My Fair Viking

by Sandra Hill

  She frowned in confusion. "Give me an example of talk-pleasuring".

  He laughed. "Why don't you come to my bed furs and I can demonstrate all of these things?"

  "Not now," she said. "Not yet."

  "Well, then, if I were going to talk-pleasure you, I might tell you some of the things I intend to do to you once I get you naked and alone. I might tell you of my desire to thrust and thrust and thrust myself into your tight sheath till you scream with pleasure. Or I might tell you of my fantasy of licking my way up one side of you and down the other, then licking where you are hottest and wettest with want of me."

  "Oh, you wicked, wicked man. That is such a lie! People do not do that."

  He threw his hands in the air as if to say, You asked.

  "Well, what of eye-pleasuring?" she asked, figuring that was safer territory to explore.

  "I would see you adorned in the sheer veils of a desert houri with bells that tinkled with every sway of your hips and bracelets on your ankles. Or I could arrange you on the bed furs and ask you to watch as I undress slowly for you. Very slowly."

  "I like that latter one," she said. In truth, she liked it all.

  He smiled, as if he knew.

  "Would you like to know something particularly scandalous?"

  "I do not know," she said, but almost immediately changed her mind and said, "Yea, I do."

  He laughed. "I would like you to wear a special adornment I saw one time in Baghdad. It is a thin gold chain that hangs low on the waist, but there is another chain attached to it that runs from the center in back, through the buttocks crease up through the woman-cleft, over the belly, to attach at the waist. This adornment is to be worn under clothing during the day… when riding a horse, or walking to the garderobe, or eating a meal, or… whatever. Always it is a reminder of the man who placed it there."

  Tyra was at last speechless. He had been right. It was a scandalous fantasy.

  He reached over and took her hand in his. "I am half teasing you, Tyra. Not that all these things can't be done, or that we won't do them, if you want."

  "I do," she put in quickly.

  He laughed. "Keep surprising me like that and you will land in the bed furs afore you can blink. Just know this: If Bolthor or Tykir or Alinor tell you I was wild at one time, they would be telling the truth. I used to be a connoisseur of all things dangerous or sexual or adventuresome. But now I have come to believe that the best sexplay comes from the simple acts of two people involved, not in practiced arts."

  A wanton thought came to her unbidden. "I just thought of another kind of pleasuring. I overheard Lady Alinor mention it to the cook."

  "Well?" he prodded when she just smiled secretly at him. He raised a goblet of ale to his lips, waiting.

  "Feather-pleasuring," she announced gleefully.

  For several long moments, he choked on his ale… till she slapped him on the back, so hard he began choking all over again.

  "I went too far, didn't I? Men like to lead, whether it be in battle or loveplay. I was too aggressive."

  When his choking fit was over, he let his gaze travel over her, intimately, and he told her, "Too aggressive? There is no such thing in loveplay."

  "Then you are not upset with me?"

  "My warrior princess, I think I have died and gone to Viking heaven."

  Tyra exulted that she could affect a man so… nay, that she could affect this man so. She felt as if she'd crossed some important line in her life, and not only because of the incredible pleasure she'd just experienced at Adam's wicked fingers. She fought through the fuzziness in her brain to understand just what it was.

  Pact or no pact, I am going to make love with this man.

  He still held her hand and stared at her, as if understanding her inner turmoil. Perhaps it was an important step for him, too.

  As the effects of the ale began to wear off, she hitched her bodice up till she was decent. She prayed that sanity would return… not so that she could change her mind… just long enough for her to understand the implications of this momentous decision.

  "Tyra?" Adam inquired.

  "If I do this thing…"

  "If…?"

  She smiled at the distress in his voice. "After the taste of loveplay you have given me, I would be a fool not to want to sample the full meal. But I am not an impetuous person. I need to think things out. To study—"

  "Oh, nay, nay, nay! The worst thing you can do when in a lustsome mood is to think. Thinking is a sure lust killer."

  She smiled at him. "Are you saying I am lustsome?"

  "Hah! If you or I were any more lustsome, we would be drooling."

