The Viking's Captive (18 page)

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.

The plot thickens …

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.

Woman in a Red Dress, but no Buddy Holly in sight…

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 soldiers. 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.”

The man could make a stone purr…

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 another 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.

“You smell good,” he whispered against the curve of her shoulder.

The feel of his lips against her bare skin was so delicious that it took her a moment to respond. “Roses.”

“Uhmmm,” he said, whatever that meant.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, surprised at the breathlessness of her voice.

“Undoubtedly,” he said. “Will you yield to me?”

She thought a moment. “I would rather be the one in charge of this kissing. Will you yield to me?”

He didn’t even think for a moment. “Yea.”

“You do not mind yielding to a woman?”

She could tell that he was fighting a grin. “Tyra, I would love to yield to
you.
Not any woman.
You
.”

So many emotions swirled through Tyra then.

Fear … she knew she was treading in dangerous waters.

Excitement … she’d never initiated a kiss with a man before, and, ever the competitor, she did love a challenge.
Will I be good? Oh, I hope so.

Arousal … she didn’t understand the sensations that assailed her in Adam’s presence, but she wanted to. Her womanliness seemed attuned to his manliness so that all her senses were heightened when he was in the vicinity.

Smells were more fragrant, like the particular scent of his skin, or his breath, which was surprisingly pleasant.

Food tasted better … his kisses certainly tasted delicious.

Her hearing was so acute these days that the mere whisper of “Tyra” from his lips seemed to carry some sensual meaning.

And her vision—the mere sight of him coming into a room caused her heart to race. And she missed him when he was gone. The way he stared at her now—with feral intent … like a cat … a
big
cat—was exhilarating rather than threatening.

Lastly, there was touch. How could it be that the feather-light brush of his lips or the press of his fingers on her arm caused her breasts to swell and her woman-place to ache?

For days Tyra had fought all these emotions … signs of womanly weakness, to be sure. But now she seemed to relish her femininity and was about to step willingly into the lair of the wolf.