The Viking's Captive (29 page)

T
imid she was not…

Adam was in his bedchamber with Rashid, helping to pack their belongings for the return trip to Northumbria.

They probably wouldn’t be leaving till two days hence, but all of the medical supplies that Rashid had packed in haste were now in disarray. Decisions had to be made about which ones to leave behind with Father Efrid and the midwife, and which were so rare he must needs keep them for himself.

“I still cannot believe that the king has recovered so rapidly. ‘Tis a miracle. Praise be to Allah!”

“Rashid, please do not use the word miracle in my presence. It has come to leave a nasty taste in my mouth. And, frankly, methinks the king’s recovery is not as rapid as he would have us think.”

“Really?”

“For days he has displayed the symptoms of a recovering man, not one who was unconscious.”

“Why would he pretend to be sicker than he was?”

Adam shrugged. “He is a crafty fellow … always has been, I understand from Tykir. His motives are beyond my understanding. And, really, I do not care. We will be going home. That is the most important thing. I
cannot wait till we are gone from this hellhole of the North.”

“From one hellhole of the North to another hellhole of the North,” Rashid murmured, still chagrined over Adam’s refusal to return to the Eastlands and the world of harems. Rashid squinted his eyes at Adam with confusion. “Why did you insist that Tyra be the one to accompany us? Why not cut your ties with Thorvald completely?”

“Revenge. Pure and simple. She kidnapped me. In essence, I am kidnapping her by forcing her to make the return trip.”

“Be careful, my friend. Revenge has a way of coming back to bite a man in the arse.”

Adam laughed. “Is that another of your ancient proverbs?”

“Nay,” Rashid replied with a grin. “That is a bit of Rashid humor. Speaking of humor, master, could you believe all the jests that were being made at dinner about the king’s condition? And Thorvald was the worst of them all.”

“Vikings do have a great sense of humor. They especially like to laugh at themselves. But even I thought the hole-in-the-head jokes went too far. Especially the one about the king making a good candle holder … now that he has a hole in his head.”

“Or, ‘How did the
drukkinn
Norseman misplace his horn of ale?’”

Adam laughed and finished for him, “It was sitting in the special horn-holder in his head.”

“I give you fair warning, master. I heard the king telling one of his soldiers that ever since the operation, his manpart seems to have regained new virility. Harder and bigger it is now, he claims.”

“Oh, my God!” Adam exclaimed. “You know what that means, don’t you? If word of this spreads, I will have Vikings by the dozens asking me to drill holes in their heads. Just so they can have better sexplay.”

They both burst out laughing.

Just then the door flew open and Tyra stood there like an avenging angel … hands on hips and legs spread in the battle stance he loved. Unlike them, she was not laughing. She must have come recently from a bath, for the hair in her long braids was still damp. She wore only a short-sleeved, knee-length hide tunic with a thick leather belt. On her legs were cross-gartered half-boots. The only adornments that indicated her rank were the etched silver armlets on her upper arms.

Her hair and apparel were neat and perfectly in order, but the only word he could think of to describe her was
wild.
Yea, Tyra was wild tonight, and he didn’t know why, but her being wild ignited a spark of wild-ness inside him, too.

The Stoneheim princess pointed an imperial finger at Rashid, whose mouth was agape with the same wonder that filled Adam, and ordered, “You! Out!”

Rashid didn’t hesitate. Without even a questioning glance in Adam’s direction, he left the room, shutting the door soundly after him.

Tyra turned and locked the door.

That click of the lock rang in Adam’s ears like the gong of a bell. It had some significant meaning, but for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom what … not when his mind was consumed with the warrior woman standing before him.

Their eyes held in a smoldering gaze that neither would break, not even when she sank down onto a bench near the door and began to unlace her right boot. She toed it off and kicked it high in the air to land at his feet. With
a gloating smirk of victory at her superior aim, she did the same with her other boot. Then she stood and proceeded to unbuckle her belt.

“Tyra, what are you about?”

“You hurled the gauntlet. Now I am taking up the challenge.”

