaw knight, but there was a suspicious quirk at the edge of Selik’s twitching lips. Criminey! She’d fallen right into one of his traps again, Rain chastised herself disgustedly.

“Oh, I give up,” she said, throwing out her hands in resignation. She turned to stomp back to Selik’s tent and called out to Selik’s sidekick, “Well, don’t stand there like a turnip, Ubbi. Are you coming?”

“Me?” a slack-jawed Ubbi squeaked out.

Selik grinned infuriatingly.

“Yes, you,” she snarled and grabbed his arm so forcefully that she almost lifted his small body off the ground. “Talk about ridiculous names. Who ever heard of a name like Ubbi?”

“What’s wrong with me name?” Ubbi asked weakly, scampering to keep up with her long strides.

“Sounds like a stupid Motown song.
You-bee, doo-bee, doo
.”

Ubbi chortled gleefully at Rain’s softly sung words.
“Oh, mistress, thank the Lord fer yer comin’ to save me master. ’Tis just what m’lord be needin’ to lighten his harsh life.”

After Ubbi cared for Selik’s horse, Fury, a magnificent black destrier with a temperament mean enough to match his owner’s, they went to Selik’s tent, where Ubbi stowed his pitifully small bundle of belongings.

Ubbi rolled his eyes mischievously toward the sleeping furs. “Didst find the furs soft enuf fer yer fair skin, milady?”

Rain laughed at Ubbi’s transparent curiosity about whether she and his master had slept together. “No, Ubbi, I didn’t make love with Selik last night.”

Ubbi clapped a gnarled hand in exaggerated dismay to his chest. “Oh, mistress, a thousand pardons. I know ye did not mate with the master.”

“You know?”

“Yea, ’twould be a far better mood my lord would be in if he had eased himself ’atween yer thighs,” Ubbi said impudently, an impish gleam twinkling in his cloudy eyes.

Rain smiled and shook her head. She liked this crafty fellow.

They walked back companionably to the clearing, where large groups of men were hurriedly gathering their weapons, preparing to depart. The Saxons must be getting closer.

“Where are they going?”

Ubbi shrugged. He nodded toward one grizzly-haired giant wearing what looked like a long piece of plaid fabric thrown over his shoulder. “Constantine and his Scots will go back north, no doubt, along with his nephew Eugenius and his Strathclyde Welsh.” The two burly warriors in their primitive splendor were ordering their men into ranks. Constantine’s eyes looked red rimmed
and despairing. Ubbi told her the Scots king had lost his son, Prince Ceallagh, in the battle the day before.

Then Ubbi pointed out Anlaf Guthfrithsson, the Viking king of Dublin, commander of all the Norsemen in the Brunanburh battle. Awestruck, Rain hadn’t realized she was in the midst of such historic personages.

She looked back and saw Selik arguing fiercely with Anlaf. Ubbi followed her gaze and commented, “As to that noble cur, ’tis hard to say. Mayhap he will go back to Jorvik and try to regain his Northumbrian empire, but ’tis more likely he will scoot off to Dublin with his tail ’atween his legs.” Ubbi spat on the ground at his feet to show his distaste, then went on, “’Tis said Anlaf has hundreds of ships anchored on the Humber, awaiting his quick departure. One thing is certain, he will not have enough surviving soldiers to man his longboats.”

Rain scrutinized the tall man with the neatly braided blond hair. Cruelty etched his craggy features, and Rain shivered with distaste, sharing Ubbi’s disdain for King Anlaf.

“Where will we go?”

“
We?
” Ubbi asked with an arched eyebrow.

“You, me, Selik. And whichever of Selik’s men have survived. Are there any, by the way?”

Ubbi shook his head woefully. “Nay, all his hird of faithful retainers were taken in the Great Battle, but there will be others to follow. There always are—those who know his true worth, those brave enough to flaunt Athelstan’s wrath. But pitiful few they will be now.” The little man sighed wearily.

“Then where will we go? To Scotland? Or Wales?”

Ubbi shot her a look of disbelief. “Nay, Constantine and Eugenius welcome my master’s mighty hand in battle, but they will not relish him in their lands now.
They slither home to protect their own backs.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Scots and Welsh kings will pledge their traitorous allegiance to the Saxon ruler now that they have lost the Great Battle, ’til it suits them otherwise. ’Twon’t be the first time. But Selik is a marked man they cannot risk harboring.”

“And how about the Viking king?” Rain asked, pointing to Anlaf, who still argued with Selik. “Will he welcome him?”

