Page 23 of The Viking’s Captive

CHAPTER FOUR

Her in a harem? Hah! …

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 Ilsafjord—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 bloody 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 bloody 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 God, or the prophet Muhammad. And every time Adam came into her company, he invariably said, “My God!” Usually it was after staring unabashedly at her breasts, or her buttocks, 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 went dreamy 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 Norsemen practice the more danico and that they often have several wives and mistresses, if they can afford them. But a harem!”