The Outlaw Viking

by Sandra Hill

  Rain bit her lower lip to hold back an exclamation at the magnificence of his finely honed body. Then she looked at the deep, ten-inch slash across his abdomen and chastised him sharply, “Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind? A wound like this is serious. It needs cleansing, an antiseptic, and at least fifty stitches.”

  “Do not dare to think of putting those long needles in my head or any other part of my body,” Selik warned and started to back away. “Ne’er will I allow such.”

  Rain laughed softly. “So, the big brave warrior fears a little needle? Don’t worry. I’ll derive great pleasure from watching you writhe in pain, just a little, for chasing me through the woods this morning.”

  She pushed him toward his sleeping furs, and when he lay on his back, she knelt beside him. Working quickly, she soon had the wound sutured and bound with clean cloths. He never muttered a sound of pain, just watched her every move as if trying to work out some puzzle in his mind. He declined her offer of a painkiller, saying others needed it more.

  When she finished, Selik grinned wolfishly and in one quick movement pulled her down and on her back next to him.

  “Methinks you should sleep here tonight.”

  “Forget it. I told you before that I wouldn’t rut with you. Besides, you’re in no condition to have sex.”

  “Hah! Leave it to me to decide that particular condition. And didst thou forget, your skinny bones hold naught of appeal to me as a bedmate?”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, shut thy teeth, as well as thy eyes, and go to sleep, sweet slush.”

  “Slush?” She bristled with indignation. “My name is Rain. And I don’t appreciate your making fun of me.”

  “Nay, methinks the name Rain suits you not. It speaks of gentleness, and the rebirth of springtime, and…hope.”

  Rain inhaled on a long sigh at Selik’s insightful words. Truly, wasn’t that why she’d been sent to this fierce warrior—to bring gentleness back into his harsh life, to show him that even the blackest soul can be reborn, and, most of all, that hope was an eternal spring for change?

  Selik’s long silence spoke volumes. Rain knew he was pondering the same thoughts, but then he spoke. “In truth, Sleet would be a better name for you. Slush is gray and mushy and can be easily pushed about, unlike you, whereas sleet comes swiftly, without warning, prickling a man’s skin ’til he cannot ignore its sting, often causing havoc in its wake. Yea, methinks I will call you Sleet. Or Sleetling.”

  “Oh, you’re impossible.” Rain shifted with exaggerated efforts to get comfortable. Selik reached out and held her pinned to the furs with an arm thrown over her chest and his right leg slung over both of hers.

  “Let me up.”

  “Nay, you might escape.”

  “Escape? Where would I go?”

  “Your wordfame as a healer will no doubt spread like St. Anthony’s Fire. The Saxons will put a price on your head, just as they have on mine, but they will want you alive. Good healers are priceless, especially in the Saxon court.”

  Rain felt a warm rush of pleasure at Selik’s backhanded praise for her medical skills. “Well, if I’m going to sleep here, at least get your body off mine.”

  Laughing, Selik removed his arm and leg. Rain turned her back on him and squirmed her body into a more comfortable position. She sensed a brooding depression in the quiet that settled over Selik. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yea, there is much wrong. So many men…so many friends…died today without a proper burial—neither the last rites of the Christian church, nor the Norse ritual of fire to begin the journey to Valhalla. A man should protect those under his shield. I failed today.”

  “Can’t you see how useless that battle was, on both sides? Like all wars, when it’s over, lives are lost for nothing.”

  “The war is not over—for me. I will continue to kill every Saxon that crosses my path until I am finally avenged…or in Valhalla.”

  “Oh, Selik,” Rain whispered, her heart aching for his pain and his futile quest for vengeance.

  After several moments of silence, Selik spoke. “Enough about me. Tell me more about your failure rate, Sleeting.”

  “Huh?”

  “The bad beddings.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing really to tell. It’s just that I can take it or leave it—sex, that is.” Rain frowned. Good Lord! Why would she disclose something so intimate to a virtual stranger? Because Selik was not a stranger to her, she realized; she felt as if she’d known him all her life. Also, by talking of herself, she might take Selik’s mind off his grief.

