My Fair Viking

  "Mayhap you are right. Am I an interfering busybody just because I want to see the boy happy?"

  "He is no longer a boy, Tykir. He can make his own decisions."

  "Hah! Two years of chastity! What kind of decision is that? Grief must have turned the boy barmy. And that Arab is no help. Trying to set up a harem for him! Adam needs a bedmate, not a litter."

  "Do my ears play me false?" Rafn said, trotting his horse up so that they rode three abreast. "You are going to leave Stoneheim, with all these matters unresolved? I thought we had a plan, did we not… a seduction plan for Adam?" He had been riding behind Tykir and Bolthor on the wide fjordside path leading to Stoneheim, along with several dozen other soldiers. And he'd obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation. "If you people leave now, I am condemned to remaining unmarried. Vana and I will never wed. I will no doubt have to live the chaste life as Adam does, except in my case it will be forever."

  Tykir had to smile at Rafn's doleful tone. "What would you have us do, Rafn?"

  "We cannot just give up. What is the next step in the plan, Bolthor?"

  "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.

  "Stop staring at my breasts," she admonished. 'Twas best to be blunt with a too-bold man. Set him straight from the start.

  Gunter started to choke on his ale.

  "You, too, Egil," she said to the soldier across the table. She took a sip of the strong ale and continued, "Blessed Freyja! You men act as if you've never seen a pair of teats afore, and I know good and well that you have. All of you lackwits have been drooling over Inga the chambermaid for years and all because her breasts are the size of cow udders. Never mind that her brain is the size of a pimple."

  Egil started to choke, too.

  Just then her gaze wandered to the high dais where Drifa was sitting in a chair next to Adam. They had their heads together, discussing some matter intently. Every so often, he would laugh, or she would giggle. And the whole time, Drifa had a hand laid on his forearm. Can it be? Is Drifa flirting with my man?

  Aaarrgh! Adam is not my man. I have no man. Certainly not Adam.

  And the healer… has he now developed an affection for my sister? Has he no morals at all!

  A wave of overpowering emotion swept through Tyra. Although she had never felt it before, she recognized it instantly. Jealousy. She wanted to leap over the tables and get to the dais, where her greatest desire was to pummel Adam, the rogue, and to toss Drifa, the flirt, out into one of her flower beds.

  Despite her jealousy, Tyra had to admit that Adam and Drifa looked good together. Two beautiful, dark-haired people. He, godly handsome. She, with her exotic appeal.

  "If they have dancing tonight, willst thou partner me?"

  Tyra turned to Gunter, who'd apparently been talking to her the whole time she had been staring daggers at Adam and her sister. "Why would you want to dance with me?"

  "You are a very attractive woman, Tyra. Surely you are aware of that." He had the nerve then to place his palm on her thigh and squeeze.

  "You never thought so before." She firmly removed his hand from her thigh.

  He shrugged and gave her his most winsome smile… the selfsame one she'd seen him giving to Drifa during last summer's Frigg Festival. Drifa, she thought. Mayhap two people can play at this game. But dare I flirt with a man? Do I even know how to flirt with a man? Well, how hard could it be?

  "You have a very nice smile, Gunter." She leaned in close as she spoke, and batted her eyelashes at him as she'd seen her sisters do
. She felt absolutely ridiculous doing so, but the most amazing thing happened. Gunter placed a hand over hers on the table.

  "Dost think so?" he asked in a husky voice.

  Well, for the love of Valhalla! Is he going husky over me? And what a barmy smile!

  "Yea, your smile is bright and… and… big." Big? Now that is a really half-brained compliment… even for me.

  Egil snickered.

  Gunter simpered. "There are other parts of me that are big, too," he answered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

  Does he mean what I think he means? Hah! I know exactly how big IT is. I've seen it on more than one occasion while the men bathed in river streams on our journeys. How does one respond to such an outrageous statement?

  "Well, aren't you lucky!"

  "Nay, 'tis my women who are lucky." He waggled his eyebrows at her some more.

  The oaf made the mistake of placing his hand on her thigh again and squeezing.

