The Viking's Captive (38 page)

Thorvald said nothing, just held his chin high as he held the gaze of the equally arrogant emperor.

Adam stepped in then. “Let me add this, Romanus. My uncle Tykir, Jarl of Dragonstead, is a warrior of great repute in Norway, and my uncle Eirik is Lord of Ravenshire in Britain. Both of them would join me in a trice if I called on them to help recover this woman.”

Romanus waved a hand airily. “You would still be far outnumbered.”

Adam shrugged. “Yea, we would be. But do you really want to risk a war over a mere woman?”

Several of the Byzantine advisers of high rank rushed up to the emperor and engaged him in hasty conversation, too low to be heard from their position at the bottom of the steps. Soon Romanus announced, reluctantly, “I apologize for the treatment of Tyra, Warrior Princess, whilst in my land. I put my troops at your disposal to help recover her.”

The empress looked as if she might be choking on her tongue as her husband spoke. She must take his words as an indirect slap at her.

Adam and Thorvald nodded their acceptance of Romanus’s apology and his pledge of help. What else could they do?

“Well, it would seem we are off to the Eastlands,” the
king pronounced in a voice that brooked no argument, not even from an upstart emperor half his age, nor from a devious empress.

Oh, Tyra, where are you?

Off to rescue a princess bride …

Tyra was in a harem. A harem, for the love of God!

Adam didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or both.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” he told Rashid, “if that randy desert sheik has dared to lay a hand on her, I will cut it off.”

“Best you drop your anger and concentrate on getting inside the harem compound,” his assistant advised him. “‘Tis said that only a man without balls may enter a harem.”

Adam was about to snarl something sarcastic to Rashid, but really, the man had been invaluable to him with his Arab contacts. He had arranged for Adam—and Adam alone—to enter the sacred confines of the women’s quarters with a contingent of physicians who would be giving the houris their annual examinations. The examinations would involve checks for continued virginity in some, resulting in a death sentence if it was missing; sexual diseases in others, which also resulted in a death sentence since it indicated adultery; and various everyday complaints, like rashes, which could also mean death, depending on how they had been contracted.

Thorvald and a troop of one hundred Norse soldiers—both Varangians and regular everyday mercenaries—would be waiting for him and Tyra a half-mile away from the palace. Assuming they were able to escape, that is. Among the men-at-arms were the guilt-ridden Gunter and Egil and the Stoneheim troop, who suffered much personal regret that they had not protected Tyra better.
General Phocas had been forced to help them in every way possible on orders from the emperor.

Adam donned his Arab robe, pulled up the hood, and tugged one side across his face so that only his eyes were visible. Under his robes, he was fully armed with sword and dagger. He mounted his horse then and was about to ride over to join the five other physicians, who were similarly attired.

“Allah be with you,” Rashid called out.

“May Odin watch your back, and Thor lead your sword arm,” Tykir added.

“Bring my daughter home, I pray thee,” Thorvald directed, gruffly.

“Please, God,” Adam concurred in prayer. And he was off.

Her knight in shining… robe? …

“If any of you lackwit doctors think you’re going to stick a finger inside me to check for a maidenhead, you are sorely mistaken.”

The other harem houris shrunk away from her. She was always getting in trouble, and they probably feared contamination by association. Or else they thought she was demented … which she very well might be.

The Arab physicians who had entered the harem a short time ago probably didn’t understand a word she’d said, although she could have sworn one of them chuckled, but she announced, “Here is some news for you. I am not a virgin anyhow.”

The chuckling doctor chuckled some more behind his hood.

Kareem wasn’t chuckling, though. He hissed a warning from behind her and waved his little whip.

They were in the round tower of the castle. The women would be led, one at a time, into separate rooms
off the central reception area where they stood now. Each of the rooms opened onto a balcony that encircled the entire tower and looked down over a beautiful fountain garden. The serene picture was deceptive. The garden was pretty, and ‘twas true there were no iron-grilled windows on this balcony, but it was a prison just the same … like a gilded cage. Beyond the bright flowers and tall bushes were high stone walls and iron gates. It was an impregnable fortress, not a pleasure place, as far as Tyra was concerned.

