The Viking's Captive (5 page)

He nodded, even as he frowned with puzzlement. His mind felt dull with arousal. “Yea, I know the game, but what has chess to do with us?”

“If you know the game, then you will understand this,” she announced with a hoot of glee. “Check and mate!”

Too late he realized that a sharp blade in her hand was pressed into his neck and was already drawing blood from the point imbedded in his skin just above the pumping vein. “Do not make a wrong move, Saxon, or you are dead.”

It appeared he was going to Norway, after all.

How about a little bondage, baby? …

On second thought, Adam decided, the wench wasn’t all that attractive.

In fact, after two and a half days of being tied to the mast pole of a rolling longship … up one wave, down one wave, up one wave, down one wave … well, to say that his stomach turned at the thought of Tyra was a vast understatement. To make matters worse, each evening just before dusk the warrior-woman hoisted him over her shoulder and carried him ashore for overnight camping. With his head going ka-thump, ka-thump
against her backside, he was definitely un-enthralled with the outrageous wench … even if she did have a decidedly delicious backside.

Despite his best intentions—and his being unenthralled—he had to admire her expertise and that of her warriors, who appeared equally at ease at sea or on land. He was on one longship and Rashid was on another, each ship manned by sixty-five vikings. There were no rowing benches. Instead, thirty-two men sat on their sea chests working the thirty-two long oars. The other thirty-two spelled them when their arms grew tired, while a helmsman guided the rudder. The Vikings hung their decorated shields along the sides of the dragonships, both for display and to stop arrows in case of a sea battle. Square sails of red and white stripes fluttered high atop both ships from single masts and yardarms. A group of horses were corralled with ropes in the center of each boat, including Adam’s and Rashid’s.

In all, this Viking warrior-princess led her soldiers, even on the seas, with remarkable skill. As Rashid was fond of saying, “An army of sheep led by a lion would defeat an army of lions led by a sheep.” It was clear that Tyra was a lion … but then, her hard-muscled warriors hardly counted as sheep.

That fact had been demonstrated to Adam only this morn when a Viking pirate ship attacked them. Out of the mist, the grotesque dragon prow of the marauding ship had appeared, like a giant sea monster. Reinforcing that image had been the battle shrieks of the pirates, like howling creatures from Niflheim, the Norse afterworld. Tyra’s other ship had been too far ahead to be of assistance. Tossing grappling hooks attached to strong ropes onto Tyra’s ship, the pirates—three dozen in all—had managed to pull the two ships close enough to each other to jump aboard.

Tyra had led her men in the counter attack, slicing one man in the neck and heaving his lifeless body overboard, grabbing another smallish Viking pirate from behind around his neck and squeezing till he fell dead to the deck. Grunts and shouts and screams and muffled cries had filled the air, but mostly there had been just the metallic sounds of swords and axes hitting one another. The skirmish had lasted barely a half hour before the pirates disembarked Tyra’s ship, cut the grappling rope, and rowed off, leaving behind ten dead pirates and much blood. But it had been long enough for Adam to see that Tyra was indeed a Viking warrior, woman or not.

And much to his dismay, he’d heard Tyra ask Bjorn, a berserker who also happened to be a blacksmith, if he wanted her to drain the still-warm blood from one of the pirates into a bucket to take home. The blood of an enemy was used betimes to “quench,” or harden, white-hot swords during the pattern-welding process … though more times than not, water would suffice.

He had been fairly certain at the time that she had been serious, but mayhap she had been trying to shock him.

The bloodthirsty wench was about to walk by him now—and wasn’t that an amazing sight? Whenever she remembered to do so, the woman swaggered—shoulders back, stride aggressive. Adam had lots of time to study this phenomenon and he’d come to the conclusion that Tyra deliberately tried to take on male characteristics. Perchance she thought they would give her greater authority. She even scratched her groin on occasion, as men did, and she spit over the side of the ship.

