Viking Series - My Fair Viking Part 17

"Please, Tyra, give me some credit. You came back from the stables last night with your hair looking like a haystack, and Adam was no better. I do not mean to embarra.s.s you, sister, but I swear there were whisker burns on your chest. And both of you were panting."

Oh... my... Valhalla!

Rafn was about to stroll by, a battle-ax in one hand and Alrek in the other. He carried the squirming boy by the scruff of his neck. Tyra didn't even want to know what Alrek had been doing now. Nor did she want to know where Thork, that wild son of Tykir and Alinor, was at the moment. What Alrek did not need was mischievous ideas planted in his head, and Thork was mischief himself. Mischief and Mayhem... that's what those two were. Bolthor ought to write a saga about them.

"Good day to you, Vana," Rafn drawled.

"Good day to you, Rafn," Vana drawled back at him.

Rafn winked at Vana.

Vana fluttered her blond eyelashes at Rafn.

Tyra was thinking seriously about tossing up the contents of her stomach.

Once Rafn was gone, Tyra told Vana, "If you think for one moment that I am going to start batting my eyelashes at a man like a mush-brained maid, then you are surely demented. Flirting! Hah! That is not in my nature."

"Tyra, Tyra, Tyra," Vana sighed. "Flirting is in every woman's nature. But it does not just have to be fluttering your eyelashes, though that always works for me. Try this sometime." Tyra's eyes nigh bulged out at the sight of Vana pursing her lips. "What is that supposed to accomplish? You look like a puffy fish."

"Tsk-tsk! Open your mind to suggestions, Tyra. When a woman makes a moue of her mouth this way, men think of kissing."

"Are you sure they do not think of fishes... or that you have eaten a sour apple?"

"And you have got to stop that scratching business. Really, Tyra, what could you be thinking to engage in such a vulgar touching of your female parts?"

"Men do it."

"Aaarrgh! Are you even listening to me? I am trying to make you more womanly, not manly."

"Why?"

"Dost really need to ask that question? So you can seduce the man and get married so the rest of us can

have lives of our own."

"In other words, the same old blather."

She could tell that Vana wanted to throw her hands in the air with disgust, but her sister took several

deep breaths for patience. "One last thing... and, yea, I know I should not toss too many bits of feminine wisdom your way at once, but, Tyra, you must change your walk."

"My walk? What is wrong with my walk?" "You swagger, dear. A woman should sway gracefully when she walks." Vana looked left and right, then picked up one of several bricks that Drifa had arranged around a newly planted cherry tree. "Watch this," Vana instructed. Then she placed the brick on her head, held her arms out from her body, and proceeded to walk a straight line, first in one direction, then back again. Vana did, indeed, appear graceful, and, blessed Thor, her hips did sway mightily.

"I could never do that," Tyra a.s.serted.

"Yea, you could," Vana insisted, pushing the brick into Tyra's hand. "Practice."

Tyra had a hard time concentrating on spear throwing the rest of the morning when all she could see in her imagination was herself with a brick on her head. No, that wasn't all she saw. She also saw a too-handsome-to-be-true Saxon doctor with his mouth on her breast.

Could I really learn to flirt? And walk like a longship riding the waves? And purse my lips? Never! Never ever! Well, mayhap once. Nay, never, never, never!

Save me, Odin, she prayed.

But all she heard in her head was Loki laughing.

Adam was headed toward the solar just before noon when he saw Tykir and Bolthor approaching him.

He'd sat with Thorvald for three solid hours, and not once had the king awakened, to Adam's dismay. So now he was off to treat some other patients.

"Adam, I want to give you a few bits of manly advice," Tykir said, walking along with him on the right.

Bolthor matched his strides on the left side.

"Go away, Uncle."

"I have had many more years of experience with women than you have, and believe you me, the female animal is a difficult one to understand. You should listen to me," Tykir expounded.

"Go away, Uncle."

"Before Alinor, I had a reputation as a good lover. Even now, I am sure Alinor would vouch for me in that regard... if you catch her on a good day, that is."

"Except for that time you lost your knack," Bolthor reminded Tykir.

"Both of you, go away. I do not want or need your advice."

Tykir totally ignored his protests and blathered on.

"We already know that you have mastered the art of kissing a maid witless, as evidenced by last night. And you already know the importance of catching a wench alone, also based on last night. You must act quickly to seduce the maid, in case her father awakens... in which case I see a forced marriage for compromising his daughter. Actually, whether the king lives or dies, your chances of landing in her bed furs are diminishing by the day."