When Tyra’s name was called, four eunuchs had to prod her with pointed spears into the appropriate examining room. She balked, but to no avail. Well, she might not be able to fight off the eunuchs, who were bowing out of the chamber, but there sure as hell was going to be a physician with a broken finger if that appendage meandered into forbidden territory.

“Listen, I have about had it up to my gullet with this harem business,” she said to the hooded doctor, “so let us not make something you do be the last straw. I am a warrior, you know, and …”

Her words faded away as she turned to confront the physician, who was just now lowering his hood.

“Oh … sweet … Jesus!” he murmured as he stared at her scandalous costume. Then he grinned.

She would know that grin anywhere.

“Adam?” was the first utterance out of her mouth, immediately followed by, “Stop looking at me. And don’t you dare grin at my attire.”

Adam grinned some more. “I could no more stop looking at you than breathe, especially in that garment. Make sure you bring it with you. But hurry, there is no time for talking now. Put this on.” He shoved another Arab robe at her, similar to his.

Before she could pull the robe over her head, though,
Adam yanked her into his arms and kissed her hotly. “God, I was worried about you. Do not ever do this to me again.”

She had no idea what he meant.
Do what again?
she wanted to ask.
Run away? Be a soldier? Join a harem?
She would have to save the questions for later. But she had to warn him, “Adam, it is impossible to get out of here. You should not have come. The danger is too great.”

“Shhh! For once, let someone else take care of you.” He shoved her away and was already out on the balcony wrapping a long rope with a three-pronged hook on the end around one of the columns. “I hope you do not fear heights,” he said, motioning her forward. “We have only a few moments to accomplish this, and it is three floors down.” He kept glancing from right to left to make sure no one emerged from one of the other examining rooms, then down below to the gardens to make sure no one had wandered into the area for a stroll.

She rushed forward, tying the rope belt of her robe as she ran. “Any fear of heights I have is outweighed by my fear of beheading … which is the penalty for escape from a harem.”

“Beheading?” He laughed. “I never would have come for you if I’d known beheading was involved.”

She smacked him on the arm. “What a time for teasing!”

Minutes later they had both shimmied down the rope … an experience she never wanted to repeat … and were running as stealthily as possible through a maze of corridors till they came to a hidden door that led out onto a public street. With a forefinger to his lips, cautioning silence, Adam lifted the hem of his robe and handed her a long dagger. He pulled his sword from its waist sheath for himself. This was the most dangerous part of all, she realized. Much coin must have been paid
to clear their way through the oddly absent inside guards, but there were sure to be guards posted at intervals all along the castle walls … too many to be contacted or bribed.

“Your father and your troops are awaiting us a short distance away.”

“They are?”

“Oh, Tyra, how could you think otherwise? You are a much-beloved daughter and military leader and friend.”

And lover?
Why that omission should bother her so much, she could not say, but it did, even in the midst of all this danger.

He took her hand in his, entwined their fingers, then raised her hand so he could kiss the knuckles.

“This is it, heartling. Here’s hoping we live to see the stars tonight.”

She nodded. As long as she was with him, she was not afraid … even of dying. “Nay, here’s hoping that Bolthor will compose a saga about this successful adventure aboard a longship tonight.”

He laughed at the thought of the two of them welcoming one of Bolthor’s sagas. “Better yet,” he said over his shoulder even as he opened the creaking door and pulled her forward, “here’s hoping we will be telling this story to our children for a loooong time.”

They both ran for their lives then, but Adam’s last words rang through her ears like a joyous refrain.

Our children. Our children. Our children
…

The best laid plans of men and fools …

That night, Adam approached the tent that had been set aside for Tyra. He was so nervous he could scarcely breathe.

“Thor’s toenails, Adam! Your hands are shaking,” Tykir pointed out to him.