  “Thor’s Blood! You are blunt.”

  “You asked,” she said defensively.

  “When didst thou last have a man betwixt your thighs?”

  “You’re a bit blunt yourself, mister,” Rain laughed, then thought for a moment. “Two years.”

  “’Tis true? I can hardly credit it, but then the bed sport does repulse some women. Somehow, though, methought you more hot-blooded than that. Mayhap you did not have a man with the right skills.”

  “Oh, please, spare me the male ego. I’m not repulsed by sex, and I can reach an orgasm as well as any woman. After all, there are fifty-seven erotic points on a woman’s body. If a man can’t find one of them, he needs a flashlight and a sex manual.”

  Holy Cow! Had she really said all those things? This dream trip of hers must have loosened the hinge on her tongue—or her mind. She hoped Selik appreciated her efforts to take his mind off more serious concerns.

  Selik choked with laughter. “Only fifty-seven?” he asked dryly. “And do men have as many, or more?”

  Rain knew he mocked her. Well, she’d show him. She gave her best Sex Education 101 clinical lecture straight out of medical school. When she finished, Selik’s chest shook with laughter.

  “Really! What’s so funny?”

  “You. You know all these details about the mating betwixt a man and woman. Like a bloody book you are, not a woman. Nay, you have ne’er felt as a real woman in a man’s arms, I wager. ’Tis certain you do not even know what you want from a man.”

  “Hah! I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Know-It-All. The best sex I ever had didn’t involve…didn’t involve…well, penetration.” Realizing the corner she was painting herself into with her loose tongue, Rain practically whispered the last word.

  But he heard.

  At his muffled chuckle, she added with false bravado, “Was that explicit enough for you?”

  “Methinks you deliberately try to shock me. You do not mean the outrageous things you say.”

  “Yes, I do. I mean, no, I don’t.”

  “Do you back down now, wench?”

  “No! And don’t think I don’t know you’re just goading me into saying stupid things.”

  “Do you say that I cause you to speak your falsehoods?”

  Rain bristled. “What falsehoods?”

  “The things you said about…penetration.”

  “Oh,” Rain squeaked out. Then she yawned hugely with exaggerated loudness. “I’m tired of this conversation. I think I’ll go to sleep.”

  “’Tis what women do all the time.”

  “What?”

  “Run. Hide. Try to mask their lies when caught in their own traps.”

  “Really, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. I spoke the truth. Many women will tell you that the best sex they ever had was when they were teenagers and would neck for hours and hours with their boyfriends.”

  “Neck?”

  Rain exhaled with self-disgust at the hole she’d dug so cleverly for herself. “Necking is just kissing, but every way possible—innocently, deeply, wetly, tongues—you know, the whole works. As compared to petting, which involves touching, usually with the clothes on, but never any actual sexual intercourse.”

  “Tongues?” Selik choked out.

  “Yes, French kissing.”

  “French? Hah! Do those bloody Franks dare lay claim to inventing the deep kiss? Norsemen were tongue-kissing long a
fore them.”

  Rain smiled to herself at the conceit of men, of all nationalities, no matter the time in history.

  Then Selik snorted distastefully. “And this kissing for hours is more satisfying to you than the mating?”

  “It can be. Oh, in an ideal situation, sex would be the end result. But, as I said, ask any woman—would she rather be seduced with hours and hours of kisses, or engage in a session of wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?”

  Selik said nothing, and Rain realized she’d been rambling. She’d probably bored him to death. Or shocked him speechless.

  “Are you asleep?”

  He remained silent for a long time before answering in a soft voice, “Nay.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He laughed throatily. “Relieving myself.”

  Rain gasped at his vulgarity and turned to chastise him when she saw through the dim torchlight that he lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head. His lips twitched with a grin, and he winked wickedly at her.

