Page 27 of The Outlaw Viking

“Probably your body odor,” she snapped.

He chuckled. “Nay, ’tis a sweet odor. Like flowers. ’Tis especially strong right here.” He ran the tip of his tongue along the sensitive, pulse-beating spot at the base of her neck.

She inhaled sharply, and Selik smiled against her neck, recognizing her involuntary sensual response. How could this woman have said that she had no particular liking for mating with men when she responded so quickly to a man’s touch?

“Passion.”

“What?”

“It’s Passion, you fool.”

“Aah, now I understand. Some women exude a musk of passion when their bodies make ready for the mating. ’Tis just that I have never heard of it being a floral scent.”

“Oh, you dolt! You really are an egotist. Passion is the name of my perfume.”

For a moment, Selik didn’t understand. Then he laughed. “Truly, you are amazing. You mock me for naming my sword, and you give a name to your perfume.”

Rain elbowed him in the ribs and burrowed into the bed furs, yawning widely. “All perfumes have names in my ti—country. It’s not the same thing as naming a gun or a bomb—or a stupid sword,” she explained, yawning.

“Stop squirming so much.” He smiled, knowing she would be outraged at the wonderful things she was doing to his hardened manhood. “And I will try not to bother you with my snoring. That is what you told Ubbi, is it not?”

“Ubbi talks too much.”

“Yea, that he does.”

When she was quiet for a long time, Selik said softly, “Rain?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“Barely.”

“Astrid is dead.”

At first, her body just lay stiff and silent. He was not sure she had even heard him. In truth, he did not know why he had felt the need to tell her the truth, to redeem himself in her eyes.

Finally, she turned in his arms and looked up at him through the flickering candlelight. She seemed to be searching his face for answers he could not give.

“Oh, Selik,” she whispered in a voice so soft he barely heard her. Then she laid her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Selik.”

For the first time in twelve years, he felt tears mist his eyes, and he drifted off to sleep, oddly comforted.

Chapter Five

Any soft feelings Rain may have been entertaining toward Selik after his disclosure that his wife was dead vanished the second she emerged from his tent the next morning. Fifteen captives sat shivering on the ground near the large cooking fire, hands and feet bound, each connected to the other by one long lead rope, like beads on a necklace.

Several of Selik’s retainers stood guard nearby with lethal swords at the ready. Not that any of the captives looked capable of putting up a fight. They were filthy, underdressed for the cool autumn morning, bruised, and even wounded. No wonder blood had stained Selik’s sword and clothing last night. Apparently, food was not the only thing he’d been hunting.

And—oh, my God—there were three women bound in the rope chain as well.

I’ll kill him. I swear, I have never had a violent thought in my life, but I will kill that damn Viking for this.

Rain scanned the entire campsite, but there was no sign of Selik or the soldiers he had taken with him yesterday on his “hunting” expedition. Rain’s lips curled with contempt, and she clenched her fists angrily at her sides.

“Ubbi, where is your master?” Rain demanded to know as she stormed up to the faithful servant, who was stirring the most ungodly smelling concoction over the cooking fire. Whatever it was smelled as if it had burned on the bottom of the cauldron, and a great deal of fat floated on the top. Great! Roadkill fricasse.

Ubbi looked up and asked pleasantly, “Did ye sleep well yestereve, my lady?”