  "What I'm trying to say is you have convinced me to make love with you, but there still must be some rules."

  "Rules?" He groaned.

  "Just because I choose to couple with you does not mean I consent to marriage."

  Adam turned three shades of purple before he said, very carefully, "I do not recall bringing up marriage. Not even once. And, really, Tyra, men are the ones who are supposed to fear that dreaded word, not women."

  "I am not like other women. You already know that."

  "So, aside from scratching your crotch and spitting, you have other masculine traits… such as aversion to marriage?"

  She could tell he was trying to make light of what she considered a very serious subject. "You already know that I am being pushed from all directions to wed. Well, you will be subject to the same pressures if anyone suspects our naked bodies have touched."

  "Naked bodies?" He grinned at her.

  "Do not try to change the subject."

  "All right, so we must be secretive. And we must avoid pressure to wed. Agreed. Any other rules?"

  She nodded. "I intend to leave Stoneheim soon… definitely within the next month. I cannot wait till the fjords freeze over. Then it will be too late."

  "To Byzantium?"

  "Yea, it is the best thing for me. My mind is made up, regardless of my father's fate. Rafn is ready to step into his shoes if the worst should happen."

  "I cannot say that I approve. It seems a hard life for a woman." He raised his hands in surrender when he saw she was about to protest his characterization of females as being softer than males. "But if that is what you want, that is your decision."

  "Will you be leaving Stoneheim, or will you stay the winter?"

  "Hah! I'm not staying here if you aren't. Actually, no offense intended, but even if you are, I have no intention of wintering in this land of ice."

  "Perhaps you could travel partway with me… you and Rashid. He speaks often of a yearning to return to the warmer clime of his homeland."

  Adam shook his head. "Nay. Rashid might go with you, but I am for England. The only home I have is there."

  "One last thing," she said, and took a deep breath for nerve. "If there should be a babe, you give up all rights."

  He dropped her hand and stared at her incredulously. "Nay!"

  At first she was not sure she'd heard him right. "Nay?"

  He stood and glared down at her. "You heard me. Nay! My lady, you offend me deeply. How could you think that I would abandon my child?"

  She tilted her head and studied him as he clenched and unclenched his fists with anger.

  "My sister Adela and I never knew our father. We were adopted by Sehk and Rain, who opened an orphanstead in Jorvik. I saw over and over what the lack of a father does to a child. That will never happen to mine. Never!"

  "But, Adam, you are not making sense. You have said you do not want to wed."

  "I don't." He gave her a direct look, which carried some hidden meaning.

  When understanding seeped into her brain, she stood, too. "You would take my child from me?"

  "I would. An unwed mother who fights for a living? Please, Tyra, even you must see how unsuitable that would be."

  "You think I would be an unfit mother?" All her life, Tyra had been subjected to criticism. She was too big. Too rough. Too unattractive. B
ut this was the harshest blow to her pride she'd ever been dealt. It struck at the very heart of her.

  "That is not what I said." He tried to take her hand, but she shoved him away, so hard he almost tripped against the chair and only righted himself at the last minute. "Tyra, there are ways to avoid having children."

  "There are?" Now, that was a surprise. Why did men and women, especially those with more offspring than they could feed, not practice these "ways."

  He nodded. "They are not foolproof, of course."

  "Aahhh!" she said. "So, in the end, making love is still a game of chance for the woman. In the end, your seed could take hold in my womb?"

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  "And you would take that fruit from me?"

  "If you are serving in the bloody Varangian Guard, yea, I would." He was as angry as she was now.

  She shook her head sadly at him. "Leave my presence now, Saxon, afore I run you through with my dagger." And she meant it, too.

  He stared at her for a long moment, anger and sadness warring on his face. Then he turned and walked away.

  Tyra should have been happy to know that she had just escaped what might have been the biggest mistake of her life. Why, then, were tears streaming down her face?

  Adam tossed and turned for many hours. 'Twas not the way he had expected to spend his night.

