Viking Series - My Fair Viking Part 6

"I want one night in your bed furs. Dusk to dawn. You, naked. Me, naked. Oh, do not be enraged without hearing the rest. You would not have to touch me, and I would not touch you... unless you asked."

He saw anger in her fiery eyes, and hurt as well, as if his proposition offended her deeply. "Why?"

"Because I want to."

"Nay!" she declared emphatically and stomped away, muttering something about "lying lackwit Saxons who think with their male organs."

"Wisdom has two parts: one, having a great deal to say; and, two, not saying it," Rashid proclaimed from inside the tent. Apparently, the snoring had been a ruse to cover his eavesdropping. And, apparently, he believed that Adam had said too much... too soon.

"She will be back," Adam predicted, ever the optimist... or was that ever the egotist?

"Every a.s.s loves to hear himself bray."

"Rashid! Are you calling me an a.s.s?"

"Nay, it is just that you bray overmuch. Comes from having an overlarge ego, I would say."

I guess that answers my question about optimist or egotist. Adam laughed, but only for a moment.

Tyra was returning. There was a glow of determination in her eyes, but her cheeks bespoke great embarra.s.sment.

"I agree."

"You agree?" That part of Adam's body that had come to life miraculously of late now stood at attention.

Talk about miracles! This one was better than any of Alrek's, in Adam's opinion.

"Under my conditions," she added.

"Oh?" Adam tried not to sound as interested as he was.

"One night, and one night only. No touching."

"Unless you ask me to... or unless you insist on touching me," he quickly reminded her.

She glared at him as if to say that would never happen, but in truth she looked adorable when she glared at him. Mayhap he would tell her that... later. "And do not forget the naked part," he threw in for good measure.

"How could I? There is one other thing. I agree to this suggestion, scandalous as it is, only if my father lives. If he dies, the pact is canceled."

Adam wanted to argue, but, really, he had been only half serious to begin with... although the half that was serious was very serious. Besides, who wanted to sleep with a grieving woman?

He nodded his head.

Soon his ropes were cut and Tyra motioned to two of her biggest guardsmen, ordering them to stand outside his tent. Before he knew it, she was gone in a huff.

"I told you she would be back," Adam gloated to his friend as he crawled into the bed furs inside the tent.

"Feather by feather, the goose will be plucked," Rashid declared with a laugh, rolling over and away from him.

"Precisely," Adam said.

"I was referring to you as the rooster, not her," Rashid said with dry humor.

"I know."

Chapter Four.

Tyra couldn't stop looking at the man.

He'd caught her in mid-ogle once or twice. On one occasion, the rogue had actually winked at her; the other time, he'd just grinned. In any case, his smirking, as if he thought she was remembering her promise to him-which she was not... definitely not... well, hardly-cured her of her infernal staring... for a few moments, leastways.

It had been a busy day, starting with their early morning turn from the North Sea up the headwaters of Ilsa-fjord-one of the thousands of rivers interlacing the Northlands. Not all of them were connected, unfortunately. In fact, twice today they'd had to portage the two longships. Portage was a long, arduous enterprise that involved removing all the men and animals from the crafts, then carrying the boats overland to the next waterway... or pushing the boats over hastily made wooden rollers, if the distance was far and the pathway open.

All that time, Adam, to his credit, had contributed his fair share of muscle to the hard labor. And, yes, Tyra was beginning to notice, to her chagrin, that, for a healer, he had a fair share of muscle... not like her Viking warriors, whose very livelihood depended on their being in perfect physical condition. But he held his own, and that was remarkable in itself. She supposed it came from being raised in a Norse household, even though he was Saxon by birth.

Tyra suspected that one of the reasons Adam worked so hard was to escape Alrek, who had developed an attachment for the healer, despite Adam's best efforts to avoid the boy and his never-ending questions. He seemed especially uncomfortable with Alrek's view that he was a miracle sent to change his life. Why he could not just laugh off the outrageous notion was beyond Tyra's understanding.

Oh, well. In the next day or so they would enter the edges of her father's vast land holdings. Then she would be faced with a whole other set of problems.

A wicked man's wink would mean nothing to her then.

Well, almost nothing.

She hoped.

"What troubles you, my lady?" Rashid asked, jarring her from her reverie. Rashid and Adam traveled on the same longship, now that their bonds had been released. Rashid had just given up his spot on a sea chest to Adam, who was teaching Alrek how to row without hitting himself in the face on the backswing of the heavy oar. The boy had gotten two b.l.o.o.d.y noses yesterday. No doubt, Adam's reasoning was that an exhausted Alrek would be a silent Alrek.

Tyra glanced up from the rudder she was steering... easy work now that they'd entered the wide river, Drisafjord. There was no wind to carry the sails, but the current ran smooth.

