My Fair Viking

  "Now it is my turn," he said. "God willing, I will last longer this time than a boy with his first maid."

  His turn. She had thought it was over. She certainly felt complete. But no, he had raised himself up on straightened arms and now began to thrust in and out of her… long strokes that went on forever, dragging on her inner walls, sucking her back into the vortex of passion with a jolt of even more intense pleasure.

  She could not think. She bucked her hips. She writhed from side to side. She wailed her building arousal, much, much more powerful than the previous ones.

  "Do something," she screamed. "Do it, do it, do it!" She had no idea what she was urging him to do to put her out of her agony. All she knew was that the infuriating man just continued those long, slow strokes that were driving her mad… although she noticed that his teeth were gritted now, and veins stood out on his arched neck and forehead.

  She reached out behind him and squeezed his buttocks.

  He rewarded her with a groan. Only then did he begin shorter, harder strokes that drove her across the bed. She was meeting him, thrust for thrust, her legs spread as wide as they would go with her feet flat on the mattress. Her insides were grasping him so hard, it was a wonder he was not in pain. Finally it was too much. He roared out his male triumph as his hot seed spurted into her womb, and her pleasure spiraled and spiraled and spiraled till her insides shattered into a million small ripples of woman-joy.

  Adam lay atop her for a long time, breathing as heavily as a warhorse. She sounded no better.

  When he finally raised his head to look at her through glazed blue eyes, he kissed her swollen lips and whispered, "That was wonderful, my sweet warrior lady."

  Her heart sang at his softly murmured sentiment. She asked a simple question then—one which any sensible-minded woman would have asked, in her opinion, but which prompted long peals of laughter from the rogue. "Oh, Tyra, you are priceless," he sputtered as she shoved him off her and onto the floor.

  And all she'd said was, "Can we do it again?"

  Tyra was straightening out the bed linens, and Adam was making crude but complimentary remarks about her buttocks and what he referred to as her "butt-scar" as she bent over the mattress, when there was a soft knock on the door.

  She looked at Adam, who shrugged.

  "Tyra, are you all right? I heard you scream." It was Drifa, and her voice was definitely worried.

  Adam made a muffled snorting sound and muttered something about her having screamed more than once.

  "I'm fine. I… I saw a mouse." She glanced pointedly down at the object lying at rest between Adam's thighs.

  He was leaning casually against the wall, waiting for her to finish fixing the bed.

  "A mouse! You have never been afraid of mice." It was Ingrith speaking now.

  "I was startled, that is all. Besides, this was a particularly hairy mouse."

  Adam made great show of examining his male part for hair. Then he silently mouthed at her the words, "You… will… pay."

  "Let us in," Breanne insisted, rattling the door latch, unsuccessfully. Holy Thor! Was the whole tribe here? "Mayhap the Saxon has kidnapped you and he is holding a knife to your body, forcing you to mislead us."

  Tyra made a little squeal, but not in response to what Breanne had said. She was reacting to the Saxon coming up behind her while she was still bent over the bed. And it was not a knife he held to her body. 'Twas something altogether different, though it was hard.

  "I heard a squeal," Vana said. Yea, it was the entire tribe, come to cheer her on… or something.

  "Must be the mouse." Tyra could scare breathe, let alone speak, for the ingenious man had lifted her up onto the mattress so that she was on all fours, and he had come up behind her. Into her ear he whispered, "Have you ever seen a stallion mount a mare?"

  While her very own "stallion" fondled her breasts and mounted her from behind, and her eyes rolled back in her head, she managed a forceful, "Go away!" to her sisters. She couldn't be absolutely sure that they had left. They might have their ears pressed against the door. To be on the safe side, she made sure that she uttered no neighing noises.

  They had no sooner completed their "ride" and were lying limp on the bed with satiety… she on her stomach, Adam on top of her… when there was another knock on the door, more forceful this time.

  "Adam, open the door. I was in the hall under this room, and the ceiling is shaking. Has your Amazon lady been beating you?" It was Tykir.

