Page 127 of The Outlaw Viking

The king grinned. “Nay, but her word-fame spread far and wide.” He motioned for the cleric to leave them alone, telling him that he would discuss the manuscripts with him further the next afternoon. Then he turned back to Rain, obviously fascinated. “And who was your father?”

“Thork—Thork Haraldsson.” Rain crossed her fingers behind her back, but only halfheartedly. She was actually beginning to believe her mother’s preposterous claims of her being conceived in the past and born in the future.

“Aaah, then Eirik would truly be your half brother, as he claims.”

“Yes.”

“Now I understand his concern for you. And The Outlaw? What relationship do you share with that heathen beast?”

Rain dug her fingernails into her tightly clenched fists, trying to control her temper diplomatically. Finally, she held his eyes honestly and announced proudly, “I love him.”

The king’s upper lip curled with contempt. “Then you are a fool, for he is a dead man.”

Rain licked her dry lips and sought for the right words. “King Athelstan, in my ti—in my country, people regard you as a fair king. You carry many titles. The Warrior King. The Scholar King. The King of All Britain. But you are most remembered as a just king, a ruler who would give even the most hardened criminal a second chance if he repented.”

“You waste your breath, my lady, if you think to gain a second chance for The Outlaw. Do you have any idea what he did to my cousin Elwinus at Brunanburh?”

“Actually, I do. I was there.” She ignored his gasp of surprise and went on. “But as horrible as it was, do you have any idea what Elwinus’s family has done to Selik?”

The king’s eyes widened with interest. “Explain yourself.”

Quickly, Rain recapped all that she knew of Elwinus’s brother, Steven of Gravely, and what he’d done to Selik’s wife and baby. She saw tears in Elgiva’s eyes at mention of the baby’s head being carried on a pike. But the king’s eyes flashed angrily.

“That is Selik’s view of the event. He no doubt provoked Steven.”

Rain wanted to ask what possible provocation there could be for such brutality, but curbed her tongue.

“And ’tis no excuse for the ten years of war he has waged against me and my soldiers, who had naught to do with the alleged event.”

“I agree. There’s no excuse for violence. But there have been outrages on both sides, and Selik’s only excuse is that he went berserk after finding his wife and baby. It was the only way he could survive without going insane.”

Rain didn’t know what else to say. Please, God, help me to find the right words. Let the king understand.

She inhaled deeply and went on. “Let me say just one more thing. If you were not a king, and you had married a woman—like Elgiva, for instance,” Rain speculated, and saw the quick look of longing Athelstan and Elgiva exchanged, “how would you feel if you came home one day to find her body raped and mutilated and your son’s headless body lying in the dirt. And consider even more the fury that would overcome you to hear that your baby’s head was being carried on a pike by your enemy. What would you have done?” Rain had to swallow hard over the lump in her throat. In a choked whisper, she repeated, “What would you have done?”

Tears streamed down Elgiva’s face, but the king’s lips thinned angrily, and he raised his chin defensively, almost as if she were holding him personally responsible for the outrages.

“I will not release The Outlaw,” he vowed, “no matter how eloquently you plead his case. Now, begone.” He waved her dismissively toward the door. “I wish to speak to Elgiva in private.”

The next day Eirik left for Ravenshire, having heard reports of villains marauding on his property. Assigning a guard to accompany her and a maid to sleep on the pallet in her chamber, he promised Rain he would be back as soon as possible.

Rain saw Blanche occasionally with the castellan, Herbert, apparently having landed on her feet—or her back, to be more accurate. She ignored Rain disdainfully whenever she approached.

Elgiva warned Rain not to push her case with the king. He had heard her pleas, and being a fair man, would act accordingly.

So, Rain spent her days pleading with the castle guards to let her see Selik and talking for hours with Father Egbert about his medical manuscript. Father Egbert had, in turn, introduced her to King Athelstan’s personal healer, who was affronted and, at the same time, fascinated by her “outrageous” medical theories.

She was heading once again toward the outbuilding that housed the prison when a magnificently garbed man approached her. The man, well over six feet tall, wore a long cape of black wool of the softest, finest quality, lined with golden fox fur. His midnight-black hair lay in silky splendor down to his shoulders. His pale blue eyes gazed out at her in amusement, clearly aware of her appreciation of his beauty. In fact, the man looked a lot like her brother Eirik, except that his features were more finely honed, almost too perfect.

He bowed slightly and took her hand in his. “Are you the Lady Rain?

“Yes.”

“I have heard so much of you. Perchance I can be of some help in your endeavors.”

“Really?” Rain asked hopefully, not even caring that he held her hand too long, or that the softness of his fingers caressed her palm.

“Would you like to see the prisoner, Selik?”