“Allah be praised!” Rashid piped up. “You rescued your lady. You and you alone! You have naught to fear. She will be so thankful she will fall into your arms with thanks. And think on this, master. She has been in a harem. She no doubt
knows
things now.” He waggled his eyebrows to convey what things he was referring to.

“What things?” King Thorvald wanted to know.

Adam groaned. He really, really did not need the company of the father of the woman he hoped to swive this night.

“Actually, I think you should just toss her over your shoulder, like she did you. Ride off to some secluded spot and
convince
her to be yours.” The king beamed at him after expounding that wisdom.

Adam clicked his jaw shut. He was not about to ask her father what he meant by
convince.

“I wrote a saga one time titled ‘How to Convince an Unconvinceable Maid.’ ‘Twas very popular at Anlaf’s court, as I recall.” Bolthor was stroking his chin as he tried to remember the details.

“Enough!”
Adam shouted. He stopped dead in his tracks, which caused everyone else to stop dead in their tracks, too. “I do not need an escort. I do not need advice. I do not need any of you here with me. Go away!”

As one, his four companions turned on their heels and stalked away, with the king muttering, “Ungrateful Saxon whelp!” and Bolthor saying something like, “He will be sorry,” and Rashid intoning, “Allah cannot be everywhere; that is why he created friends.” Tykir just laughed.

Adam stared at the tent before him, bracing himself.

This morning, he and Tyra had made it safely away from the desert palace to the Stoneheim troops, despite
being followed by the sultan’s guard. They all had ridden off without any fighting … something that had rankled with Thorvald, who wanted desperately to lop off a head or two in retaliation for his daughter’s kidnapping. Adam was certain he would find an opportunity to take revenge in the future, once he was in a position of greater strength.

Now they were back at the desert outpost of the Army of the East. Tyra and her soldiers had already informed General Phocas that they would no longer be serving in his army. The general had argued fruitlessly the whole time, denying any involvement in her being taken by the desert sultan. Since she had no proof besides the evidence of her own eyes, they’d decided to accept his word. The only other choices were: one, to confront the devious commander on the issue in a Byzantine court, which would be heavily weighted in the general’s favor; or two, to lop off his head during the night—Thorvald’s preference—but then they would have a thousand soldiers chasing after them.

Thorvald swore that he would take his revenge at a later date. Already he’d talked five hundred Norse soldiers into deserting the Byzantine ranks and returning with him to the Northlands, at great cost to his royal treasury. This depletion in ranks would hurt General Phocas more than any court fine.

To say that the general was livid was a vast understatement. He would have lopped off Thorvald’s head himself if he could.

On the morrow, they would travel back to Byzantium and their two longships. The king intended to purchase several more to carry the additional soldiers who would return with him.

From there, the ships would be heading on separate paths. Most would proceed to Stoneheim. But at least
one of them would be going to Britain and Adam’s home at Hawkshire.

The question he nervously faced now was whether Tyra would be coming with him to Britain … or not.

Should he first tell her of his feelings and the future they might have together? Or should he make love to her first, and leave the explanations for later? He was leaning toward the latter.

And besides, he was still angry with her over her desertion immediately following their night of loving. Although they definitely needed to talk, he was thinking it might be a good idea to wait till his temper cooled.

Inhaling deeply, he opened the flap of her tent and called out in what he hoped was a husky voice filled with erotic promise, “Tyra? Sweetling?”

He stepped inside.

Then he bellowed with outrage, “Aaarrgh!”

So much for erotic promise!

Pulling at his hair with frustration, he stomped around the carpeted floor of the tent, exclaiming over and over, “I should have known. I should have, should have, should have known!”

Tyra was gone. Again.

Now she was in big trouble…

Adam caught up with her halfway to Byzantium.

She was by herself, brushing down her horse in the stable of a small village. She had planned to sleep here for several hours on a wool blanket placed over the straw. Taking no chances, her sword would be at the ready by her right arm and a battle-ax near her left.