Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (11 page)

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 and 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.

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 garments in her hands.

“I need some warm clothing. You may be imper
vious 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.

When he blew out the candle and slid in behind her, Rain moved as far away as she could so their bodies would not touch. Still, she felt the heat of his body and imagined that his warm breath tickled her shoulder blades.

She awakened some time before dawn and found that she had turned and lay willingly in his arms, her cheek pressed against the silken hairs of his chest; one of his legs draped intimately over both of hers. For several long moments, she lay still, feeling his steady heartbeat against her ear, and in her half-sleep she admitted something she could not when fully awake. She didn’t hate this man, no matter what he’d done or planned to do. She just couldn’t hate him.

She had to help him. But how?

When slivers of light began to creep through the opening in the tent, Rain carefully slipped out of Selik’s arms and out of the bed furs. She quickly donned Selik’s braies, uncaring of the fact that they were six inches too long and bagged at the ankles. His wool tunic was much too big, but it felt warm and smelled faintly of the not unpleasant masculine skin she had been inhaling all night.

Gorm sat stationed near the captives, sitting with his head leaning back drowsily against a tree trunk. He sat up straighter but didn’t stop her when she rummaged through the utensils near Ubbi’s cooking fire. When she finally found what she wanted, she turned stoically and headed toward the horses.

I ought to earn two sets of angel wings for this one, Lord
.

Selik slept past dawn the next morning, the battering of his body and mind the last few days finally catching up with him. The troublesome wench was gone from his bed furs, but that did not really surprise him. The foolish witch paid no attention to his orders and blithely did just as she pleased.

Selik bristled as he thought about Rain’s harsh condemnation yestereve of his taking scalps. A beast, she had called him. Well, mayhap she was right.

But then, the wench was critical of everything he did. She acted as if he were a naughty kitten and she the mistress. Hah! Best she be careful or she would discover she had a tiger in her domain and she was the delectable morsel on which he would dine. Selik smiled at his own mind jest. Mayhap he would repeat it to her later, but he misdoubted she would see the humor. Especially if her mood had not improved overnight.

Selik rose from the warm furs, imagining he could still smell Rain’s enticing Passion. He shook his head in wonder at the strange woman who had come into his life—was it only three days ago? It seemed as if he had known her forever. And what a strange creature she was! Imagine, naming a perfume! Did she name her soaps as well? he wondered, smiling. Or her combs?

Selik yawned hugely and scratched his chest as he donned a clean pair of braies and a dark blue tunic. He cinched a wide, silver-linked belt at his waist and put the heavy armlets Astrid had once given him on his upper arms, caressing the fine etchwork lovingly with a forefinger.

He approached the cook fire where the young Saxon girl he had taken captive was stirring a pot. She pulled several loaves of flat bread out of the
coals and laid them on a rock to cool. Having ignored the hunger cramps in his empty stomach too long, he grabbed one of the loaves and tossed it back and forth from hand to hand to cool it more quickly.

He never said a word to the quietly working maid. Nor did he comment on her release from the string of captives. He assumed Ubbi had gladly given up his cooking chores.

Breaking off a chunk of the manchet bread, he ate hungrily as he walked toward the horses, where Ubbi was doling out the precious feed he had brought back yestereve.

“Did ye find Sveinn?” Ubbi asked, looking up at him as he worked.

Selik nodded.

“And Ragnor?”

“Yea, and Tostig and Jogeir and Vigi, as well,” he answered wearily.

“All buried?”

“All buried. ’Twas the best we could do. The rite of fire would have brought too many Saxons down on our heads. As it was…” His words trailed off, but he did not need to finish. Ubbi had been with him long enough to know many Saxons had come and died at his hands once again.

“With all respect, my lord, it has to stop.”

“Foolish man, I am nobody’s lord. I am a bloody
nithing
.”

Ubbi inhaled sharply with shock at this extreme self-insult. And, good Lord, tears glittered in Selik’s eyes. Tears! Was everyone losing their senses?

“I care naught what ye say,” Ubbi said vehemently, “ye are as noble as the best of ’em. ’Tis jist that ye have stumbled on the bitter stones life has thrown in yer path. The way will git better, though. I jist know it.”

“Bitter stones! More like boulders!” He looked
around then. “Where didst my guardian angel fly off to now?”

Ubbi darted him a guilty look, then avoided his eyes.

“Oh, Holy Thor! What now?”

“I think you’d best check Fury’s right foreleg, master. Seems a mite sore to me.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“God’s handmaiden! Who the hell do you think?”

“Do you really think the Lord sent her to you?”

“Nay, I think Loki is playing a vast joke by sending Rain to bedevil me.”

Ubbi looked wounded, then glanced right and left to make sure they were not overheard before confiding in an awe-filled whisper, “I found a feather in yer bed furs yesterday when I straightened up yer tent.”

Selik furrowed his brow in thought. He could not see the connection between Ubbi’s discovery and Rain.

“Do you not see, master? It no doubt came from her wings which she hides from us earthy bodies.”

“Oh, for the love of Freya!” Selik hooted with laughter, unable to believe Ubbi’s gullibility.

As he was wiping the mirth from his eyes a few moments later, Selik noticed Rain kneeling beneath a tree on the other side of the small spring—digging a hole.

Ubbi put a hand on Selik’s arm as he prepared to go to her. “Master, do not be harsh with her. She does not understand our ways.”

Selik looked at his loyal servant’s worried face and tensed. Rain had brewed trouble once again, no doubt, and the foolish man tried to protect her from his wrath.

Without another word, Selik spun on his heel and made his way toward her kneeling body. When
he got closer, he saw that her head was bowed in a prayerful attitude and she was mumbling some words aloud, something about her Lord being a shepherd and her lying down in pastures. A fresh mound of dirt lay in front of her.

Was it some kind of religious ritual? Or had she stolen some precious object from his tent to hide until her escape?

Exasperated, Selik grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her to her feet. The small shovel in her hands clattered to the ground with the abrupt motion.

Rain’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh! You scared me.” Then, as if recalling to mind her continuing anger towards him, she struggled to escape his grip.

“What in bloody hell are you doing?”

She raised her chin defiantly and refused to answer.

“I asked you a question,” he said coldly, tightening his hold on her upper arm to the point of pain. “Answer or I swear I will break your arm.”

He saw the tears well in her eyes, a mixture of pain and wounded pride, but he did not care. She had pushed him beyond his limits of endurance. “Are you planning to escape?”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “What?”

“Was it my gold coins you buried, or a sharp knife, to aid you in your escape?”

“No, you stupid brute, I was burying your dead.”

His breath whooshed out in a loud exhale, and Selik released her. His finger imprints had already bruised her soft flesh.

“What dead?” he choked out. “Surely my men buried the captive that Ubbi killed yesterday.”

She darted a look of disbelief at him. “You are the most thickheaded man I have ever met. Do you honestly think I could have dug a hole big enough to bury a man of Edwin’s size with this little shovel?”