Page 67 of My Fair Viking

"Hmmm. Let me think," Bolthor said. "First was hot looks, and Adam gave her those aplenty when she showed up in that crimson dress. Second was compliments. I daresay he tossed a few compliments her way, too, if his tongue was not tied into a twist. Third, methinks, was jealousy."

"That's it!" Rafn exclaimed. "We will make Adam jealous by having various men pay special attention to his lady."

"Which various men?" Tykir wanted to know. "I hardly think anyone would believe you are interested in Tyra when your tongue hangs out every time Vana enters a room."

"I resent your insinuation," Rafn said, but he was grinning as he spoke.

"And Bolthor is not a believable suitor, either." Tykir appeared to be thinking out loud.

"And why not?" Bolthor sat up straight in the saddle and puffed his massive chest out.

"Well, perchance I spoke too fast. You could pay her special attention, Bolthor, but we must have more than one man to make Adam jealous."

"Leave it to me,"Rafn advised. "I will line up several of my soldiers. They will be glad to do me the favor, and if Tyra wears garb like that wicked-to-the-bone crimson gown again, I will not even have to pay them. They will court her on their own."

"So it is agreed, then. Step three of the plan. We can't lose this time."

What Tykir thought inside, though, was, Dumb, dumb, dumb. We are dumber than dirt, as Alinor would say Bloody hell, I hope she never hears of this.

I must be losing my mind, Tyra thought.

Why else would she have donned the scandalous red gown again tonight? Why else would she have taken special care with her hair, letting it hang loose down her back except for thin braids on either side. Why else would she have used Ingrith's scented soap causing her to reek of roses? Why else would she have searched and searched through her chests till she found a pair of soft slippers to fit her big feet? Why else would she have chewed on mint leaves to freshen her breath

On the way down to the hall where the evening meal would soon be served, Tyra stopped in her father's bedchamber.

"Any change?" she whispered to Father Efrid, who was counting his rosary.

He shook his head. "He awakened not at all today, and we were unable to force any gruel down his throat, either One time, I could swear, he spit it out. 'Tis almost as if his stomach is full… which is impossible, of course."

"What does Adam say?"

"He does not say it outright, but the message is there nonetheless The longer it takes your father to awaken, the less chance there is for recovery. In truth, I think the healer fears brain damage "

"Br-brain damage?" she stammered "You mean Father might be like Igor, the village idiot?"

The monk nodded, a gloomy expression on his face.

Tyra could have sworn she heard a snorting sound from the bed, but when she and Father Efrid glanced that way, the king was dead asleep.

She sat down on the edge of the mattress and took her father's hand in hers. Ignoring the priest's presence, she began to speak to Thorvald, hoping he would be able to hear her.

"I have made a decision, Father I will be leaving Stoneheim soon... certainly before the fjords freeze over. I hope you will awaken before then so that we can say our farewells in person But even if you do not, Rafn can take over as chieftain in my your stead. It is time, Father. Past time."

She could have sworn her father's hand jerked in hers. Mayhap he did hear her. She hoped so.

By the time she reached the great hall, she had wiped the melancholy tears from her eyes. Dinner was already being served, and what a lot of pork it was, too.

No sooner did she enter the hall than Gunter Storrsson walked up to her. Gunter was one of the best swordsmen at Stoneheim and a favorite amongst the ladies because of his blond good looks. Tonight he had glass beads woven in the war braids that hung on either side of his fair face Maids would be fighting amongst them' selves to share his bed furs later.

"Wouldst care to join me for a cup of ale?" Gunter inquired, taking her by the elbow as if to lead her to his table.

"Huh?" Gunter Storrsson had never shown the least interest in her in all the years she had known him, which was practically since birth.

"You are looking especially lovely this eve," he said smoothly, seating her next to him on a bench.

"What a crock of skyr! Is this a jest, Gunter?"

" 'Tis true, my lady. You are a vision of loveliness. Far more lovely than the brightest flower in Drifa's gardens." The whole time he spoke, his eyes were nigh plastered to her chest.