The Viking's Captive (34 page)

“That is all well and good,” Rashid remarked, coming up from God only knew where. He’d probably been hiding. “But what about the children?”

You Judas, you!
Adam thought. Out loud he said, “They are not my responsibility.” He did not look at the children as he spoke. He could not. But he was the one who felt like a traitor … which was ridiculous.

Rashid shrugged. “If you say so, master.”

Adam bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Rashid shrugged again. “With all due respect, my
lord, there is a famous proverb that says, ‘Love and commitment are two sides of the same coin.’”

Adam’s jaw dropped open. “Who said anything about love?” He slanted a quick look at the children, and all four of them looked as if he’d just stabbed them, even Besji, who couldn’t possibly have understood what he’d said.

It was an absurd situation, and he was sick of having these people foisted on himself. With a snarl, he turned on his heel and began to stomp up the hill to gather the last of his belongings. He had no intention of returning to Stoneheim … leastways not in the next decade or so.

Halfway up the hill, he stopped dead in his tracks. At heart, Adam was an honest man. He abhorred lying, even to himself.
What if Selik and Rain had decided they were not responsible for Adela and me?
That question hammered inside his head, almost as if his two foster parents were asking the question.
The kindness must be passed on. As you were treated, so must you treat others. As you were saved, so must you save others. And, yea, you have the power to provide miracles.

He muttered a sincere “Bloody hell,” then turned around and announced to the gaping crowd, “All right. But only for a short visit.”

At first there was a stunned silence. Then Ingrith asked, waving a hand to indicate herself and her sisters, “All of us?”

“Yea. God help me, but you are all welcome, for a
short
visit. But make no substantial changes.”

Vana was already wringing her hands with anticipation, and he thought he heard Ingrith ask Rafn, “Dost think they have wild reindeer in Britain? I’m thinking a reindeer feast would be good for the homecoming festivities. If not that, how about boiled wolf?”
What homecoming? What festivities? And wolf? I am most definitely
not eating wolf.
Drifa was rushing off to get a shovel, no doubt to dig up some bushes for transplanting. And Breanne was still pondering the temptations of a rusty drawbridge.

“And the children?” Rashid asked. There was a crafty smirk on his face that Adam did not like … not one bit.

“Yea, for a visit. Then they will return to Stoneheim.” Inside, Adam knew—
he just knew
—that he was committing to much more than that.

Adam had not finished speaking before Kristin was running up the hill, her gown gathered to her knees, her skinny legs pumping wildly. This time, when she hurled herself into his arms, she was smiling, not weeping. As she patted his face reassuringly, she confided in her little-girl voice, “You doan hafta luv us …”

Adam braced himself for what would come next.

“… but I luv you.”

Adam knew he was lost then. Good and truly lost.

Or was he found?

New beginnings aren’t all they’re cracked up to be …

Elsewhere …

The trip to Byzantium—referred to as Miklagard by the Vikings—was a grueling one, and thank the gods for that. Tyra needed hard physical labor and concentration to keep her mind off her misery.

The work should have taken up all her time and thoughts. Unfortunately, it did not. Weather-luck had been with them, the climate getting increasingly warmer each day, but that was the only good thing about the trip thus far. She could not even share in the enthusiasm of her men-at-arms, who were looking forward to the adventure of a new country and service in the imperial army’s prestigious Varangian Guard.

She had known from the start that forgetting Adam
and their night of lovemaking would be impossible. But she had underestimated just how miserable she would be. She was losing weight, sleep, and the joy of living.

She missed Stoneheim.

She missed her sisters and her father.

Above all else, she missed Adam.

To make matters worse, she was not pregnant. Her monthly flux had been late, and deep inside, a foolish part of Tyra had wished for Adam’s seed to have taken root in her womb. But it was not to be, she’d found out yestereve.

In order to avoid the more difficult voyage around Jutland, the land of the Danes, Tyra had directed her small contingent of sailors to cross the stormy Baltic Sea. Then they would follow the trade route down the Volkov to Old Ladoga, the Norse Aldeigjuborn, where a trading post stood, offering a brief respite from the journey. If their ship had gone by way of the Dneipr, as many Norsemen did, they would have had to face cataracts, sandbanks, and dangerous shoals. As it was, they’d had to employ portage on more than one occasion.

