Page 121 of The Viking’s Captive

CHAPTER TWENTY

ONE SENNIGHT LATER, HOME AT LAST

Awedding? Whose wedding? …

Tyra was locked in one of the towers at Hawkshire.

Adam had barely spoken with her since he’d whacked her over the head and carted her off. He’d kept waving her off and saying, “Later!”

The tower she was in was new, one which had been erected by Breanne in Adam’s absence, much to his consternation. In fact, when their weary retinue had ridden up the dirt road to Hawkshire that morning, Adam’s eyes nigh bulged out of his head. Not only had the rusted drawbridge been oiled and repaired, but there were several new outbuildings, including a large structure that Breanne proudly proclaimed to be Hawkshire Hospitium.

To give Adam credit, he hadn’t exploded with angry words at her sister, but Tyra could tell he’d wanted to.

Of course, that was before he’d noticed Drifa’s handiwork. It was October, well past the growing season, but somehow she had managed to wield her magic trowel. There were colorful bushes and trees that had not been there before, not to mention a newly planted herb garden off the scullery. Drifa had assured him there would be a myriad of colorful flowers sprouting in the spring all along the moat, to which he’d replied in an undertone, “Oh, joy!”

When they’d entered his keep, there were further surprises. To say his great hall was now clean would be a vast understatement. Vana had done her work well. Not a spider web in sight, or a speck of dust. Vana had an aversion to rushes, but because Adam’s great hall had a dirt floor, she had laid new rushes, mixed with lavender and juniper tops. Even the ancient weaponry hanging on the walls had been polished to a new brightness. And there were vividly colored tapestries everywhere. The now spotlessly clean tower solar where he did his work had new shelves built for his precious books and special compartmentalized boxes for his herbs and ointments.

They had not needed to go into the kitchen to know that Ingrith was brandishing her spoon there, creating her own form of magic. The delicious odors that floated through his wood castle bespoke a fine meal ahead … no doubt having dozens of courses.

Every time he had seen one of the changes, Adam had groaned anew. Tyra had kept her groans inward, but she was highly embarrassed at the way her sisters had taken over Adam’s home, as if they had a right to do so.

And then there was the way Alrek’s brother and sisters had jumped on Alrek … and all over Adam. The three had looked as if they’d made themselves at home in his home, and had no intention of leaving. In fact, it had been as if they were welcoming Alrek home and Adam, too … even though it was Adam’s home and not theirs. Adam had appeared confused and embarrassed by their actions. She vowed to herself that she would take care of the situation for him once she was free. It was not fair to unload the youthlings on him.

So now Tyra sat on the pallet in her tower room waiting for Adam to finally speak with her, as he had promised an hour ago before sending her up the stairs. She did not have long to wait.

“Tyra,” he said wearily as he came inside, locked the door, and plopped down on a chair that faced the mattress where she sat. “We have a real problem here.”

“You mean other than you kidnapping me and refusing to speak to me for more than a sennight?”

“Or other than you deserting me, not once, but twice? Yea, we do. Lord Eirik and Lady Eadyth from Ravenshire have arrived this very moment with all their brood, including John, who resides in nearby Hawk’s Lair. Rain and Selik should be here by eventide.”

So that was the cause of the additional commotion out in the courtyard. “Your uncle and aunt? Your foster mother and father? Why is that a problem?” Uh-oh! He is looking extremely serious. Something is amiss. “Why did they come?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Tykir sent them missives.”

Tyra put a hand to her forehead. “Explain yourself, Saxon. Why have they come?”

“The same reason your father, Bolthor, and Rashid will be coming tomorrow, along with a small contingent of Stoneheim soldiers.” He took a deep breath, then informed her, “For the wedding.”

She frowned. “Whose wedding?” Were Vana and Rafn to be married here, rather than on Norse soil? That would be odd, especially since Rafn was not even here.

Adam shook his head. “Ours.”

“Ours?” she squeaked out. “Me and you?”

He nodded, a pitiful expression on his face.

That pitiful expression caused her neck to prickle with alarm. “Did my father force this on you? Well, I will not stand for it.”

“It was not your father, precisely. I think I may have given him the idea.”

“You?” Tyra squeaked again.

“Well, I went after you to Byzantium, didn’t I?” he grumbled.

“And in your mind that is a marriage proposal?” By the runes! Men could be dumb dolts betimes.

“Sarcasm ill suits you, my lady. I may have told a person or two that I was going after you because I wanted you, and it all took on a life of its own, like a snowball which grows and grows into an avalanche. I must tell you, Tyra, your family has a tendency to take over. Well, mine does, too. Eadyth is down there even now planning the wedding feast with Ingrith, and I suspect that Eirik has invited half of Northumbria to the festivities. Alinor, who happens to be a noted weaver, is sending you a wedding gown, posthaste. My friend Rurik and his wife Maire may even come … all the way from bloody Scotland.”