Page 8 of The Outlaw Viking

“To save you,” Rain offered weakly.

“Me? God cares naught for such as me.” He surveyed her through slitted eyes while he sheathed his knife, then asked reluctantly, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying the words, “Save me from what?”

“From yourself.”

Selik slapped both hands to his head in disbelief. Still kneeling atop her, he threw his head back and hooted with laughter.

Rain knew Selik didn’t believe her. Who would, under the circumstances? She lowered her lashes quickly to hide the disappointment, then waited patiently for Selik to recover from his infuriating fit of laughter.

Finally, he wiped his eyes and shook his head in wonder at her arrogant claims. “’Tis too much. The maid declares herself my guardian angel. Sweet Freya! The battle today must have unhinged my mind. Mayhap the wench got hit on the head as well.” He looked pointedly at the bump on her forehead. Little did he know it had happened a thousand years from now in a Viking museum. Or was it this morning? Rain wondered with a frown.

Selik continued to chuckle.

Rain clucked her tongue, chafing now under his continued ridicule. Good heavens! Her words weren’t that funny.

But Rain wasn’t really annoyed. Despite the danger of the Saxon pursuit and Selik’s threats, her troubled spirits calmed, and she felt a strange peace being with the ruthless Viking, as if she’d finally found her place in life.

And, besides, she rationalized, Selik had been through absolute hell that day…and probably had for years. It showed in the scars and poorly healed broken bones and empty eyes. No matter how much she hated his brutality, Rain couldn’t stop herself from admiring Selik, the man, almost as she would a wounded animal with a fine pedigree that had been battered but still maintained its innate beauty.

Save him.

Rain almost groaned aloud at the persistent inner voice. How would she ever be able to penetrate the utter emptiness at the bottom of his desolate eyes? Would he let her get that close?

“My mother was right about you,” Rain whispered huskily, still pinned to the ground by his body.

Selik raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Selik snorted rudely. “’Tis of no importance. And do not dare try your paltry charms on me. ’Twill not work. Leastways, I lost whatever looks I had many years past.” Then he hesitated, as if pondering something. “You mentioned your mother. Do I know her?”

“You did. Her name was Ruby…Ruby Jordan…before she married—”

“Argh!” Selik jumped up, glaring down at Rain. Then he pulled her roughly to her feet, noticing something for the first time. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he pointed to the brooch on her lapel and asked, “Where did you pilfer that?”

“My mother gave it to me.”

“’Tis impossible.” He put a hand to his brow and rubbed, obviously troubled. “Nay, not Ruby. You cannot be her daughter. Or Thork’s.”

He searched her face then, looking for a resemblance, which Rain knew was there if he’d only see it. Suddenly, Selik seemed to remember something. Before she had a chance to react, he took her blouse by the lapels and tore it apart, uncaring of the rips or popping buttons.

“How dare you?” Rain sputtered and tried futilely to hold the edges of the shirt together. Selik knocked her hands aside.

He stared at her breasts incredulously, but not with lust. “For the love of Freya! You wear Ruby’s strange undergarment. Lingerie, methinks she named it.”

“This is not my mother’s bra.” Rain clamped her jaw shut defiantly, then demanded to know, “How did you ever see my mother’s underwear?”

“Hah! Every man in King Sigtrygg’s court saw the scandalous garment when she removed that traitorous Brass Balls shirt of hers. She even went into business making the wispy things while she lived amongst us.”

Criminey! Selik was repeating the same ridiculous story her mother had told for years. And no one had believed Ruby, herself included. Maybe this wasn’t a dream, after all. Rain clasped both widespread hands to her mouth in horror.

Oh, my God! Could time-travel really be possible?

“Listen, I assure you that Ruby is my mother, and she always said Thork was my father.” Rain decided not to tell him—at least, not yet—that her mother also said Jack Jordan was her father as well. “I can give you all the explanations you want, but don’t you think we should get away from here first? If the Saxons capture us, it won’t matter who I am.”

Selik nodded reluctantly and whistled between his closed teeth. The dumb horse came ambling toward him like a lovesick swain. How did Selik do that? It was probably a female, Rain decided with disgust, wondering if he had the same effect on women in general.

Selik put his left hand on the saddle and vaulted onto the horse, then looked down at her expressionlessly while she scrambled to repair the damage to her blouse as best she could and rebraid her hair.