  To reciprocate, she placed her hand on the giant worm lying at rest between his legs and squeezed, really hard.

  Gunter's eyes crossed as he tried to speak but could not.

  Really, this flirting business is a lot of botherment. Why can't people just say what they think? "Do you want to bed with me?" she asked bluntly.

  His face went all red and flustered. Apparently his women were not so forthright in their dealings with him. Or perchance he was all red and flustered because of the "caress" she'd given his cock. "Well, yea, I guess I do."

  "Nay."

  "Nay?"

  "You heard me. I said nay. Nay, nay, nay! You are behaving very strangely tonight, Gunter. Methinks you ought to see the healer for a tonic." Just then she looked up to the dais where the healer had risen from his seat and was glaring at her and Gunter, as if he'd like to leap over the tables and pummel Gunter and toss her… somewhere.

  The most outrageous idea came unbidden to her then. Could Adam be jealous of her?

  She studied him more carefully, especially when he rose from his seat and began making his way doggedly in her direction. Thinking quickly, she tugged the bodice of her gown lower, leaned slightly forward across the table, and asked Egil, "And how are your male parts?"

  Not a bad start for a first lesson in flirtation, Tyra thought, giving herself a mental pat on the back.

  And the gurgling sounds Gunter and Egil were making… well, she chose to translate those as compliments… even if only to her bosom.

  "What in bloody hell do you think you are doing?" Adam asked when he reached their table. His eyes were plastered on her bosom, too. Really, I am living in a world of lustsome louts.

  "Flirting," she answered honestly. "How about you?"

  Chapter Twelve

  "Go right ahead, Tyra. Quaff down another horn of ale. But do not come to me later for an ale-head remedy."

  She made the most ridiculous yet enchanting face at him, which involved deep inhaling and exhaling and puffing out her cheeks… and drank some more.

  "And whilst you are at it, take another deep breath like that, and you will be giving me and the rest of the world a full-blown view of your bare breasts."

  For some reason, Adam had taken a proprietary interest in Tyra's breasts. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he did not like other men gazing upon what he considered his. In truth, jealousy was the least confusing of the emotions assailing Adam at the moment. Inner conflicts battered him at every turn.

  He was repulsed by the idea of a woman who spilled blood for her life's work. But he was attracted beyond all reason to Tyra, despite her being a warrior… or mayhap even because she was a warrior. Who could explain his splintering mind?

  He wanted no lasting relationship with any woman. That would mean staying in one place, having children, responsibilities, a firm idea of where his future lay. Whereas he could scarce take care of himself these days, let alone a bothersome female and even more bothersome children, like Alrek and his siblings.

  He wasn't sure he wanted to engage in the healing arts anymore, and yet here he was, seeing patients left and right. The decision seemed to have been taken out of his hands.

  And that was the whole problem. He had lost control of his life. An untenable situation! A man should steer his own destiny… not a dying king, an interfering uncle, an outrageous warrior princess, an Arab insistent on giving him a harem, or a brood of bothersome brats.

  "You certainly are in a grumbly mood," Tyra responded to his tirade.

  By now he'd forgotten what he'd said to make her think he was in a bad mood. Or was he just frowning overmuch?

  "I thought you liked this gown."

  Oh, that bad mood. "I adore your gown. I especially adore what is nigh hanging out of it. Must you show it to one and all?"

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Then she did what he should have expected… the exact opposite of what he'd suggested. She put both hands on the fabric at her waist and tugged downward.

  "Bloody… damn… hell!"

  Now the neckline of her crimson, wanton gown barely—just barely—covered the nipples and areolas of her breasts. He could not bring himself to glance out at the hall, but it was his guess that wagers were being placed all over the place: Would she or wouldn't she? Pop out of the gown, that is.

  "So, have you taken Drifa out to the stables yet to practice your wicked wiles?"

  "What?" he practically squawked. Where did that question come from? I did not even know I had wicked wiles in my repertoire. Well, mayhap I did know, but I hardly expected others to notice.

