The Outlaw Viking

by Sandra Hill

  Her question stunned Selik. There should have been an easy answer, but he could not form the words to defend himself.

  A rustling noise drew his attention then, and Selik noticed that their conversation had awakened all the prisoners, who listened intently to what must seem a strange conversation. With a grunt of disgust, he leaned down and picked up the troublesome wench.

  Rain exhaled sharply in surprise at his quick movement, but before she could protest, he tucked her face into his neck, wrapped a steely arm around her now flailing legs, pressing them against his hip, and pinned both arms against her body by the enclosure of his right arm.

  Selik knew Rain considered herself too big to be picked up by any man, and he delighted in perpetuating her misconception. He pretended to trip and almost fall. She stopped struggling immediately.

  “Mayhap, if you would not eat so much, you might stop growing.”

  “Argh! Put me down.”

  “Nay, I find the exercise good for me after a long day of riding. Much like carrying my horse.”

  She stilled suddenly, then asked in a small voice, “Selik, where is your horse?”

  Surprised by her question, he answered hesitantly, “’Tis picketed with the other horses near the pond. Why?”

  “Would you take me to see Fury? Please. It’s important to me.”

  Selik shrugged. He saw no harm in letting her look at the animal. Besides, he could use a quick bath in the pond. As he recalled, his saddlebag, containing soap and linens, lay on the ground near the horses, where he had left it.

  But he did not want to acquiesce too soon. “And why should I? What will you give me for the favor?”

  He felt her stiffen immediately. “I have nothing to give.”

  “Oh? I do not know about that. You could promise to silence your shrewish tongue. Or pledge an oath not to escape.” A delicious, heart-stopping thought occurred to him. “Or…”

  “Or?”

  “Or you could kiss me of your own free will,” he whispered huskily as he nuzzled her hair. It still smelled of Passion, the perfume she had worn yestereve. And her own sweet, sweet scent.

  “Hah! I gave you a lot more than kisses last night.”

  “Yea, but not really of your own free will, since you were asleep. And, as I recall, there were no kisses.” In truth, he recalled a great deal more than that.

  How odd, he thought, that he had touched her so intimately and not kissed her! If he had truly thought he was making love with his dead wife in his berserk state, why had he not supped of her lips? Mayhap he had not been as bemused as they both thought. Mayhap he had known exactly who was in his bed furs, but his inner mind wanted to deny the traitorous attraction.

  “A kiss? All you want is a kiss?”

  He nodded, releasing his hold on her now that they had reached the pond. She slid sensuously down his rigid body until she stood facing him, only a breathing space apart, but not touching.

  “And then we will talk?”

  He nodded silently once again, unable to move under the spell of her seductive nearness. Truly, she must be a sorceress to entrance him so.

  Rain put her hands on his shoulders and leaned up. He felt her sweet breath on his lips before she closed her eyes and brushed her soft lips gently from side to side against his as if savoring that barest of caresses. But the effect was powerful, overwhelming.

  She whimpered.

  He held himself rigid, fighting against the roaring of blood in his head, the wild beating of his heart. ’Tis just a kiss.

  “Selik,” she whispered pleadingly against his mouth.

  Moving her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, she stroked the tense muscles. And moved closer. Breast to chest. Thigh to thigh. Hip to hip. Manhood to womanhood.

  Selik moaned. He could not help himself.

  And she moved her lips once again, more firmly this time, shaping, coaxing. She nipped his bottom lip, then suckled at it gently.

  He gasped with sheer, utter pleasure, and she took advantage of the opportunity to slip the tip of her tongue between his lips. A brief foray. Over so quickly he might have dreamed it.

  And she claims to get no particular joy from the bed mating! What might she do if really aroused?

  Selik felt himself harden and elongate against her soft body. Enough of teasing games! He put his arms around her and pulled her tighter against his body. And he took over control of the kiss.

  Then, placing a hand on each side of her face, he tilted her face up to the bright moonlight and noted with extreme satisfaction the slumberous, half-lidded eyes, the slightly parted, moist lips. With exquisite care, he traced her lips with the pad of his thumb, then did the same with the tip of his tongue.

