The Viking's Captive (7 page)

“How long were you an orphan? Rashid said you and yer sister were adopted by a Viking man and his wife. Do children ever get adopted when they are no longer … um, ah, children exactly?” The whole time Alrek sputtered and stammered to get his question out, he stood as tall as his spindly frame would stretch, with chin held high and face flaming with color … all this to demonstrate that
he
was not a child exactly.

After he killed Tyra, he was going to kill Rashid for getting him into this predicament.

“Alrek, do not waste your time dreaming impossible dreams. We were fortunate, Adela and I,” he said, then had to pause after speaking his sister’s name. Had he ever spoken her name aloud these past two years? When he was more calm, he continued, “It was just a chance circumstance that brought Selik and Rain to that place in Jorvik at the same time my sister and I were there.
Most often, orphans are left to fend for themselves, as you do. And, really, ‘tis not—”

“A miracle? It was like the miracles yer One-God promises in his Bible.” Alrek was staring at him as if he’d just spoken some magic words. “So what I need is a miracle?”

“Nay, nay, nay! It was not a miracle.”

“The only gods I know of are Odin and Thor and Frey and Loki. Perchance you could pray to yer One-God that he would send us a father and a mother … a family … you know, a miracle.”

“Alrek! I am not praying. I do not believe in miracles. And I think I see Gorr the Netmaker motioning for you.”

Alrek turned to look at Gorr, who was indeed scowling his way, no doubt because he would be saddled with the bratling next. Alrek waved a hand at the netmaker, indicating he would be there shortly. But before he left, he smiled widely at Adam. “Thank you very much, Lord Adam.”

Adam didn’t even want to know what he was being thanked for. And what was this
lord
business? First he had to contend with Rashid referring to him as master, and now Alrek called him a bloody lord. Next he would be proclaimed king … when what he felt like at the moment was the lowest of animals for having inadvertently offered hope to the boy when the chances of his ever having a family were hopeless.

Adam didn’t think his life could get any worse.

He was wrong.

Alrek offered him these departing words: “Methinks yer One-God sent
you
to me as a miracle.”

The loathsome lout a miracle? …

Miracle of miracles, Alrek finally seemed to have mastered the rudiments of archery.

Oh, Tyra wasn’t deluding herself. The boy could scarce lift the heavy bow, and everyone ducked when he did, but at least he’d hit the target. Off center, of course, but after two dozen tries, having hit it at all was a real accomplishment.

“Good job, Alrek,” she complimented him with a pat on the shoulder.

The boy’s face fair glowed with pride. You’d think she’d just laid a treasure chest at his feet … or granted his most fervent wish … a family, of all things … something he told everyone who chanced to cross his path.

She and her men were camped for the evening along the North Sea shore; tomorrow they would head north up through the fjords to her father’s holdings. While their evening meal was being prepared—a freshly killed red deer roasting on an open spit—they were exercising in a clearing with sword and lance and bow, as was their daily practice.

“Betcha yer thinkin’ it was a miracle … that I hit the target,” Alrek said. He and Tyra were picking up arrows that lay about in the grass.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a miracle,” she replied with a laugh. “Hard work always pays off in the end. Haven’t I told you that afore, Alrek? You always want results immediately, but you must learn patience. Someday you are sure to be a good Viking warrior. Give it time.”

Alrek tilted his head and considered her words. “Nay,” he concluded. “It was a miracle. Jest like Lord Adam is a miracle fer me, too.”

“Lord
Adam? Your personal miracle? Did he tell you that?”

“Not precisely,” he admitted, “but I jest know his prayers will shoot up in the sky to his One-God who is gonna find me and me brother and sisters a family. A miracle, to my mind.”

Alrek’s logic boggled the mind and did not bear questioning, lest he translate her inquiries into license to fantasize even more. Tyra started to walk away toward the target, where she hoped to find at least some of the arrows that had gone astray.

“By the by, are you gonna be in Lord Adam’s harem?”

Tyra halted in her tracks and peered back over her shoulder. “Are you referring to Adam the Healer? He has a harem?”