Now she was about to swagger right by him, as if he were invisible, on her usual manly stroll from stem to stern to supervise the work of her sailors. He gritted his
teeth with chagrin at her easy disregard of him, or his comforts. Luckily, his teeth were no longer chattering. Before taking him forcibly away from his home two days ago, the woman had given him an opportunity to change from his robe into
braies,
a wool tunic and heavy cloak, but, being exposed to the open air aboard ship, those garments had soon became soaked with sea water … until today when they’d seen their first warm sunlight. Now they were covered with residual sea salt. His situation was no different from that of every other person on the longboat. The Viking vessels rode low in the water, sloshing water in as a matter of course, and everyone was sodden most of the day. Baling water was a never-ending job.

“My lady Viking,” he called out, unable to control the sarcasm in his voice.

Tyra paused and arched one eyebrow in question. “What? More complaints? Too cold? Too wet? Too hungry? Too tired? Too sore?
Too, too, too
…”

He barely restrained himself from snarling. Quickly he banked his temper.

“Now that you’ve kidnapped me, why won’t you untie me?” he asked, not for the first time. “I concede I’m a prisoner, but prisoners have rights, too, you know.”

“I wouldn’t precisely call it kidnapping,” she contended.

“Really? What would you call it?”

“A forceful invitation to visit my homeland.”

“Word games!”

“And as to why I won’t release you, look what you did back at your keep when my mind wandered for a moment. Flat on my back I was with your clawlike fingers at my throat.”

Flat on her back. Yea, that is where women should be … rather, that is where this particular bothersome
woman should be. And she will be, eventually, if I have my way.

God, what is it about this woman? One moment I wish my hands were free so I could wring her neck. The next moment I wish my hands were free so I… so I could do other things.

“My fingers are not clawlike. In fact, I have been told by many that my hands are quite attractive … and clever.”

“Clever hands? No doubt ‘twas a besotted maid who spoke those words.”

“Does that make my hands less clever?”

“This is a pointless conversation. The reason I won’t release you is that you might try to escape.”

He looked all around him. Water, water, everywhere. “As talented as I am in many ways, I do not think I could survive a two-hour swim to shore.”

She shrugged. “You have a slick tongue, Saxon. You might try to convince my men to turn against me.”

“Mutiny? Pirates do that, don’t they? Not civilized folks.”

“You consider us civilized?” She fair beamed at the presumed compliment.

“I was speaking of myself.”

“Aaarrgh!” she said and walked away.

He watched closely as she reprimanded one of her sailors for some misdeed, then moved on to a young boy, Alrek, who couldn’t have seen more than ten winters. He was an apprentice who was trying desperately to impress his leader by maneuvering an oar bigger than himself. Adam had observed that the boy had great spirit and determination, but mostly he failed miserably at every task he tried, from scooping out bilge water in the early morning hours to archery practice during the evening exercises.

Tyra instructed Alrek with gentle firmness now, showing him how to handle the oar so it put less pressure on his shoulders and back. When he still failed to understand, she took his place on the sea chest and began to row, expertly. My God! The woman had muscles in places women were never intended to have muscles. And, by damn, they looked good on her.

Soon she was back in front of Adam again. “Would you like me to bring a bucket so you can relieve yourself, or turn you so that you can aim overboard? It has been a long time since our morning ablutions, and Rafn is too busy right now to handle the chore.”

He stared at her, bulge-eyed with horror. “Nay, I do not wish to piss in a bucket, or overboard … whilst you watch.”

“Well, then, would you like a serving of
gammelost
to break your noonday fast?”

“If I never taste another bite of that stinksome cheese, it will be too soon.”

“I am so sorry I have no sweetmeats to tempt your palate.”

“Sarcasm ill suits you, m’lady. Do you not have some enemy to go bedevil, lop off a head or two, or something equally unfeminine, and leave innocents like me free of your word barbs?”

“Innocent? You? Methinks you were not innocent even when you came squalling from your mother’s womb.” She sniffed the air around him then and remarked bluntly, “You need a bath, my healer friend. I cannot fathom why you will not bathe along the shore in the evenings with my men.”

“I am not going into any body of water with my arms and legs tied.”

“Perchance you would like me to remove your garments now so Rafn can hang you over the side with a
rope till the currents wash you clean … let us say for an hour or so. What say you to that?”

