Page 116 of The Outlaw Viking

Once, when he stood to replenish his goblet of mead, Adam walked up and kicked him in the shin. “What was that for, you bloody imp?” he snarled, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and lifting him high in the air.

“Fer leavin’, ya damn heathen bloody cod,” he said on a sob, flailing out at him. “Yer jist like all the rest. Me father. Me mother. Nobody ever stays,” he blubbered, kicking wildly with his arms and legs.

Stunned, Selik just stared at the angry boy for a moment, then groaned, almost painfully, and drew Adam into his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest. At first, Adam fought him mightily with scratching hands and vulgar obscenities. Finally, he calmed down and buried his face in Selik’s neck.

Selik said nothing, just stared at Rain through his slate eyes, and walked with Adam to a far corner of the barn, where he sat down with him on his lap and talked soothingly for a long time.

Rain’s heart felt like fine crystal shattering into a million tiny pieces. She didn’t know if she could survive without this man—the other side of her soul, the beat in her heart…her forever love.

Dinner was a solemn, silent affair that night, even though Blanche went out of her way to make a spectacular farewell meal—golden crisp chicken, roasted venison, boiled vegetables, egg-and-honey custard, fresh fruit. Even the children sat still, uncommonly quiet, darting frightened eyes from one somber adult to the other, questioning, not understanding all the undercurrents.

Gorm and the soldiers rode up at nightfall, leading the saddled Fury behind them. Selik strode forward and spoke with them, and Rain cringed before the fierce warrior into which her lover had transformed himself. He wore leather braies under his calf-length flexible chain mail. A wool tunic of deep blue covered the armor, and a heavy fur mantle covered all. He attached his sword, Wrath, and his helmet and pike to his saddle, then turned back to Rain.

She walked up to him, daunted by this stranger in fighting garb, but there was not the usual berserkness in his eyes now, only a deep, abiding love. She hoped she hadn’t weakened him with her love.

“Come back to me, Selik.”

“If I can,” he promised in a soft voice, raising his gauntleted hand hesitantly. Then, as if unable to help himself, he caressed her lips with his cold fingertips. “If I can.”

“I’ll come after you if you don’t,” she cried out as he dropped his hand and swung up into his saddle. “Do you hear me? I’ll come after you.”

He smiled grimly, then raised the helmet to his head. He looked down at her and mouthed the words, “I love you. Forever.”

He turned his horse then, without another word, and Rain sank to the ground, her knees giving way. Only then did she weep out all her pain and misgivings over Selik’s departure.

“Keep him safe, God,” she prayed with racking sobs. “Do you hear me, dammit? You gave him to me. Don’t you dare take him away. Please, God, oh please, I beg You, keep him safe.”

Unfortunately, the voice in her head was deathly quiet.

Chapter Eighteen

A cloud hung over the small farmstead during the following weeks as the weather turned bitter and gray. All the inhabitants of the crowded barn worked somberly at their assigned tasks, as if sensing some impending doom. Uncommonly quiet, the children continued to chop and stack firewood, wash clothing, milk the cow, gather eggs, and clean the barn. Rain almost wished for their previous shrieks and childish mischief.

Even Adam had turned into a model child. Well, that was an exaggeration, she immediately amended. His filthy mouth spat out the usual vulgar words, but now he often apologized afterward. He played tyrant with the other children, taking naturally to a leadership role, but he tried hard to mellow his orders with compliments these days. It touched her heart deeply, and frightened her, to see the concern for Selik in his big brown eyes.

After two weeks of fretting and endless pacing, Rain decided to follow up on an earlier idea she’d had concerning the smallpox that often plagued these medieval people. She didn’t want to do anything to change the course of medical history, but she saw no harm in vaccinating her small brood. She asked Ubbi for his help.

“Well, now I know ye are truly addlewitted,” Ubbi exclaimed, throwing down the small quern stone he was using to sharpen his knives and sword. He’d been in a bad mood since Selik left because his master had ordered him to stay and protect Rain and the orphans. And his arthritis had been acting up. Her request now didn’t help. “’Tis one thing fer God to send me a message to kidnap the master. But to go and collect the ooze from pox sores on cows? Nay, I will not do it.”

“Ubbi, honey—”

“Do not be honey-ing me,” he warned, folding his arms across his chest adamantly.

“I can go,” Adam volunteered.

“You will not,” Rain and Ubbi both exclaimed in horror.

“Well, if Ubbi fears the bloody cows—”

“Best ye go help yer sister empty that chamber pot she be swingin’ from side to side,” Ubbi sputtered out, “lest I be wipin’ up the soiled rushes with yer face. And stay away from the cows—any cow.” He turned back to Rain with a shake of his head. “Gawd!”

Did you call?

“Did ye hear that?” Ubbi cried out. “Did ye? Oh, now ye done it. Turned God on me, ye have!”

Rain smiled. Sometimes God came in handy.

When Ubbi returned at nightfall, grumbling that he had traveled through twenty hectares of farmland before he could find a stead with a diseased cow.