“Well, he does not have one yet, but he is putting one together. Leastways, that is what Rashid said. Rashid thinks you would make a glorious first addition.”

“Alrek! Do not dare repeat that tale anywhere! Dost hear me?”

He nodded reluctantly.

“I am not now, nor will I ever be, interested in being a member of any man’s harem. Is that clear?”

He nodded again. “I did not mean offense.”

“I know you didn’t, but you can be sure I will give
Lord
Adam an earful on this topic. A harem! Indeed!”

A short time later, she was bent over picking up the remainder of the arrows when she heard a whistling whirr—a sound she recognized too well. It was too late to move away. Almost at the same moment as she heard the sound, she felt a sharp pain in her right buttock.

She stood quickly and spun on her heel. Peering over her shoulder, she saw her worst fears realized. There was an arrow protruding from her behind. Then she raised her narrowed eyes to pierce the culprit on the other side of the field.

Alrek at least had the grace to turn gray and mutter, “Uh-oh!”

As she began stomping toward the inept rascal, she shouted, “Now would be the time to pray for a miracle,
Alrek. Pray that I fall over dead afore I get my hands around your scrawny neck.”

Alrek, smart boy that he was at heart, ran for his life.

Some things always come back to bite you in the arse …

“I thought you would have come up with an escape plan by now,” Rashid complained to Adam.

They were sitting next to each other, tied to adjoining tent poles. Their legs were free, but their hands were bound behind their backs. There were several burly Vikings sitting before the nearby campfire, tending a deer that was being roasted for dinner. Every couple of minutes the guardsmen looked their way, just to make sure they hadn’t mysteriously disappeared.

“What? You think I’m a magician, too?”

“Nay, master, but I see the way the warrior princess looks at you. Methought you would have charmed her into releasing us by now.”

“The only way I see her looking at me is with disgust. In fact, she said I stink.”

“You do. I mean, you did,” Rashid commented bluntly, “until we bathed this evening.”

“And I have no idea where you got the notion that I have the ability to charm anything, let alone a thickheaded Viking woman who can’t decide whether she wants to be a man or a woman.”

“I got the notion from watching you take one woman after another into your bed over the years. Isobel. Sari. Katlyn. The Princess Neferi. Ester. Magdalene. I could go on and on. That was afore we came to Britain, though. Now your male parts must have dried up from lack of use.”

“My male parts are just fine, thank you very much.”

“Then why have you not seduced the warrior woman?
Alrek says she has shown more interest in you than any man before.”

“That’s because she wants me to heal her father so she can be disowned and go off somewhere and be free to lop off heads and other gruesome things, without the burden of a husband. No doubt my head will be the first one to be lopped once my healing talents are no longer needed.”

“Huh?” Rashid said to this long-winded discourse.

“Never mind. Speaking of Alrek, look over there.”

Alrek was running through the clearing where the tents were pitched, dodging tent poles and campfires, his skinny legs pumping madly as he panted like a warhorse. Adam looked at Rashid, and Rashid looked at him; then they both shrugged, indicating their confusion over why Alrek was on the run.

Soon they discovered the answer. His pursuer was about to pass them, stomping doggedly in Alrek’s path. She didn’t bother to swagger now, so angry did she appear to be. But that wasn’t the most amazing thing.

“Oh, Mistress Viking!” Adam called out.

Reluctantly, Tyra stopped and glared at him. “What?” she snapped.

“Did you know you have an arrow sticking out of your backside?”

Her hands fisted, her face went rigid, and a sound came from her throat that sounded very much like a growl. “Yea, you lunkhead, I know there is an arrow in my backside. Why did you think I was chasing after Alrek? And wipe that grin off your face, man, or I will do it for you.”

“Would you like me to remove it?” he asked sweetly.

“What? The grin?”

“The arrow.”

“Nay, I do not want you touching any part of my
body, and certainly not that part. Besides, I thought you had given up medicine.”

“For this, I would be willing to make an exception.” He was still grinning, but he meant it. For a view of her naked backside, he would do just about anything.

Tyra told him to do something that he was fairly certain was physically impossible and continued on her pursuit of Alrek.

