The Viking's Captive

by Sandra Hill

  He shook his head, and felt as if there were rocks rolling about inside his skull. “I do not know how I feel.”

  “Yea, you do, dearling. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. As far as I know, the only thing of substance you told her was that you would take her babe away from her … if it should be born.”

  He looked at Alinor, then shrugged sheepishly. “That was rather overbearing of me, wasn’t it?”

  Alinor nodded. “As Rashid has been saying, ‘Even the strongest team of oxen cannot take back ill-chosen words once spoken.’ In any case, did you ever consider what place she might have in your life, or you in hers?”

  “Well, I did have one thought. When I operated on her father, she was a magnificent assistant. She did not blanch at all the blood, or hesitate to handle tools. In truth, she anticipated what I would need before I asked.”

  “So you are saying that you two might have made a good healing team?”

  “Mayhap.”

  “And what did she say when you suggested this to her?” Alinor stared at him for several long moments. Then she grunted with disgust. “Let me guess. You never shared that idea with her.”

  Both of them sat in silence then, staring off toward the harbor where a longship was being prepared for travel.

  “Let us cut to the marrow here, you thickheaded fool,” Alinor finally said. “What … do … you … want?”

  He did not even hesitate to answer. “Tyra.”

  “Well, then,” Alinor said, throwing her hands up in the air, “you have your answer.”

  He smiled for the first time in a day and a half and yelled for Rashid, who was walking toward him from the courtyard.

  “Yea, master? You called,” Rashid replied dolefully.

  “It appears we are going back to the Eastlands, after all.”

  “To Arabia?” Rashid asked hopefully.

  “Nay, to Byzantium.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Viking road trip, or a circus on a longship? …

  Adam was living his worst nightmare.

  It started the following morning, one full day since he’d ended his drunken binge and decided he wanted Tyra enough to go after her … even to the ends of the earth.

  “ ‘Twould seem the longship on which you planned to travel is going to prove unsuitable,” Rafn commented dryly as they stood on the wharf just past dawn, waiting for the crew to assemble.

  “Huh?” Adam responded.

  “The royal bedstead and those six stallions would never fit on the longship you planned to use. Oh, I see a knarr is being brought forth. Yea, one of those deeper, larger trading vessels will serve your purposes better.”

  “Huh?” Adam said again, then turned to follow the direction of Rafn’s gaze. “Oh … my … God!”

  A large, ornately carved bedstead was being carried by four burly Vikings down the incline from the Stoneheim castle to the harbor. Following in its wake were many servants carrying a thick straw mattress and many chests, even a thronelike chair. Still others led six nervous stallions.

  There came also King Thorvald, relying on a long staff for a cane. He was dressed to the gills in regal attire—a red tunic embroidered with gold thread in a writhing dragon pattern, over black braies and high leather boots. A deadly broadsword with a spectacular silver hilt was strapped to his side. Over all was a massive ankle-length cloak of rich black sable pelts. He looked like a Norse god … a Norse god about to take a long journey.

  Rafn was grinning at Adam’s shock. Now that Rafn’s future was sealed—his wedding to Vana being a foregone conclusion—he did a large amount of grinning. But Adam did not appreciate the grinning now, at his expense.

  “I have directed my men to prepare a knarr,” the king told Adam, panting slightly from his exertions. Truly, the man should be resting in his sickbed, not traipsing about, dragging his household furniture with him.

  “Wh-what?” Adam stammered, then quickly asserted, “Nay, nay, nay, you are not coming with me.”

  Thorvald arched his imperial eyebrows, even as he waved the servants to begin loading his bed and his stallions onto the large vessel. A canopy with leather sideflap curtains had already been erected in the center of the boat, presumably for the bed and other royal trappings.

  “Be reasonable,” Adam urged the king. “You have undergone a serious medical procedure. You are supposed to be recuperating. You have a hole in your head, for God’s sake!”

  “And your point would be?” The king was already looking weary as he leaned on his staff and watched the provisioning of the knarr.

  “My point is that you need to be in your sickbed.”

  “I have brought my sickbed with me. Besides, is it not best that I stay close by my personal physician?”

  “I am not your personal physician. Father Efrid is.”

  The king swished a hand through the air dismissively. “A man cannot have two physicians?”

  Adam made a low growling sound of frustration. “Why can’t you trust me to find Tyra and bring her back? After all, it is not as if she is in any real …” His words trailed off as a thought came unbidden to him. Hesitantly, he asked, “She is not in any real danger, is she?”

  “Of course she is in danger. The Byzantine court, like any court, is a cess pit of intrigues. A knife in the back can be more deadly than a battle wound.”

  “Oh, this is just wonderful! I really need more things to worry about.” He glowered at the king, who did not even have the grace to look guilty. “What makes you think you would be better able than I to rescue her from such a situation? I have served in various Eastern courts. And just because I am a healer does not mean I cannot fight when the need arises. I can handle a weapon if need be.”

