The Outlaw Viking

  Rain should have been pleased that Eirik had gained her release, but each wasted minute that fled by left Rain in nerve-racking despair about Selik’s condition and whether he was being tortured further. The Winchester castellan refused permission for her or Eirik to see Selik again. Rumors flew of a public flogging and execution sometime in the near future.

  She was sitting in the ladies’ solar on the third afternoon, fidgeting nervously, fighting to control her temper among the insipid chitchat of the court ladies who gossiped over their needlework. Needlework! Hah! The only needlework that interested Rain right now was sewing a few mouths shut.

  The Lady Elgiva, a stunning, raven-haired widow from Mercia, approached her, a fine lavender samite robe swirling about her exquisite figure as she walked. She was one of the few females who bothered to treat Rain with any consideration, probably because her place in the Saxon court was just as shaky as hers. Some said Elgiva was hopelessly in love with the celibate king.

  Elgiva asked politely, “May I join you?”

  Rain nodded toward the windowseat at her side.

  “You have not had your audience with the king yet?” she inquired.

  “No,” Rain said with a sigh. “If I could only talk with King Athelstan, I think I might be able to convince him to release Selik.” Are you listening to me, God? “I’ve heard he’s a fair man.”

  Elgiva raised a perfect eyebrow. “Fair is one thing, but the king is no fool. He would not trust Selik. The Outlaw is just as likely to turn and stab him in the back—or kill a hundred more Saxon soldiers.”

  Rain felt her face Hush with anger. “Selik’s word is gold. If he made an oath, even to a Saxon king, he would keep it.”

  Elgiva tapped a graceful forefinger against her cheek thoughtfully. Rain had never seen such a beautiful, creamy complexion in her entire life, and she wondered how the king could resist this woman’s beauty.

  “Do you love Athelstan?” she asked suddenly, unable to control her curiosity.

  Elgiva leveled an assessing look at Rain, seeming to weigh her words carefully. Finally, she raised her chin haughtily and admitted in a soft voice, “Yea, I do.”

  “And is it true that he took a vow of celibacy to protect the royal bloodlines for his young nephews?”

  Tears pooled in Elgiva’s hazel eyes, and she nodded.

  “Does he love you?”

  “Yea, he does. We have known each other since he fostered at the court of his aunt, Queen Aethelflaed, in Mercia. But there is no hope for us,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

  Rain put a hand gently over Elgiva’s. “I understand perfectly what it’s like to love a man and know there is no future.”

  They both sat silently for several moments. Rain laughed lightly then. “Too bad I couldn’t have brought some birth control pills for you from the fut—from my country.”

  Elgiva’s posture went suddenly alert. “Birth control pills?”

  Rain explained and told her about all the methods available for women. Elgiva was very interested.

  “And you say that patch under your skin protects you from conceiving a child?”

  “Yes. Implants are still somewhat experimental, but supposedly they last for about five years.”

  Elgiva’s lush lips formed a perfect O of amazement. “Could I have one?” she whispered hopefully.

  Rain smiled. “No, unfortunately I wouldn’t have any idea where to get another.”

  “I will have yours then,” she said imperiously.

  “No, that wouldn’t be safe.”

  Elgiva’s shoulders slumped. “The future holds naught for me then. I may as well return to my home in Mercia. ’Tis torture to be near Athelstan and not be with him.”

  “It’s funny, but when I was talking to Selik and Eirik the other day, I laughingly mentioned giving the king a vasectomy.”

  “A vas…vasectomy?”

  Although her face paled when Rain explained the intricacies of the operation, Elgiva asked, “And the man can still…you know…perform?”

  Rain nodded.

  “And the pleasure is the same?” she asked incredulously.

  Rain nodded again.

  “Could you do it for Athelstan?”

  “Oh, no! I was just teasing. It would be impossible without anesthetics and painkillers.” Rain suddenly thought of Tykir and the operation she’d performed on him with acupuncture.

  “It can be done! I see it on your face. I had heard you were a healer, but this—oh, ’twould make you world-renowned.”

  “Oh, no, no,” Rain quickly interjected. What she didn’t want was fame, or to change the course of history. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Have you ever performed a vas—vasectomy?”

  “Well, yes, but…” Rain found it impossible to explain modern medical facilities to this Dark Age lady, and Eirik had warned her about discussing the future or time-travel in a land suspicious of sorcery. “Besides, do you honestly think the king—any man here, for that matter—would let me tamper with his manhood? Men are really touchy about such things, even in my country.”