  She parted her lips even more, and his heart stopped. He rubbed his lips seductively back and forth across hers, making them slick with the juices of their mutual wanting. He pressed hard, wanting all of her, then slackened to a feathery question of a kiss, then hard again. He could not get enough of her. Her taste was an aphrodisiac he could not resist.

  When desire pounded in his veins, he could resist no more and slipped his tongue into the welcome sheath of her mouth. She suckled him, and his hardness spasmed reflexively against her.

  A nagging inner voice warned Selik that things were progressing too quickly. This wonderful, intense yearning that he had not felt for so many years, maybe never, would end abruptly with his spilling his seed if he did not slow down this love game.

  He pulled away slowly, reluctantly, and said in a raw voice, “Rain, you will devour me with your sweet heat. We must cool down a bit so we can savor the pleasure more.” She moved against him in protest, and he held her firm. “Nay, sweetling, I want to love you through the night, and I will not last another moment if you do not stop torturing me.”

  “I? Torture you? No, I am the one who is on fire,” she whispered huskily.

  And Selik almost reached his peak.

  Putting his hands on her shoulders, he held her firmly away from him. Then he made a raw sound deep in his throat as he noticed the cloudy sensuality of her half-shuttered eyes and the swollen redness of her lips. Lips engorged with his kisses, he thought with inordinate satisfaction. Holy Thor!

  He forced himself to lean down and grab his saddlebag, which he had dropped by the pond earlier, then pull her bemused, obviously aroused body toward the edge of the pond. Before she could grasp his intent, he dropped the bag, picked her up, and walked into the pond until the icy water reached his midthigh. Then he sat down with her still in his arms.

  She shrieked.

  He held her firm. “Sit still, dearling. We both need to cool our hot blood for the long night ahead. Besides, I smell like Fury, and no doubt I have spread my smell on you.”

  “Selik, it’s freezing.”

  “Shh. I know. Just stand.”

  When she did what he asked without her usual questioning or defiance, he removed her tunic, her shert and braies, her shoes, and the sensual undergarments which had a secret fastening between the breasts. She stood naked and shivering before him. Magnificent. Golden hair down to the waist. Long limbs. Slim hips. High, firm breasts. Like all his images of the Norse goddesses.

  “Do not move,” he ordered raspily, having difficulty catching his breath. It must be the cold, he told himself.

  Quickly, he returned to the saddlebag and removed a chunk of soap and some linen cloths, then removed all his clothing. When he returned, she stood in the same spot, scrutinizing his body as intently as he had hers.

  “You are so beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Nay, not anymore. You must be blind.” But he could not stop the smile from softening his mouth.

  “My mother was right. You look like a Norse god.”

  Selik shook his head at the coincidence of their thinking. “Mayhap fate has ordained that you be goddess to this god then.

  “Come,” he encouraged her, then quickly soaped her entire body from shoulders to toes, stopping here a
nd there to show his appreciation for each delectable spot he discovered. When he soaped his hands and massaged the globes of her breasts into hard points, pressing against his palms, she gasped throatily, “I have never, never, wanted a man as much as I want you.”

  Selik wanted to scoff at her words, but the unexplainable joy they brought blocked his throat. Without words, he handed the soap to her, and she returned the favor, lathering his body. Her delicate surgeon’s hands gently eased his muscles and turned his skin hot, even in the cold air and water. When she began to work her wiles on his manhood, he stopped her, reluctantly. “Nay, I cannot take so much pleasure.”

  The soap dropped between them, and Selik pulled her once more into his embrace. Their soap-slick bodies moved sensuously against each other, and they both smiled.

  “Oh,” they said in unison, and smiled again.

  Selik rubbed his chest against her soapy breasts and delighted as she arched her neck, closed her eyes, and pressed herself tighter against him. “I ache for you,” she whispered.

