Page 113 of My Fair Viking

She nodded. As long as she was with him, she was not afraid… even of dying. "Nay, here's hoping that Bolthor will compose a saga about this successful adventure aboard a longship tonight."

He laughed at the thought of the two of them welcoming one of Bolthor's sagas. "Better yet," he said over his shoulder even as he opened the creaking door and pulled her forward, "here's hoping we will be telling this story to our children for a loooong time."

They both ran for their lives then, but Adam's last words rang through her ears like a joyous refrain

Our children Our children Our children.

Still in the bloody damn Eastern desert

That night, Adam approached the tent that had been set aside for Tyra. He was so nervous he could scarcely breathe.

"Thor's toenails, Adam! Your hands are shaking," Tykir pointed out to him.

"Allah be praised!" Rashid piped up "You rescued your lady. You and you alone! You have naught to fear. She will be so thankful she will fall into your arms with thanks. And think on this, master. She has been in a harem. She no doubt knows things now." He waggled his eyebrows to convey what things he was referring to.

"What things?" King Thorvald wanted to know.

Adam groaned. He really, really did not need the company of the father of the woman he hoped to swive this night.

"Actually, I think you should just toss her over your shoulder, like she did you. Ride off to some secluded spot and convince her to be yours." The king beamed at him after expounding that wisdom.

Adam clicked his jaw shut. He was not about to ask her father what he meant by convince.

"I wrote a saga one time titled 'How to Convince an Unconvinceable Maid.' 'Twas very popular at Anlaf's court, as I recall." Bolthor was stroking his chin as he tried to remember the details.

"Enough!" Adam shouted. He stopped dead in his tracks, which caused everyone else to stop dead in their tracks, too. "I do not need an escort. I do not need advice. I do not need any of you here with me. Go away!"

As one, his four companions turned on their heels and stalked away, with the king muttering, "Ungrateful Saxon whelp!" and Bolthor saying something like, "He will be sorry," and Rashid intoning, "Allah cannot be everywhere; that is why he created friends." Tykir just laughed.

Adam stared at the tent before him, bracing himself.

This morning, he and Tyra had made it safely away from the desert palace to the Stoneheim troops, despite being followed by the sultan's guard. They all had ridden off without any fighting… something that had rankled with Thorvald, who wanted desperately to lop off a head or two in retaliation for his daughter's kidnapping. Adam was certain he would find an opportunity to take revenge in the future, once he was in a position of greater strength.

Now they were back at the desert outpost of the Army of the East. Tyra and her soldiers had already informed General Phocas that they would no longer be serving in his army. The general had argued fruitlessly the whole time, denying any involvement in her being taken by the desert sultan. Since she had no proof besides the evidence of her own eyes, they'd decided to accept his word. The only other choices were: one, to confront the devious commander on the issue in a Byzantine court, which would be heavily weighted in the general's favor; or two, to lop off his head during the night—Thorvald's preference—but then they would have a thousand soldiers chasing after them.

Thorvald swore that he would take his revenge at a later date. Already he'd talked five hundred Norse soldiers into deserting the Byzantine ranks and returning with him to the Northlands, at great cost to his royal treasury. This depletion in ranks would hurt General Phocas more than any court fine.

To say that the general was livid was a vast understatement. He would have lopped off Thorvald's head himself if he could.

On the morrow, they would travel back to Byzantium and their two longships. The king intended to purchase several more to carry the additional soldiers who would return with him.

From there, the ships would be heading on separate paths. Most would proceed to Stoneheim. But at least one of them would be going to Britain and Adam's home at Hawkshire.

The question he nervously faced now was whether Tyra would be coming with him to Britain… or not.

Should he first tell her of his feelings and the future they might have together? Or should he make love to her first, and leave the explanations for later? He was leaning toward the latter.

And besides, he was still angry with her over her desertion immediately following their night of loving. Although they definitely needed to talk, he was thinking it might be a good idea to wait till his temper cooled.

Inhaling deeply, he opened the flap of her tent and called out in what he hoped was a husky voice filled with erotic promise, "Tyra? Sweetling?"

He stepped inside.

Then he bellowed with outrage, "Aaarrgh!"

So much for erotic promise!

Pulling at his hair with frustration, he stomped around the carpeted floor of the tent, exclaiming over and over, "I should have known. I should have, should have, should have known!"