Gunter and Egil came up to stand at the rail with her as her boat approached the Golden Horn harbor of the “Great City,” Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire, which occupied the eastern half of the old Roman Empire. It was a spectacular view, even for those like herself who had visited here in the past. There were three sets of walls enclosing the city, one inside the other, accented periodically by one hundred massive towers, each sixty feet high. The ancient walls were almost six hundred years old. Surrounding the outer walls were moats, and along the sea wall were iron chains that blocked the harbor from invaders. There was much to protect, too, since the city had several hundred thousand inhabitants and vast wealth.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Gunter asked, looping an arm around her shoulders. She looked pointedly at the hand, its fingers pointing toward her breast, and Gunter laughed. “Now, now, m’lady. I am just being friendly.”

“Like our first night out, when you tried to crawl into my bed furs?”

Gunter pretended to wince. “You cannot blame a man for trying. What kind of Viking would I be if I did not offer my services to a pretty maid?”

“Oh, please, Gunter!” It was she who laughed now. “All these years we have traveled together, and not once before did you offer your services. Why now?”

He shrugged. “You have changed.”

“How so?”
Does the fact that I am no longer a virgin show?

“You are softer somehow.”

That is just wonderful! A soft soldier! A voluptuous Varangian! A weak woman!
It appeared she would have to work more on her masculinization. More groin scratching, and swaggering, and spitting. She already knew how to curse like a sailor.

“As to your question,” she said, changing the subject, “nay, I have no second thoughts. This is the right thing for me.”

“Me, too,” Egil remarked, coming up on her other side.

“Do not even think of touching my arse,” she warned. If Egil put his hand on her buttocks one more time, as seemed to have become a reflex with him, she swore she was going to pull out her dagger and slice him across the knuckles.

He put a palm to his chest, as if wounded by her words. “My lady, your words do me wrong. I am betrothed to be married.”

“Oh, really! That did not stop you from making indecent proposals to me.”

“What indecent proposals?” an interested Gunter wanted to know.

“The same ones you have been making,” she told Gunter.

“Oh,” Gunter said, clearly disappointed that there was not some new form of indecent proposal he had not yet heard of.
Men!
“But I am not affianced, Tyra. So I am free to provide for your pleasure. Unlike Egil here. By the by, Egil, who are you trying to impress with those tight
braies?
”

“What has my being affianced to do with having sex with another woman? My Inga does not expect me to remain chaste whilst I go off earning treasure for her bride price. And as to my tight
braies,
at least I have something substantial to fill them.”

Gunter stiffened and dropped his arm from her shoulder. Next they would be calling for the
holmganga,
a duel that was fought within a ten-foot square according to strict ritual rules.

“Would the two of you just stop? We are about to dock.” With that in mind, she called out to Ivan, the rudder master, “Pull up to the Gate of Phanar. That is closest to the Palace of Blachernae, where the emperor and empress should be in residence.”

Ivan nodded, and soon they were docked.

“Go to Romanus and send my regards. Request an immediate audience for me,” she ordered Gunter and Egil. “I met him five years past when his father, Constantine, was still alive. He was only seventeen or so at the time, but he should remember me. If not, give him this as a gift.” She handed Gunter a velvet-lined box containing a large piece of rare amber on a heavy gold chain. Although she was not much given to ornamentation, she had been wearing it at the time over her tunic, and he had admired it.

Tyra stepped over the plank then. She had been aboard ship too long now and much preferred to await the emperor’s summons on land. When she stepped ashore, carrying with her the shield that Adam had given her, she sighed deeply.

With those first steps onto a new land, tears welled in her eyes. A new episode of her life was about to begin.

Samsonite? Did someone say Samsonite? …

“When I made the decision that I wanted Tyra … that I should go after her … I never realized that she carried so much baggage with her,” Adam grumbled aloud. He was standing at the prow of the ship, which was riding the large waves of a stormy Baltic Sea.

