Page 77 of The Viking’s Captive

“Oh.” That was her only response. He was fairly certain she liked it if her soft sigh of delight was any indication … and the fact that she didn’t chop off his fingers.

Because of the table, the dim light, and the fact that all eyes were on Agnis, the young maid singing and playing the lute, no one noticed what Adam was about.

His hand was only on her calf, but she went stiff as a pike.

Deliberately he spread his knees, which caused her knees to spread as well. He had her exactly where he wanted her … on his lap, and exposed.

“You cannot,” she said as his hand moved in a slow caress from her calf to her knee, then up, up, up to her thigh.

“I can,” he countered, and moved his hand from her outer thigh to her inner thigh. With just his fingertips, he lightly caressed her inner thighs in slow circles, from knees almost to her woman’s fleece. Up one thigh, down the other, up one thigh, down the other.

Not only was she stiff as a pike now, but she was holding her breath.

“When I caress you here, do your breasts begin to ache?”

She nodded, to his surprise. He had not expected such honesty.

“Do you feel a throbbing here … as I do?” He put the heel of his hand against that lowest portion of her belly, just above the pubic bone.

She released her pent-up breath and tried to hold his hand there, through the cloth of her gown, which still covered her discreetly. But he was already back to finger-brushing her thighs.

“Adam, I heard about the babe you lost today,” Alinor said in the short break between entertainments. The lutist was done, and now Rashid was preparing to tell one of his long Arab tales … something about a young man and a magic tapestry. “I am so sorry you were unable to save the wee one.”

Not now, Alinor. Oh, please, God, not now.He hoped his silent nod, accepting her sympathies, would be enough.

But already Tyra was turning in his lap, looking at him over her shoulder. “I forgot to ask you about Dagma. Oh, nay, don’t tell me …”

“Dagma will be fine,” he was quick to assure her. “She lost much blood, and is very weak after a full day and a half of labor, but the babe died in the womb.”

“Oh, Adam,” Tyra and Alinor said at the same time.

“It could not be helped; the cord was wrapped around the infant’s neck. It must have been dead for days now.”

“Oh, Adam,” they repeated.

“Sometimes things, even bad things, happen for a reason,” Alinor said then. “She is very young. She can have other children, can’t she?”

“Probably.”

“I should go see her,” Tyra suggested.

“Not now!” He immediately realized how shrill his voice sounded. More calmly, he informed her, “I gave her some healing herbs that will make her sleep deeply through the night.”

I cannot believe I am sitting here with my hand up my lady’s gown, about to part her most intimate folds, with an arousal that could scorch the hair off a hog, and I am discussing medical affairs. Can this conversation not wait till the morrow? If Drifa overhears and starts asking me which herbs I used, I think I might just weep.

“Adam, you look as if you are about to weep,” Tykir commented. Adam saw the twinkle in Tykir’s eyes. He was looking from him to Tyra and back to him, his head cocked in question. He might not know exactly what was going on, but his suspicions had been aroused.

“This is the story of Ala Din and his amazing adventures with a magic tapestry.”

Never in all his life had Adam thought he would be relieved to hear Rashid begin one of his never-ending stories. It would probably involve harems in one way or another. The hall went silent as everyone leaned forward and listened intently, not wanting to miss a word of the tale. Vikings ever did love a good story. Adam did, too, but not now. For God’s sake, not now!

Alinor turned forward.

And Adam said a silent prayer of thanks.

“Thank you for staying with Dagma,” Tyra whispered over her shoulder at him, then turned to stare at Rashid, who sat on a high stool, surrounded by candles and torches, which gave an eerie cast to his Eastern features. Then, for the first time since he’d pulled her onto his lap, she relaxed and let her head loll back onto his shoulder.

Well, hell, if I’d known a little sympathy or a little thankfulness would gain me this result, I could have told her about the old crone with the pus-oozing eyes I helped today. Or the little boy’s broken leg I set. Or the burn I soothed with ointment on Alrek’s palm from picking up hot kindling.