Page 28 of The Outlaw Viking

Rain growled with impatience at his failure to answer her question.

“He went back to the battlefield,” he disclosed reluctantly.

That was not the answer Rain had expected. “Why?”

“To bury his dead.”

Rain exhaled loudly with exasperation. “Is he totally, off-the-wall insane? His men are dead. There’s nothing he can do for them now.”

Ubbi shrugged. “The master blames himself fer takin’ men into battle when he saw no ravens aforehand.”

Rain forced herself to remain calm. “Ubbi, what are you talking about?”

“Well, ’tis a well-known fact that when ravens be about, it portends a Norse victory. And there was not a raven to be seen the entire day afore or during the Great Battle.” He puffed out his chest, as if imparting some great wisdom.

Rain clucked scornfully. “What a bunch of superstitious nonsense!”

“’Tis the truth,” he insisted stubbornly.

“Never mind about that. How could you let Selik return to the battlefield? Aren’t you worried about him? The Saxons surely still guard that site. He could be killed.” Rain wasn’t sure why she even cared at this point. After all, she had certainly been looking for him with a killing instinct herself a moment ago.

“’Tis dishonorable fer a Norseman to let the vultures feast on the entrails of his fallen comrades,” he asserted.

“And it’s honorable to take prisoners? And mistreat them so horribly?” Rain snarled, waving a hand at the nearby captives, who stared dumbly at her across the fire.

Ubbi’s cloudy eyes looked up at her in surprise. “’Tis no dishonor to take slaves after a battle. The Saxons, for a certainty, took their fair share of Scots and Norsemen after the Great Battle. You can be sure of that.”

“But what will he do with them?”

Ubbi hunched his lumpy shoulders. “Mayhap they might be worth some ransom to the Saxons, ’though I misdoubt that. They be a sorry lot.”

Rain threw up her hands in disgust. “Oh, just give me your knife so I can release the captives myself.”

Ubbi backed away, holding out of her reach the sharp blade he had been using to cut up what appeared to be several skinned rabbits. “Nay, I cannot.”

One red-haired guard—a huge, barrel-chested man wearing a leather tunic and a scruffy fur mantle—started toward her menacingly.

“What is your name?” she demanded to know with more self-confidence than she felt.

“Gorm,” he snarled, towering over her ominously, a very sharp sword in one hand. The fetid odor of unwashed flesh and bad breath assailed Rain, but she refused to back down.

“Release those people at once.”

The bearish giant smirked. “Not bloody likely.”

“I tell you, Worm—”

“Not worm, Gorm,” he corrected in an icy voice and moved one step closer, fingering the blade in his hand.

“Yes, well, Gorm, I want those captives released. And I want it done right now.”

He chuckled derisively and gave her a rude shove. “Get back to yer master’s tent and keep his bed furs warm fer him. Ye be little more than a slave yerself. ’Tis only yer talents in the bed sport that keep you from the same lot as this bunch.”

Rain looked to Ubbi for assistance. “Tell this lout that I am not a slave.”

To her chagrin, Ubbi ducked his head guiltily and muttered, “Well, ye be more like a hostage than a slave.”

“Ubbi! I thought you were my friend.”