The Viking's Captive

by Sandra Hill

  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.

  Ah, yes, the famous Viking S-Spot…

  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.

  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.

  In the still of the night…

  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.”

  Misery does not need company…

  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 long-ship 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.

  “You liked my tongue well enough yestereve,” she answered saucily.

  “Al-i-nor!” Tykir exclaimed with pretended shock, accompanied by a huge grin. “A biddable wife would never speak in such a wanton way.”

  “I thought you liked my wanton way.”

  “I do. I do.”

  “Would you two mind taking this conversation elsewhere?” Adam suggested. “I am busy turning my brain into gruel.”

  “Which brings us back to the original subject,” Alinor said. “Advice to Adam.”

  “I do not want any advice,” Adam protested.

  But no one was listening to him.

  Tyra’s sisters had just come up and had apparently overheard part of the conversation.

  “Forget about advice,” Breanne remarked. “It will probably go just as badly as our seduction plan for Tyra.”

  “Well, the feminine attire seemed to work,” Drifa said.

  “Yea, I may have to get one of those red gowns for myself,” Ingrith added.

  “And jealousy … don’t forget jealousy. It worked when Gunter and Egil expressed an interest in Tyra,” Vana said. “Adam was nigh livid at the sight of other men interested in her.”

  “We never could get her to walk in a feminine way, though. She does have a tendency to swagger,” Alinor put in. “And as for acting like a damsel in distress, forget that. Even I have trouble swallowing such silliness in a woman.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Adam said, raising his heavy head and trying to make sense of what they were blathering about. “Are you saying that Tyra had a plan for seducing me?”

  “Nay, you dimwit. We had a plan for getting Tyra to seduce you,” Alinor explained.

  “We? What we?” Adam was getting more confused by the moment.

  “Me, Vana, Breanne, Drifa, and Ingrith,” Alinor replied.

  “Alinor! For shame, that you would stoop to such devious means to entrap a man!”

  “Well, it was not really so different from our plan,” Rafn said, coming up to join the group. “Except that our plan was for Adam to seduce Tyra.”

  Adam narrowed his eyes at Rafn, who should be in heaven now that Tyra was gone. He and Vana would be able to marry now … in fact, he’d overheard Ingrith speaking of a wedding feast to be held in a sennight. “Explain yourself, Viking,” Adam ordered, though the words came out a bit slurred and not as threatening as he intended.

  “Our plan … mine, Tykir’s, Rashid’s, and Bolthor’s … was no doubt more enlightened. It involved hot looks, compliments, constant touching, kissing, and jealousy.”

  “Do not forget the erotic conversation,” Rashid added.

  “And the telling of wicked tales,” Bolthor added.

  “I was the one who suggested the Viking S-Spot,” Tykir said proudly.

  “What’s an S-Spot?” Ingrith, Drifa, and Breanne wanted to know.

  “Never mind!” Vana inserted, then immediately turned bright red at her telling slip.

  “My God, you have got to be the biggest bunch of bungleheads I have ever met,” Alinor said to all the men, and the sisters nodded their agreement, though some of them were still mumbling questions about the S-Spot. “As if women could be won over with hot looks!”

  The men looked sheepish, except for Adam, who was growing angrier by the minute. “Are … are … are you saying,” he sputtered out, “that all of you … men and women alike … have been discussing me and Tyra in such intimate detail? That you have been plotting behind our backs to get us together?”

  An awkward exchange of glances followed, but the silence was telling. Adam groaned, firmly convinced that his life could not get any worse. He was wrong.

  Bolthor stood and announced,
“This is the saga of Adam the Lesser, called ‘Advice to a Dumb Dolt.’”

  “Sometimes a man has woman-luck.

  Sometimes a man does not.

  But methinks the gods have a master plan

  For each and every one of us.

  One man, one woman destined to meet,

  Their fate sealed in the heavens.

  But men have a tendency betimes

  To think with their cocks

  Instead of their hearts.

  That’s when the dumb dolts of the world

  Need the advice of all their friends.

  Thus sayeth Bolthor the Skald.”

  You could say she was a Viking Anne Landers…

  Alinor found Adam the next morning coming from the garderobe, where he had been hurling the contents of his stomach for the past hour. His head felt as if it had been cleaved with a broadax. And he swore there was hair growing on his tongue.

  “Not now, Alinor,” he warned. “I cannot take any lectures this morning.”

  She reeled back a bit, no doubt from the stench of his breath, not his words.

  But then she handed him a goblet and said in a surprisingly kind voice, “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  He took the goblet from her and sniffed. He recognized some of the herbs that would indeed help alleviate the head pounding and stomach nausea. He downed the drink in one long swallow, then exhaled with a loud belch.

  “Come,” she said and led him over to a stone bench. The air was cool and they were both wearing fur-lined cloaks.

  He sat beside her, as miserable as he had been before he’d started his drinking bout. “Where’s the babe?”

  “Asleep. With his father.” She smiled. “Tykir imbibed a bit too much, too.”

  “What a mess I have made of my life!”

  “Yea, you have,” she said bluntly. “But that is a good start … admitting your mistake.”

  “You’re going to give me advice, aren’t you?” He groaned softly at the prospect.

  “Did you tell her how you feel?”