She was probably teasing.

But then again, she might be serious. He remembered vividly the morning’s events and the ill-fated pirate she’d chopped in the neck with her broadsword.

“I am not a bloodthirsty man,” he said evenly, “but it becomes increasingly clear to me that I am going to have to kill you.”

She laughed … she actually threw her head back and laughed at him, exposing white teeth and a mouth that was big enough to … well, suffice it to say, it was big enough. In deference to today’s heat, she had forgone her cloak and tunic. Instead, she wore only a short-sleeved mail
shert
over tight leggings tucked into leather halfboots. But Adam was too angry now to admire the jut of her breasts or the taper of her waist.

He sniffed in an exaggerated fashion, mimicking her. “Come to think on it, you are a mite rank yourself. That no doubt is why you scratch so much. Wouldst consider letting me remove
your
garments? We could both hang over the side together. I know, I know …” he said, as if suddenly inspired. “I will wash your back”—
and other places
—“if you will wash mine.”

“For a healer, you are not all that bright, are you?” Her eyes swept over him meaningfully from windblown, salt-lank hair to booted toes. “You are hardly in a position to harm even a flea, rope-bound as you are.” It appeared she was going to ignore his naked-hanging-over-the-side-washing-backs business. But her pinkened cheeks indicated that his comment had had its desired effect.

“I will not always be bound.”

“Ah, so you are saying that the moment you are released, you will attempt to kill me? See, I was right
when I said it would be unwise to untie you. But, truly, dost think it wise to give me fair warning?”

He shook his head. “Nay, I will not kill you immediately.” He let his eyes sweep over her body now, just as hers had done to him. “I have other plans for you first. And the longer I stand here tied to this bloody pole, the more detailed my fantasies become.”

“Oh?” Clearly interested, she put her hands on her hips, her legs widespread to balance herself on the moving ship.

Oh, yea, really detailed. Keep standing like that and give me more ideas.
“First, I intend to tup you till your toenails curl.”

She gasped. His remark had caught her off guard.

It had caught him off guard, too. Who knew he was going to say such a thing?

“Then I will tup you again till your eyes roll up into your head.”
My tongue seems to have developed a mind of its own.

She regained her composure and glared at him, almost as if to make sure her eyes weren’t rolling. “Has the sea air turned you barmy?”

“And then I will make love to you again and again till you beg for more. That should take, oh, a sennight or two … or five. I cannot wait. How about you?”
Mayhap Rashid’s flapping tongue has rubbed off on me.

“Pffff! You overstep yourself, Saxon, to speak thus to me. The only thing bigger than your nerve is your ego.”

“Or something else.” He glanced significantly downward.

She did not answer. In truth, she could not answer, for her mouth was hanging open. With shock or interest, he could not say, but either possibility marked success to his mind.

“Then … and only then … will I kill you,” he concluded, and grinned mirthlessly at her.

She stared at him, pondering all he had said. After a while, her hand moved through the air in a gesture of unconcern. “You’d have to catch me first.”

“Oh, m’lady, you should see me run.”

Tapping her foot with exasperation, she bared her teeth and nigh growled at him. “Dost think you are man enough?”

He wasn’t sure if she referred to the tupping or the running. Either way, he knew the answer. “I know I am.”

She swiveled on her heel and stomped away from him, muttering something about coarse, dirty-minded oafs. But he could tell that he had disconcerted her, which had been his goal. He’d been trained as a soldier as well as a physician. After all, he’d been raised in a Viking household. She was not the only one well versed in the strategies of battle.

He’d just declared war on his captor.

She tried to persuade him…

On her return trip across the decks, she remarked, as if their conversation had not been interrupted, “Your crudity knows no bounds, but what could I expect from a bloody Saxon?”

“My Saxon heritage didn’t seem to concern you when you were on a physician hunt. By the by, I meant to ask you afore, how did you hear of me?”

“Tykir of Dragonstead recommended you. I asked for his advice when he came to visit my father. He said you are the best healer in all of Britain, but he said naught about your refusal to practice the healing arts.”