  “Athelstan would if I asked him to,” Elgiva asserted, her slight laugh betraying her uncertainty.

  “There’s pain and discomfort for a few days after the operation. The king would think I’d maimed him.”

  “You could explain.”

  “Elgiva, it’s out of the question.”

  “If you say so,” Elgiva agreed much too quickly.

  “We’d have a better chance of Selik telling the king how to find your G-spot,” Rain commented dryly, then slapped a hand over her mouth, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “What is a G-spot?” Elgiva demanded to know.

  Rain groaned, then explained, despite Elgiva’s constant interruptions to ask, “And what didst thou say the meaning of ejaculation is?”, or “orgasm?”, or “You say women in your country demand the same pleasures as men?” When she stopped talking, Rain turned around, horrified to see that several of the other gentle ladies had sidled closer, eavesdropping with avid interest in their conversation.

  “Humph! ’Tis just like men to keep such information from women,” Elgiva complained. “I had a husband onct who considered himself quite the lover, but he ne’er mentioned any G-spot. No doubt he saved those pleasures for his mistress.”

  Then Elgiva smiled mysteriously, and foreboding rippled over Rain in waves.

  “I’m sick to death of King Athelstan’s court,” Rain complained to Eirik later that day. “And I’m even sicker of all the useless people who stand around posturing and begging for his favors.”

  Eirik just smiled patronizingly at her, having heard her complaints enough the past two days to know them by heart.

  They were seated along with a hundred or so other people at one of the numerous trestle tables in Athelstan’s great hall, where yet another feast was taking place. They’d been placed so far down the salt that she could barely see the king or his closest advisors. The abundance of smoke from the poorly ventilated hearths at either end didn’t help much, either.

  Even by modern standards, the fare surpassed sumptuous—baked lamprey, veal and beef custard pies, swan neck pudding, lentils and lamb, pigeons in grape sauce, poached mustard-glazed pike, quail stuffed with dates, whole sides of beef and venison. And that was just the main course. Servants also carried in huge platters of cabbage with marrow, herbed beets, creamed parsnips, pickled mushrooms, a vegetable gruel, artichokes with blueberry rice, even a medieval salad consisting of turnips, shredded cabbage, dried fruits, mustard, brown sugar, and honey. For dessert, there was gilly-flower pudding, almond creme, elaborate subtleties, custards, stewed fruits, and honey cakes. And barrels and barrels of wine and mead.

  Rain would have given her eyeteeth for a pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza. And a diet Coke.

  The king and his closest friends stood, about to leave the dais for their evening’s entertainment—music, storytelling, dice and board games. Rain accepted that a
nother day had gone by and Selik still lay in that damned dungeon. And she’d accomplished nothing. There would be no other opportunities tonight to approach the king.

  “Pssst!”

  Rain twisted around, looking for the source of the noise.

  “Pssst!” she heard again and looked the other way, noticing a flash of lavender material in the shadows of a hallway. She stood, telling Eirik she had to visit the garderobe, and walked toward Elgiva, who put a finger to her lips to indicate silence, then crooked her finger for Rain to follow. Once they’d gone down several winding corridors, she stopped and whispered, “You have several minutes to present your case to the king.”

  Rain grabbed both of Elgiva’s hands in hers and squeezed. “Oh, thank you, thank you. How did you manage to convince him to see me?”

  “Well, ’tis not exactly an audience I have managed,” Elgiva said, shifting her eyes slyly.

  “Exactly what have you managed?” Rain asked suspiciously.

  “I talked to him today about the vasectomy, and he was not yet convinced. In truth, he said, ‘The day I let The Outlaw’s wench within two hides of my cock is the day I declare myself lackwit and give up my throne’, or some such foolishness. Methinks I will need more time to persuade him.”

  Rain groaned, feeling her case for Selik slowly slipping away. “Elgiva, get to the point. You said I would have an opportunity to speak to the king.”

  “Yea. Athelstan intends to visit his scriptorium to view the manuscripts completed today by his scribes. If we just happen to be passing by at the same time—well, he cannot turn us away. Can he?”

  Rain closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting for courage and the right words to use in what might be her only opportunity to speak to King Athelstan.

  Are you there, God? I could use a little help here.

  The blasted inner voice remained stone silent.