“What gauntlet? What challenge? Do you refer to our pact?”

“Our pact is a moot point. I gave my word. It will be done.” She waved the hand holding her now loosened belt high in the air. “Nay, this is about your insisting that I transport you back to England, against my will. This is about your saying I am less than a woman.”

She was reaching for the leather lacing at the neckline of her tunic.

Adam could scarce concentrate on her words when it appeared she was about to disrobe, without any fanfare. If it were up to him, there would be a blaze of trumpets aforehand … or at least a chance for him to take a gulping breath.

“Are you trying to shock me?” he asked.

“Are you shocked?”

To the bone, wench. To the bone.
“Not a bit.”

She laughed, unconvinced.

“Tyra, slow down a moment. Let us talk first.”

“The time for talk is long past.” She tossed the leather lacing directly in his face. Luckily, he caught it or he might have been blinded. The last thing he wanted at this moment of revelation was to lose his sight.

But then her previous statement sank into his muddled brain. “I
never
said you were less than a woman.”

“Not in those exact words. But you implied it. I am here to prove you wrong, you lackbrain son of a Saxon bastard.”

Those last words of hers gave Adam a tiny inkling of
just how angry she was under her seeming calm. “Do you hope to intimidate me by being the aggressor, Tyra? Well, think again, warrior wench, because I like aggressive women. I am not …” His words trailed off as she pulled her tunic up over her head and dropped it to the floor.

She was stark, gloriously naked.

He made a point of clicking his jaw shut, just in case he did something dimwitted, like drool.

The woman was magnificent when clothed … doubly magnificent when unclothed. She was big, of course, but perfectly proportioned, with sinfully full and high breasts. The rose tips were also big, to suit her size, and maybe her arousal.
I can only hope!
Her waist and hips were trim, her legs exceedingly long. And the nest of curls between her thighs, of the same blond color as the hair on her head, begged for a man’s touch.
I can only hope!
Most impressive were the muscles that delineated her arms and abdomen and thighs and calves … probably her buttocks, too. The muscles should have made her appear masculine, but instead they added beauty to her woman’s body. They made a man imagine how those muscles could be used to draw him into her woman-place, to ride him, to force him to give her pleasure.
I can only hope.
She was like a statue he’d seen once in the Roman lands … but better.

As an afterthought, she seemed to recall that her hair was still in braids. She released the ties of first one braid, then the other. Raising her arms, she finger-combed the braiding out of her hair with long, sweeping movements of her arms, which caused her already upraised breasts to rise and fall with her motions.

He felt each of those strokes over every inch of his sensitized skin and most especially on his fully engorged manpart. At first she just stood, staring at him
through those clear blue eyes, arms at her sides, watching him watch her. But then she seemed uncomfortable with that posture and resumed her earlier battle stance, hands on hips and legs spread in a vee.

If only the woman knew what that pose did to him!

Her sexual turnabout backfired wonderfully…

Tyra knew how her belligerent pose affected the man. Even when she was clothed, his eyes glazed over and his mouth parted with arousal when she stood thus. Now she was as naked as a newborn babe, and Adam was as lustsome as any man could be, if that bulge in his breeches was any indication. Too bad she was shaking like a leaf inside … trembling so hard she was unable to appreciate the effectiveness of her deliberate game of turnabout. Tyra was not embarrassed to expose her body, but she
was
embarrassed by all her imperfections. She was too big, too muscular … too, too, too …

“Well?” she said finally.

“Well?” he choked back.

Good! Choking is good! This is a war we are waging here, and if there is anything I know, it is battle strategy. “Keep your enemy off guard” is the first rule a Viking soldier learns.
“Methought we were supposed to
both
be naked in the bed furs. Correct me if I’m wrong, Saxon, but all I see is one nude body in this chamber.”

His eyes flashed at her sarcasm.
Two can play this game
was the silent message his eyes threw her way just before he toed off his right boot, flicked it high in the air, and watched as it sailed end over end and landed directly in front of her, toe facing her toes. He smirked, saying nothing.

