Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (20 page)

“Mother!” Selik greeted the woman in a warm voice as he dismounted and handed the reins to Gorm.

“Mother?” Rain asked Ubbi. “I thought Selik said he had no parents.”

“’Tis Gyda, Astrid’s mother. He is the same as a son to her.”

“We have been so worried. Especially when we heard of the Great Battle. Why didst you not send us word of your safety, you wretch?” the woman chastised Selik before throwing herself into his arms. He lifted her off the ground in a huge bear hug while she clung to him warmly, her pudgy arms wrapped around his neck.

“Selik, my son,” she said softly as she drew back slightly and scanned his face lovingly, no doubt looking for new scars. “Put me down now, you big oaf, and let me feed you. You are naught but skin and bones.”

Selik laughed lightheartedly, putting her gently to the ground, and threw his right arm over Gyda’s shoulder. She barely reached his chest. “I want you to meet someone.” He motioned Rain to dismount and come forward.

When Rain stood next to Selik, towering over the diminutive woman, Selik said, “Do you remember Ruby Jordan? Thork’s wife?”

“Yea, of course,” Gyda said hesitantly, her brow furrowed in puzzlement at his odd question.

“This…hostage…is their daughter, Thoraine. Her other name is Sleet—I mean Rain.”

Rain shot him a look of disgust at his joke which she didn’t find a bit funny. “And your other name is jerk,” she muttered in an undertone to Selik.

But Gyda overheard, and her face brightened merrily with understanding. “I know that word. Jerk. Your own mother taught it to me.” She turned to Selik, wagging a finger in his face. “And it has come in very handy, I must tell you, Selik, on the odd occasion with all these guards you insist on leaving here with me. God’s blood! I cannot step out to the privy without tripping over one or another of them. But a daughter born to Ruby! After Thork’s death? Why, she is too old! ’Tis unbelievable! And such a giant!”

Rain tried to listen to Gyda’s long-winded discourse, but the Norse woman spoke too fast. “What is she saying?” Rain asked Ubbi.

“It seems that yer mother taught Gyda the word ‘jerk’, that Selik left so many guards that Gyda is tripping over ’em, and that she finds it hard ter believe that yer mother gave birth to Thork’s baby after his death.”

“And she called me a giant, too, didn’t she?” Rain asked, sensing that Ubbi was sparing her feelings.

“Yea, she did,” he admitted, “but then anyone taller than a calf is a giant to her.”

Gyda stepped closer and put out her hands in welcome to Rain. Speaking more slowly, she said, “Welcome, Rain. Any child of Thork and Ruby is a friend to this house.”

Rain squeezed the small woman’s hands in return, sensing the genuineness of the greeting.

“Selik says you are a hostage, but you will ne’er be treated as such in my home.”

Rain’s eyes shot to Selik, who studiously ignored her as he led his horse toward the barn, but any sharp words she wanted to address to him were forestalled by the arrival of the most gorgeous young woman Rain had ever seen in all her life.

“Selik!” the fair-haired beauty, about seventeen years old, shrieked in welcome before throwing herself enthusiastically into Selik’s open arms. He swung her around up off the ground in a circle while he hugged her with equal zest.

The jerk!

“Tyra,” he exclaimed admiringly when he finally put her back down and scrutinized her boldly from her strawberry-blond head, to voluptuously rounded breasts, to a tiny waist and narrow hips, to her disgustingly dainty little slippers. “You have grown into a woman in my absence. A very beautiful woman.”

Tyra put one delicate hand on his chest, slanting a sultry look up at him through sickeningly long lashes, and announced, “Then ’tis past time for our wedding.”

“You little minx,” Selik exclaimed against Tyra’s luxuriant hair on hearing her outrageous remark. He laughed and gave her an extra squeeze before putting her back on her feet with a swat on her saucy behind.