  The teasing brute! She turned her back on him huffily.

  “Rain?”

  “What?”

  “What is an orgy-asm?”

  Rain felt her face turn hot with embarrassment, and she refused to answer him. Besides, he probably already knew and just wanted to continue baiting her.

  Selik stood and put out the torch, then lay back down, pulling the furs over them both.

  “Go to sleep, sweetling.”

  Sweetling! Rain’s heart hummed at the quaint endearment. He probably meant Sleetling. Oh, well.

  Already half asleep, she said, softly, “Selik?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’m glad God sent me to save you.”

  She thought she heard him swear and say something like, “Your god must have a strange sense of humor,” but she was too tired to ask him to repeat the words.

  Rain awakened late the next morning, totally rested—and alone. She stretched lazily under the warm furs, wondering where Selik was.

  Suddenly she realized she’d slept soundly through the night. No dreams. No nightmares. She smiled.

  Well, what did she expect, she told herself ruefully. She was living inside her nightmare.

  Tykir. The memory hit Rain with a jolt, and she jumped up, frantic to check on her patient. Using a small bowl of water, she splashed her face and rinsed her mouth. Without a mirror, she could only smooth the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid.

  Her half brother lay where she’d left him the night before, guarded by a young soldier who answered her questions about the patient’s progress through the night. Rain breathed a sigh of relief when she found Tykir’s skin cool to the touch. No fever, thank God. His pulse was shallow, but regular—to be expected after the traumatic surgery—and his heartbeat was strong.

  While she unwrapped his bandages, Tykir awakened groggily. “Am I alive? Or dead? Be you a handmaiden to the gods?”

  Rain laughed softly. “You are very much alive, young man, and I hope to keep you that way. And though Selik has referred to me as a guardian angel, I’m a mere mortal, just like you.”

  Tykir tried to smile through lips white-edged with pain.

  “Here,” Rain said, pulling out her bottle of Darvon. “I only have six of these left, so we’ll have to spread them out. It will help with the pain.”

  “Nay, I need no magic pellets for pain.”

  “Take it,” Rain ordered sternly and shoved the pill in his mouth. Then she held his head up slightly to drink some water from a wooden goblet.

  “Are you a sorceress? I remember you prodding in my wound yestereve and feeling no pain.”

  “No, I’m a physician. A surgeon,” Rain answered as she examined his leg for infection, then replaced the bandages with clean linen.

  “Truly? Ne’er have I heard of a woman doing such. And the needles? Surely, they were tools of sorcery.”

  “No, even in ancient times, acupuncture was a legitimate science practiced by medical men. I must admit, it’s not my specialty, but I felt I had no choice in your case.”

  Tykir frowned, “Didst you claim yestereve to be my sister, or was I dreaming?”

  Rain put the final touches on her bandages, then turned to smile at the handsome youth. “I’m your half sister, Thoraine Jordan. They call me Rain for short.”

  Tykir tilted his head in confusion. “How can that be?”

  “We share the same father,” she explained, crossing her fingers at the half-lie. “My mother was Ruby Jordan. Do you remember her?”

  Rain couldn’t believe that, after thirty years of disbelieving her mother’s time-travel stories, she now accepted them so readily. Well, what other explanation could there be? It was either time-travel or a damned vivid dream.

  “Nay! ’Tis impossible.” Tykir grew agitated and tried to sit up, but she and the guard managed to get him to lie back down. “’Tis cruel of you to missay the truth,” Tykir accused her weakly.

  “Oh, Tykir, I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

  Tears misted her half brother’s eyes. “I loved Ruby, but she left afore I had a chance to tell her so. I was only eight years old at the time. Why did she desert us?”

  “She had no other choice. She was forced to return to her own world after Thork’s…our father’s…death. But she knew you loved her, Tykir. She spoke of it often.”

  “But Ruby and my father married only twelve years ago. How could they have a child your age?”

  “I don’t understand myself, but time must move faster in the future.” Rain had no other explanation for why thirty years in the future would equate with twelve in the past.

