Page 90 of The Viking’s Captive

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Timid she was not…

Adam was in his bedchamber with Rashid, helping to pack their belongings for the return trip to Northumbria.

They probably wouldn’t be leaving till two days hence, but all of the medical supplies that Rashid had packed in haste were now in disarray. Decisions had to be made about which ones to leave behind with Father Efrid and the midwife, and which were so rare he must needs keep them for himself.

“I still cannot believe that the king has recovered so rapidly. ‘Tis a miracle. Praise be to Allah!”

“Rashid, please do not use the word miracle in my presence. It has come to leave a nasty taste in my mouth. And, frankly, methinks the king’s recovery is not as rapid as he would have us think.”

“Really?”

“For days he has displayed the symptoms of a recovering man, not one who was unconscious.”

“Why would he pretend to be sicker than he was?”

Adam shrugged. “He is a crafty fellow … always has been, I understand from Tykir. His motives are beyond my understanding. And, really, I do not care. We will be going home. That is the most important thing. I cannot wait till we are gone from this hellhole of the North.”

“From one hellhole of the North to another hellhole of the North,” Rashid murmured, still chagrined over Adam’s refusal to return to the Eastlands and the world of harems. Rashid squinted his eyes at Adam with confusion. “Why did you insist that Tyra be the one to accompany us? Why not cut your ties with Thorvald completely?”

“Revenge. Pure and simple. She kidnapped me. In essence, I am kidnapping her by forcing her to make the return trip.”

“Be careful, my friend. Revenge has a way of coming back to bite a man in the arse.”

Adam laughed. “Is that another of your ancient proverbs?”

“Nay,” Rashid replied with a grin. “That is a bit of Rashid humor. Speaking of humor, master, could you believe all the jests that were being made at dinner about the king’s condition? And Thorvald was the worst of them all.”

“Vikings do have a great sense of humor. They especially like to laugh at themselves. But even I thought the hole-in-the-head jokes went too far. Especially the one about the king making a good candle holder … now that he has a hole in his head.”

“Or, ‘How did the drukkinn Norseman misplace his horn of ale?’”

Adam laughed and finished for him, “It was sitting in the special horn-holder in his head.”

“I give you fair warning, master. I heard the king telling one of his soldiers that ever since the operation, his manpart seems to have regained new virility. Harder and bigger it is now, he claims.”

“Oh, my God!” Adam exclaimed. “You know what that means, don’t you? If word of this spreads, I will have Vikings by the dozens asking me to drill holes in their heads. Just so they can have better sexplay.”

They both burst out laughing.

Just then the door flew open and Tyra stood there like an avenging angel … hands on hips and legs spread in the battle stance he loved. Unlike them, she was not laughing. She must have come recently from a bath, for the hair in her long braids was still damp. She wore only a short-sleeved, knee-length hide tunic with a thick leather belt. On her legs were cross-gartered half-boots. The only adornments that indicated her rank were the etched silver armlets on her upper arms.

Her hair and apparel were neat and perfectly in order, but the only word he could think of to describe her was wild. Yea, Tyra was wild tonight, and he didn’t know why, but her being wild ignited a spark of wild-ness inside him, too.

The Stoneheim princess pointed an imperial finger at Rashid, whose mouth was agape with the same wonder that filled Adam, and ordered, “You! Out!”

Rashid didn’t hesitate. Without even a questioning glance in Adam’s direction, he left the room, shutting the door soundly after him.

Tyra turned and locked the door.

That click of the lock rang in Adam’s ears like the gong of a bell. It had some significant meaning, but for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom what … not when his mind was consumed with the warrior woman standing before him.

Their eyes held in a smoldering gaze that neither would break, not even when she sank down onto a bench near the door and began to unlace her right boot. She toed it off and kicked it high in the air to land at his feet. With a gloating smirk of victory at her superior aim, she did the same with her other boot. Then she stood and proceeded to unbuckle her belt.

“Tyra, what are you about?”

“You hurled the gauntlet. Now I am taking up the challenge.”