  He lay restless in his comfortable alcove bed while Rashid snored away on the other side of the central hearth where a low fire burned. If Rashid had his way, the fire would be roaring. As it was, Rashid was buried under three bed furs… two of his and one of Adam's.

  How could so many things go wrong with his life? How could so many things go wrong between him and Tyra? How could he have come to care so much in such a short time?

  He was not entirely to blame, either. Really, if Tyra thought things through, she would have to admit that there was no place for a babe in a soldiering life.

  And why were they even discussing a babe betwixt them anyhow? It would probably never happen. Especially since it appeared he would never have the opportunity to do the deed that might produce a babe. Why look for trouble when there was plenty to be found at hand?

  The most contradictory thing of all was the way Adam's heart felt, as if a fist were clenching it. He couldn't stop picturing the babe he and Tyra might produce. The child would be tall, of course, and blue-eyed. It could have black hair or blond. Either way, any person formed of the two of them was sure to be comely.

  I do not care. I do not care. I do not care. 'Tis best that it ended afore it began.

  But what if… ?

  Once Adam finally started to drift off to sleep, he felt someone slide under the bed furs beside him. At first he thought it might be Tyra… come to ask his forgiveness. Hah! It was Kristin, the little imp, staring at him through big blue eyes, with her thumb planted inside her rosebud lips.

  "Why are you here, Kristin?" he growled, or attempted to growl. 'Twas hard to be gruff when he was adjusting the wee mite to fit into the cradle of his arms—just like Adela—and brushing loose strands of hair off her face.

  "I had a bad dream," Kristin revealed. A big fat tear ran down her little face.

  "Shhh, 'twas just a dream."

  "Alrek went away agin. And you went, too. I wuz all alone, and I wuz scared. In my dream." That was a mouthful of words for Kristin. Actually, what she described was not some horrible nightmare; it was reality. Alrek would go off a-Viking again. And Adam most definitely would be leaving before long.

  No sooner did the words leave her mouth than Kristin fell asleep. 'Twas the way of children to go from chatter to slumber in the blink of an eye.

  When he awakened groggily at dawn, it was to find not just Kristin in the cradle of his arms, but Besji asleep at the foot of the bed, and Tunni on the floor at his side. Alrek was standing at the hearth, trying to stoke what was already a blazing bonfire.

  As he stumbled out of bed to prevent Alrek from setting himself afire, trying not to awaken the other children in the process, he made himself a promise.

  Today is the day I take back control of my life. Today is the day I make arrangements to leave Stoneheim.

  "Did you bring extra horseradish sauce for the venison steak?" The king licked his lips hungrily as he addressed Alrek, who was carrying a huge, cloth-covered tray into his bedchamber.

  "Yea, I did, but I had to hide out in the corridor ever so long afore Father Efrid left yer room to go say matins." Alrek couldn't see why the king didn't just get up out of bed and eat in the hall like everyone else. But who was he to question the secrecy that his master required? After he set the tray on the mattress, Alrek went back to lock the door.

  "Did you have any trouble getting the food?" the king asked even as he dug into the morning repast and waved for Alrek to join him.

  "A little," Alrek said, biting into a delicious honey oatcake. In truth, he was eating better than he ever had, since the king had taken him into his confidence. "Ingrith wanted to know where I thought I was going with all these pilfered goods, and I told her it wuz fer Master Adam."

  "Good thinking, boy. Did it satisfy her?"

  Alrek shrugged. "Seemed to. She added the honey cakes for him, special like."

  "By thunder! I hope she's not setting her cap for him, too."

  "I don't think so. To tell you true, all the ladies seem to be conspiring in some way… Ingrith, Breanne, Vana, Drifa, not to mention the Lady Alinor. Methinks they have some plot goin' to match up the Master Adam with the Lady Tyra."

  "Hah! Just like a brood of mush-brained females! Plots and secret doings. As if that would do them any good!"

  Alrek started to point out that plots and secret doings seemed to be what the king was engaged in, too, but he bit his tongue just in time. He was following Master Adam's advice… to think afore he flapped his tongue. The healer had given him that bit of wisdom when Alrek had told him that he'd seen Rafn poking his… uh, poker… into Vana's woman-fire one night.