In truth, Adam was growing excessively tired of longships and stomach-churning waves and wet boots and watery horizons. Once he got back to his home in Northumbria, he swore he would not travel again for a good long time, and definitely not over water.

“What baggage would that be?” Tykir asked.

How his uncle had come to be on this journey was another story altogether. But here he was, and Alrek, too. Not to mention Bolthor, who was off somewhere composing an Ode to the Ocean, or Saga of a Shark, or some such thing. You would think that Tykir—a man with a newborn child—would feel the need to stay close to home, but, nay, Tykir had sent Alinor back to Dragonstead under heavy guard. For some reason, he believed that Adam needed him more than his wife and children did. Alinor had agreed to let him go, but adamantly refused to allow their son Thork to accompany his father. Tykir appeared alternately prideful and dismayed by his incorrigible son, who
was surely a miniature version of himself as a youthling.

“The baggage I refer to is a troublesome family,” Adam explained. “I did not realize that caring for someone”—he still had trouble saying the love-word—“meant involvement with all these other appendages.”

Tykir laughed. “Appendages, huh? That is a good way of describing family members. But, really, Adam, you should not be surprised. It is the same for everyone. For example, when I fell in love with Alinor, I also had to deal with her barmy twin brothers, Egbert and Hebert. When she fell in love with me, my family became hers, and that included not just Rain and Selik, Eirik and Eadyth, and all their children, but you and Adela, too. Plus our friends Bolthor and Rurik and all the rest.”

Adam winced at the mention of Adela. “But don’t you ever just crave privacy?”

“All the time. Well, not all the time. When things get too loud or bothersome at Dragonstead, I go off on an amber dig to the Samland Peninsula, or to Hedeby for trading. But you know what is really odd? No sooner do I leave the fjord harbor at Dragonstead than I am missing my wife and family … even all the chaos that accompanies them.” Tykir shrugged.

“She will change my life, won’t she?” Adam asked.

Tykir chuckled at his nephew’s woeful tone and informed him with much glee, “Oh, Adam, she already has.”

The golden city didn’t shine for her…

“You wish to join the Varangian Guard?” Romanus asked Tyra incredulously. Thank the gods, she and her men understood the Byzantine tongue, being far-traveled
people. Romanus sat upon a great silver throne under a golden canopy in the palace reception room, several marble steps up from where Tyra stood with Gunter and Egil.

Romanus’s keen eyes surveyed her, from her long blond hair, plaited on each side into war braids, over her soft leather tunic and
braies,
down to her overlarge feet encased in half-boots. He gave particular attention to the broadsword sheathed at her side, and the battle-ax slung over her shoulder with a special strap.

“I do … along with three dozen fine fighting men who have accompanied me,” she answered, not at all intimidated by Romanus, who was several years younger than herself.

Romanus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling with delight. She could see that she and her entire retinue amused him. It was true that she and her men were attired differently from these Byzantines. Her men wore hip-length tunics with thick belts over
braies
and leather boots. Some of them even wore wolf skins. No matter how fine their fabrics or the jewels they might wear, they were primitive in appearance compared to these more sophisticated Byzantines, who wore loose silk or linen ankle-length gowns of a T-shape, highly ornamented with embroidery. Their necks and arms and various fingers held jewels worth a king’s treasure.

At twenty-three, Romanus was an impressive man, and not just because of his garments of royal purple encrusted with pearls and rubies. The young man had inherited his father’s fine physique and charming manners, not to mention his mother’s beauty. And vanity—he had that in abundance, it was clear. Already he wore her amber pendant around his neck, hanging over his golden breastplate.

He was nothing compared to Adam, though. No one was.

“But a woman in the Imperial Army, Romanus? It is unheard of.” The woman speaking at Romanus’s side was Theophano, a breathtakingly beautiful woman with sleek dark hair reaching down to her knees and wide ebony eyes. The sapphire torque around her neck could purchase five longships. Theophano was clearly in love with her husband, and he with her. They could not seem to stop touching one another … a hand on the wrist here, a pat on the head there. Theophano had already given him three children and was pregnant with a fourth. No wonder, with all that touching!