He looked up then and stopped short at the look of stunned surprise—and hurt—on Rain’s face. Puzzled, he tilted his head, then realized that Rain must have heard Tyra’s remark about a wedding and assumed he had pledged troth with the young maid.
Holy Thor!
Tyra was like a sister to him. ’Twas obvious to anyone with eyes in their heads.

But not to Rain, he saw immediately. She bit her trembling bottom lip and widened her eyes to dam the tears welling in their golden depths.

Instinctively, he started forward to tell Rain the truth, to wipe the look of pain from her features, to soothe her with sweet words of explanation. But he stopped himself. Mayhap Rain’s mistaken notion of his betrothal could work to his advantage. He had
let this attraction between them go too far.
By all the saints!
He walked around half-hard all the time these days, barely escaping the notice of his men. Could he resist the temptation of her flesh much longer? He must, especially knowing now that he might leave her with child. Better the small pain now than the bigger one which would inevitably come.

He forced himself to turn away from Rain’s accusing stare. Leaning down to Tyra, whose head barely tipped his chin, he whispered loud enough for only her to hear, “Have a caution, wench. You have been saying that since you were only five and I a worldly man of eighteen. One of these days, I may take you up on your offer, and then what would you do?”

She flashed him a winsome smile and replied quickly, “Accept, of course.”

“Hah! So you say now, but what of all the suitors who beg for your hand?”

Selik knew Rain could hear none of their words from where she stood frozen in rigid pain, but she surely viewed the light banter betwixt them as love play. Even Ubbi scowled at him in silent condemnation.

Tyra played into the role perfectly. Pouting prettily, the spoiled imp put a fingertip to her chin as if pondering in all seriousness the notion of giving up all her suitors for him. “Hmmm. ’Tis something to consider.”

“Tyra! For shame!” Gyda intervened finally, shoving her daughter and Selik good-naturedly toward the house and motioning Rain and the others to follow.

Selik forced himself to stare straight ahead and not look back at Rain. He feared he would give in to his softer impulses and confess his charade. Anything to erase the pain he saw racking her at his supposed betrayal.

Betrayal!
Now where did that thought come from? Selik wondered. He had no obligations toward the witch from some far-off land.

She saved your life
.

“Yea, but I have more than made up for that by listening to her shrewish nagging, have I not?” Selik asked Ubbi.

“Huh?” Ubbi looked askance at him, as if he had suddenly grown two noses.

With forced patience, he explained, “You pointed out that Rain saved my life, and—”

“I did?”

“For certain you did.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

Ubbi looked skyward and smiled, then slanted a curious look his way. “What else did I say?”

Selik stopped short, hands on hips, and snarled in self-loathing at having allowed himself to be drawn into these hopeless conversations with Ubbi. Finally, he threw up his hands in disgust. “You said you were a horse, and I, the horse’s arse.”

“I never did!”

Selik slanted him a wry look. “No doubt you thought it, though.”

To his surprise, Ubbi nodded vigorously. “Yea, when ye treat m’lady the way ye did back there, well—if I may be so bold as to express me humble opinion—well, ye behaved no better than a horse’s arse.”

Selik was more amazed than angry. His trusted servant rarely spoke to him in such a manner. “Has she been beaten or starved? Threatened with bodily harm? Nay. I think you forget, Ubbi, that she is a mere captive, like all the others.”

“Hah! Believe that, and I will know for certain ye have lost all yer wits. Mayhap they are lodged in that staff ye have been keeping at half mast this past
sennight.” Ubbi looked meaningfully at the juncture of Selik’s braies and snorted rudely, stomping away from him.

Selik felt Rain’s presence next to him then, or perhaps he smelled her Passion. But when he glanced sideways, he saw her gaze fixed on Tyra, who was helping Gyda prepare a quick meal for the unexpected guests.

Bloody hell! She thinks ’tis Tyra my body yearns for. How can she be so blind? Hmmm. Should I allow her to continue to think so? Yea, I must
.