Thank G.o.d they do not know about the pact I've made with Tyra. I will be in her bed furs, for sure. Well, I am fairly sure.

"We have decided that you must give Tyra more hot looks," Bolthor said.

"Who iswe?"

Tykir waved a hand airily. "Me, Bolthor, Rafn, Rashid."

"You are all discussing my s.e.x life amongst yourselves? Have you naught else to do with your time?"

"We care about you," Tykir said. And he probably meant it.

"I have written an advice-poem for you," Bolthor added. Already that dreamy expression covered the

skald's face which indicated that another awful poem was about to burst from his lips.

Tykir was grinning at Adam's discomfort till Bolthor told him, "You could learn from this, too, Tykir."

Tykir blushed. He actually blushed.

"I call this one 'Manly Rules of Love.' "

"Man is a witless creature When it comes to women lore.

But the ancients do say There is a way To win your woman-prey.

Make her hot.

Kiss her a lot.

Win her with words, Many compliments poured.

Then tease her with indifference, Even if 'tis only pretense.

Touch her ofttimes in pa.s.sing, Soon her senses will be singing.

If all else fails...

Beg."

"Wait a moment, Tyra."

It was Adam who called out to her. Mortified by her behavior of the previous night, she had been avoiding him. He'd caught her now in the late afternoon as she was about to ride out with her men to survey their southern border where some scurvy Danes had been spotted eyeing a village outpost.

"What is it, Adam? I must make haste." She did not look at him as she spoke. If she did, she knew she would blush.

"Come, sit down here on this bench for a moment. I must needs speak with you about Alrek."

"Alrek?" Now, that was a surprise. She wasn't sure what she had expected Adam to say, but not this. "What has he done now?"

"Nothing. Well, he has done something... most recently, he rearranged all the pottery vials in my medical bag, and now Rashid must go through them all to decide which is which. But that is not why I beckoned you now."

Tyra looked at Adam, and that was a mistake. A big mistake. He was wearing a plain brown tunic today over plain brownbraies with a plain brown leather belt, but in truth there was not an inch of this man that was plain. He was just the right height. He had just the right amount of muscle bulging at his arms and legs... and, well, other places she dared not even think about. And his face was a sculpture made by the G.o.ds. No man should be so fair of face.

But then she noticed something else. A small bite mark on his neck. From her? Well, who else?

"Alrek has an arrangement with your father whereby he trains to be a Viking and, in return, once a year he is given a silver coin."

"My father agreed to pay him for all his disasters?"

Adam shrugged. "The point is, the time has come for him to be paid. Your father is dead to the world, so to speak. And Alrek is in need of coin to support his family."

"We give him all he needs," she said with affront.

"Apparently not."

"Why did he not come to me?"

Adam shrugged again. "Pride."

"That is a lot of pride for a little boy."

"Pride knows no age, my lady... nor gender." He reached out and flicked a piece of lint off her tunic... which called to her mind other ways in which he had flicked her the night before. She fought it but could not curb the blush that heated her face again. Then, as if unaware that he had befuddled her senses once more, he went on, "I tried to give him a coin, but he would not accept it from me."

"What would you have me do?"

"Find a way to give him the coin without bruising his pride."

She nodded. She could do that. She wanted to do that. "You are a contradictory man, Adam."

"How so?"

"You are clearly annoyed by Alrek and his pestsome brood, and yet here you are, going out of your way

on his behalf. You fight your fate mightily in regard to medicine, and yet you spent many hours today

serving my people. You are a Saxon, and yet you have the spirit of a Viking." "You are probably correct," he conceded, to her surprise, "but I can think of still other ways that I am riddled with contradictions. I mislike your mannish ways, and yet I like you. I do not want a permanent relationship with you, or any woman, and yet I sniff after you like a randy dog. I try my best to focus on your ill-mannered, masculine characteristics, but all I can see is the woman in you. Can you understand that?"

She could not. But the woman in her did, and she exulted. Tyra was walking away from him, and he was enjoying the event immensely. In her tunic and tightbraies , her hips swayed from side to side in the most enticing way. Did females have any idea how sensual their a.r.s.es could be when viewed by the male from this angle? If they did, they would probably always back away from their men. He couldn't stop gaping.

"Tyra," he called out. "Why are you walking like that?"

She halted and looked back at him over his shoulder. "How?"

"Like... like you have a brick on your head."

"A brick?" she choked out, and turned to face him directly, though she was some distance away. He still sat on the bench. "That's ridiculous. A brick? Ha, ha, ha." Her face bloomed a lovely shade of pink, as if she were guilty of some wrongdoing.