by Sandra Hill
3) Be Agreeable—agree with everything he says, listen raptly when he talks, let him do the talking, smile a lot.
4) Damsel in Distress
5) Absence Makes Heart Grow Fonder
6) Learn Sex Tricks
7) If all else fails—make her jealous
Lady Alinor disagreed vehemently with Number Three. "You'll turn Tyra into a witless maid, and what attraction is there in that?"
Breanne asked Ingrith, "So, if men are threatened by strong women, exactly how long must women act shy and subservient? Surely not for the rest of their lives."
Ingrith snickered. "Nay, just till they are wedlocked."
Ingrith's statement apparently won Breanne over. Alinor was overruled by a 4-to-l vote.
They ail giggled over Number Six, and wondered where they would learn sex tricks to pass on to Tyra. But they all agreed it was essential.
"Actually, I know a few," Alinor admitted with a blush… a blush that caused her freckles to stand out like rust splotches on her now pinkish-ivory skin.
"You do?" The sisters were clearly impressed.
"Feathers are involved in one of them… and a silky harem outfit in another, complete with bells… but we can talk about that later."
The sisters' shoulders drooped with disappointment. Clearly, talking about sex was a timeless subject of interest to women.
"I think we should take one step at a time. Tyra will be suspicious if we try to make her do too much all at once," Breanne suggested.
"Yea, and we might not accomplish every part of the plan. That might be too lofty a goal… or is it a lusty goal?" Vana said with a grin. "So, yea, one step at a time."
"When shall we start?" Drifa asked, rubbing her hands together gleefully.
"No sense waiting," Ingrith offered.
They all nodded enthusiastically.
"Then we are agreed. Step One first. Womanly attire."
"I think you need a plan to seduce the warrior wench," Tykir opined to Adam, following his eighth goblet of mead.
Adam started to choke and let loose a spray of his drink onto the table where he was sitting with Tykir, Rafn, Rashid, and Bolthor. It was late at night, and most of the inhabitants of Stoneheim were long abed.
"Best you clean up that spill as soon as possible," Rafn advised, "or Vana will be here with her wiping rag and broom, which she will whack over your head." It was clear that Rafn was besotted with the fair Vana.
That was all Adam needed, another bump on his head. "What makes you think I need your help in that regard?" he asked Tykir, speaking of the seduction of Tyra.
"You have been chaste for two years," Rashid reminded him. "Is that not reason enough?"
"I swear, you Arab dunderhead, if you mention that subject in company again, I will do something to you which will require abstinence on your part for two years… or mayhap forever."
Rashid winced, but not for long. "I know a perfect proverb that fits your situation. 'The best thing about male chastity is that it doesn't last long.' "
"This is the saga of Adam the Lesser, also known as Adam the Chaste," began Bolthor.
Everyone laughed, except Adam, who groaned.
"Man was not made to be chaste,
Everyone knows it would be a great waste.
If the gods wanted a man to abstain,
Why give him a staff without a brain?
It hardens at a mere whiff
Of a wench with a bare midriff.
And rises to a new high
When viewing a creamy thigh.
So when he gets a kiss,
It is in sheer bliss.
And when the sword finds its sheath,
What a heavenly relief!
So, who is the more intelligent being?
The man who wallows in virtuous self-pity?
Or the man who sheds his odious chastity?"
"The reason I think you need our expert advice is because you are making no progress with the Lady Tyra," Tykir resumed, as if Bolthor had not just spouted one of his horrendous poems. Adam suspected that Tykir had been the brunt of so many of Bolthor's sagas, they no longer fazed him.
Rafn raised a forefinger to get their attention. "Do not forget the kiss. Right here in the great hall, he kissed the lady. On the lips."
"Are you drukkinn?" Tykir asked Rafn.
"Probably," Rafn answered. "Are you?"
"Probably."
"That was not really a kiss," Adam protested. " 'Twas just a fleeting little brush of the lips. It does not count as a real kiss, to my mind."
