Page 43 of The Viking’s Captive

“Yea, she did. Whacked me over the head with a sword and tossed me over her shoulder.”

Alinor and Tykir tossed their heads back and laughed uproariously. As he’d known they would.

“Tyra actually did that? Carried you off on her shoulder? Like a sack of barley?” Alinor wiped the tears of merriment from her eyes, but her face was still split with a huge grin.

“You know her?”

“Of course I know her. I have lived in this country for nigh on ten years. She was at my wedding with her father and sisters. You did not meet her there?”

He shook his head, wondering how he could have missed such a … a … wonder.

They all turned as one then to stare across the room to where Tyra stood talking with her sisters. It was easy to pick her out. She was taller by a head than any of the others. And she was the only one wearing braies. Adam sensed Tyra’s insecurities, especially in comparison to her sisters and their renowned beauty, but frankly, Adam thought she looked ten times better than any one of them, even in her male attire, even when she did manly things like scratching. Was he looking at her through prejudiced eyes, just as Tykir did when he gazed adoringly at his freckled wife? Now, that was an alarming thought!

“She looks different somehow,” Alinor mused, tilting her head one way, then another as she studied Tyra.

“Yea, she does,” Tykir agreed, a grin twitching his lips.

Aaarrgh! It is starting already, the jesting at my expense.

“Methinks it is her tousled hair and her—oh, my God!—her lips.” Alinor exchanged a look with her husband.

“You are right, wife. As usual. If I did not know better, I would think the lady soldier had been kissed good and well. In fact, her lips look rather, well, kiss-swollen.”

Tykir and Alinor turned their attention to Adam.

“Just like yours,” Alinor hooted with glee.

Once again, Alinor and Tykir tossed their heads back and laughed uproariously.

“Kiss-swollen lips, did you say?” It was Rashid who came up to join them. He looked pointedly at Tyra, then directly at Adam’s mouth, and nodded his head with satisfaction. “‘Tis well past time, too. Two years of chastity is more than enough for any one man, I tell you. Allah says—”

“Two years?” Mirth was replaced in Alinor’s voice by shock and something else … probably concern.

“Chastity? You?” Tykir was staring at Adam, his mouth agape with incredulity. He, too, looked a bit concerned.

“Methinks this calls for a saga,” Adam heard a booming voice announce behind him.

“Oh, nay, oh please, God, not this,” Adam prayed even before he turned around and saw the giant Viking with the one eye-patch. “Dear Lord, please, please, please, spare me.”

‘Twas Bolthor, the world’s worst skald.

“This is the saga of Adam the Lesser,” Bolthor began.

Alinor and Tykir smiled their encouragement. Adam just groaned.

But then Adam said, “What is this ‘Lesser’ business? You always say, ‘This is the saga of Tykir the Great,’ or ‘This is the saga of Rurik the Greater.’ Why is it I get no ‘Great’ after my name?”

“Well, Tykir was much chagrined when he found out that I named Rurik the Greater, and—”

“I was not,” Tykir protested.

“Yea, you were,” Alinor disagreed.

“… and he ordered me henceforth to name no one greater than he.”

“Are you really that vain?” Adam asked Tykir.

“He’s lying,” a red-faced Tykir lied.