Page 137 of The Outlaw Viking

“Me language is not the problem.”

“What is?”

“The mistress. Rain.”

Selik sat up straighter. “What is wrong with Rain?”

“She be goin’ away.”

Selik felt a tight, squeezing sensation near his heart, and for a moment he could not breathe. “Where?”

He shrugged doubtfully. “Back where she came from, I think.”

Selik inhaled sharply. “Did she get my missive telling her of my delay?”

Adam glared at him suspiciously. “She got no messages from you.”

Selik groaned. “How long since you have seen her?”

Adam shrugged. “Two sennights, mayhap.” He scowled at Selik. “Are ye goin’ back to her?”

“What makes you think she would want me?”

“Are ye such a bloody lackwit ye do not know when a woman loves you?”

Selik felt a grin twitching at his lips. “And you know of such things?”

“I may have seen only seven winters, but I know when a wench spends a mancus of gold on sugar and nigh poisons a dozen poor orphans jist to make a present for a man. Humph! If ’tis not love, then I do not know aught.” He handed a filthy sheaf of folded parchment to him, tied with an equally filthy ribbon that might once have been blue.

Viewing Adam suspiciously, Selik opened the package carefully. At first, he just stared at the items before him. Several dozen red objects stared back at him, like bloodshot eyes—some circles, some egg-shaped, others looking like squashed radishes. “What are they?” he asked, raising his eyes to Adam’s.

Adam made a snorting sound of disgust. “Do ye know nothin’? They are Lifesavers. Cherry Lifesavers. The mistress made ’em herself fer yer Christmas present, but ye ne’er came. And ye made her cry, too.”

Selik picked up one of the candies, about to pop it in his mouth, when Adam put a hand on his arm. “I would not be doin’ that if I were you,” he cautioned.

“Why not?”

“They taste like horse shit.”

Two days later, Selik said his farewells to King Athelstan. He would be leaving on the morrow. For Northumbria.

“And who is the churlish boy standing next to you?” Athelstan asked.

Selik looked down at Adam, who was so grateful that he was going back to Jorvik with Selik that he stared at him like a lovesick puppy. He swallowed hard before he was able to speak. Then, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder, he told Athelstan, “This is my son, Adam. My adopted son.”

Five days later, Selik’s longship turned into the Humber. Selik begrudgingly credited Adam’s persistent prodding of his seamen for their rapid progress. More than one fierce Viking had been heard to remark, “Throw the little bugger over the side.”

No sooner did his ship hit the confluence of the Ouse and Foss Rivers at Jorvik than Selik rushed ashore and headed for his farmstead. And Rain.

Adam followed close behind, giving him instructions on how to behave with Rain. “Make sure ye do not yell. Ye have a tendency to roar on occasion.”

“Be quiet.”

“And mayhap ye ought to pretend ye liked her Lifesavers. Women like sweet words.”

“Be quiet.”

“Perchance ye could remark that she does not look quite so ungodly tall as last time ye saw her. She worries about bein’ big, ye know.”