"Aaah, but you are forgetting the other kiss," Rashid put in.
"The other kiss?" Tykir, Rafn, and Bolthor asked.
"Yea, Alrek told me all about it. 'Twould seem that they indulged in more intense kissing on the well bench, and they were in a horizontal position, if you get my meaning."
Adam wished they would all stop talking over him as if he were not there.
"But kissing, nephew? Is that as far as you've progressed? Tsk-tsk! You seem to have lost your knack, my boy."
"Actually, I wrote a saga once about a Viking man who had lost his knack. I misremember which Norseman it was about. Oh, now I recall," Bolthor mused, then looked directly at Tykir.
Now it was Tykir's turn to squirm in his seat.
"What makes you all think that I want to seduce Tyra?" Adam said. "I am not in the market for a wife."
"Who said anything about a wedding?" Tykir scoffed. " 'Tis a bedding, not a wedding we refer to. And, good Norseman that I am, well, I am always willing to share my secrets."
"Rashid, grab your parchment and a quill. Let us make a list," Rafn suggested.
SEDUCTION PLAN FOR ADAM
1) Hot Looks
2) Compliments
3) Jealousy
4) Touch Her Often in Passing
5) Erotic Conversation
6) Kiss Her Boneless
7) Get Her Alone
8) Gifts
9) Tell Her Sex Tales
10) Be Chivalrous
11) Viking S-Spot
"Can I write a saga about this?" Bolthor wanted to know.
"Nay!" everyone exclaimed as one.
"Alinor would kill me," Tykir said with a shiver, then smiled brightly. "Tyra doesn't stand a chance."
Adam suspected that it was himself who didn't stand a chance.
Chapter Nine
Tyra's sisters were acting mighty suspicious.
They had prepared a bath for her… in her own bedchamber, no less. The four of them had lugged the big brass tub all the way up the stairs, and then made three return trips each, carrying water.
"It's the least we can do for you when you worked so hard in the exercise fields today," Ingrith said.
And Drifa kept sprinkling those blasted rose petals in the water, "just to make you a tiny bit fragrant." Tyra didn't have the heart to tell her that she had no desire to smell like a rose. There is naught wrong with the scent of plain, clean skin, if you ask me, which nobody is doing.
Vana was soaping up Tyra's hair right now… always a tedious task because the tresses were so long. "I've been thinking about cutting it all off," Tyra mused aloud.
"Nay!" all four of her sisters cried, and Lady Alinor as well, who had just walked into the bedchamber carrying a message for Ingrith that she was needed in the kitchens. Apparently, there was some problem with a curdled custard. Plus, Alrek had announced his intention to go gather eggs from the chicken coop. Ingrith rushed off, making her apologies—as if Tyra needed her to continue her bath.
"So, what do you think of my nephew Adam?" Alinor asked of a sudden. It was hard to picture Alinor as Adam's aunt, when she was only a few years older than he.
Her three remaining sisters cast chastising scowls at the lady, as if she'd asked an inappropriate question. Well, it was inappropriate, but then, Alinor was an outspoken woman. And, really, Tyra didn't mind the question.
"He's a toad."
Alinor clapped her hands together
as if Tyra had given the correct answer. "That's exactly what I used to call Tykir, afore he became my husband. Well, actually, I still call him a toad on occasion. Toadliness is a male trait, you know. Right up there with excessive lustiness."
Everyone smiled.
"I heard that you kidnapped Adam," Alinor continued.
"Yea, I did, but 'twas necessary because—"
Alinor waved a hand to indicate the cause mattered not. "Didst know that Tykir kidnapped me at one time?"
"He did?" all of them said.
Alinor nodded. "Yea, he did, the sweet toad." She jiggled her eyebrows at them for emphasis.
They all smiled some more.
What an unusual lady she was. Tyra would like to get to know her better, but of course that would be impossible when she was in faraway Byzantium, serving with the Varangian Guard.
