The Viking's Captive (39 page)

That plan was cut short when she glanced up and saw Adam standing in the open doorway of the stall. He was leaning back against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest, his ankles crossed casually at the ankles.
His nonchalant pose didn’t fool her, though. He practically had smoke blowing from his nostrils.

“Adam,” she acknowledged, trying to sound calm, when inside her heart was thundering. She resumed her brushing, as if his appearance had been totally expected.

“Tyra, you are in big trouble. The biggest trouble of your life. So big you should be shivering in your boots and begging for my mercy.”

“Adam, I can explain.”

“Oh, I am sure you think so. But we will save that for later. We have a longship to catch now.”

She tilted her head to the side in question. “For where?”

“Northumbria.”

“Don’t you think you should ask if I want to go to your home?”

“The time for asking is long past.”

She did not like his domineering tone … not one bit. But she would save that battle for a later date. “Where are my father and the others?”

“Following close behind. They will meet up with us at Hawkshire … some of them, leastways. Not Tykir or the hundreds of soldiers your father hired. They will go directly to Stoneheim.”

“My sisters will be overwhelmed with all the extra work caused by the new arrivals.”

“Your sisters are at Hawkshire.”

Her mouth dropped open at that news. “How did that come about?”

He waved a hand dismissively, obviously not wanting to discuss it now.

She sighed deeply at all the changes that had happened. “I need to go back to Stoneheim for a while … to think.”

“You are going to Britain with me,” he declared, “where you can think all you want … or not think. Frankly, I do not care. Your fate is in my hands now, my warrior wench. Do not doubt that for one moment.”

“Of all the …!” Her words trailed off as Adam grabbed her by the nape of the neck with one hand and raised a large broadsword over her head with the other. Was he going to lop off her head? He looked angry enough. But, no, the tap on her head was light, but the pincer-squeeze on her neck was hard. She found her legs buckling and her vision fading away. She was about to faint. As a doctor, he must know just the right spot to pinch to get that result, she decided with utter irrelevance.

Even as she was drifting into blackness, she felt the brute lift her by the waist, toss her over his shoulder, and carry her off to his mount.

The tables had truly been turned now. She and Adam had come full circle.

But what did that mean?

A
wedding? Whose wedding? …

Tyra was locked in one of the towers at Hawkshire.

Adam had barely spoken with her since he’d whacked her over the head and carted her off. He’d kept waving her off and saying, “Later!”

The tower she was in was new, one which had been erected by Breanne in Adam’s absence, much to his consternation. In fact, when their weary retinue had ridden up the dirt road to Hawkshire that morning, Adam’s eyes nigh bulged out of his head. Not only had the rusted drawbridge been oiled and repaired, but there were several new outbuildings, including a large structure that Breanne proudly proclaimed to be Hawkshire Hospitium.

To give Adam credit, he hadn’t exploded with angry words at her sister, but Tyra could tell he’d wanted to.

Of course, that was before he’d noticed Drifa’s handiwork. It was October, well past the growing season, but somehow she had managed to wield her magic trowel. There were colorful bushes and trees that had not been there before, not to mention a newly planted herb garden off the scullery. Drifa had assured him there would
be a myriad of colorful flowers sprouting in the spring all along the moat, to which he’d replied in an undertone, “Oh, joy!”

When they’d entered his keep, there were further surprises. To say his great hall was now clean would be a vast understatement. Vana had done her work well. Not a spider web in sight, or a speck of dust. Vana had an aversion to rushes, but because Adam’s great hall had a dirt floor, she had laid new rushes, mixed with lavender and juniper tops. Even the ancient weaponry hanging on the walls had been polished to a new brightness. And there were vividly colored tapestries everywhere. The now spotlessly clean tower solar where he did his work had new shelves built for his precious books and special compartmentalized boxes for his herbs and ointments.

They had not needed to go into the kitchen to know that Ingrith was brandishing her spoon there, creating her own form of magic. The delicious odors that floated through his wood castle bespoke a fine meal ahead … no doubt having dozens of courses.

Every time he had seen one of the changes, Adam had groaned anew. Tyra had kept her groans inward, but she was highly embarrassed at the way her sisters had taken over Adam’s home, as if they had a right to do so.

And then there was the way Alrek’s brother and sisters had jumped on Alrek … and all over Adam. The three had looked as if they’d made themselves at home in his home, and had no intention of leaving. In fact, it had been as if they were welcoming Alrek home and Adam, too … even though it was Adam’s home and not theirs. Adam had appeared confused and embarrassed by their actions. She vowed to herself that she would take care of the situation for him once she was free. It was not fair to unload the youthlings on him.

So now Tyra sat on the pallet in her tower room waiting for Adam to finally speak with her, as he had promised an hour ago before sending her up the stairs. She did not have long to wait.

“Tyra,” he said wearily as he came inside, locked the door, and plopped down on a chair that faced the mattress where she sat. “We have a real problem here.”

“You mean other than you kidnapping me and refusing to speak to me for more than a sennight?”

“Or other than you deserting me, not once, but twice? Yea, we do. Lord Eirik and Lady Eadyth from Ravenshire have arrived this very moment with all their brood, including John, who resides in nearby Hawk’s Lair. Rain and Selik should be here by eventide.”

So that was the cause of the additional commotion out in the courtyard. “Your uncle and aunt? Your foster mother and father? Why is that a problem?”
Uh-oh! He is looking extremely serious. Something is amiss.
“Why did they come?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Tykir sent them missives.”

Tyra put a hand to her forehead. “Explain yourself, Saxon. Why have they come?”

“The same reason your father, Bolthor, and Rashid will be coming tomorrow, along with a small contingent of Stoneheim soldiers.” He took a deep breath, then informed her, “For the wedding.”

