Page 42 of The Viking’s Captive

I might very well have to run for my life if the king should die.

I’ve become involved, despite my best intentions, with a female Viking soldier.

How did my life become such a tangled mess?he wondered and put his face in his hands.

What else could happen?

The comedy of life just got funnier…

“Your Uncle Tykir is here,” Rashid called out gaily a mere one hour later, as if they had never exchanged harsh words.

But then Rashid’s message sank into Adam’s brain. Tykir? Here? Oh, good Lord, what would he make of this mess? He will laugh at me … that is what he will do.

Adam was in the king’s bedchamber, checking on his condition. Thorvald had not come out of the deep sleep yet … if he ever would. But his breathing was normal, and his body temperature had not elevated. Fever was always a concern.

Closing the door softly, Adam left Father Efrid behind to watch over Thorvald, with instructions to call him immediately if there was a change.

As he walked down the upper corridor, Rashid told him, “They brought the new babe with them. ‘Twould seem they miscalculated the birthing date, and it came six sennights ago. It is a boy … a fourth son for them, I believe. Allah must be well pleased with the father to bless him so.”

Rashid was rambling, as he often did, but Adam suspected he did so now to cover the awkwardness of their parting a short time ago. He put a hand on Rashid’s forearm to halt their progress for a moment. “I apologize for my harsh words.”

Rashid nodded and patted his hand in acceptance. “No apologies are necessary between friends. Just know this, Master Adam, we come from different cultures. Do not be so quick to judge my ways.”

They continued toward the great hall, where Rashid went off to find Rafn. Meanwhile, Adam was greeted immediately by his Uncle Tykir, who lifted him off his feet and hugged him warmly. He and Tykir were of the same height, but Tykir had several stones on him in weight, being a fierce Viking warrior who guarded his home at Dragonstead with an iron hand. Dragonstead was less than a day’s journey by horse and a half day by longboat. They were neighbors by Northern standards.

“How is everything going, boy?” Tykir asked as he drew back. Tykir had seen more than forty winters, but age sat well on him. There were only a few gray hairs in his light brown hair. Already Tykir was leading Adam toward a trestle table where a housecarl was pouring mead for them. “We heard that you were here, and I was worried. Alinor suggested that we come. She was worried, too.”

“I operated on King Thorvald this morn. Thus far he seems to be holding on,” he told his uncle.

Tykir nodded, took a deep draught of mead, then plopped down onto the bench and motioned for Adam to join him. Then he did what Adam had been expecting all along. He grinned.

Adam pretended not to notice and sipped thoughtfully at his ale.

Just then Alinor came up and hugged him from behind. “How fare you, Adam dear?”

He turned in his seat to get a better look at his aunt-by-marriage. He had not seen either of them for several years. Her hair was still rusty-red and her face was covered with freckles. Tykir thought she was nigh gorgeous. Even now, after a full ten years of marriage, it was clear that the man was besotted with his wife, so sappy was the expression on his face when he gazed on her.

“Ah, and this is the new addition to the Tykirsson family, I take it,” he said, peering beneath the swaddling blanket at the newborn babe.

“Yea,” she said with great pride. “Our fourth son. Selik Tykirsson. Is he not beautiful? He looks just like his father.”

Adam had to take a deep breath before he could swallow over the lump in his throat. They had named their babe after his adoptive father, Selik … who had been sort of a stepbrother by marriage to Tykir.

Adam had to smile. “Of course, Selik is beautiful. All babies are. But I do not know about his being beautiful if he takes after his father.” Adam regarded the infant, not knowing whom he would favor as he grew to manhood.

Tykir punched him in the arm, then relieved his wife of her blissful burden, cradling the still sleeping child in the crook of his big arm. Adam noticed that Tykir and Alinor’s firstborn, Thork, was making friends with Alrek, who was of a similar age. Although he was only nine years old, Thork already had a reputation for being wildly mischievous. Adam wondered what domestic disasters would come of Alrek’s association with him. The Wild and the Clumsy! Tykir and Alinor’s second son, seven-year-old Starri, and their third son, four-year-old Guthrom, were already chattering away with Alrek’s brother and sisters.

Alinor went to take a sip of her husband’s mead, then frowned at Tykir when she realized the goblet was empty.

Ignoring his wife’s frown, he commented to Adam, “Well, you landed in the middle of it this time, didn’t you?”

“No thanks to you,” Adam answered with a snort of disgust.

“Me?” Tykir inquired, widening his eyes with an innocence he’d never had a day in his life.

“You.‘Twas you that was responsible for the warrior wench kidnapping me and bringing me to this godforsaken land.”

“She kidnapped you?” Alinor asked.