"I'd best be off, too, to help Ingrith," Vana said.
"Me, too," said Breanne. "Just let me pour in another bucket of hot water. Relax, why don't you, sister? Dinner won't be served for another hour."
"Um-hmm." Tyra was already closing her eyes sleepily as she sank down into the tub.
"My baby needs to be nursed soon," Alinor added. To Tyra's sisters she advised, "Let us pick up these wet linens and dirty clothes. Take them to the laundry yard. The buckets, too."
Soon there was blissful silence. That did not happen often in Tyra's life. Always she was surrounded by noise and people, whether they be her soldiers or sailors, servants or family members. She had not realized how much pleasure was to be had in mere quiet.
A short time later, the quiet of Tyra's bedchamber was broken by a shrill scream of outrage. Hers.
"How could they? How could they?" She paced about her small room, stark naked, searching for her garments… her male garments. But the only item of apparel left there was a gown of crimson silk. Nor was this a Viking-style gown of modest chemise and over-apron. Nay, this was a form-fitting gown in the Frankish style with low neckline and cross-lacing that would make the gown fit snugly from under her breasts to her hips.
Desperately she searched for something else to cover herself. But her sisters and Alinor had not left even a bed linen. She had no choice. She would have to don the scandalous gown… one of her sister Breanne's, she would guess, since she was taller than the rest. Blessed Freyja! She would kill them all.
Tyra was missing from the great hall.
Adam hated the fact that he noticed her presence or absence. Truth to tell, he liked looking at her. He liked teasing her. He especially liked kissing her.
Was she avoiding him again?
Probably.
Alinor had told him a short time ago that Tyra considered him a toad, and she was smiling as she made that announcement, as if he should be pleased… as if it were a compliment.
Women! 'Twas hard to figure them out.
An odd silence came over the hall then. He looked up and peered through the smokiness toward the other end where a staircase led to the upper level. The most magnificent woman he'd ever seen was storming through the aisle between the long tables, heading toward the dais where he sat with Tykir, Alinor, Rafn, Bolthor, and the sisters. She was tall, very tall, with flowing blond hair. And she wore a long-sleeved, low-necked gown of crimson red which molded her body from truly splendid breasts, to narrow waist, to womanly hips.
It was Tyra.
Who knew? Who knew?
Adam put a hand to his heart to still the mad pumping there. He felt hot all over, and proud… so very proud… of his lady.
My lady? Aaarrgh! She is not my lady. I have no right to be proud of her. How can she be my lady if I am her toad? My brain is splintering apart here. Do not look at her. How can I not look at her? Oh, God, she looks so damn good.
"Where are my sisters?" were the first words out of her mouth, and they were directed at him.
"Huh?" he answered, unable to move his gaze from that vast expanse of alluring skin just above the swell of her breasts. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked from side to side and noticed that Alinor and the sisters had somehow disappeared.
Ah, now he understood. They were responsible for this remarkable transformation in Tyra.
"Sit down," he demanded, forcing her into the seat next to him. "You are creating a scene."
" 'Twill be nothing compared to the scene I create once I put my hands on four sisters and a certain lady."
"You should be thanking them," he said, placing a goblet of mead in her hands. She needed a good swig, not that he would tell her that.
"And why is that?" she asked icily.
"You are beautiful. They played some trick on you so that you would realize just how beautiful you are."
"That is pure hog swill. I am not beautiful, and fine feminine garments will not make it so. But that is neither here nor there. I am too big for such feminine finery. People are probably laughing at me behind their hands. How can I lead my men in battle dressed like this?" She waved her hand with disgust down the front of her body. Then she downed the contents of her goblet in one long swallow, belched loudly, and waved to a housecarl for a refill.
Adam barely stifled a grin. "As long as you keep belching and scratching, medoubts you will ever have to worry about appearing too feminine to your hesirs. And, besides, can you not don different apparel for different jobs… as Breanne does?"