  "So, tell me all the news," the king said, having eaten his fill and pushed the tray aside. "And leave nothing out." He reached for the stoppered pottery jug of ale and proceeded to take a long swallow.

  "Well, I can tell you one thing. 'Tis a new word I heard Master Adam sayin' to yer daughter Tyra. Mayhap it has some significance. Mayhap not." He frowned. "Or was it my lady speakin' ter Master Adam? I misremember now."

  The king waved a hand as if it mattered not. "Get on with it, boy. What word is it that has you flummoxed?"

  "Finger-pleasurin'."

  The king started to laugh and choke at the same time. As he laughed and choked and laughed and choked, Alrek feared he might be single-handedly responsible for killing the king. Bolthor might even write a saga about it: "The King Who Laughed Himself to Death."

  Alrek was thinking it was past time for him to go a-Viking.

  "Finger-pleasuring?" Tykir exclaimed. "What the hell is that?"

  "I have no idea," King Thorvald said. "I thought you would know… being a woman-lucky man, as you are famed to be."

  "Thorvald! I have been wed for ten years now. Any woman-luck I have would be with Alinor."

  The king shrugged. "And a shame that is, too… that you would disdain the more danico."

  " 'Tis more like I value my life… and my manparts. Alinor would kill me if I took multiple wives… or make sure I am incapable of doing anything more than twiddling my… uh, thumb." He poured the king and then himself another goblet of ale. "So, why do you want to know what finger-pleasuring is?"

  "I heard that Adam might be doing that to my daughter Tyra. Or mayhap she is doing it to him? Or mayhap they are just considering it."

  Tykir narrowed his eyes at the king. "How did you hear this? I thought I was the only one who knew of your recovery."

  "You are. You are. But a person hears much when people think he is dead to the world. They speak as if they are alone. You would be surprised at the news I garner just lying here."

  Tyki
r wasn't entirely satisfied with the king's explanation, but he let it ride for now. "What do you want, Thorvald?"

  "I have got to get the girl married, and it appears that fingering is as far as they have gotten. A Viking man would not settle for fingering, I will tell you that. The Saxon blood in him must make him weak-sapped."

  "Adam is not weak-sapped," Tykir contended. "Furthermore, the way I hear it, those two are not even speaking today, let alone fingering each other. The way I hear it, Adam threatened to take her baby away."

  "What baby? Tyra has a baby, and no one bothered to tell me? Have I no loyal subjects who would tell me this?"

  "Nay, Tyra does not have a baby… yet. But if she has a baby… with Adam… he will take it away."

  "He will not! I will lop off his head if he dares try. By the by, is it a boy child or a girl child? May the gods be merciful, 'tis past time for a boy child to be born in my line."

  "There is not going to be a child. They are not even speaking… did you not hear me say that?"

  "Can't anyone do anything right?" Thorvald threw his hands in the air. "It looks like I will have to do it myself."

  "Go ahead. Awaken from the dead, you old schemer, you. Scare your entire clan by walking into your hall during dinner tonight. Or pretend to be a ghost. I do not care. But get out of that damn bed. This chamber is starting to reek… of ale and horseradish. I'm thinking of going home to Dragonstead, where everyone is sane… well, everyone except Rapp of the Big Wind."

  "Go if you must," the king said grumpily, "but you might want to stay a bit longer. Perchance I will soon have something special to show you."

  Tykir stopped at the door and turned back to the king, who was propped up in the bed, his hands folded behind his neck and his long legs crossed at the ankles. He had a crafty expression on his face.

  "And what might that be?"

  "My harem."

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was a bright sunny day at Stoneheim… the kind of uncommonly fair day known as Odin's Summer. A day when the sun shone brightly, deceiving one into thinking there might be more clement weather ahead, when in reality there could be snow and a freeze afore morning. In truth, one of the shipwrights who suffered a soreness of the joints told Tyra that a storm was on the horizon, because his knees were aching in premonition.