Page 12 of The Viking’s Captive

“My lady Viking,” he called out, unable to control the sarcasm in his voice.

Tyra paused and arched one eyebrow in question. “What? More complaints? Too cold? Too wet? Too hungry? Too tired? Too sore? Too, too, too …”

He barely restrained himself from snarling. Quickly he banked his temper.

“Now that you’ve kidnapped me, why won’t you untie me?” he asked, not for the first time. “I concede I’m a prisoner, but prisoners have rights, too, you know.”

“I wouldn’t precisely call it kidnapping,” she contended.

“Really? What would you call it?”

“A forceful invitation to visit my homeland.”

“Word games!”

“And as to why I won’t release you, look what you did back at your keep when my mind wandered for a moment. Flat on my back I was with your clawlike fingers at my throat.”

Flat on her back. Yea, that is where women should be … rather, that is where this particular bothersomewoman should be. And she will be, eventually, if I have my way.

God, what is it about this woman? One moment I wish my hands were free so I could wring her neck. The next moment I wish my hands were free so I… so I could do other things.

“My fingers are not clawlike. In fact, I have been told by many that my hands are quite attractive … and clever.”

“Clever hands? No doubt ‘twas a besotted maid who spoke those words.”

“Does that make my hands less clever?”

“This is a pointless conversation. The reason I won’t release you is that you might try to escape.”

He looked all around him. Water, water, everywhere. “As talented as I am in many ways, I do not think I could survive a two-hour swim to shore.”

She shrugged. “You have a slick tongue, Saxon. You might try to convince my men to turn against me.”

“Mutiny? Pirates do that, don’t they? Not civilized folks.”

“You consider us civilized?” She fair beamed at the presumed compliment.

“I was speaking of myself.”

“Aaarrgh!” she said and walked away.

He watched closely as she reprimanded one of her sailors for some misdeed, then moved on to a young boy, Alrek, who couldn’t have seen more than ten winters. He was an apprentice who was trying desperately to impress his leader by maneuvering an oar bigger than himself. Adam had observed that the boy had great spirit and determination, but mostly he failed miserably at every task he tried, from scooping out bilge water in the early morning hours to archery practice during the evening exercises.

Tyra instructed Alrek with gentle firmness now, showing him how to handle the oar so it put less pressure on his shoulders and back. When he still failed to understand, she took his place on the sea chest and began to row, expertly. My God! The woman had muscles in places women were never intended to have muscles. And, by damn, they looked good on her.

Soon she was back in front of Adam again. “Would you like me to bring a bucket so you can relieve yourself, or turn you so that you can aim overboard? It has been a long time since our morning ablutions, and Rafn is too busy right now to handle the chore.”

He stared at her, bulge-eyed with horror. “Nay, I do not wish to piss in a bucket, or overboard … whilst you watch.”

“Well, then, would you like a serving of gammelost to break your noonday fast?”

“If I never taste another bite of that stinksome cheese, it will be too soon.”

“I am so sorry I have no sweetmeats to tempt your palate.”

“Sarcasm ill suits you, m’lady. Do you not have some enemy to go bedevil, lop off a head or two, or something equally unfeminine, and leave innocents like me free of your word barbs?”

“Innocent? You? Methinks you were not innocent even when you came squalling from your mother’s womb.” She sniffed the air around him then and remarked bluntly, “You need a bath, my healer friend. I cannot fathom why you will not bathe along the shore in the evenings with my men.”