  “Enough!” He dropped down into the water, taking her with him and hastily rinsed the soap from both their bodies, then pulled her toward the bank, where he grabbed a fur cloak he had dropped a short time ago and wrapped it about her, but not before nipping and kissing all the sensitive curves of her delicious body.

  She stood docilely, staring up at him, aroused to the point of mindlessness. He was in no better condition.

  Selik wrung the water from his hair, shook himself like a shaggy dog, then wrapped an arm around Rain’s shoulder, pulling her against his side. He began to walk back toward his tent, uncaring of his nudity, taking her with him.

  They had almost passed the area where the horses were picketed when Rain stopped short and shook her head as if to clear it. “The horse,” she said in a suddenly cold voice. “You promised I could see your horse.”

  Confused by her sudden change of mood, Selik nodded his head and led her toward Fury, who whinnied softly in welcome when Selik stroked his mane.

  “Where’s your saddle?” she asked in an oddly shrill voice.

  “What troubles you, sweetling?” Selik asked, suddenly alarmed.

  “Just show me your saddle.”

  He pointed to a spot nearby and watched through narrowed eyes as she found his saddle, bent to examine it, then dropped to her knees. He could tell by her heaving shoulders that she was crying. Tilting his head in puzzlement, he drew closer.

  “Tell me,” he urged, dropping down beside her. Despite his naked flesh, he did not feel the cold.

  “These,” she said, gagging. “Did you take these?”

  He saw the half dozen scalps hanging from the saddle horn and stiffened. Bloody hell! He had intended to destroy the vile things. In truth, he had not even realized he had taken the scalps during his berserk rage that day until they were almost back to the campsite. Though many of his fellow Norsemen took scalps after every battle, he had never done such before. The horror of the carnage he had witnessed that day must have turned his mind. But he refused to explain himself to the sanctimonious wench.

  “Yea, ’tis the behaettie, a noble Norse practice to prevent our enemies from entering the gates of heaven.”

  She shook her head in denial and rocked back and forth on her heels, weeping silently.

  “’Tis not a pretty sight, I know, but ’tis no worse than the Saxon’s trophies. They skin Norsemen alive and pin the hides on their church doors.”

  “Violent men always find excuses for their bestiality,” she said wearily, looking him directly in the eye now. The sadness of her condemnation chilled him as the freezing water and cool night air had not.

  He shivered and the ever-present ache of his lost soul hung over him like a winter cloud.

  Chapter Six

  Heartsick, Rain staggered to her feet, clutching the length of fur around her naked body. She shivered, but not from the cold. Her mind reeled with shock from the ghastly sight of human scalps hanging from Selik’s saddle.

  Oh, God! This man—this man who is somehow becoming precious to me—not only takes human lives, but he keeps souvenirs of his depravity.

  Selik stood before her, nude and unapologetic, with his head tilted questioningly. The wet strands of his hair blew slightly as they dried in the night breeze. Even in the moonlight, she could see that her horrified reaction to the scalps had transformed his beautiful eyes, which had been luminous with passion moments before, back to their usual blank soullessness.

  Briefly, her eyes skimmed his body from wide shoulders, past tightly fisted hands braced on his slim hips, over his flat stomach, even over his well-formed genitals, to long, sinewy thighs and calves and bare feet. She shook her head in awe before his beauty and the fact that it did not matter to her that he was a magnificent animal. Because that was the key word—animal. He was, in fact, a wounded beast.

  “Yea, I am a beast. I forewarned you of the fact, but you insisted you could save me.” Selik’s voice rasped thickly with scorn and self-deprecation.

  Rain had not realized she’d spoken the words aloud, but perhaps it was best that Selik knew exactly how she felt. Not that it would change anything. A man who could do such a horrible thing was irredeemable.

  Who are you to cast stones? the voice in Rain’s head asked. She closed her eyes wearily, fearing that she wavered on the brink of some kind of nervous breakdown.

  There is good in every man, if you will only look.

