The Viking's Captive

by Sandra Hill

  “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 …

  STILL IN THE BLOODY DAMN EASTERN DESERT

  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.

  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 acknow
ledged, 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?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ONE SENNIGHT LATER, HOME AT LAST

  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 el
bows 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.”