  "Amazon lady?" Tyra exclaimed and attempted to pummel his shoulders from behind. "Did you refer to me as an Amazon?"

  "Only in the nicest possible way."

  "Tyra's sisters are worried about her. Let us see that she is well." Bloody hell! It appeared that Alinor was there, too. What next?

  A child's voice added. "The king sent me with a message fer Master Adam. 'My eldest daughter has a hu-u-uge dowry.' " It was Alrek now.

  "Adam does not care about money. He is an honorable man, with more than enough coin of his own," Alinor asserted.

  "God bless the woman," Adam declared. "Sometimes she is not her usual pain-in-the-arse busybody self."

  "I think he is looking for love," Alinor continued.

  "On the other hand…" Adam said.

  "Love?" all four of her sisters said in a swooning voice. They must have returned.

  "That is ridiculous woman-nonsense." Tykir was talking to his wife now. "Men do not think of love when the lust is running high. Hey, why did you hit me?"

  "I hit you because you are behaving like a troll, you troll."

  "Really, Adam, just open the door so I will know you two have not killed each other," Tykir implored. "Then I can be off to my bed where I will prove to my winsome wife just how much of a troll I can be."

  With a sigh of disgust, Adam lifted himself gingerly off of Tyra. "It seems they will not leave till one of us makes an appearance." He wrapped a bed fur around his middle and stomped to the door. Opening it a mere crack, he said, "See, I am fine. Now go away." He tried to slam the door shut, but Tykir stuck a foot in.

  "Why is your hair standing up like you combed it with a hay rake? And is that a bite mark surrounding your nipple?" Tykir asked with the innocence of a seasoned rascal.

  Adam looked down. Then he looked over at Tyra and winked.

  She hated it when he winked at her. It set off all kinds of strange ripples through her body… a body that needed no more ripples tonight, thank you very much.

  "Holy Valhalla! Our lady is stark naked, and she looks as if she wuz flattened by a warhorse." It was Alrek, who had scooted down to his knees and was peering around Tykir's legs and into the bedchamber.

  Tyra scurried to cover herself.

  "That is it! I am closing the door now." Adam was tired of being the brunt of everyone's speculations.

  "Wait! Just one minute. I have something to say," Alinor shouted. She shoved her husband and Alrek aside, then advised Adam in a surprisingly warm, almost motherly way, "Treat her well."

  Adam closed and locked the door, then dropped the bed fur. Tyra wasn't sure if he was talking to Alinor or her when he said, "That is precisely what I intend to do. Very well indeed."

  Tyra hoped so. This was to be her one night of love. It would have to last her a lifetime.

  After midnight, when most of the keep was abed, he and Tyra slipped outside to the sweat house, where they soaked their aching muscles in the hot springs.

  It had been his plan to soap her body from crown to toes with the soft soap that was kept there… to minister to her like the princess she was. But Tyra surprised him once again. Taking charge, as she was wont to do, she lathered him up, rinsed him off, then laid him down on the stone slab outside the pool and kissed him up one side and down the other. But that was not all. Oh, God, that was not all. The enchanting woman, ever the apt pupil whether it be the art of battle or the art of love, brought her mouth down on him till he begged for mercy.

  He thought he might be in love.
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  But many a man thought he was in love when his cock was tickling a lady's throat. So he did not speak the sentiment aloud. He planned to ponder the question later, though, when his eyeballs were no longer rolling in his head.

  They went back to his bedchamber, arm in arm, where he massaged her still sore muscles with one of his special ointments… in this case, sandalwood scented. She kept saying she had not known there were muscles there or there, but he kept assuring her that there were still more muscles he would show her that she'd never imagined. In fact, some time later, he showed her the famous Viking S-Spot, the secret of which had been passed on to him by his stepfather Selik, as well as his uncles Tykir and Eirik. Tyra claimed to be extremely impressed. That must have been why she fainted at the end. It was Adam's opinion that a man who could make a woman faint in the bedsport had performed admirably. He intended to tell Tyra so when she awakened.