  Rain’s mind reeled with confusion. This whole time-travel experience was probably just a figment of her imagination. She was probably sitting in some Monty Python-type mental institution in a straight jacket. With a Jack Nicholson-type psychiatrist at hand. Yes, it made sense. All this Viking stuff was just a fantasy. No, a nightmare. She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle of hysteria.

  Selik snorted with disgust at her oddly timed amusement, and she shot him a glare of what she hoped was an equal dose of disgust. Then she started to walk past him back to the line of captives. She needed to get away from the barbarian to think.

  Selik grabbed her by the upper arm as she passed, stopping her. “Where do you think you are going?”

  “Don’t…touch…me,” she gritted out with evenly spaced words. “Don’t…ever…touch…me…again.”

  He released her arm and backed off a bit. Muscles tensed in his jutting jaw, and he said in a steely voice, “Hostages do not give orders.”

  Rain shrugged dejectedly. “I was a fool to think I was anything more. I was a fool to think I could change you.”

  Oh, ye of little faith!

  “Stop it,” she cried out, putting a hand to her aching head while clutching the ends of the fur together with the other hand.

  “Stop what?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” she snapped. “It’s the damn voice in my head.”

  Selik almost looked amused, but the smile never reached his cold, cold eyes. “God again?”

  “Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know. It’s probably just my conscience or something.”

  “Save your conscience for someone who cares,” he commented contemptuously. “Or someone who is redeemable. I am not.”

  “Oh, be quiet. Can’t you see I’ve had enough for one day?” Deliberately ignoring him, she began to walk toward the captives, then stopped suddenly and headed toward Selik’s tent. She’d just realized that she needed warmer clothing.

  As she picked her way over the cold ground in her bare feet, she muttered, “Criminey! I’ll be the only doctor in the world with callouses on the soles of my feet.”

  A short time later, she was rooting through one of Selik’s chests, looking for a tunic and leggings—braies, Selik called them—to wear until her clothing dried, when she looked up and saw him leaning against the tent opening, still eye-bulgingly, heart-stoppingly, gloriously nude.

  Rain barely suppressed a groan. Give me a break, God. You don’t play fair.

  “Thievery now?” he asked dryly, looking at his garment
s in her hands.

  “I need some warm clothing. You may be impervious to the cold, but I’m not going to sleep buck-naked out there on the cold ground.”

  “You are right. You are not going to sleep on the cold ground out there.”

  When the implication of his words sunk in, Rain twisted her head and looked up at him in disbelief. “You can’t possibly think I would sleep with you now. Have you any idea how you repel me? In fact, I repel myself for allowing your hands to touch me so intimately when—when—” She sputtered, unable to come up with words to describe his atrocities. Finally, she explained with a tired shrug, “I feel defiled.”

  Rain saw his jaw clench tightly, but his eyes betrayed no emotion. “Defiled or not, you share my bed furs.”

  She stood angrily, holding her fur together with one hand and a tunic and pair of leggings in the other.

  He held up a hand to silence her. “Nay, do not think to defy me on this. And, know this, wench, I have no desire to rut with you this night. But if the urge ever hits me in a moment of madness, it will be my decision to make, not yours.”

  “Then it would be rape. But why should that bother you, beast that you are? It’s just one more sin to add to your list, and a minor one, I daresay, in light of your other atrocities.”

  He shrugged dismissively.

  “Oh!” she finally said in exasperation, knowing it was useless to argue with the unbending brute. “Just turn around so I can dress.”

  He did not move a muscle, just stared back at her insolently. “Nay, you will follow the Norse manner. We do not wear clothing in bed. You may wear my garments in the morn, but not in the bed furs.”

  With a snarl of disbelief, she dropped the fur cloak and slid down into the bed furs on the ground, but not before she noticed Selik’s eyes graze the cold-peaked tips of her breasts. A slight twitch at the side of his mouth told her, loud and clear, that her nudity affected him.

  Mentally chastising herself for a momentary flush of pleasure at his appreciative scrutiny, Rain burrowed deep under the furs, hiding Selik from view and her flushed face from his too observant stare.