Ubbi’s lips curled sardonically. “Welcome, nay. But he cannot keep him away. ’Tis certain that is why they bicker now. He prob’ly tries to convince Selik to take his longship and darken Northumbrian shores no more.”

Anlaf finally stomped away from Selik, his face purple with rage. He called angrily to his men to follow him.

Selik’s eyes scanned the area, his back straight, his stubborn chin lifted defiantly, undoubtedly knowing the crowd saw him as an outcast even among his own people. His steely eyes found Rain’s and locked in silent challenge.

Did he expect her to desert him like all the others? She tipped her chin proudly, matching his gesture, hoping he understood that she supported him, no matter what.

Ubbi reached out his misshapen hand and squeezed hers tightly. “Oh, mistress,” he said softly.

Never breaking his visual embrace with her, Selik finally nodded solemnly, indicating his acceptance of her silent pledge of loyalty. Several warriors moved then to his side, as well. Rain’s misty eyes caressed Selik, and her heart swelled in her chest with an overwhelming yearning to ease the pain of this lonely man.

Rain wished she could erase the bleakness in Selik’s eyes and somehow knew she would have to
enter his emotional hell to help pull him out. But what would be her fate then? Could she ever return to her own time? And what scars would she carry forevermore?

Rain watched with dismay as more and more of the soldiers dismantled their tents, gathered their furs and bedding, and left the secluded camp with brisk efficiency. Some departed with military precision under the leadership of Kings Constantine and Anlaf. Others rushed away individually or in small groups, calling out promises to meet later in the northern lands of the Scots, or Dublin where the Norsemen reigned, or Jorvik, the town Rain knew as York.

Within hours, the flat-topped plain was almost deserted.

Ubbi tended the cooking fires abandoned by the women who had fled with their husbands. A dozen scruffy soldiers who had chosen to stay with Selik were clearing up the debris and helping Selik to cover the trails of the departing warriors.

“Why aren’t we leaving too?” Rain asked Ubbi.

“The master would ne’er leave Tykir, and ’twill be days afore he is well enuf fer travel.”

“Is it safe here?”

“Be ye barmy?” Ubbi asked with a mocking snort. “’Tis ne’er safe for me lord when Saxons be about. King Athelstan put a bounty on his head long ago, but now he will no doubt want his eyes and tongue, as well.”

“Why?”

“You were at the Great Battle. Did ye not see the Saxon he speared near the end, the one he hoisted on his halberd and stuck in the ground soz the noble prince swung from the pike?”

Rain nodded uneasily. “A Saxon prince?”

He shook his craggy head sadly. “King Athelstan’s own cousin, Elwinus.” He wrung his misshaped hands worriedly. “And even worse, Elwinus was brother to that bastard—excuse me language, m’lady—to that wretched Steven of Gravely, who hates Selik with a passion.”

“Oh, my God! Then Selik should leave
now
. I’ll stay and take care of Tykir while he recuperates. Even if we’re discovered here, the Saxons have no reason to harm me.”

Ubbi’s rheumy eyes shot her a look of disbelief. “And what do ye think they would do to Tykir? Coddle him with chicken broth and sweet wine? Hah! They would just as soon cut off all his limbs and let him bleed to death.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a bounty on Tykir’s head as well.”

“Nay, leastways, not yet, but he fought on the wrong side in this battle.”

“I still say Selik should leave us here and escape while he can.”

“Oh, mistress, ye do not unnerstan’. Even if ’twere not fer Tykir, my lord wud not abandon you here alone. Ye belong to him now.”

Rain bristled. “Me? Belong to him? Hardly!”

“Now, mistress, do not be fightin’ yer fate. The
master captured you in battle, and ye be part of the spoils, so to speak. Methinks he even named you hostage, did he not?”

“He
did not
capture me. In fact,
I
saved
him
. And let’s get one thing straight—I am no one’s prisoner. Nor do I need the protection of some blasted, bloodthirsty Viking.”

“If you say so,” Ubbi said doubtfully, “but the master takes his duties seriously. Leastways, he tries his best ter protect those men and wimmen under his shield, ’specially since Astrid…” Ubbi’s words trailed off and he glanced guiltily toward Selik across the campsite as if he realized belatedly how much he’d disclosed.

“Astrid? Who’s Astrid?”

Ubbi groaned. “I beg you, m’lady, do not mention her name to my lord. Please, if ye value yer life.”

Rain frowned in confusion. “Tell me who she is, and I promise not to say a word to Selik.” When he balked, she added, “On the other hand, if you don’t want to tell me, I can always ask Selik.”

Ubbi’s face blanched with horror.

Rain’s curiosity got the best of her then, and she demanded in a steely voice, “
Who
is Astrid?”

