Page 6 of The Outlaw Viking

“Come back here!”

“Nay, I will not do your bidding, harpy.” He grinned. “But fear not, ’tis certain other hesirs will pass by. Mayhap one of those soldiers will be more overcome than I with the bloodlust of battle and offer his protection in return for a hot cellar for his manroot.”

Manroot! Rain bristled with indignation. “You insulting pig. I wouldn’t be a root cellar for any man—let alone a damn barbarian like you.”

Selik just laughed, flashing a dazzling display of straight, white teeth, a sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

The shock of his imminent desertion held her immobile for a moment. Rain panicked then as Selik proceeded to leave the clearing. Icy fingers of despair clawed at her composure.

What would she do in this strange time and place without Selik as her lodestone, loathsome as he was just now? She racked her brain for a solution and came up with only one idea.

“Selik!” she shrieked desperately to his departing back. “What would your old friend Thork think of your abandoning his daughter like this?”

He stopped immediately.

Uh oh! Rain’s heart began to hammer wildly as Selik spun in the saddle and pierced her with icy gray eyes. He walked the destrier slowly back to her, and Rain was tempted to turn and flee.

Not only had the question not brought out his protective impulses, Selik looked as if he might kill her. Muscles bunched tensely in his arms from clenched fists to massive shoulders. His full lips thinned to a compressed white line of fury. His eyes glittered with threat. Reaching for the dagger at his belt, Selik glided off the horse smoothly and walked purposefully toward her.

Rain did turn then and ran for her life.

Chapter Two

Cursing angrily, Selik chased the tall woman into the forest, sprinting to catch up. Christ’s blood! He was wasting precious time on the troublesome wench.

“Halt!”

The giant wood sprite responded by letting a branch swing back and hit him smack in the face as she laughed shrilly, a note of hysteria edging her voice. Never stopping, she continued to dart swiftly through the thickly wooded area on long legs covered with unseemly male leggings.

“You dare much to claim Thork as father,” he shouted with exasperation. “’Twill be a pleasure to skin you alive, you lying bitch.” When she didn’t answer and eluded him still, he threatened, “I will pull your lying tongue out of your head and eat it raw.”

Selik heard her gasp at his last, ridiculous words and say something incoherent that sounded like “Yeech!” A slow, secret smile twitched his lips. So, the lackwit thought he was a barbarian? Hah! Well, he would show her.

“If you stop now,” he cajoled, getting closer, “’twill be a swift death for you. Mayhap a neat lop of your head. Do you persist in this useless chase, though, you force me to prolong your pain.” That should paint the wench some vivid mind-pictures.

“Go to hell,” the impudent vixen yelled back.

Damn her impertinence! Didn’t the foolish maid know the danger she faced in rousing his temper? He had killed many a man for less.

“Perchance your golden eyes would look good without eyelashes,” Selik offered smoothly, meanwhile breathing raggedly from the exertion of his pursuit and the aftermath of battle weariness.

He furrowed his brow. Golden eyes? Holy Thor, when had he noticed the color of her eyes? He shook his head to clear the unwelcome image and lashed out ruthlessly, “Damn your eyes! Mayhap I could remove your eyeballs, as well.”

The woman snorted in disdain, or disbelief, and another branch swung back, this time hitting him in the abdomen, opening the sword wound he had received earlier.

Now he was really angry.

Blood oozed from the cut, and he hurt like hell—another reason to beat the impudence out of the dull-headed troublemaker. Odin’s spit! He squandered valuable minutes pursuing the silly creature when he must needs put as much distance as possible between himself and his Saxon enemy.

There was an additional threat here, as well. Selik had recognized the man he killed earlier, the noble thane hoisted on his standing pike. It was Elwinus, Athelstan’s own cousin. The king had put a bounty on Selik’s head before the battle; now the Saxon bastard would want him alive and kicking for the slowest torture possible.

And worse yet, Elwinus claimed to be Steven of Gravely’s brother. Bloody hell! He and Steven had more than enough reason to kill each other on sight without this latest fuel added to their mutual hate. Had Steven been at the battle site? Selik wondered suddenly, and he considered returning to end their blood feud once and for all time.

But then Selik looked toward the mad wench who ran in front of him. He could not disregard the sly wench’s outrageous claim. He knew she was not Saxon. Her stature, pale honey hair, and fine features told the truth of her Nordic heritage. But neither could she be daughter to his dead friend, Thork, and she would pay dearly for missaying the truth and delaying him needlessly.

“Enough!” Selik roared finally. The witch had bedeviled him overlong. With a mighty lunge, he tackled her from behind. She hit the ground with a loud “oomph!” and he landed flat atop her.

The fall knocked the wind out of Selik. He lay still for several moments with his face buried in the burnished gold web of the maid’s luxuriant hair, which had come loose from its braid. Its sweet, seductive fragrance, an odd mixture of flowers and spices, overwhelmed his senses, making him forget momentarily the brutality and emptiness of his life and remember a time when he had relished the leisure to appreciate the little things of life. Like a woman’s scent. Or the feel of lush feminine curves molded perfectly in the cradle of his body.