Page 43 of The Outlaw Viking

His mouth formed a perfect O.

Putting a hand over her mouth to hide a smile, she added, “My back is so tense. Do you think you could rub my back when we stop the next time?”

“Me?” he choked out.

“By the way, Ubbi, I seem to have misplaced something that was in my carryall. Have you seen a round thin gold circlet?” She lifted her hands from the reins for a second to demonstrate with her widespread fingers a circle about the size of her head.

He almost swallowed his teeth and whispered in an undertone of awe, not intended for her ears, “A halo! The blessed angel has lost her halo.”

It still amazed Rain that she could understand the language of these primitive people and vice-versa. But then, there was a lot about this time-travel experience that astounded her.

Selik rode back then and drew up to her side as the full moon came out from behind a cloud. Clad in leather battle gear, Selik’s powerful body moved in the saddle of his massive destrier with easy grace. His long fingers held the reins lightly while he guided the horse with the flexing muscles of his thighs, evident through his tight black leggings.

Rain licked her suddenly dry lips and forced her eyes upward.

With a jerk of his head toward Tykir, Selik asked, “How does he? Need we stop again afore dawn?”

“Nay, we will not stop on my account,” Tykir asserted, overhearing Selik’s question.

Rain knew her brother had to be in excruciating pain, but the stubborn young man refused all offers of a sledge and rode in the saddle with his leg in a soft brace that she and Selik had improvised for him.

“Can you not force my stubborn sister to teach Ubbi another song?” Tykir urged Selik plaintively, changing the subject deliberately to shift attention away from himself. “My teeth are starting to ache with all these doobie-doobie words.”

Amusement flickered briefly in Selik’s shadowy eyes as they met hers in a warm caress. “Hah! What makes you think your sister would be biddable for me of a sudden?”

“Well, leastways, force her to teach him another song. One less jarring on the senses.”

Rain’s face perked instantly.

“Nay!” Selik and Tykir both snapped out quickly in appalled voices before she had a chance to speak.

“Do not think of starting on that other one—that achy-breaky-heart thing,” Selik ordered with a groan. “Good Lord, do they not have any soft melodies in your country?”

“Mayhap ’tis your shrillness,” Tykir added. “I tell you kindly, sister, you have a voice that could peel bark off a tree.”

“How nice of you to notice that I can’t carry a tune, Tykir. I’ll remember that when I change your bandages tonight.”

Selik threw back his head and laughed, low and throaty, at the bantering between brother and sister. His amusement wiped the lines of rage and pain from his face as it relaxed for the moment, and he looked years younger.

When they finally stopped to camp at daybreak in a thickly wooded glen, Tykir was no longer joking, and Rain removed the dressings on his leg with trepidation. His stitches remained intact and no inflammation marked the wound, but his mouth formed a thin white line of pain. With tightly balled hands, he could barely move from his horse to the pallet they prepared for him.

Rain ordered Ubbi to sterilize her needles over the cooking fire, and within an hour, Tykir slept peacefully, the acupuncture needles stuck in the strategic body points to alleviate pain. A guard sat nearby to make sure that Tykir did not jar the needles in his slumber.

Selik, on the other hand, watched the whole procedure with horror. His golden tan paled and his knuckles whitened as he fisted his fingers tightly.

Rain had no other medical duties to perform, so she went over to the cooking fire and offered to help Blanche prepare the meal.

As Rain turned the large chunks of venison roasting over the low fire, she watched Blanche move with brisk efficiency, preparing dough for the flat manchet bread which would bake in the hot coals. The Saxon girl had cleaned up well. Too well, Rain admitted jealously, as she noticed the men in the camp stop by on one pretext or another to offer their help. One suitor gathered herbs. Another, fresh water. Even Gorm had turned into a rip-roaring Lothario with his clean red hair slicked back wetly into a single braid and his grizzly face newly shaved. If he didn’t smile and reveal the missing front tooth, he might almost be handsome, Rain had to admit.

But the disgustingly petite young woman ignored them all. She had her eyes on bigger game. Selik.

Rain tried to ignore the green-eyed monster that slithered just under the surface of her skin every time she saw Blanche cast her sultry eyes his way or swing her hips when she walked by him with assumed casualness on far too many occasions. Rain had to keep reminding herself that the Saxon Lolita was probably no more than sixteen years old, a child really. Hah! she corrected herself immediately—the brunette’s knowing glances bespoke ageless feminine wiles, ones Rain had yet to learn. And she was thirty!

Even worse was the fact that Selik—the infuriating Viking—looked pleased. Rain watched with jealousy as Selik’s silvery eyes glittered with humor and his sensual lips broke into a dazzling smile when Blanche stood blatantly close to him and displayed in age-old body language what she wanted from him, even as she asked such a simple question as, “Where do you keep the salt, master?”

Not in his bloody breeches, you whore!

Rain glared at Selik with an urge to throttle as his appreciative eyes followed the movement of Blanche’s well-curved derrière bending over a basket of greens she had just collected. A Playboy bunny couldn’t have posed so seductively.