“His wife,” Ubbi answered grimly, then darted away before she could ask any more questions.

His wife!
Rain’s heart skipped a beat, and her shoulders slumped.
His wife!
Why had she not considered the possibility that Selik was married? And why should it matter to her? She was just a visitor to this primitive period in history, a time traveler who would surely return to the future once her mission was accomplished, whatever it might be.

No, it didn’t matter to her whether Selik was married or not, Rain told herself resolutely, refusing to listen to her aching heart, which told another story.
His wife!

Selik walked up to her then, but she forgot her
hurt and anger when she noticed his full battle regalia. Alarm rippled through her as she pressed a widespread palm to her chest to still her fast-beating heart.

He didn’t wear chain mail, as he had the day before, but he did wear thick leather protective gear. The short-sleeved, open-sided, leather garment protected him from neck to midthigh and was worn over a heavy wool knee-length tunic and tight black leggings. A wide, linked silver belt with a huge center clasp accented his deliciously narrow waist, drawing her eyes to his slim hips. The metal belt must weigh at least ten pounds, she realized, and be worth a fortune. Matching silver armlets outlined the muscles of his upper arms.

He had plaited his long hair into a single braid which hung down his back, like her own darker blond one. He held a conical leather helmet in his hands and shifted impatiently from foot to foot as Ubbi led the saddled Fury toward him.

He was everything violent and dark that the logical, pacifist side of her brain hated in a man. And he was everything sinfully seductive and soulfully magnetic that the hormone-humming, completely illogical side of her brain yearned to have, if only for this interlude in time.

Without thinking, she leaned toward him, yearning to touch his sun-warmed skin, until she noticed the edges of his lips turned up in a knowing grin. She jerked back abruptly.

“Have you changed your mind so soon? Do you now want to…make sex?”

“No, I do not.”
In a New York minute, sweetheart
.

“Really? You were looking at me like a winter-starved cat suddenly given a bowl of cream.”

“You overestimate yourself.”
Lapping? Now that presents some interesting possibilities
.

“Mayhap we can discuss this later when I—”

His words were cut off as a handful of his men rode up on horseback and waited for his orders.

“Take care of Tykir and the other injured men whilst I am gone.” The silky seduction had disappeared from his voice, replaced with cold command.

She agreed, glancing toward the only “hospital” tent remaining. Then Selik’s words sank in, and her eyes shot anxiously back to him. “You’re leaving us?”

He nodded. “We must needs hide the mountain trail better. And bring back food if we can find a living animal unwise enough to still linger near this camp. Otherwise, we will all shrink to skin and bones from hunger.”

His cool eyes swept her body, as if judging
her
skin and bones, weighing her critically from head to toe and back again, with exaggerated emphasis on her size.

She thought she saw a flicker of appreciation in his eyes, and she blushed.
Good Lord! Thirty years old and he has me as flustered as a fifteen-year-old virgin
.

“Be here when I come back,” he ordered in a low, husky voice.

“And where would I go?” she snapped testily, as annoyed with herself as with him for rising so quickly to his seductive bait. “You
will
come back, won’t you?”

“Are you missing me already, wench?”

Save him
, a voice inside her said once again.

Rain couldn’t say for sure if it was her own inner voice speaking or some supernatural being. But she didn’t like it.

“Why did you jump?” Selik asked softly as he stepped closer, so close she could smell the leather of his armored vest and his own distinctive masculine scent. His warm breath caressed her face as
he leaned even closer and whispered, “Could it be I make you nervous?”

“No. I think God just talked to me,” she whispered in awe, “and it surprised me.”

“I heard naught.” His eyes shot upward to the sky before lowering to regard her skeptically. “Does God talk to you often?”

She shook her head. “No, he never did until I came here to…”

“…to save me,” he finished for her, shaking his head ruefully. An almost imperceptible flicker of hope sparked in his eyes, then died. “Why do you persist in this foolish story of yours? I no longer believe in God, and He certainly holds me in disfavor.”

“You’re a Christian?” she asked in surprise.

“Nay. Oh, I was at one time. Leastways, Archbishop Hrothweard baptized me in the Roman church in Jorvik, like many Norsemen who practice Christianity with one hand and the old religions with the other. But I believe in naught anymore, not even myself. In fact, I am a
nithing
.”

“A
nithing?
” Rain shuddered at the utter self-contempt in his flat voice.

Selik shrugged. “A most offensive person. ’Tis the supreme insult for any man, Viking or Saxon. A person beyond redemption.”