  "You heard me, Saxon. I saw the two of you with your heads together, exchanging simpering smiles."

  Simpering? I do not simper when I smile. I definitely do not simper. Except mayhap when I look at you. Oh, I hope I do not simper when I look at you. He set a very serious expression on his face and looked at Tyra.

  "What were you and Drifa talking about? Kisses? Bed furs? Her beauty?"

  "Herbs." He grinned at her, finally understanding Tyra's seemingly irrelevant questions. The warrior princess was jealous of his conversation with Drifa.

  "Herbs?"

  "Yea, she wants me to read my herb journals to her so that she can try transplanting some wild plants into her gardens for medicinal purposes. We arranged to meet tomorrow morn for just that purpose. You could join us, but I expect you will be off doing warlike things. Lopping off heads and such." He flashed another grin her way, just to irritate her. A grin, not a simper.

  "Adam, would you care to try a new delicacy I have invented… pig's gizzards in dill sauce?" Ingrith had just come up and was holding out a small tray toward him, which held a hollow manchet loaf containing the concoction.

  Tyra took the small knife from the shield at her waist and was about to spear one for herself when Ingrith smacked her hand. "They are not for you, sister. They are for Adam to try." She smiled coyly at him. "I made some honey and walnut cakes for you, too, which are still cooling. They are a favorite of yours, are they not?"

  "Huh?" he and Tyra said at the same time.

  If he didn't know better, he would think Ingrith was flirting with him.

  "Why are you flirting with him?" Tyra asked.

  No one could accuse Tyra of beating around the bush.

  "Well, why not? You do not seem particularly interested. I assumed he was fair game. And Drifa said he is ever so nice."

  Fair game? Me? Nice? He wasn't so sure about being considered nice, but he rather liked the concept of being fair game. So he puffed out his chest and smiled warmly at Ingrith. He made sure it was a smile, not a simper.

  Tyra used one of her big feet to stomp on his toes and murmured something about, "Lecherous, loathsome lout."

  "Ouch!" he said, pulling his booted foot up to rest on his knee and rubbing it with great exaggeration.

  Just then Breanne walked up and sat down in the empty chair on his other side.

  "Adam, I need your advice."

  Tyra made a most unflattering, masculine-sounding sno
rt on his other side. She'd better not scratch her groin. He could not bear to picture her in the gown, which was temptation itself, performing lewd manly gestures.

  He cocked his head, indicating Breanne should elaborate.

  "I have been thinking about building a hospitium here at Stoneheim. What think you of the idea?"

  "Do you have someone to man it for you?"

  She batted her eyelashes at him.

  Good Lord, another of Tyra's sisters flirting with me. What is going on here? "If Father Efrid and the midwife are willing to work in it, then I think it is a wonderful idea. I will not be here much longer, though " He wanted to make it absolutely clear to one and all that his stay at Stoneheim had not been his idea to begin with, and it would end as soon as King Thorvald recovered... or died.

  "Planning on going somewhere, Saxon?" Tyra asked, slurring her words.

  "Exactly how many horns of ale have you drunk?"

  "Not enough, apparently. I can still see your leering face."

  Leering? First she says I simper, now I leer. The ale must be affecting her perceptions. 'Tis past time for me to take the offensive here. "Nay, I am not going anywhere soon... leastways, not till a certain pact is fulfilled. " He watched with great satisfaction as her face bloomed with color

  Then he turned his back on Tyra and began to discuss the potential hospitium project with Breanne in earnest. They ate and talked at the same time .. about the size of the building, examining tables, chests, windows, its location... over dozens of dishes, each more elaborate or tasty than the previous ones. Ingrith truly was an artisan in the kitchen. Breanne was an artisan in her own way, and brilliant of mind Not to mention being beautiful, both of them . . Ingrith with her Norse blondness and Breanne with her redheaded Irish good looks.

  It was some time before Adam turned back to Tyra, only to realize that the meal was over and the entertainment about to begin… and that Tyra had collected her own set of admirers. She was flirting, like her sisters, except not with him. Dammit!