God, he was beginning to develop a taste for sharp-tongued women. That surprised him mightily. He’d always preferred gentle, soft-spoken women in the past.

“Well, so much for your seduction skills,” Rashid opined dolefully.

A short silence ensued before Adam turned to stare at his friend. “Why are your eyes closed? Why are your lips moving without making a sound?”

“I decided the best course is to join Alrek in praying for a miracle.”

Some deals are sweeter than others…

“We have to talk.”

Oooh, lady, talk is not what I have in mind. My arms and legs ache from being in the same position so long. My buttocks feel like they have no flesh on them from sitting on this hard ground. Come closer, you irksome, infuriating daughter of the Devil, and see what kind of talk I have for you.

It was dusk, more light than dark yet, and Adam had been resting. He opened his eyes now … just a crack to look at Tyra, who was easing herself down to the ground beside him. He noticed that she lowered herself to her knees, not her backside, and that she winced at one point from stretching the skin surrounding the wound, which had apparently been stitched up an hour ago by the sometimes blacksmith, sometimes berserker, Bjorn.

“Lackbrain lad!” she murmured as she rubbed one nether cheek. Obviously, she was referring to Alrek, and not Bjorn. He wondered if Alrek was suffering a sore backside as well … sore from the whip of a birch branch which he’d seen Tyra brandishing a short time ago. Once settled on her knees, she groaned softly.

Good! I hope your arse pains you mightily, wench, because you have been more than a pain in the arse to me.
He decided not to share those opinions with her now, but he surely would later.

Instead, he said, “I’m not talking to you till you release these bonds. You need a lesson in diplomacy, my lady,”
amongst other things.
“One should not maltreat the person from whom one seeks favors. And, believe you me, asking a physician to treat a man unconscious for sennights is a big favor, especially when he will no doubt be surrounded by a horde of bloodthirsty Vikings who would as soon lop off the physician’s head at the first sign of death pallor in the patient.” He pressed his lips together in an exaggerated fashion, indicating that his talking time was over.

From inside the tent where Rashid had already gone for the night, following a meal of venison and venison … and more venison—but at least not
gammelost
—he heard his busybody Arab friend add to the conversation, uninvited, “The wise man treads softly amongst tigers.”

“What does that mean?” Tyra asked him.

He refused to respond, but what he thought was,
Who says Rashid’s proverbs have to mean anything?

“The whisper of a pretty girl can be heard farther than the roar of the tiger,” Rashid added.

He sent Rashid a mental message;
Shut your teeth.

“Listen. I will admit that I was perhaps less than tactful in convincing you to come with us. If I had had more
time, my men and I could have partaken of your hospitality, and …”

Hah! No hospitality was offered by me.
He felt a twinge of guilt at that reminder … a
tiny
twinge. Could it be that the warrior-wench would have acted differently if he’d acted hospitably?
Nay, nay, nay! I will not allow her to turn the tables on me here. She is the guilty party. She will be the one to pay. Not me!

“… and mayhap I would not have acted so … um, rashly.”

Rashly? Rashly? I would hardly call whacking a man over the head with the flat side of a broadsword merely rash. More like brash. Yea, a brash act, not a rash act.
He smiled inwardly at his own wit.

“So, what I wanted to say was … hmmm … well … you see … I didn’t come to your keep
intending
to harm you in any way. Nor did I
plan
to take you by … uh, force.” Her face bloomed pink as she stuttered to get the words out … hard words for a prideful woman.

Is this your sorry excuse for an apology? Hah! You will have to do much better than that. Much!

“When you think on it, I am certain you will realize that you have not been treated so badly.” She waved a hand dismissively as if anticipating his disagreement. “I know you resent the ropes, but other than that, you are a guest. Really.”

Adam bit his tongue to keep from speaking his grievances aloud, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from widening with indignation.
Guest? Guest? Do you tie your guests like a harvest-fat hog? Do you toss your guests over your shoulder like a sack of barley?
He scowled his fiercest scowl and made sure that his tongue was firmly in place, so tempted was he to reply.

“All right, I can see that the guest appellation does not go down smoothly … that it sticks in your craw …”