  “You must tell me more…but later…not now,” Tykir said, slurring his words slightly. “Your pellet truly is magic. I feel wonderful. I feel like…” A soft snore escaped his lips, and Rain smiled, brushing wisps of dark blond hair off his face with loving care.

  When she left the tent, Rain realized that more men had arrived during the night. About five hundred soldiers crowded the plain, and a meeting of some type was taking place. In the front, a half-dozen leaders addressed the assembly, each dressed so distinctly they had to represent different countries or cultures. Rain was too far away to hear their words, so she edged her way toward the cooking fires, where a group of women worked feverishly to prepare a meal.

  She stepped up to one of them, where a huge cauldron of some stew boiled, wafting delicious odors into the cool morning air.

  “What’s going on?” Rain asked the nearest woman, a middle-aged Viking woman with blond hair plaited and wound in a coronet atop her head. Her pinafore-style tunic worn over a pleated underdress was held together at the shoulders with two brass brooches. It was surprisingly neat and clean, considering her surroundings.

  The woman jumped back in surprise at Rain’s words. She dropped her ladle and exchanged a quick, guarded look with another, younger woman, dressed similarly but with reddish-blond braids hanging to her waist.

  Were they camp followers? Or wives to these fighting men?

  “My name is Rain Jordan.”

  “Sigrid, wife of Cnut,” the older woman said hesitantly, putting a palm to her chest, then pointing to the younger woman, “’Tis my daughter, Gunvor.”

  “I’m starved,” Rain said. “Could I have some of that stew?”

  The older woman offered her a wooden bowl of the thick broth in which swam chunks of meat along with onions and carrots. Rain took a tentative bite with a crude wooden spoon, then closed her eyes in ecstasy, her stomach rumbling with content. She had eaten practically nothing in more than twenty-four hours, and dishwater probably would have tasted like fine cuisine.

  Gunvor stared at her open-mouthed. “Didst thou truly mate with The Outlaw yestereve?” She shuddered visibly with horror at the thought.

  “Huh?”

  Rain had thought they were staring at her because of her height, although she didn’t stand out so much among these taller-than-average women, or because of h
er strange clothing, or even because of her unusual medical skills. But, no, it was her association with Selik that troubled them. Rain faintly recalled Selik, too, referring to himself as The Outlaw yesterday.

  Rain frowned in confusion, returning her empty bowl to Sigrid. Several more women had moved closer to eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “Yes, I slept beside Selik last night,” Rain admitted, refusing to explain more.

  “Oh, how could you bear to have the beast touch you?” Gunvor exclaimed. “’Tis said he is as berserk in the sleeping furs as he is in battle.”

  “Berserk?”

  “Crazed with lust.”

  Rain raised an eyebrow doubtfully. He certainly hadn’t been overcome with passion for her.

  “Just the sight of him turns the stomach,” another woman added with a shudder. “How could you abide looking at him? He is so ugly.”

  “Ugly? Selik?” Rain asked in disbelief. “We must be talking about different men. Selik is brutish and much too prone to killing and war, but ugly? Never! In fact, he’s probably the most attractive man I’ve ever met.”

  The women stepped away from her slightly, as if she might be deranged.

  “The scars, the broken nose, the cruelty in his eyes, his hateful ways. Why, ’tis said he cannot even tolerate children in his presence, that he squashes them like vermin under his feet. Truly, do these things not repulse you?” Gunvor asked incredulously.

  Rain tried to picture Selik in her mind. Yes, there were scars, lots of them, and an imperfect nose, but they didn’t mar the total man with his fine, classic features, his well-developed, muscular body. And the cruelty in his eyes—it was there, but couldn’t these women recognize that it masked a deeper pain? Of course, she could never love a man like Selik. He was too vulgar, too stubborn, too war-like, but neither could she deny his innate beauty.

  She started to tell the foolish women just that, but Selik approached, muttering vicious curses, and the females scattered like frightened mice.