"What troubles me?" She gave her full attention to the Arab-a handsome, dark-skinned man with a full mustache but a hairless chin, which he plucked meticulously every evening, to the wincing fascination of her men. Tall and slim, he was an attractive man who was probably much favored by women. Alrek, who had latched on to the Arab as well as his new best friend, Adam, claimed that Rashid was the son of some desert sheik. She would have to ask Rashid later why a prince of the desert would have left his homeland. "Everything troubles me. My warriors and I should be off protecting our southern boundaries. Pirates and outlaws abound. My sisters are up to Odin-knows-what mischief. My father hovers at the doors to Valhalla. I have wasted much time searching for your physician friend to help my father. What should have been an easy task has proved bothersome in the extreme. 'Twould be a shame to have accomplished one goal... saving my father... only to lose his holdings for lack of diligence."

"Diligence! You toil beside your men. You work your fingers to the bone. With all due respect, my lady, you do your b.l.o.o.d.y well best."

"With all due respect," she repeated back at him, "hard work matters not if there is no success. And do not dare quote me a proverb about that."

"Why go looking for trouble?" Rashid persisted on the same subject. "Did a messenger from Stoneheim not arrive this morn, informing you that your father still lives?"

"Yea, but that could change at any moment."

"Like I said, do not borrow misery. Believe me, trouble finds you, as certain as the thirsty hump-backed beast seeking a desert oasis. Allah willing, of course."

What was it about her that brought out the religious fervor in these two men? Rashid was always quoting his G.o.d, or the prophet Muhammad. And every time Adam came into her company, he invariably said, "My G.o.d!" Usually it was after staring unabashedly at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, or her b.u.t.tocks, of all things.

"You are thinking about my master again, are you not?"

"I... was... not," she lied, then felt guilty for being dishonest, even about such a trivial thing. "Well, mayhap a little. How could you tell?"

"Your face betrays you. One of two expressions do you show whenever he is about, both of them accompanied by flushed cheeks. The first is anger, and then your eyes turn fiery blue, nigh flashing with sparks. The other is arousal, and then your eyes fade to a smoky blue... dreamy."

"Oh... oh... oh..." Tyra sputtered. "I have never been aroused!" was the only retort she could come up with, so roiled was she with consternation.

"You haven't?" Rashid was clearly surprised, and amused.

"Not by that... that infuriating man! And my eyes have never gone dreamy either, for him or any other man. Really, what kind of leader would I be for my troops if I wentdreamy every time a handsome man walked by?"

"Aaaah! So you think my master is handsome?" he commented, homing in on the most irrelevant part of what she'd said.

"Yea, the man is handsome, as if that matters a whit when-"

"Oh, it matters, m'lady. When it comes to seducing a maid, being comely in appearance can be a decided advantage for a man. By the by, my master tells me that you wish to be disinherited by your father if he lives... though I can hardly credit the logic of that. But I was wondering... I do not suppose... well, would you be interested in joining a harem? It is quite a coincidence, but I know of one that is being formed."

She made a tsk-ing sound of disapproval. "I have heard this harem nonsense that you blather to my men. It is not good to plant such ideas in their heads. Bad enough that some Nors.e.m.e.n practice themore danico and that they often have several wives and mistresses, if they can afford them. But a harem!"

"Was that a yea or a nay?"

"It was a nay, you fool."

Rashid's shoulders slumped with disappointment. "That is unfortunate. You would make a good houri, I believe."

"I would not!"

"You would," he disagreed. "Any woman who moves the way you do, in battle-sport or sailing-sport, would move very well in bed-sport, too."

It was hopeless trying to talk to the thickheaded Arab. "I cannot believe that Adam, presumably a noted healer... in a Christian country, no less... would countenance a harem. It is so... so... uncivilized."

"I beg to differ, m'lady. It is a most civilized custom." Rashid ducked his head then and confessed, "Actually, my master has not precisely given his permission for me to put together a harem for him."

She narrowed her eyes at Rashid. ''Preciselywhat has he given permission for you to do?"

Rashid looked everywhere but at her. Finally he told her, a hint of dismay in his voice, "His precise words were 'No harem. Not now. Not ever.' But I think he will change his mind once he sees what I have to offer. He would definitely change his mind if you were the first houri to join the troop, so to speak."

She laughed at the wily Arab's persistence... and at the image of her lounging about in some man'stroop of pleasure trifles.

"You would look good in sheer silk scarves and bells on your toes," Rashid said, taking her laugh as a melting of her resolve.

"Mistresses are supposed to be tiny, giggly, fragrant, pretty creatures, not sometimes-malodorous, giant Amazons with big bones, big feet, and a tendency to guffaw on occasion."

"See! You would be the first. No doubt you would set a new fashion. Every sheik and sultan from Baghdad to Samarkand would be searching for Amazon houris once they heard of my master's prize possession."