  King Athelstan stood examining an illuminated manuscript while a tall monk pointed out its finer details. Dozens of candles lit the airy room, which had a number of high stools placed before tall, lectern-style desks containing parchment and colored inks.

  “Elgiva!” the king exclaimed with delight, just noticing her in the doorway. “I thought you had retired for the night.”

  “Nay, I was restless and decided to walk for a bit.” She placed both her dainty hands in the king’s, and Rain saw the love they shared in just that little gesture.

  Athelstan was a good-looking man of medium height, about forty years old. His flaxen hair, with golden highlights, gleamed in the flickering candlelight, and Rain couldn’t help but admire the magnificent couple these two beautiful people made.

  Emotion filled the king’s eyes, and he leaned toward Elgiva, brushing his lips against hers lightly. He seemed oblivious to the priest who hovered in the background. Rain stood in the shadows near the doorway.

  Rain turned away from the intimate scene and walked from desk to desk, admiring the exquisitely detailed illuminations—some copies from other books, others original compositions. Unfortunately, most of these priceless books would never survive the wear-and-tear of the centuries.

  “Dearling, I would have you meet my new friend, Rain,” Elgiva said, drawing the king over to where she stood. “She is the one I spoke of earlier this day.”

  The king raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, with Elgiva on his arm. “Ah, the self-proclaimed physician.” His lips twitched slightly with a smile, and Rain somehow knew he was thinking about vasectomies.

  “Not self-proclaimed,” she asserted. “I have many years’ education and experience in some of the best hospitals in my country.”

  “Do you mean hospitiums?”

  Rain shrugged. “They’re about the same thing.”

  “And these hospitiums in your country allow females to study?”

  “Yes, we’re quite…enlightened.”

  “Hmmm.” He studied her through eyes that Rain could see were very intelligent. “I have a medical manuscript here that one of my scribes is working on,” he said, walking over to a huge tome. “’Tis in Latin.”

  Rain looked at some of the pages. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t read Latin.”

  “Ahh,” he said, shooting an “I told you so” look at Elgiva. Apparently, all healers were supposed to know Latin.

  His condescension irritated Rain, and she blurted out, “Some of the drawings are wrong.” She immediately regretted her outburst.

  Rain heard the priest gasp with outrage behind them, and the king’s shoulders stiffened at her boldness.

  “Show me,” the king demanded.

  Rain looked to Elgiva for advice on how to proceed with the king, but the Saxon woman’s silent face spoke volumes. Rain was on her own.

  “I don’t want to alter these beautiful illuminations. Give me a blank piece of parchment and a pen, and I’ll show you.” With a few quick strokes of the quill, which she dipped in thick black ink, Rain sketched the interior of the body, showing the location of the lungs, heart, liver, stomach, pancreas, large and small intestines. See,” she pointed out to him. “Your illustration has the liver and stomach in the wrong places. Also,” she added, doing another sketch, this time of the heart, “this is how the heart really looks when it’s dissected. There are four sections—the two above we call the atria, and the two below the ventricles—and the blood is pumped into and out of the heart through these veins and arteries.”

  She stopped, suddenly aware of the ominous silence in the room. The priest was peering over the king’s shoulder, and both men were staring at her as if she’d just sprung a halo. She wished she had. A pair of wings, as well, would come in handy right now. Lord, when would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

  “Father Egbert, is it possible that what the wench says is true?” the king asked.

  “Nay, of course not.”

  But they could all hear the hesitation in the cleric’s voice.

  “Mayhap you would come back on the morrow and discuss this further with me?” Father Egbert asked Rain tentatively. “Your sketch is, of course, incorrect, but I would be interested in hearing more of your theories. Where didst thou study?”

  But the king interrupted, his eyes narrowing, as he asked, “You mentioned dissection. Surely, you did not cut a man’s body open for your inspection.”

  Uh-oh! Rain sensed she was treading on hallowed ground.

  “Did I say dissection?” she said, hoping the heat of her face didn’t betray her. “I must have meant inspection.”

  The king eyed her speculatively. “Exactly who are you?”

  “Rain—Thoraine Jordan. I believe you met my mother once—Ruby Jordan.”

  Athelstan’s brow furrowed in concentration, then brightened. “The lady who claimed to come from the future? The one with the outrageous undergarments?”

  “Don’t tell me my mother showed you her lingerie, too?”

  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, peop
le 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?”