Page 24 of The Viking’s Captive

“Was that a yea or a nay?”

“It was a nay, you fool.”

Rashid’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “That is unfortunate. You would make a good houri, I believe.”

“I would not!”

“You would,” he disagreed. “Any woman who moves the way you do, in battle-sport or sailing-sport, would move very well in bed-sport, too.”

It was hopeless trying to talk to the thickheaded Arab. “I cannot believe that Adam, presumably a noted healer … in a Christian country, no less … would countenance a harem. It is so … so … uncivilized.”

“I beg to differ, m’lady. It is a most civilized custom.” Rashid ducked his head then and confessed, “Actually, my master has not precisely given his permission for me to put together a harem for him.”

She narrowed her eyes at Rashid. “Precisely what has he given permission for you to do?”

Rashid looked everywhere but at her. Finally he told her, a hint of dismay in his voice, “His precise words were ‘No harem. Not now. Not ever.’ But I think he will change his mind once he sees what I have to offer. He would definitely change his mind if you were the first houri to join the troop, so to speak.”

She laughed at the wily Arab’s persistence … and at the image of her lounging about in some man’s troop of pleasure trifles.

“You would look good in sheer silk scarves and bells on your toes,” Rashid said, taking her laugh as a melting of her resolve.

“Mistresses are supposed to be tiny, giggly, fragrant, pretty creatures, not sometimes-malodorous, giant Amazons with big bones, big feet, and a tendency to guffaw on occasion.”

“See! You would be the first. No doubt you would set a new fashion. Every sheik and sultan from Baghdad to Samarkand would be searching for Amazon houris once they heard of my master’s prize possession.”

Possession? That aspect would rule me out. Never will I be any man’s possession.“Rashid,” she said with as much firmness as she could. “No harem. Not now. Not ever.”

Beware of a rascal’s wink …

Adam was standing at railside next to Tyra late the next morning, watching the dragon prow of the ship dip and rise proudly through the waves, like a sea monster.

“Do you have to stand so close?” she snapped.

He smiled at her, knowingly.

Holy Valhalla, she hated it when he smiled like that.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked innocently.

Hah! The man did not have an innocent bone in his body. She hoped he was much more serious about his medicine.

“Nay, you do not make me nervous. But I do not like you touching me all the time.”

He held his hands aloft as if to demonstrate that he had not been touching her.

“You do not have to use hands to touch, as you well know.”

“You are correct, of course, my lady Viking. There is touching … and then there is touching.” The hot look he gave her both confused and angered her. Was he referring to their pact wherein he had promised not to touch her naked body?

“You promised not to touch me,” she seethed in an undertone. “I knew I could not trust you.”

Rashid leaned around his friend and advised Tyra, “There is a famous Arab proverb: ‘Trust in Allah, but tie down the tent.’”

“You and your proverbs, Rashid! Do you have one for every occasion? Actually, the Norse sagas have a similar one. ‘Pray to Odin, but sharpen your sword.’”

“I said I would not touch you in the bed furs unless you ask me. I never said I wouldn’t touch you ever,” Adam said, as if affronted that she’d questioned his integrity. “Bloody hell! I’m not a complete lackwit.” He conveniently ignored Rashid’s and her proverbs.

She was beginning to think that her promise had been a mistake. She was about to suggest a modification of the rules but had no opportunity because just then her longship made the last bend in the wide river amidst wild, mountainous terrain. The ancient forests here in the Northwest were dark and menacing, and an ominous mist arose to the snow-capped peaks. Against this backdrop, her father’s strong and imposing keep, Stoneheim, came into view.