  Adam was enthralled with Tyra. Her lack of inhibitions… her enthusiasm for everything he suggested… her ability to laugh while making love… all these made her an incredible bed companion. But it was more than this… much, much more, he suspected. And that prospect both frightened and elated him.

  He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  Tyra awakened just before dawn.

  The one night she'd committed to Adam was over. She could not be unhappy about what she'd given him. He had given her so much more in return.

  But it was over now, and she must go on from here. A new life… a new path awaited her. But she would never forget Adam, or this long night of loving. It was a gift from the gods.

  She slipped out of the bed, careful not to awaken Adam, who slept soundly on his stomach, his face resting on his folded arms. Once she was hastily clothed, she gazed down at him, gloriously naked.

  Adam thought he would have another sennight or so in her presence as she transported him back to his home in Britain, but he was wrong. Tyra had made a decision the previous evening. The agreement to captain the longship back had been made under pressure. It was an unreasonable request her father had made, and she felt no dishonor in disobeying him.

  She was going now to Father Efrid's bedchamber, where she would renounce all her rights as a daughter of Stoneheim. She would never dare do so in front of her father. He would just laugh at her, or deny her request, or lock her in her bedchamber till she did his will. After the ritual denouncement before Father Efrid and two witnesses, Gunter and Egil, she intended to tie the priest up so that he would not warn her father of her actions. A fully manned longship awaited her in the harbor. She would be gone before first light.

  There was one twinge of guilt she felt. Placing a palm over her stomach, she wondered if she might even now be carrying Adam's child. Probably not. But if she was, for once in her life she was going to entertain a female prerogative and change her mind. She had told him they would discuss the situation if it occurred. Well, they would not discuss the fate of any child she might carry. However, she would inform him, some way, if there was a birth… after the fact.

  So now it was over. She would have liked to give Adam a good-bye kiss, but he might stir if she did. Instead, she opened the door softly, looked back at him one last time, and mouthed the words she would never get to say aloud.

  "I love you."

  It was past dawn when Adam awakened and stretched languidly. There was nothing in the world for a man like the feeling of complete satiation after a night of good bedsport.

  He reached for Tyra to give her a good-morning kiss, but found her side of the bed empty. He was not overly alarmed. His warrior wench was, no doubt, out spear throwing with her soldiers, or engaging in some other ridiculously energetic exercise. You would think he'd given her enough exercise the night before, but not his Tyra!

  God! When did I start to refer to her as mine? But she is, by damn. If any other man dares to touch her, I will kill him on the spot.

  He smiled at his inner vehemence. There were so many questions to be resolved with Tyra, but he had a sennight or more to come to some understanding with her while she transported him back to Britain. He was not sure if he loved her, and he did not know if marriage was a possibility, but now that he'd had her, he never intended to let her go. That decision gave an odd buoyancy to his spirits. It was as if his mind had been in a daze for a very long time. How refreshing to finally know what he wanted!

  There was a knock on the door just as he slid his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand. He was chuckling at the weakness in his knees as he pulled on a pair of braies and opened the door.

  He was not surprised to see Tykir standing there once again.

  He was surprised at his uncle's announcement, though.

  "Tyra is gone."

  By that evening, Adam was drunker than he'd ever been in all his life. The ale-head that would follow on the morrow would surely bring excruciating pain and stomach upheavals, but he could not care now. All he knew was that he was suffering from fierce anger alongside fierce hurt, interspersed with a bit of humiliation. Dousing himself with ale was the only thing that helped, and even that only numbed him.

  Perhaps he would drill a hole in his own head and let his brain seep out. It hardly seemed as if it would make a difference in terms of his intellect.

  How could she? How could she? he kept asking himself. What had transpired between the two of them the night before had been amazing. Now he was wondering if he'd been the only one who thought so. No—he refused to believe that she had been pretending. Tyra had been just as affected as he had. Then why did she go?

