The Viking's Captive

  “You are not making any sense, Tyra.”

  “They plucked all the hair off my body. So there! Now you know.” She started to weep again, this time with mortification.

  “Huh?”

  “There are times when you can act the total lackbrain. Other than the hair on my head, those stupid eunuchs … it took eight in all to hold me down … plucked every hair off my body. Including …” She waved a hand to her groin area.

  At first he did not understand. When he did, he grinned. “Let me see.”

  “Nay! And do not grin at me. There is no cause for mirth in this.”

  “Yea, there is, Tyra. Are you saying that you ran away because you are hairless there?”

  She nodded. “You know how I feel about my body. I am too big. My feet are like snowshoes. I talk too loud. I scratch. Now this. Big and hairless. That is me.”

  “Let me see.”

  “I told you nay, and I meant it. I look like a plucked chicken.”

  “It will grow out,” he said, trying for a consoling tone, but ruining it with his continuing grin. “Won’t it?”

  “I suppose. But not for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  She shrugged. “Six months, mayhap.”

  “And you think you can keep me from your bed furs for six months?”

  “I can try.”

  “Wedding or no wedding, I will be betwixt your hairless thighs by nightfall. That I promise you, you silly wench.”

  “Nay, you will not.” She lifted her chin stubbornly. “And do not dare tell anyone about this. I swear, if I hear Bolthor compose a saga about this atrocity, I will blame you. And I had absolutely better not hear any chicken jokes, or your life is in peril.”

  “Ch-chicken jokes?” he sputtered out.

  “Yea. I can just hear it now. ‘What chicken laid that egg in the courtyard?’ ‘Oh, never mind, ‘twas just Tyra.’”

  She had shocked him with her bluntness, she could tell.

  “This really bothers you?”

  “Did I not say so?”

  He stood suddenly and kicked his chair aside. Then he began to remove his clothing. His belt, his tunic, his boots, for a start.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You will see.”

  When he was totally naked—and what a sight that was! The man was too handsome for his own good—he walked over to a table on which were a pitcher, bowl, and jar of soft soap. With deliberate care, he lathered the hairy region around his manparts. Then he walked back to her and handed her a sharp dagger which had been in his belt.

  “Shave me,” he ordered.

  She dropped the dagger to the floor. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Nay, just my heart,” he said with such simplicity it melted all her resolve.

  Just my heart. Did the man know how much those words would mean to an affection-starved woman such as herself? There wasn’t a woman alive who didn’t yearn for a special man to say those words to her. And Adam was special. Very special.

  “If it will make you feel better to have us both be hairless, it is a small price to pay.”

  She jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders, kissing every part of his face. “I love you. And not just because of that sweet gesture. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  “Does that mean I will remain unshaven?” he asked against her ear.

  “It does.”

  “Whew!” he said. “Two plucked chickens in one bed is a bit too much.”

  She smacked him for his teasing.

  He tried to tickle her … in the area of her mortification.

  She really did punch him then, and while he wrestled with her to restrain her pummeling, he lowered himself to the bed, taking her with him. Then he rolled over smoothly so she was on the bottom.

  He held her face in his hands as if she were a delicate object to be cherished. He laid his lips carefully over hers so they fit perfectly; then he breathed in and out, putting his breath into her mouth, taking her breath into his.

  It was a brief kiss, but more than that. It was a kiss that promised so much. Forever. It was a forever kiss.

  “I have missed you so much,” he said. “There was a time, not so long ago, when I cherished my aloneness. I thought that I wanted nothing more than peace and quiet. But now”—he shrugged—“now I cannot imagine living in this cold, dark keep without you and all the turmoil that surrounds you. In truth, I cannot imagine living anywhere and being happy unless you are there. Eirik and Tykir and Rurik have all warned me that when a man meets the right woman, it will feel as if they are soulmates. I never believed them … till now.”

  Tyra felt as if her heart were swelling and swelling. The man aroused so many emotions she could scarce breathe. He knew just the right things to say while she stared at him in dumb wonder that he could care for a woman like her.

  He began to undress her then, article by article. Despite her protests and struggles, he persisted, the whole time speaking softly to her. “Tyra, I do not want to hear any more about those thoughtless words I spoke regarding you and motherhood. I do not want to hear how you must be a soldier. I do not want to hear how the only way your sisters can marry is if you are disinherited. I do not want to hear how unattractive you think you are. I do not want to hear about any of the problems that you and I have.” He had her totally naked now, and he was gazing at her … all over.

  She closed her eyes in shame.

  “Open your eyes, Tyra.” When she did, he told her, “There is only one thing I want to hear from you.”

  She knew exactly what that was. “I love you, Adam.”

  He smiled then … a glorious Adam smile … the kind only he could give … the kind that made a woman think she was the most important thing in the world to him.

  “You are the most important thing in the world to me, Tyra. And I love you more than I can say. I do not know why or how it happened, but I suspect you had me from the first moment you stepped into my hall, wearing armor and scratching your groin.”

  His words were so precious to her, she could not speak for several moments … even the part about scratching her groin. Little did he know that she sometimes felt itchy there now as her hair began to regrow, and might truly have a need for scratching.

