Page 46 of The Viking’s Captive

The three of them laughed, shaking their heads at the spectacle of burly, muscle-bound Norsemen huffing and puffing as they completed another round of the field, sweat pouring off their faces and beards like … well, hogs.

That was when Adam noticed Tyra in the thick of the action. She was engaged in swordplay with a man half a head taller than she and carrying slightly more body bulk. The Viking broadsword was not intended for thrusting and parrying; it was too heavy for that. Instead, opponents wielded it in a hacking fashion, the intent being to slice the skin deeply or actually lop off a body part if there was enough force behind the swing.

Tyra was performing admirably. Oh, she staggered at times. Even fell on her arse one time, but so did her fighting partner another time. Sweat poured off her face in rivulets, causing her hair, which hung in a single braid down her back, to cling wetly to her scalp with tendrils about her face. She appeared exhausted from the hard physical labor, but that did not stop her.

“What a soldier!” Tykir remarked, staring at Tyra.

“What a woman!” Adam added without thinking.

Tykir just grinned at him.

It was a reasonable observation, to Adam’s mind. Today she wore a sleeveless, knee-length leather tunic, with a wide belt at the waist. Her legs were bare except for cross-gartered half-boots, as were her arms except for etched silver upper-arm rings. All that bare skin exposed on arms and legs, which, incidentally, were exceedingly long and well shaped, spelled woman to Adam, not soldier. But he decided not to explain to Tykir, who was watching him too closely and grinning.

Just then, Alrek ran by, chased by Tykir’s son Thork. Their squeals of laughter were a joyous childish sound. It had to be the first time in years that Alrek had behaved like the youthling he was.

I wonder where the rest of Alrek’s brood is.

His answer came far too soon.

Tunni and Kristin came rushing toward him, pushing a wooden wheelbarrow. Inside the wheelbarrow was a screeching Besji.

“Can you help us?” Tunni was addressing him, unfortunately, not Tykir or Rashid.

“How?”

“Change Besji’s nappy,” Kristin pleaded. “She made a smelly.”

“Can’t you find some woman in the keep to help you?”

Kristin shook her head vehemently from side to side, even as her thumb was planted firmly in her tiny mouth. Speaking around the thumb, she told him, “Alrek sez to come to you if we be in trouble.”

Tunni was nodding his head just as vehemently as Kristin had shaken hers. “And a stinksome nappy counts as big trouble, don’tcha think?”

“Absolutely,” Tykir answered. “It is right up there with other big troubles … like being kidnapped by a woman.”

“Trouble rides a fast camel,” Rashid agreed, “but betimes it rides on the back of a small child.”

“Where’s Alrek?” Adam shouted as loud as his lungs would allow. His unexpected bellow caused several running Vikings to stumble and Tyra to drop her sword.

“Holy Thor!” Tykir exclaimed, staring at something behind Adam.

“For the love of Allah, the boy attracts disaster like rotten meat attracts maggots,” Rashid remarked.

Adam peered around to see what his two companions were gaping at and saw a dazed Alrek lying on the ground. It appeared that he’d been knocked over by a fast-trotting Norseman. And Tyra! When she’d dropped her sword in surprise, her opponent had apparently sliced her forearm accidentally.

For the first time in Adam’s life, the sight of blood almost caused him to lose consciousness … because it was Tyra’s blood.

Let me check out your tush, baby…

“Leave off, Saxon,” Tyra complained for at least the twelfth time. “It is just a tiny gash, I tell you.”

“Hah! Your tiny gash will take ten stitches, and I intend to sew such a fine line that you will scarce be able to see the scar in your fair skin. Dost think I would let Bjorn, your blacksmith-berserker, tend to you again? Not bloody likely!”

They were in the small solar that had been assigned for his medical work. Adam had been forced to drag Tyra there for treatment, against her will.

“You have no right!”

“I have every right. You are the woman who will be sharing my bed furs—”