“Lucky shot,” she remarked.

He arched his eyebrows at her challenge. The left
boot followed suit, not just landing next to the other boot, but right in front of the toes of her other foot.

“Show-off!” she muttered.

He smiled at her, and the tight knot in her stomach clenched and unclenched in response. His smile was a lethal erotic weapon.

“What is your goal here? What would you have us do when we are both naked?” he drawled out as he ever so slowly removed his belt, then quickly lifted his tunic up and over his head.

Tyra inhaled sharply at the sight of his bare chest.

He smiled knowingly.

Tread carefully, Tyra. He is the expert in this game. Do not give him any more advantage than he already has. And whatever you do, stop panting.
“I thought you already knew,” she said. “‘Tis as we agreed afore. One night in the bed furs, naked. That is all.”

He made a grunting sound of disbelief as he shimmied out of his tight
braies.
She thought he muttered something like, “Dream on, wench.” Once he stepped out of his
braies,
he was left wearing long hose and a loincloth type of undergarment, which was exceedingly tight at the moment.

Do not look. Do not look. Do not look.
She looked.

He looked, too, then shrugged. “What can I say in my defense?
It
has a mind of its own … especially within striking distance of a beautiful, naked goddess.”

She was the one making a grunting sound of disbelief now. But her breasts believed … their nipples growing tight with interest.

And Adam, the rogue, noticed, too. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” was his only response. Then, as his hose followed the route of his
braies,
he murmured, “This may be the longest night of my life.”

“I hope so.”

“Please, Tyra, do not say things you do not mean,” he pleaded as he began to unravel the cloth that covered his maleness. “And do not look at me so, or I will surely embarrass myself like an untried youthling.”

Tyra couldn’t stop herself. She had to look at him. He was like a statue she’d seen once of a Greek god … only better. She was not unfamiliar with the male genitals, living in close proximity with men on a daily basis. But she’d never witnessed a fully erect man whose arousal was due to her, and only her. She was struck by the beauty of the way the human body was designed. Male and female. Attraction, desire, connection, satisfaction. ‘Twas the way it had been at the beginning of time. ‘Twas the way it would be ages hence. And now, finally she was part of the process.

“Do you like what you see, Tyra?”

“I do,” she said. “And you?”

He laughed and waved a hand toward his groin. “How can you ask?”

“There is one thing I should tell you about our pact.” She was starting to feel rather exposed, standing naked before him for such a long period, especially when he continually surveyed her with such intensity. She fought against the instinct to cross her arms over her chest.

“You cannot back out now. You cannot.” Shaking his head vigorously, he waved a hand, indicating he would like her to turn around.

Not bloody likely.
“Oh, it is not that I want to renege on our agreement … just add to it.”

Adam did not answer at first. Since she had declined to spin for his pleasure, he had walked a little forward and to the right so he could see her from a side angle. The brute was staring at her buttocks, and she could swear his manpart twitched.

“Just how big can that thing get?” she blurted out.

“Immense, it would seem, when you keep staring at it.” His voice was husky. Had she finally shocked him?

“I am sorry,” she said.

“Do not be,” he said. “I like it.
It
likes it.”

“You are teasing me,” she guessed. “Women are not usually so blunt, are they?”

“Nay, they are not. It is a refreshing change.”

“Well, how would this be for bluntness? I want you. You want me. Let’s do it.”

His eyes went wide. His face reddened. A sputtering sound came from his mouth. He reached for a nearby tabletop to support his presumably shaky knees. And his manpart looked as if it might explode.

The temptation was too great …

Adam was out of control.

He inhaled and exhaled several times to calm himself. It didn’t work.

“Tyra, what is going on with you? We discussed this two days ago. Remember that conversation that prompted you to stop talking to me?”

“I thought about it … a great deal, and I came to this conclusion. I knew I was going to have to sleep in the same bed furs with you … naked … because that was what I agreed to.”

“Of course. The honor-bound soldier would never do anything so feminine as change her mind. Thank God!”