"So, you notice the way Breanne dresses?" The question was asked idly, but he could tell it mattered to her… especially when she downed another goblet of mead and motioned for yet another.
Was that hurt in her eyes? He hoped so. He liked the idea of Tyra being jealous of him.
"I notice all women. I like women, but—"
"If you like women, why have you remained chaste for two years?"
Did everyone have to discuss his sex life? Did everyone have to pick and probe at his emotions? He might as well tell her, or she would never let up. With a deep sigh, he revealed, "Because I was in mourning… for my sister, Adela, who died two years past. I loved her more than anyone else on this earth, but I could not save her. I did not remain chaste apurpose. There was no vow or aught like that. I just was not interested." He shrugged, unable to add more to those bare facts.
Tyra seemed to understand. She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed in commiseration. It was not her pity he wanted, but he was comforted by her silent understanding of his grief.
Enough gloom! "But what I started to say before you interrupted me, wench, is that I like women, and I notice the pretty ones, like your sisters, but you are so much more. When you are in a room, you are like a bright, vibrant flower, and they fade in comparison."
"Hmph! Me, a flower? I do not believe that for one moment. But it is nice of you to say so," she conceded with a sniff. No doubt it was the three goblets of mead she'd imbibed that prompted the concession.
"Come!" he said, standing suddenly and drawing her to her feet. "I want to show you something."
She pulled back. "They are about to serve the meal."
"We will be right back," he assured her. "And I promise you will be pleased, sweetling."
They were out in the stables.
The stables, for the love of Loki! The man praised her for her feminine fripperies, then took her out to a stable, of all things.
Adam was holding a wall torch in one hand and pulling her along with his left hand, through the alley created by the stalls of horses on either side. Although it was cold outside, it was warm in here with all the body heat created by the animals.
"Look there," he said, putting the torch in a wall bracket and opening the gate to the last stall, which was empty. Well, not quite empty. There was a mother cat and its litter of kittens… several weeks old, Tyra would guess.
She knelt down on the straw and petted one of them. It arched its back and rubbed against her stroking fingers. "Pretty kitty, pretty kitty," she cooed.
"I told you you would like my surprise," Adam said, also kneeling in the straw and picking up ano
ther kitten. This one was not so docile and fought against being taken in hand.
The mother cat hissed at them, then settled in to staring at them with her all-seeing eyes, apparently reassured that they meant no harm to her babies.
"I do like your surprise, but I don't understand why you would want to show them to me."
"This little dearling… that is why I brought you here." He held out his arm so she could get a better view of the scrappy kitten that fit right into the palm of his hand but was flailing its little paws, trying to scratch. Aside from its nature, it was different from the rest. Its fur was silver gray with white feet and nose, while the other cats were midnight black. And this cat's fur stood up on end as it meowed its displeasure.
"Just like you," he explained.
"I beg your pardon."
"All the kittens are adorable, in their own way, but this one is a fighter, and always will be. It stands out from the litter. Because it looks different, others will probably treat it differently, which in turn will cause it to become more feisty and independent."
Tyra laughed. "That is the most outlandish thing I have ever heard. I hope you do not consider it a compliment."
"Sounds good to me," he said, placing the kitten back with its mother and pulling her to her feet. "I think we should name her Warrior, for her namesake."
"Hmph! How do you even know it is a girl?"
"Ty-ra! For shame! I am a doctor. I know these things," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
She laughed. "So, you are likening me and my sisters to cats?"
He nodded, but she could tell his mind was somewhere else… probably in the vicinity of her exposed bosom.
She should have pulled her hand from his, but she didn't. She should have shoved when he leaned back against the wall and took her with him, but she didn't. She should have run for her life when she saw his eyes turn smoky blue with arousal, but she didn't.
"Come to my bed furs tonight," he urged, at the same time wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging so that she lost her balance and leaned against him.
"Nay," she said.