  “There is one thing you must know, heartling. I come with baggage, just as you do with your bothersome family.”

  “Baggage?”

  “Yea. Baggage by the names of Alrek, Tunni, Kristin, and Besji. I need to adopt them, Tyra. For some reason, I believe that God, and mayhap Adela up in heaven, sent them to me. Just as Selik and Rain adopted me and Adela, I cannot do any less for them. Do you understand? Are you willing to take me and my baggage?”

  “You will never have another moment’s peace, I suspect.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Then of course I will marry you, and I love you all the more for your charges.” A sudden thought came to her, and she chuckled to herself. “In return, you will have to adopt one of mine.”

  He raised his eyebrows in question. “One of your sisters? Why would you want to do that?”

  “Nay, not one of my sisters. My cat.”

  “Warrior? Oh, good Lord! My life will really be raucous then, won’t it? That cat loathes me.” He was smiling as he spoke, which Tyra took for a good sign.

  Adam made slow, slow love to her then … the kind where a man professes his love with his body instead of words. He made her whimper and beg. He even kissed her there, though she suspected his lips were twitching with suppressed humor as he did so. When he entered her and began the long, slow strokes that would bring them both to ecstasy, he pleaded, “Never leave me again. Promise, Tyra. Tell me, no matter what, you will not leave me again.”

  How could she promise that?

  How could she not?

  “I promise,” she said, though how she would fulfill such a promise, she had no idea. She had to trust Adam that they would work things out.
br />   And then she could not think for they were riding the crest of a huge wave of pleasure. When they exploded, together, she spasmed around him with after-ripples of sweet agony.

  She knew he was well pleased, too, because he moaned.

  Adam had the nicest moan in the world.

  When they lay sated in each other’s arms for a while, with Tyra lying on her side, her face on his chest and one leg tossed over his thigh, Adam inserted a hand between them and placed it on her stomach. “I want to have children with you, Tyra. Will you stay with me and bear my child?”

  Tyra’s heart stopped at his question. She suspected there was more to the question than what was immediately apparent. “Do you think I could be a good mother?”

  “Yea, I do,” he said, kissing her lips lightly.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “I don’t think I ever felt different. I was fighting my own feelings for you. And you have already promised to stay with me. That is enough.”

  “Then, yea, I would love to have your child. Though I still do not see how we can reconcile our differences. You are a healer. I am a soldier. We are so different.”

  “Ah, dearling, I celebrate our differences. But actually, I have had many long sennights to ponder this, and I was wondering … would you consider working with me? Hell, I already have my own hospitium, thanks to your sister.”

  “I do not understand. Work with you how?”

  “I noticed how well we worked together when I was operating on your father. You do not flinch at the sight of blood. You anticipated my needs. You would make a wonderful assistant. In truth, you could become a healer yourself in time, if you so chose. God knows, there is enough work for me and you and Rashid.”

  “Me? A healer?” The idea was so new and preposterous she could barely take it in.

  “You do not have to decide now. And besides, you can still perform your soldierly duties here at Hawkshire … amassing a guard, patrolling, defending. I would not stop you from doing that … as long as you are here, not off in some other country, fighting some strange king’s wars.”

  She nodded. He was a remarkable man. Truly, he was.

  Adam slipped out of the bed then, got down on one knee, and said, “Tyra, dearling … my fair Viking … I only intend to make a fool of myself this once. Will you marry me?”

  Tyra was no fool. She said yes.

  EPILOGUE

  TWO SENNIGHTS LATER

  Happily ever after, Viking style… If Chaos reigned at the Hawkshire wedding of Tyra, Viking warrior princess, and Adam, the Saxon healer.

  To Adam and Tyra’s amazement, two hundred people showed up to watch them exchange vows and celebrate their union. Some said it was the event of the year in both Norse and Saxon worlds; others said it was just a slow social season.

  Half of the time, Adam was asking Tyra, “Who are all these people?” The other half of the time, Tyra was asking Adam, “Who are all these people?”

  Lord Eirik and Lady Eadyth of Ravenshire were there with their five children: twenty-four-year-old Larise who was the young widow of a Saxon merchant; the heart-meltingly handsome, twenty-three-year-old John of nearby Hawk’s Lair with his raven-black hair and clear blue eyes, who had developed a sudden fascination with flowers and with Drifa, though next week his interest might change to cooking; shy Emma, who at twenty-two wanted to enter a convent but found Rashid’s harem stories oddly intriguing; and the fifteen-year-old twins, Sarah and Sigrid, whose gray eyes danced with mischief.

  Eadyth had presented them with barrels of her famous mead, which was contributing greatly to the high mood of everyone in attendance. She had already given Ingrith many cloth-wrapped combs of honey for use in the sweet dishes that had been prepared.

  Adam’s good friend Rurik and his wife Maire showed up, too, coming all the way from Scotland. Their gift was an abundance of that potent amber beverage the Scots called uisge-beatha. It also was contributing to the jollity of the crowd, along with the mead. Not contributing to the jollity was the set of bagpipes that they had given to Bolthor. Rurik and Maire came with their growing brood. There were eleven-year-old Jamie, the spitting image of his father, except for the blue tattoo down the center of Rurik’s still handsome face; six-year-old Grace; and three-year-old Angus. Maire was breeding again.

