Page 20 of The Viking’s Captive

“Lackbrain lad!” she murmured as she rubbed one nether cheek. Obviously, she was referring to Alrek, and not Bjorn. He wondered if Alrek was suffering a sore backside as well … sore from the whip of a birch branch which he’d seen Tyra brandishing a short time ago. Once settled on her knees, she groaned softly.

Good! I hope your arse pains you mightily, wench, because you have been more than a pain in the arse to me.He decided not to share those opinions with her now, but he surely would later.

Instead, he said, “I’m not talking to you till you release these bonds. You need a lesson in diplomacy, my lady,” amongst other things. “One should not maltreat the person from whom one seeks favors. And, believe you me, asking a physician to treat a man unconscious for sennights is a big favor, especially when he will no doubt be surrounded by a horde of bloodthirsty Vikings who would as soon lop off the physician’s head at the first sign of death pallor in the patient.” He pressed his lips together in an exaggerated fashion, indicating that his talking time was over.

From inside the tent where Rashid had already gone for the night, following a meal of venison and venison … and more venison—but at least not gammelost—he heard his busybody Arab friend add to the conversation, uninvited, “The wise man treads softly amongst tigers.”

“What does that mean?” Tyra asked him.

He refused to respond, but what he thought was, Who says Rashid’s proverbs have to mean anything?

“The whisper of a pretty girl can be heard farther than the roar of the tiger,” Rashid added.

He sent Rashid a mental message; Shut your teeth.

“Listen. I will admit that I was perhaps less than tactful in convincing you to come with us. If I had had more time, my men and I could have partaken of your hospitality, and …”

Hah! No hospitality was offered by me.He felt a twinge of guilt at that reminder … a tiny twinge. Could it be that the warrior-wench would have acted differently if he’d acted hospitably? Nay, nay, nay! I will not allow her to turn the tables on me here. She is the guilty party. She will be the one to pay. Not me!

“… and mayhap I would not have acted so … um, rashly.”

Rashly? Rashly? I would hardly call whacking a man over the head with the flat side of a broadsword merely rash. More like brash. Yea, a brash act, not a rash act.He smiled inwardly at his own wit.

“So, what I wanted to say was … hmmm … well … you see … I didn’t come to your keep intending to harm you in any way. Nor did I plan to take you by … uh, force.” Her face bloomed pink as she stuttered to get the words out … hard words for a prideful woman.

Is this your sorry excuse for an apology? Hah! You will have to do much better than that. Much!

“When you think on it, I am certain you will realize that you have not been treated so badly.” She waved a hand dismissively as if anticipating his disagreement. “I know you resent the ropes, but other than that, you are a guest. Really.”

Adam bit his tongue to keep from speaking his grievances aloud, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from widening with indignation. Guest? Guest? Do you tie your guests like a harvest-fat hog? Do you toss your guests over your shoulder like a sack of barley? He scowled his fiercest scowl and made sure that his tongue was firmly in place, so tempted was he to reply.

“All right, I can see that the guest appellation does not go down smoothly … that it sticks in your craw …”

How about indigestible?

“… but what can I do to make things better? I mean, how can we start over?”

Is the woman lackwitted? Or deliberately obtuse? She knows exactly what she must do.Adam craned his neck to look pointedly over his shoulder at his hands tied behind his back and around the tent pole.

She got the message.

Her shoulders sagged. Then she seemed to come to a decision and braced both palms on her thighs and leaned forward to address him … which was a big mistake. A huge mistake!

For the first time, he noticed her attire. She must have bathed sometime after the evening meal because her hair, in long braids, was still damp. Her face was shiny clean, and clear as new cream, except for the dotting of a few freckles on her nose. Instead of chain mail, she now wore a hip-length, faded blue linen shert over her usual tight wool braies and half-boots. The shert was belted at the waist.

She was a big woman, Adam observed, not for the first time. Her height was immense for a woman, due to her exceedingly long legs. Her hips were ample, as were her breasts, though both were offset by a comparatively narrow waist.

Oddly, her bigness was not unattractive. On the contrary. Overall, she was well proportioned so that all her bigness just contributed to a picture of woman in all her glory. She was almost more than a man could take in.

He forced his eyes to move higher, and the picture was the same. Her lips were full. Her teeth were big. Her eyes were wide, thick-lashed, and crystal clear as blue lagoons. Even her blond hair would be big when loose, he would imagine.

And he was imagining.

But that wasn’t what had caused his chin to drop to his chest. It was her posture, leaning forward on muscled thighs, which resulted in her shert gaping open at the laced vee-neckline, giving him an enticing view of an ocean of skin and the top swells of two very curvaceous breasts.

Adam had a weakness for curvaceous breasts. Well, actually, he had a fondness for all kinds of breasts—small, big, round, pointed, flat, whatever. Leastways, he had in the old days when he’d jumped from one lady’s bedchamber to another like a randy rabbit.

“So, what do you think?” Tyra said.