Possession? That aspect would rule me out. Never will I be any man's possession. "Rashid," she said with as much firmness as she could. "No harem. Not now. Not ever."

Adam was standing at railside next to Tyra late the next morning, watching the dragon prow of the ship dip and rise proudly through the waves, like a sea monster.

"Do you have to stand so close?" she snapped.

He smiled at her, knowingly.

Holy Valhalla, she hated it when he smiled like that.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked innocently.

Hah! The man did not have an innocent bone in his body. She hoped he was much more serious about his medicine.

"Nay, you do not make me nervous. But I do not like you touching me all the time." He held his hands aloft as if to demonstrate that he had not been touching her. "You do not have to use hands to touch, as you well know." "You are correct, of course, my lady Viking. There is touching... and then there istouching ." The hot look he gave her both confused and angered her. Was he referring to their pact wherein he had promised not to touch her naked body?

"You promised not to touch me," she seethed in an undertone. "I knew I could not trust you."

Rashid leaned around his friend and advised Tyra, "There is a famous Arab proverb: 'Trust in Allah, but tie down the tent.' "

"You and your proverbs, Rashid! Do you have one for every occasion? Actually, the Norse sagas havea similar one. 'Pray to Odin, but sharpen your sword.' " "I said I would not touch you in the bed furs unlessyou ask me . I never said I wouldn't touch youever ,"

Adam said, as if affronted that she'd questioned his integrity. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! I'm not a complete lackwit." He conveniently ignored Rashid's and her proverbs.

She was beginning to think that her promise had been a mistake. She was about to suggest a modification of the rules but had no opportunity because just then her long-ship made the last bend in the wide river amidst wild, mountainous terrain. The ancient forests here in the Northwest were dark and menacing, and an ominous mist arose to the snow-capped peaks. Against this backdrop, her father's strong and imposing keep, Stoneheim, came into view.

Adam gasped, as did Rashid on his other side. It was the usual reaction of people getting their first eyeful of the most outlandish Viking stead this side of the Other World... and its equally outlandish inhabitants.

Her men groaned on first seeing their homestead. That, too, was the usual response. Not that they weren't happy to be home, reunited with wives and lady loves. 'Twas just that Stoneheim did not resemble the usual stark Viking fortress... especially in the far North. Here, the winters were long and bitter, often with only one or two hours of daylight; survival took precedence over all else... or it should have.

Stoneheim's keep was a wood fortress, like most others throughout Norway. But that was the only way in which it was similar.

Stoneheim was built back a considerable distance from the river frontage, with the harsh mountain as a backdrop. Many additions had been built on to the original royal longhouse, many of them set into flat ledges or carved out of the mountain itself, some of them two and three floors in height. And that did not include the outbuildings, or the village homes that lay in an ever widening half circle below the keep. The homestead was an immense hodgepodge of styles, its door lintels and eaves highly carved with Nordic symbols, even the frames of the windows... many of which contained skins oiled and rubbed until they were nigh as transparent as gla.s.s.

All this building was the work of Tyra's sister Breanne, who had told her father over and over that if he was not going to find her a husband, then she was going to while away her time doing construction work. That was Breanne there atop the pigsty, looking beautiful as ever, even wearing men'sbraies and tunic, her red curls tucked under a stable boy's cap; she was helping her workers put new sod on the roof. Breanne was the daughter of an Irish thrall, Fiona, who had died of childbed fever just after wedding with Thorvald, her father, thus giving the newborn babe legitimacy. In fact, all of Tyra's sisters were legitimate. Her father had a tendency to marry his women, even more than one at a time. All the mothers were dead now. Although Breanne was wearing men's breeches, and did so whenever engaged in hard labor, she donned women's apparel on all other occasions, unlike Tyra.

At least the pigsty had not been decorated during Tyra's absence.

"I have never seen anything quite like this in all my life," Adam remarked, his mouth agape.

"Well, yes, you have," Rashid disagreed. "Remember all the colorful gardens in the harems of Baghdad?"

There the rascal went, bringing up harems again. Adam was referring to all the flowers and vividly hued bushes and autumn-leafed trees that adorned almost every available s.p.a.ce outside the royal keep.

"Yea, you are correct," Adam said, "but I have traveled throughout Norway and the other Northlands and never have I seen flowers growing in such profusion. You would think the cold would kill them off in the bud."

"That is the work of my sister Drifa. Her mother Tahirah came from your lands, Rashid... a concubine of my father's, and later his wife. She missed the warmer climes of her homeland so much that Father allowed her to plant a flower or two to halt her constant weeping. Little did he know that it would lead to this... this extravagance of floral madness. She even brought a tree indoors one time. Tahirah died five years past... some say of the yearning for her homeland that never left her... but her daughter Drifa has carried on in her stead."