Page 21 of The Outlaw Viking

Within hours, the flat-topped plain was almost deserted.

Ubbi tended the cooking fires abandoned by the women who had fled with their husbands. A dozen scruffy soldiers who had chosen to stay with Selik were clearing up the debris and helping Selik to cover the trails of the departing warriors.

“Why aren’t we leaving too?” Rain asked Ubbi.

“The master would ne’er leave Tykir, and ’twill be days afore he is well enuf fer travel.”

“Is it safe here?”

“Be ye barmy?” Ubbi asked with a mocking snort. “’Tis ne’er safe for me lord when Saxons be about. King Athelstan put a bounty on his head long ago, but now he will no doubt want his eyes and tongue, as well.”

“Why?”

“You were at the Great Battle. Did ye not see the Saxon he speared near the end, the one he hoisted on his halberd and stuck in the ground soz the noble prince swung from the pike?”

Rain nodded uneasily. “A Saxon prince?”

He shook his craggy head sadly. “King Athelstan’s own cousin, Elwinus.” He wrung his misshaped hands worriedly. “And even worse, Elwinus was brother to that bastard—excuse me language, m’lady—to that wretched Steven of Gravely, who hates Selik with a passion.”

“Oh, my God! Then Selik should leave now. I’ll stay and take care of Tykir while he recuperates. Even if we’re discovered here, the Saxons have no reason to harm me.”

Ubbi’s rheumy eyes shot her a look of disbelief. “And what do ye think they would do to Tykir? Coddle him with chicken broth and sweet wine? Hah! They would just as soon cut off all his limbs and let him bleed to death.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a bounty on Tykir’s head as well.”

“Nay, leastways, not yet, but he fought on the wrong side in this battle.”

“I still say Selik should leave us here and escape while he can.”

“Oh, mistress, ye do not unnerstan’. Even if ’twere not fer Tykir, my lord wud not abandon you here alone. Ye belong to him now.”

Rain bristled. “Me? Belong to him? Hardly!”

“Now, mistress, do not be fightin’ yer fate. The master captured you in battle, and ye be part of the spoils, so to speak. Methinks he even named you hostage, did he not?”

“He did not capture me. In fact, I saved him. And let’s get one thing straight—I am no one’s prisoner. Nor do I need the protection of some blasted, bloodthirsty Viking.”

“If you say so,” Ubbi said doubtfully, “but the master takes his duties seriously. Leastways, he tries his best ter protect those men and wimmen under his shield, ’specially since Astrid…” Ubbi’s words trailed off and he glanced guiltily toward Selik across the campsite as if he realized belatedly how much he’d disclosed.

“Astrid? Who’s Astrid?”

Ubbi groaned. “I beg you, m’lady, do not mention her name to my lord. Please, if ye value yer life.”

Rain frowned in confusion. “Tell me who she is, and I promise not to say a word to Selik.” When he balked, she added, “On the other hand, if you don’t want to tell me, I can always ask Selik.”

Ubbi’s face blanched with horror.

Rain’s curiosity got the best of her then, and she demanded in a steely voice, “Who is Astrid?”

“His wife,” Ubbi answered grimly, then darted away before she could ask any more questions.

His wife! Rain’s heart skipped a beat, and her shoulders slumped. His wife! Why had she not considered the possibility that Selik was married? And why should it matter to her? She was just a visitor to this primitive period in history, a time traveler who would surely return to the future once her mission was accomplished, whatever it might be.

No, it didn’t matter to her whether Selik was married or not, Rain told herself resolutely, refusing to listen to her aching heart, which told another story. His wife!

Selik walked up to her then, but she forgot her hurt and anger when she noticed his full battle regalia. Alarm rippled through her as she pressed a widespread palm to her chest to still her fast-beating heart.

He didn’t wear chain mail, as he had the day before, but he did wear thick leather protective gear. The short-sleeved, open-sided, leather garment protected him from neck to midthigh and was worn over a heavy wool knee-length tunic and tight black leggings. A wide, linked silver belt with a huge center clasp accented his deliciously narrow waist, drawing her eyes to his slim hips. The metal belt must weigh at least ten pounds, she realized, and be worth a fortune. Matching silver armlets outlined the muscles of his upper arms.