She frowned. “Whose wedding?” Were Vana and Rafn to be married here, rather than on Norse soil? That would be odd, especially since Rafn was not even here.

Adam shook his head. “Ours.”

“Ours?” she squeaked out. “Me and you?”

He nodded, a pitiful expression on his face.

That pitiful expression caused her neck to prickle with alarm. “Did my father force this on you? Well, I will not stand for it.”

“It was not your father, precisely. I think I may have given him the idea.”

“You?” Tyra squeaked again.

“Well, I went after you to Byzantium, didn’t I?” he grumbled.

“And in your mind that is a marriage proposal?” By the runes! Men could be dumb dolts betimes.

“Sarcasm ill suits you, my lady. I may have told a person or two that I was going after you because I wanted you, and it all took on a life of its own, like a snowball which grows and grows into an avalanche. I must tell you, Tyra, your family has a tendency to take over. Well, mine does, too. Eadyth is down there even now planning the wedding feast with Ingrith, and I suspect that Eirik has invited half of Northumbria to the festivities. Alinor, who happens to be a noted weaver, is sending you a wedding gown, posthaste. My friend Rurik and his wife Maire may even come … all the way from bloody Scotland.”

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Tyra said, as if speaking to a horse. She was looking into Adam’s sad eyes. “You
wanted
me. What does that mean?”

“I do not know. I truly do not.” He put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, gazing at her directly. By the gods! He had the most beautiful eyes. Soulful, they were. “I suspect it means that I … that I …”

“What?” she prodded when he seemed unable or unwilling to go on.

“… I love you.”

She started to cry then, big loud sobs, accompanied by fat tears brimming in her eyes and running down her face.

“This was not quite the reaction I expected,” he said, reaching for her.

She swatted his hands away. “What
did
you expect?”

“I expected … nay, I hoped … that you would say you loved me, too.”

“Of course I do, you idiot.”

“You do? Then all the other problems are nothing if we have that.” He frowned as if something was bothering him. “If you love me, why did you go away … two times?”

“The first time is easy to explain. I knew we could have no life together … with your feelings about me and motherhood … which I presume have not changed, by the by. So, yea, we do have problems that seem nigh insurmountable. Plus, I had to leave to give my sisters a chance at marriage.”

He pondered her words, then nodded. “It is a twisted logic, but I guess I understand, though why you could not tell me afore leaving, I do not know.”

“You would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“That is true, that is true,” he agreed. “Which brings us to the second time. I rescued you, returned you to safety, and you deserted me again. I was mortified in front of all the others, and devastated by your lack of feeling for me.”

“Oh, Adam it was never lack of feeling.”

“Then what?”

She felt her face brighten with embarrassment. “I cannot tell you.”

“You’d better.”

“Something happened to me during the short time I was in the harem.”

He immediately stiffened. “You were raped? My God, I will go back and kill the old buzzard. I thought you said you had not been touched.”

She raised a hand to halt his tirade. “I was not raped. Nor was I touched in
that
way. Adam, I knew you were
coming to my tent after we returned to the army camp. I knew you would expect to make love with me. And I could not do if … not after … I just could not.”

“You are not making any sense, Tyra.”

“They plucked all the hair off my body. So there! Now you know.” She started to weep again, this time with mortification.

“Huh?”

“There are times when you can act the total lackbrain. Other than the hair on my head, those stupid eunuchs … it took eight in all to hold me down … plucked every hair off my body. Including …” She waved a hand to her groin area.

At first he did not understand. When he did, he grinned. “Let me see.”

“Nay! And do not grin at me. There is no cause for mirth in this.”

“Yea, there is, Tyra. Are you saying that you ran away because you are hairless
there?”

She nodded. “You know how I feel about my body. I am too big. My feet are like snowshoes. I talk too loud. I scratch. Now this. Big and hairless. That is me.”

“Let me see.”

“I told you nay, and I meant it. I look like a plucked chicken.”

“It will grow out,” he said, trying for a consoling tone, but ruining it with his continuing grin. “Won’t it?”

“I suppose. But not for a long time.”

“How long?”

She shrugged. “Six months, mayhap.”

“And you think you can keep me from your bed furs for six months?”

“I can try.”

“Wedding or no wedding, I will be betwixt your
hairless thighs by nightfall. That I promise you, you silly wench.”

“Nay, you will not.” She lifted her chin stubbornly. “And do not dare tell anyone about this. I swear, if I hear Bolthor compose a saga about this atrocity, I will blame you. And I had absolutely better not hear any chicken jokes, or your life is in peril.”

“Ch-chicken jokes?” he sputtered out.

“Yea. I can just hear it now. ‘What chicken laid that egg in the courtyard?’ ‘Oh, never mind, ‘twas just Tyra.’”

She had shocked him with her bluntness, she could tell.

“This really bothers you?”

“Did I not say so?”

He stood suddenly and kicked his chair aside. Then he began to remove his clothing. His belt, his tunic, his boots, for a start.

“What are you doing?”

“You will see.”

When he was totally naked—
and what a sight that was! The man was too handsome for his own good
—he walked over to a table on which were a pitcher, bowl, and jar of soft soap. With deliberate care, he lathered the hairy region around his manparts. Then he walked back to her and handed her a sharp dagger which had been in his belt.

“Shave me,” he ordered.

She dropped the dagger to the floor. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Nay, just my heart,” he said with such simplicity it melted all her resolve.

Just my heart.
Did the man know how much those words would mean to an affection-starved woman such
as herself? There wasn’t a woman alive who didn’t yearn for a special man to say those words to her. And Adam
was
special. Very special.