Read Online Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] by The Outlaw Viking - Free Book Online Page A

justification for the violence of their lifestyles. There was no excuse for fighting, or wars. That was what she’d always believed. She still did. She had to.
    Selik’s lips curled cynically at the changing emotions he must have seen reflected on her face. “I was luckier than most that day. Ivar tried to pluck out my eyes and succeeded only in gracing me with this memento,” he said, touching the long scar.
    Rain reached out a hand to touch his forearm in comfort, but he shrugged her away defensively. “Save your pity.”
    “I’m just trying to understand you and the strange time I’ve landed in, Selik. I know I appear condemning, but—”
    “Spare me your explanations, wench. I care naught what you or any other thinks of me. My head was on the chopping block that day, and I have ne’er feared the face of death since. In truth, I welcome it.”
    “Your head was on the chopping block?” Rain choked out.
    “Yea.” A cruel smile thinned his lips mirthlessly. “Wouldst like to hear the tale?”
    When Rain stared at him in horror, Selik went on ghoulishly, “I was godly handsome in those days, just as your mother said, and vain as a rooster. When it came my turn, I taunted Ivar, asking that my fair hair be held back during the beheading so as not to stain the wondrous strands with my life’s blood.” He ran his fingers sensuously through his long hair in remembrance.
    “Selik, I don’t want to hear any more. Stop.”
    He ignored her pleas. “The crowds who came to watch the execution of the famed Jomsviking knights admired my daring and urged Ivar to grant my wish. He called a noble soldier forth, one of his bravest hesirs, to stand in front of me and hold the twisted coil of my hair forward, baring my neck for the executioner’s blade. At the last moment, I jerked back deliberately, and the blade sliced off the hands of Ivar’s hesir.”
    Rain gasped and held a hand over her mouth in horror. She heard the echo of her exclamation from the women behind her who had moved closer to listen to Selik’s words. Selik didn’t seem to notice any of them, so lost was he in his horrifying reverie.
    “Instead of being angry, the crowd cheered my bravery and demanded that Ivar spare my life and the lives of the remaining Jomsviking knights who awaited execution, your father included.” Coming back to the present, Selik lifted his chin proudly and taunted, “Now you know the story of my scar. Art thou happy, Sleetling, that your prickly words drew the blood of my memories?”
    “No, Selik, I’m not. Sometimes I speak rashly. You seem to bring that out in me,” she said wearily, then touched the word rage carved on his muscled forearm. “Is that when you mutilated yourself with this scar?”
    A deep rumble, like the bellow of an enraged bear, started in Selik’s chest, moved up his throat, and emerged from his mouth as a roar of anger. He jerked upright and grabbed Rain by the upper arms, raising her until her feet dangled off the ground and her eyes were level with his, noses practically touching. She could feel his breath against her lips as he jerked out furiously, “Ne’er, ne’er ask about that scar. If you value your life, you foolish spawn of Loki, do not even look at it, for I swear I will wring your neck like the scrawny chicken you are.” He shook her until her brain practically rattled. “Dost understand, wench?”
    Rain could not speak over her chattering teeth but nodded her numb assent.
    “Master, master!”
    Selik froze as the shrill greeting penetrated his fury.
    “Bloody, stinking hell!” he cursed, dropping Rain carelessly to the ground as he turned to face a gnomelike man scurrying crablike toward them on bowed legs. His gnarled hands and stooped shoulders bespoke an arthritic condition. He could be no more than forty years old, despite his aged appearance.
    “Thank the gods, I have finally caught up with ye, master,” the trollish man said breathlessly when he reached