Page 102 of The Viking’s Captive

Adam narrowed his eyes at Rafn, who should be in heaven now that Tyra was gone. He and Vana would be able to marry now … in fact, he’d overheard Ingrith speaking of a wedding feast to be held in a sennight. “Explain yourself, Viking,” Adam ordered, though the words came out a bit slurred and not as threatening as he intended.

“Our plan … mine, Tykir’s, Rashid’s, and Bolthor’s … was no doubt more enlightened. It involved hot looks, compliments, constant touching, kissing, and jealousy.”

“Do not forget the erotic conversation,” Rashid added.

“And the telling of wicked tales,” Bolthor added.

“I was the one who suggested the Viking S-Spot,” Tykir said proudly.

“What’s an S-Spot?” Ingrith, Drifa, and Breanne wanted to know.

“Never mind!” Vana inserted, then immediately turned bright red at her telling slip.

“My God, you have got to be the biggest bunch of bungleheads I have ever met,” Alinor said to all the men, and the sisters nodded their agreement, though some of them were still mumbling questions about the S-Spot. “As if women could be won over with hot looks!”

The men looked sheepish, except for Adam, who was growing angrier by the minute. “Are … are … are you saying,” he sputtered out, “that all of you … men and women alike … have been discussing me and Tyra in such intimate detail? That you have been plotting behind our backs to get us together?”

An awkward exchange of glances followed, but the silence was telling. Adam groaned, firmly convinced that his life could not get any worse. He was wrong.

Bolthor stood and announced, “This is the saga of Adam the Lesser, called ‘Advice to a Dumb Dolt.’”

“Sometimes a man has woman-luck.

Sometimes a man does not.

But methinks the gods have a master plan

For each and every one of us.

One man, one woman destined to meet,

Their fate sealed in the heavens.

But men have a tendency betimes

To think with their cocks

Instead of their hearts.

That’s when the dumb dolts of the world

Need the advice of all their friends.

Thus sayeth Bolthor the Skald.”

You could say she was a Viking Anne Landers…

Alinor found Adam the next morning coming from the garderobe, where he had been hurling the contents of his stomach for the past hour. His head felt as if it had been cleaved with a broadax. And he swore there was hair growing on his tongue.

“Not now, Alinor,” he warned. “I cannot take any lectures this morning.”

She reeled back a bit, no doubt from the stench of his breath, not his words.

But then she handed him a goblet and said in a surprisingly kind voice, “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

He took the goblet from her and sniffed. He recognized some of the herbs that would indeed help alleviate the head pounding and stomach nausea. He downed the drink in one long swallow, then exhaled with a loud belch.

“Come,” she said and led him over to a stone bench. The air was cool and they were both wearing fur-lined cloaks.