Selik deliberately stepped forward toward the raised hearth in the center of the great room and put a hand on Tyra’s shoulder. He leaned down and whispered a few meaningless words in her ear, and laughter rippled up from the young maid’s throat.

He heard Rain gasp behind him. He clenched his fists to keep from turning and reaching out for her.

Never, never in Rain’s modern life would she have expected that she could feel such pain over a man. A cheating, two-timing, lying slimebucket of a man, at that!

He loves Tyra
, she thought.

No, Rain had to be honest. Selik had made her no promises. She’d declared her love for him, and he’d made it more than plain that he didn’t welcome her affections. At best, he lusted for her.

He loves Tyra
.

Yes, she had to admit it—she was the fool in this picture. Somehow she had painted a scenario of herself as the wonderful savior from the future come to rescue the primitive warrior. Hah! She’d barely saved her own skin thus far.

He loves Tyra
.

Oh, Lord, how would she live without him? She hadn’t realized until now how enmeshed their lives had become. Even though she’d recognized her
blossoming love for him, she’d thought she could control it, like everything else in her modern life—her education, her career, her family, her emotions, her love life. Everything in its neat little compartment, taken out and put away at will.

He loves Tyra
.

Rain’s shoulders slumped, and she turned away from the happily chattering groups of people who crowded Gyda’s great room. Selik and Ubbi stood well inside the room, directing the soldiers on the care of the horses and captives. Gyda stood talking to her servants near the cooking fires, while Tyra prepared the large trestle tables with wooden platters and goblets.

In a mist of tears, Rain spun on her heel, feeling an overwhelming urge to escape the room that contained both Selik and his fiancée. No one even noticed her departure.

Heading back in the direction from which they’d just traveled, Rain walked aimlessly at first. Then, a thought occurred to her.

Coppergate
.

If she could get back to Coppergate, the scene of the future Viking museum, perhaps she would discover the key to the time-travel door.

He loves Tyra
.

Rain could not think straight, certainly not about her aborted mission to the past. She, who had always been obsessed with perfection, had to admit failure now. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Nor could she think about Selik and how he would react to her absence. Probably with relief. Even she recognized that she’d turned into a shrewish, self-righteous nag of late.

Most of all, she couldn’t allow herself to think of living once again in her sterile, modern world, where she’d once thought herself happy—no, contented—in her niche as a respected physician. But how could
that life, which had always seemed so satisfying, suddenly make her skin crawl with dread? What was missing in the picture?

Love
, the voice in her head answered.

But Selik doesn’t love me
, her heart cried out.

And if he did? Would you stay with him?

Yes…no…I don’t know
.

Despite the tears clouding Rain’s eyes, finding her way through the organized grid system of Jorvik streets proved easy. She soon recognized the craftsmen’s shops Selik had pointed out to her earlier. Slowing her fast gait to a slow walk, Rain looked from right to left, trying to recognize the exact spot where the museum would later stand.

Suddenly, she felt all the fine hairs on her body stand up, almost as if electrified. With trepidation, she approached what appeared to be an abandoned building. The closer she got, the stronger the aura. She felt almost as if she teetered on the outer rim of a tornado’s spiral. If she stepped forward through the sagging door of the crumbling structure, she somehow knew she would be drawn into the vortex, back through the nothingness of time.

Rain circled the building, tears streaming down her face, alternately stepping closer and jumping back when the magnetic pull increased. Every time she felt the compulsive need to jump over the edge, an even stronger urge held her back. She frowned, not understanding why she hesitated.

“Do not go. Not yet.”

Rain jerked with surprise, then turned.

Selik stood a few feet away from her, his usually tanned face pale with what seemed to be fear and concern.
For me?
Rain swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, barely able to make out his features through the gossamer veil of her tears.

Silently, he held out one hand to her, his silver eyes entreating her to come to him. He refused to
step forward, as if he sensed the power of the aura that surrounded the scene and how close to the cliff of time she stood.