  As if it weren't bad enough that she'd abandoned him so ignominiously… and, yes, it felt like abandonment… he'd found out this afternoon that Gunter and Egil had accompanied her on her longship to Byzantium. He swore that if either of those Viking peacocks dared to touch Tyra, he would kill them both. But then, he realized, Tyra could do whatever the hell she wanted. Hadn't she proven that by renouncing her family ties while her father slept, and defying his own wishes regarding any child that would come of their coupling by taking the decision out of his hands, by removing her person?

  Adam put his face in his hands. He was torturing himself with all these questions. He had to stop. A longship awaited in the harbor that would take him back to Britain on the morrow, if he wanted. That was what he should do. Put Tyra and this whole disaster of a forced visit to Stoneheim out of his mind.

  "Adam, dost think you should be drinking so much?" Tykir asked, coming up and putting a hand on his shoulder.

  "Yea, I do."

  "Well, then, mayhap I will join you," Tykir conceded all too quickly. In Adam's opinion, Tykir would be better off discovering his son Thork's whereabouts. Adam had noticed him a short time ago tiptoeing out of the hall in a most suspicious fashion, with a half dozen youthlings tiptoeing after him.

  Alinor, sitting on Tykir's other side, swatted her husband with a slab of manchet bread. She was able to do so with her free hand even though she held her sleeping babe in the cradle of her other arm. "Dumb dolt! You are supposed to be helping Adam, not joining in his misery."

  "What? Drinking is a misery now?" Tykir said, grabbing his wife about the waist and pulling her onto his lap with a big kiss on the mouth. He was careful not to disturb his sleeping son in the process. "Drinking can be a man's best friend when his woman-luck has run out."

  "Drink makes the wise man a fool," Rashid opined. If Rashid did much more opining, Adam was going to sew up his mouth with some physician's thread.

  "You are so right, Rashid. Well, husband, who gave you that bit of lackwitted wisdom? 'Drinking can be a man's best friend.' Rurik?" Alinor scoffed. Rurik was a close comrade of theirs who thought he knew everything about everything, especially women. "You are supposed to be giving Adam sound advice, not drivel."

  "Never give advice in a crowd," Rashid said.

  All of them looked at Rashid as if he'd lost his mind, but no one asked what he meant. No one cared. Really, Rashid was getting to be
as pestsome as Bolthor.

  Speaking of Bolthor, just then the skald stood. "I feel a saga coming on," he announced.

  Adam felt his stomach churn. "It had better not be another one about me," he mumbled.

  "This is a saga of Thorvald the King."

  Adam exhaled with relief, and the king, who was not speaking to Adam because of his failure to hold on to his daughter, puffed out his chest with pride. Thorvald had not yet learned that a Bolthor saga was nothing to be proud of.

  "Thorvald was a mighty king,

  In battle his sword did sing.

  Alas, a mighty head wound did he gain

  Which caused him much sleep pain.

  His daughter, the princess soldier,

  Brought her father a far-famed healer,

  Who drilled a hole in the king's head,

  Thus bringing the man back to life.

  The only trouble is now the king has a hole

  Which many a randy Viking, high in the mead,

  Might try to swive,

  Thinking it is a hole…

  Of an entirely different kind."

  Thorvald seemed stunned at first. That was most people's reaction to hearing one of Bolthor's sagas for the first time. Then he threw his head back and released great peals of laughter, which gave all the other Vikings in the hall permission to join in.

  Adam had to give Norsemen credit for one thing… they did have an ability to make mock of themselves.

  "I give you fair warning, Tykir… you had best not be thinking about leaving Bolthor behind with me when you return to Dragonstead," Adam told Tykir even as he took another long swig of ale.

  "I am deeply offended that you would think such," Tykir said, placing a hand over his presumably wounded heart.

  "That is precisely what you told me you were going to do," Alinor pointed out. "Your exact words were: 'Adam needs a poet to brighten his life.' "

  "For the love of Allah, do I not brighten your life enough?" Rashid asked. He also put a hand over a presumably wounded heart.

  "Best you examine your tongue and where it might lead you," Tykir chastised his wife. Meanwhile, he patted his restless baby on the head, clearly a doting father despite all his arrogant man-talk.