Page 13 of The Outlaw Viking

Selik’s consideration surprised her. She turned to tell him so, but he’d already left.

Chapter Three

After gobbling the unpalatable food down hungrily and drinking all the cool water, Rain removed her outer clothing and gave herself a quick wash as best she could with the limited supplies. What she wouldn’t give for an underarm deodorant!

She put her slacks back on and eyed her dirty, torn blouse distastefully. Then she saw the large—very large—reddish-brown stain on its back.

Blood! How could that be? She reached around and felt her skin. No cuts there. And it couldn’t be Tykir’s blood on her back. Then realization hit her as she remembered that the Saxon’s blade had cut through Selik’s armor. The jolting ride on the horse must have opened the wound, and the stupid Viking didn’t have the good sense to complain.

Saving Selik was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought. Rain put the blouse back on and stormed out with her medical kit, stepping defiantly in front of the vigilant guards and over sleeping warriors as she made her way to Selik’s tent.

He’d removed the mail shirt and his cross-gartered leather shoes. Standing barefoot in a thigh-length tunic, he was drinking deeply from a large goblet. At Rain’s choking sound, Selik turned his head to look back at her over his shoulder. His slumberous eyes held hers in a questioning caress for several long moments before he asked in an amused voice, “To what do I owe this honor? Didst thou get a heavenly message?”

Rain swallowed dryly at the sight of Selik’s eyes boldly raking her. Lord, what a devastatingly handsome man he was! Even his feet were beautiful—high arched and well-formed. Although the tunic covered a good portion of his body, Rain’s eyes feasted on the slim waist and hips, wide shoulders, and bunching muscles everywhere.

She made a mental note to proceed with caution. To a six-foot-tall woman, this more than six-foot-four male looked awfully appetizing. She shook her head to clear her senses, then blushed at the knowing grin on Selik’s face as he turned around.

“Didst change thy mind about the rutting?” he asked with a mocking twist of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh!” she gasped, his crudity taking the steam out of her simmering blood. “No, you randy goat. I came because of the blood. Your blood.” She turned and showed him the back of her blouse. “Why didn’t you tell me about your injury?”

He shrugged. “’Tis of no importance. The healer can treat my piddling wound on the morrow.”

“He will not!” Rain declared vehemently. “I wouldn’t let that butcher near you. Now take off your tunic.”

Selik arched an eyebrow at her protectiveness but walked toward her with slow, sensuous grace, lifting his tunic over his head as he approached. He wore only a sort of loin cloth underneath.

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.”