Page 95 of My Fair Viking

There was one twinge of guilt she felt. Placing a palm over her stomach, she wondered if she might even now be carrying Adam's child. Probably not. But if she was, for once in her life she was going to entertain a female prerogative and change her mind. She had told him they would discuss the situation if it occurred. Well, they would not discuss the fate of any child she might carry. However, she would inform him, some way, if there was a birth… after the fact.

So now it was over. She would have liked to give Adam a good-bye kiss, but he might stir if she did. Instead, she opened the door softly, looked back at him one last time, and mouthed the words she would never get to say aloud.

"I love you."

It was past dawn when Adam awakened and stretched languidly. There was nothing in the world for a man like the feeling of complete satiation after a night of good bedsport.

He reached for Tyra to give her a good-morning kiss, but found her side of the bed empty. He was not overly alarmed. His warrior wench was, no doubt, out spear throwing with her soldiers, or engaging in some other ridiculously energetic exercise. You would think he'd given her enough exercise the night before, but not his Tyra!

God! When did I start to refer to her as mine? But she is, by damn. If any other man dares to touch her, I will kill him on the spot.

He smiled at his inner vehemence. There were so many questions to be resolved with Tyra, but he had a sennight or more to come to some understanding with her while she transported him back to Britain. He was not sure if he loved her, and he did not know if marriage was a possibility, but now that he'd had her, he never intended to let her go. That decision gave an odd buoyancy to his spirits. It was as if his mind had been in a daze for a very long time. How refreshing to finally know what he wanted!

There was a knock on the door just as he slid his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand. He was chuckling at the weakness in his knees as he pulled on a pair of braies and opened the door.

He was not surprised to see Tykir standing there once again.

He was surprised at his uncle's announcement, though.

"Tyra is gone."

By that evening, Adam was drunker than he'd ever been in all his life. The ale-head that would follow on the morrow would surely bring excruciating pain and stomach upheavals, but he could not care now. All he knew was that he was suffering from fierce anger alongside fierce hurt, interspersed with a bit of humiliation. Dousing himself with ale was the only thing that helped, and even that only numbed him.

Perhaps he would drill a hole in his own head and let his brain seep out. It hardly seemed as if it would make a difference in terms of his intellect.

How could she? How could she? he kept asking himself. What had transpired between the two of them the night before had been amazing. Now he was wondering if he'd been the only one who thought so. No—he refused to believe that she had been pretending. Tyra had been just as affected as he had. Then why did she go?

As if it weren't bad enough that she'd abandoned him so ignominiously… and, yes, it felt like abandonment… he'd found out this afternoon that Gunter and Egil had accompanied her on her longship to Byzantium. He swore that if either of those Viking peacocks dared to touch Tyra, he would kill them both. But then, he realized, Tyra could do whatever the hell she wanted. Hadn't she proven that by renouncing her family ties while her father slept, and defying his own wishes regarding any child that would come of their coupling by taking the decision out of his hands, by removing her person?

Adam put his face in his hands. He was torturing himself with all these questions. He had to stop. A longship awaited in the harbor that would take him back to Britain on the morrow, if he wanted. That was what he should do. Put Tyra and this whole disaster of a forced visit to Stoneheim out of his mind.

"Adam, dost think you should be drinking so much?" Tykir asked, coming up and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yea, I do."

"Well, then, mayhap I will join you," Tykir conceded all too quickly. In Adam's opinion, Tykir would be better off discovering his son Thork's whereabouts. Adam had noticed him a short time ago tiptoeing out of the hall in a most suspicious fashion, with a half dozen youthlings tiptoeing after him.

Alinor, sitting on Tykir's other side, swatted her husband with a slab of manchet bread. She was able to do so with her free hand even though she held her sleeping babe in the cradle of her other arm. "Dumb dolt! You are supposed to be helping Adam, not joining in his misery."

"What? Drinking is a misery now?" Tykir said, grabbing his wife about the waist and pulling her onto his lap with a big kiss on the mouth. He was careful not to disturb his sleeping son in the process. "Drinking can be a man's best friend when his woman-luck has run out."

"Drink makes the wise man a fool," Rashid opined. If Rashid did much more opining, Adam was going to sew up his mouth with some physician's thread.

"You are so right, Rashid. Well, husband, who gave you that bit of lackwitted wisdom? 'Drinking can be a man's best friend.' Rurik?" Alinor scoffed. Rurik was a close comrade of theirs who thought he knew everything about everything, especially women. "You are supposed to be giving Adam sound advice, not drivel."

"Never give advice in a crowd," Rashid said.

All of them looked at Rashid as if he'd lost his mind, but no one asked what he meant. No one cared. Really, Rashid was getting to be as pestsome as Bolthor.

Speaking of Bolthor, just then the skald stood. "I feel a saga coming on," he announced.

Adam felt his stomach churn. "It had better not be another one about me," he mumbled.

"This is a saga of Thorvald the King."

Adam exhaled with relief, and the king, who was not speaking to Adam because of his failure to hold on to his daughter, puffed out his chest with pride. Thorvald had not yet learned that a Bolthor saga was nothing to be proud of.

"Thorvald was a mighty king,