Rain shook her head forcefully. “Now that is where you are wrong, Selik. I’m not exactly certain why God sent me here, but I do know one thing for sure. God believes you are redeemable.”

For just a second, Rain saw hope flash in his silvery eyes, but the light died out almost immediately to its usual dull gray bleakness. And Rain knew she had her work cut out for her.

“I do not believe in eternity,” he said, running the knuckles of his right hand along the edge of her jawline in a light caress, “but I do still cherish
the odd moment of pleasure. Now that I see your merit as a healer, mayhap I will keep you at my side for a bit longer. And perchance we will share one of those moments.
Or two
. In truth, it has been a long time since I have felt such…urges.”

A sweet thrill rushed through Rain at Selik’s arrogant words. Anticipation. Imagination. Fantasy. All warred with her usual self-control, and logic won out. “No way am I going to be your momentary pleasure, babe.”
Especially with a wife in the background
. “Best you curb your urges.”

Selik just laughed, then had the effrontery to pat her on the rump in a just-you-wait-and-see fashion.

Indignant at his familiarity, she tried to slap his vulgar hand away, but he was already beyond her reach. Taking the reins Ubbi handed him, Selik put his left foot in the stirrup and leapt into the saddle with the grace of an athlete.

“Here is Wrath,” Ubbi said, handing him an awesome sword, the same one Selik had wielded on the battlefield. “I sharpened it for you.”

“Wrath! You name your stupid sword? Criminey! That would be like me naming my scalpel. Actually, I kind of like that idea,” she rambled on, trying to understand her turbulent emotions. “Healer would be nice, don’t you think?”

Selik ignored her completely. “Thank you, Ubbi, for honing the blade. You are my right hand.”

Ubbi beamed as if Selik had handed him the world with those few words of praise, and Rain began to think there might still be a softer side to this fierce Viking.

“Keep my bed furs warm for me, wench,” he called down to Rain then, jarring her from any complimentary thoughts she had been harboring toward him. Then he caught her eye and winked wickedly.

Rain said a very vulgar word, one she never used in her own time, but which somehow
seemed appropriate now. Apparently, it was an Anglo-Saxon term that had descended through the centuries because Selik’s eyes widened in surprise and perfect understanding, and Ubbi exclaimed in shock, “My lady!”

Selik chuckled while he donned his leather helmet. “I will remember that sentiment, Sweetling,”

Sweetling!

Rain watched sullenly as Selik rode off, laughing, with his men. Despite her annoyance and the fact that the wretched, teasing warrior had a wife, the sound of his touching endearment, “Sweetling,” echoed for a long time in her lonely heart.

For the rest of the day, Rain worked closely with Tykir and the dozen other wounded soldiers left behind. Work details had buried dozens of dead men before the armies had left that morning. They’d carried their wounded with them on sledges and crude slings. It soon became obvious why the Scots and Norsemen had failed to take these last of their disabled warriors with them. None had any hope of survival.

Nevertheless, Rain worked desperately to ease their passing, finally turning to her acupuncture needles as a last resort when the Darvon and aspirin ran out. Three of them died before nightfall. A fourth would not make it to morning.

Darkness had already fallen when Rain left the tent, knowing Tykir would sleep through the night. She had placed several acupuncture needles in strategic places on his body to relieve the pain, and as a precaution had ordered one of Selik’s remaining soldiers to tie Tykir securely to the table so he would not jar them accidentally in his sleep.

When she dropped wearily to the ground near the cooking fire, Ubbi handed her a bowl of the stew that remained from the morning and a hunk of dry brown bread. They tasted wonderful to Rain, and
she had to restrain herself from licking the wooden bowl.

“Do you want more?”

She shook her head. “No, save the rest for Selik and his men when they return.” She suddenly realized how long they had been gone and looked worriedly around the campsite. Two other small fires burned brightly where men lay about on sleeping furs, and some soldiers stood guard at strategic spots in the distance. But no Selik.

“Shouldn’t Selik be back by now?”

Ubbi shrugged.

What would she do if Selik didn’t return? Rain wondered, realizing that, despite his vulgar, violent nature, Selik was her anchor in this bungee jump through time. Without him, she would surely plunge to—what? Death? Limbo? Reincarnation? Of all the choices, not once did Rain consider the possibility that she would return to the future. Somehow, she sensed that she had been sent back in time for a purpose.

To save him
.

Rain groaned aloud at the inner voice in her head, still unsure whether it was her own subconscious speaking or something else.
Oh, Lord!

I hear you
.

Rain jerked upright and her eyes darted around the fire where Ubbi still worked busily, banking the coals and cleaning up the utensils.