  Jamie had made good friends with Alrek, who was regaling him with exaggerated tales of his trip to Byzantium. Even though Alrek had never stepped off the longship on that foreign soil, Jamie was very impressed. Of course, Alrek was equally impressed that Jamie was a Highland laird-to-be.

  Since his arrival at Hawkshire, Alrek had fractured his foot tripping over Ingrith’s broom, skinned two knees when he fell off a horse, got bitten by a stable cat, singed his hair when he tried to light a bonfire, and almost died of mortification when Bolthor wrote a saga about his discovering his first pubic hair. People were holding their breath to see what Alrek would do next.

  Harald Bluetooth, self-proclaimed all-king of Norway, and a large contingent of his followers came as well … no doubt for his own political purposes. Ever since the death a few years ago of Haakon the Good, Harald had been fighting with the minor Norse kings to gain control of the entire country.

  The Saxon king Edgar did not come, but he sent high-placed officials of his realm, along with the real power behind the throne, Archbishop Dunstan, who actually participated in the religious nuptial rites. Not that he had been asked. Hardly anyone argued with the dogmatic cleric, not even the king … except for Tyra, who was resisting his efforts to baptize her.

  Most important, Rain and Selik came with their children and some of the Rainstead orphans. These were most welcome guests, though it tugged at Adam’s heart to see all these reminders of his missing sister, Adela, who had worked at the orphanage. The oldest, twenty-five-year-old Theta, was running the orphanage almost single-handedly now. Adam could no longer justify cutting himself off from these reminders of his sister and promised to help more in the future.

  Selik pulled him aside at one point and reminded him, “Adela’s last words … dost remember them?”

  “She said, ‘Be happy,’” Adam recalled.

  Selik nodded. “I believe she is with us here today, and that is what she would wish for you. Be happy.”

  Later, when the vows were exchanged in the makeshift chapel in the new hospitium, Tyra pledged to her new husband in the Christian rites, “As God is my witness, I promise to love and honor you all the days of my life.” There was no mention of “obey.”

  When it was Adam’s turn, he said, “I promise to love and honor you all the days of my life … because you are my beloved and will be forevermore.”

  All the women in attendance sighed at his gentle words. The men groaned, claiming Adam was setting too high a standard.

  Afterward, following Viking tradition, Adam chased Tyra up the steps of the keep. Getting there first, he laid his sword across the threshold. Once they both crossed over, the marriage was completed. He whacked her across the backside then with the flat side of his sword. That, too, was a Norse tradition … leastways, one which had been started by Tykir at his own wedding.

  Because so many people were commenting on the differences between the bridal couple, Bolthor naturally decided to recite a saga about it. “This is the saga of Adam the Lesser,” he began, “also known as ‘Why Opposites Attract.’

  “Love is a strange emotion,

  When all is said and done.

  Sparks do fly,

  And lust runs high

  When bold man meets maiden shy,

  Or wanton wench attracts timid guy.

  Tall and short, fat and thin,

  Homely and handsome, slovenly and neat as a pin.

  Why do opposites attract?

  ‘Tis obvious, in fact:

  Sex, food, and life…

  Need spice.”

  To which Rashid added, “Allah cannot be everywhere; that is why he created sexual attraction.”

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nbsp; It was now mid-afternoon, and Adam was sitting next to Tyra on the dais. They’d eaten one fine course after another. They’d imbibed more than enough honeyed mead. They’d watched countless entertainments.

  Tyra wore a gown of softest blue wool, sent to her by Alinor. It was adorned with seed pearls and a border of embroidered hawks. Her flowing blond hair was held back by a slim gold circlet. She was so very beautiful. My fair Viking.

  Adam watched with amusement as Tyra admired, once again, the large gold ring with the hawk crest that he had placed on her finger this day. “So, do you like your bride gift, wife?”

  “I love it, husband,” she said, smiling softly at him.

  They were both getting much pleasure out of saying the words “husband” and “wife” to each other. Each wondered if the novelty would ever wear off.

  “Oh, oh!” she said suddenly. “I forgot to give you your husband gift.”

  As she struggled to pull something out of the cloth placket on her belt, he tugged on the war braids on either side of her face, which had been threaded with pearls to match the beading on her gown. “You are not supposed to buy me presents, heartling.”

  “Why? If there can be a bride gift, why not a husband gift?”

  He shrugged and smiled at her. In truth, he could not stop smiling today.

  “Is this a jest gift … like mayhap chicken feathers?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Adam …” she warned, narrowing her eyes at him.

  She looked adorable when she narrowed her eyes at him. Adam couldn’t resist saying, “Bok! Bok!”

  She narrowed her eyes some more. “If you bring up that subject one more time, there is not going to be a wedding night … if you get my meaning.”

  He did, and immediately wiped the grin off his face. He didn’t even say what he’d been going to say … that the best thing about chickens was plucking them. He would save that one for a later time.