Page 32 of The Outlaw Viking

“You know damn well who.”

“With the prisoners, m’lord. But ’twas not my doin’. Nor Gorm’s,” he added quickly.

Selik exhaled loudly and forced himself not to shake his faithful servant. Carefully, he spaced each word as he spoke. “Why is she with the prisoners?”

“She sez she be a pacifist—”

“Pacifist?”

“Yea, pacifists are against all fightin’, even—”

“Pacifist be damned!”

Ubbi slanted him a condemning look for the interruption and went on. “She sez she be a pacifist, and if me or Gorm would not release the captives, then she would become a captive, too.”

“She is a captive.”

Ubbi raised his chin in challenge. “Nay, she is a hostage. I told her so. And there is a difference, m’lord.”

“Yea, and a valuable hostage she is with her medical skills. I want her back in this tent, where I can guard her so she cannot escape.”

Ubbi raised an eyebrow in disbelief at his motives.

“I have not bedded the wench,” he said, oddly defensive.

“Have I said ye did?” Ubbi replied quickly, raising both hands in the air defensively.

“Well, I know what ye were thinking.”

“Hah! Does God speak to you as well? You are becoming as bad as the wench,” Ubbi said with a knowing grin, which annoyed Selik even more.

“Bring the wench here,” he snarled.

Ubbi backed away from him. “Nay, not me, master. She already threatened to clout me today. Best ye gather her yerself.”

Scowling, Selik headed toward the bound captives. “Why did she threaten you with bodily harm if she is such a pacifist?”

“’Cause I killed one of the prisoners, that surly lad who was making all the threats yestereve.”

Selik stopped and looked at his servant, who rarely entered the battle fray. He knew Ubbi must have had good reason to kill a valuable slave. “Why?”

“He was choking the mistress.”

“Rain?” Cold terror swept over Selik at Ubbi’s casually spoken words. Why would he feel bereft at the prospect of losing a mere wench he had met just the day before?

Ubbi nodded. “And best ye be prepared fer the tongue-lashin’ of yer life. She is sore angry with you.”

“Well, I am in no mood to hear her shrewish carping on the issue of captives tonight. Mayhap I should just stuff a rag in her waspish mouth and ease myself on her body ’til she is too tired to complain anymore.”

Ubbi made a clucking, skeptical sound that questioned the wisdom of such a plan.

A full moon and the campfire provided enough light for Selik to see the prisoners, who lay on the ground, most of them sleeping. A few stared up at him through wide, frightened eyes as he passed. He would have to find some warmer clothing for the mangy lot in the morn or they would never make the arduous trip to Jorvik. And food—his men would have to find more game to fatten their scrawny frames, lest they bring naught from the slave traders.

Selik finally found his troublesome wench at the end of the line, curled into a ball, shivering with the cold even in her sleep. He noticed that she had purloined one of his wool tunics, not that it was any protection against the autumn winds. Instead of being angered by her thievery, he felt an odd satisfaction in knowing his garment caressed her flesh, like a poor substitute for his arms.

“Bloody hell!” he muttered aloud. “The wench is turning me as senseless as an untried boy yearning for his first mating.”

Rain’s eyes opened slowly as Selik’s voice seeped into her consciousness. Still sleep-disoriented, she didn’t protest, at first, when he leaned down and untied the loose knots at her ankles.