Rain tried to remind herself that Selik loved another woman, that she had no future in the past. The logical, scientifically trained part of her brain told her of priorities, about right and wrong, and rational choices. The other, softer, womanly part of her brain triumphed, however, as she moved step by slow, inexorable step away from the aura toward her brilliant lodestar in the past.

When she had moved only a few steps, Selik pulled her into his arms, and Rain felt as if she had come home. He hugged her to his chest, his arms wrapped around her back, his long fingers alternately caressing her shoulders and back and waist and hips, even buttocks. Then he pressed her harder against him, as if afraid she would flee again.

Finally, he pulled away a little and held her by both shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her skin, his face no longer pale with caring, but red with anger. In a harsh voice, he accused her, “You lied, Rain. You promised that if I would do no more
behaettie
, you would not try to escape.”

Selik’s beautiful eyes flashed angrily, like shards of gray ice. The jagged scar on his cheek stood out whitely against his furiously reddened face. He could barely hiss out his venomous accusation through his gritted teeth.

“I don’t break promises lightly, Selik, but I was upset to see you with Tyra.”

“Whether I am with Tyra, or Blanche, or a hundred other women is no excuse for breaking your oath. We will discuss this further when we get back to Gyda’s home.” With those clipped words, he pulled her along behind him toward Fury, who was nibbling contentedly on the grass near the
roadway. In one rough movement, he put both hands about her waist and lifted her sideways onto Fury’s back. He then swung up into the saddle behind her.

Rain scrutinized him intently, amazed at his vehemence. “Selik, I would think you would be relieved to have me gone. I know I’ve annoyed you lately. Why? Why do you care if I stay or go? Is it my value as a hostage?”

Selik’s narrowed eyes assessed her boldy, as if weighing her merits. Apparently, she came short in his scales, she decided when he looked away, snapping at her, “I owe you no explanations. In truth, you have been treated too softly in the past. That will change now that your word can no longer be trusted.”

Rain stared up at him, trying to reconcile this fierce anger with the obvious fear he’d shown moments ago when he’d thought she was about to leave him. When the horse quickened its pace through the narrow streets, she grabbed his waist for balance.

He inhaled sharply.

She decided to test the confusing waters further and slid her hips closer to him.

The edge of Rain’s thigh brushed against the rigid hardness between his legs. He jerked as if she’d just short-circuited him. And a sudden, heart-lightening thought occurred to her. Perhaps it was she, and not the beautiful Tyra, who turned him on.

“Move.”

Rain looked up and saw Selik’s teeth gritted, his lips drawn in against his teeth.

“Wha—”

“Move,
now
, or I swear afore all the Norse gods and Christian saints, that I will turn you in the saddle astride my lap and take you here and now atop my horse in the midst of Coppergate.”

Rain considered that enticing possibility for a moment, finding it not at all as appalling as Selik undoubtedly thought she would. But she moved away slightly nonetheless.

“Why did you bring me to Jorvik if you knew Tyra waited here for you?” she asked bleakly.

“I have answered enough of your questions. Know this, wench, there will be a reckoning yet for the trouble you have caused me this day.”

“Will you whip me?” she teased, nuzzling her cheek against his warm chest, despite the stiffening of his body.

“Mayhap.”

“Perhaps you will resort to the
behaettie
again and scalp me.”

He made a small scoffing sound deep in his throat.

“But, no, I don’t think you would do that. You told me once that my hair was like spun gold. No one ever said anything so nice to me before, Selik. Did you know that?” She rubbed her cheek, cat-like, against the warm wool of his tunic where it was exposed between the lacings of his leather doublet. With satisfaction, she noted the rapid jumpstart of his heart’s acceleration.

“Do not be so sure of yourself, wench,” he growled.

“Well, there are probably some especially excruciating Viking tortures you would employ. Like…oh, tickling a person to death. But I’m not ticklish, so that wouldn’t work. Although, if you used a feather, and I was naked, and you were naked—”