  “Mayhap you can, mayhap you cannot. But with your charm and my clout, we will be doubly sure of rescuing her.”

  Rescue. The king is being overprotective. Tyra is a warrior. She is perfectly capable of escaping danger. But what if …? Adam’s shoulders sank with surrender.

  Then the next crisis came barreling down the hill toward him with a shrill, wailing cry, “Naaaaaayyyyy!”

  It was Kristin. No sooner did his mind register who it was than the little girl hurled herself through the air at him. He had no choice but to open his arms and catch her. Immediately, she latched her arms around his neck and held on tight, sobbing loudly.

  “ ‘Twould seem young girls develop attachments to you. First Tyra, now this one. You must have charm oozing from you,” the king remarked.

  “It is not just young girls,” Rafn pointed out. “Young people in general think he is the best thing since honey custard was invented … by Ingrith, no doubt.” He motioned his head toward the newest arrivals.

  It was Alrek, huffing and puffing as he tried to simultaneously run and carry the baby, Besji, his sheathed sword slapping at his leg with each stride. His whole side would be bruised by nightfall. Close behind Alrek was the little boy, Tunni. Besji and Tunni, frightened by all the commotion, were crying, their sobs creating a counterpoint to the continuing wails of Kristin, who was spouting a river of tears down Adam’s neck.

  Adam had no idea what to do.

  “I am going with you,” Alrek declared.

  “You are not,” Adam said. And he meant it.

  “Me, too,” Kristin blubbered, echoed by, “Me, too. Me, too,” from Tunni and Besji. He hadn’t even been aware that Besji could talk, though he supposed at two years she should be able to.

  Aaarrgh! What am I to do?

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I cannot obey your orders this time,” Alrek said. “You told me I must think before I act … start behaving as a man. Well, that is what I am doing. I have thought, and now I am acting. I am going with you to Byz … Byz … that place where Lady Tyra went.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a lord? And, really, Alrek, this is impossible. You cannot bring all these children with you.”

  “Actually, we have a pe
rfect solution,” Vana announced brightly. She and the other sisters seemed to appear out of nowhere. “While you are off to Byzantium, taking Alrek with you, we can take the other children back to your home in Britain. Tyra told me what a dirty mess it was. We will prettify it for you … make it a home for you to bring Tyra back to.”

  Prettify? She says that as if it is an attribute to be desired. “We? What we?”

  “Us. Tyra’s sisters,” Vana answered. “Well, except for Breanne, who wants to go to the ‘Great City’ to study the buildings there.” All four of Tyra’s sisters were staring at him expectantly, as if they’d just offered him a gift for which he should thank them profusely.

  “You are not going to Byzantium with us,” King Thorvald told Breanne. “‘Tis too dangerous.”

  There it was, that danger business again.

  Breanne burst into tears and shouted at her father … something he was clearly unaccustomed to, if his wide eyes were any indication. “‘Tis not fair. Tyra gets to do everything. I am going, I tell you. I am going.” Now she was stamping her foot petulantly.

  Adam put a hand to his throbbing forehead … not an easy task with Kristin still clinging to him as if her very life depended on it. Were these people actually suggesting that they all invade his home? The children. The sisters. Probably an army of servants. By the rood! The possibilities were horrifying. At the least, his peace and privacy would be a thing of the past.

  He had to pry Kristin’s fingers from his neck in order to disengage himself from her embrace. With much relief, he set her on the ground next to Alrek. Her thumb shot immediately into her mouth as she gazed up at him, reproachfully. He inhaled and exhaled to calm himself. He could not bear to look at the little girl, so he didn’t.

  “Now, Vana,” he said, trying for a reasonable tone, hoping he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. “‘Tis true that I have dirt aplenty in my keep, but it would be asking too much of you to straighten out my household back in Britain. After all, you have much to do here at Stoneheim, preparing for your wedding to Rafn.”

  “That is the best part,” she said with much cheeriness. “Rafn will be especially busy protecting Stoneheim while Father is gone, and we must wait till Father’s return for the wedding anyhow.”

  “Furthermore,” Thorvald declared wheezily, “‘tis best to keep the prospective bride away from the randy groom afore the wedding, lest I come home to a big-bellied daughter.”

  “Faaa-tther!” Vana exclaimed, her white face turning bright red.

  Rafn, in true man-fashion, just nodded his head.

  “Everyone, be quiet!” Adam practically shouted. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. I do not want my castle cleaned. I do not want flowers planted in my moat. I do not want my cook to learn how to prepare myriad menus. This may surprise you all, but I like my home the way it is, rusty drawbridge and all.”

  “You have a rusty drawbridge?” Breanne asked with sudden interest. Clearly, she was now pulled in two directions. Should she go to Byzantium and study new building methods? Or should she go to Britain and take on a rebuilding project? “Oh, all right, I will not go to Byzantium this time. But next time I am definitely going.”

  “Aaarrgh!” he said with as much brilliance as he could muster.

  “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.