Page 26 of The Outlaw Viking

“No raping.” He grinned mockingly.

“And you think that excuses your violence? You damned warmonger! You murderer! You—”

“How dare you condemn me? I have just cause to kill. I do naught that has not been done over and over to my people.”

“Oh, how I hate war and fighting and men who perpetuate the principle of might makes right!”

Selik could not fail to see the tears misting her luminous eyes, even though she blinked repeatedly, trying to hide them from his scrutiny, as if weeping in a woman was a sign of weakness. What a strange wench!

“Go to sleep. Your shrewish tongue makes my head ache,” he said finally. It had been a long day, and his head did, in fact, feel like a hammer pounded inside it. A death knell, no doubt, he thought ruefully. For him, or those he had killed that day? He wiped his hand across his brow. Thor’s hammer! The wench is getting to me with her waspish talk.

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed with you,” she declared vehemently, raising her chin in defiance. “Just forget it, buster, if you think you’re going to pick up where you left off.”

“What makes you think I want you?” he said in a steely voice. Her willfulness was no longer amusing.

“Go to hell. Better yet, go to your wife, you—you adulterer.”

The wench pushed him too far. He did not like talking about his wife. “I asked you afore, who told you about Astrid?”

“You did.”

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

Her face flushed a becoming pink. “You said her name when—when—oh, you know very well when.” The pink of her cheeks now darkened to a deep rose.

“But I never mentioned she was…my wife.”

“Oh, what difference does it make? Ubbi told me.”

Selik stiffened with anger. “He had no right,” he said in an icy voice that promised retribution.

Realizing that she might have brought his ire down on Ubbi, she immediately added, “It wasn’t his fault. I kind of blackmailed him into telling me. And don’t get on your high horse with me—or Ubbi. You’re the one cheating on your wife.”

“I have never cheated on my wife.”

“Hah! You have a weird definition of cheating then. I call what you did with me cheating, and I definitely call what you intended to do cheating. Where do you draw the line, mister?”

“Right now I draw the line with your shrewish tongue,” he said, tired of her foolhardy reminders of his beloved wife. “Lie down in the bed furs. Now.”

Once again, she foolishly defied him. Even as he moved closer, she backed away, around the edge of the small tent. He grinned ferally, stalking her like the helpless, trapped animal she was. When she was near the tent entrance, about to jump through, he pounced, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her easily into his arms.

For a moment, she did not struggle as her mouth dropped open in amazement. “You picked me up.”

“How wise of you to notice.”

“But I’m too big. No one has ever picked me up.”

“Look again, Sweetling. Your feet are tickling my thighs.”

She fought against him then, kicking, scratching, pushing, to no avail. With one arm under her long legs, he pulled her against his body in an iron clasp. The other arm was wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her against his chest with her face firmly tucked in his neck. He inhaled sharply at the seductive floral scent that emanated from her neck, the same odor he had noticed the day before when he had chased her through the forest.

With three long strides, he walked to the bed furs, dropped down lithely without releasing her, then forced her to lie down with her back to him. He covered them both with the bed furs.

With a grunt, he threw one leg over both of hers. Forcing her head to rest in the cradle of his left arm, he wrapped his right arm heavily over her chest.

When she finally stopped struggling after calling him an odd name, “Jerk!”, which he suspected was not a compliment, he began to savor the sweetness of just holding a warm woman in his arms once again.

“What is that scent?” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.