Page 29 of The Viking’s Captive

“What? What?”

Ingrith stopped pouring plum custard into a large pottery bowl. She was nodding her head with some sudden understanding. “Perchance I will cook meals in my own home afore I am gray-haired after all.”

“What? What?”

“It appears as if I won’t have to join a harem after all.” Vana put her flowers aside and came to hug Tyra. “I am so happy for you.”

“What in bloody hell are you all talking about?” Tyra said when she was finally able to escape Vana’s embrace. It was always embarrassing to be hugged by Vana, whose head barely reached her chin, so tiny was she … compared to her, leastways.

The sisters all looked at each other, one to the other, slowly, beaming as if they’d just been handed the moon.

Ingrith was the one who finally spoke for the group. “‘Tis obvious, really, sister dear. You like the healer. You really like the healer.”

Tyra drew her brows together and cocked her head in confusion. “Speak plainly.”

Drifa patted Tyra on the forearm and explained, “Let us just say that, to our mind, it appears as if you would not object overmuch to playing Eve to his Adam.”

Oh, my gods and goddesses!

“Rashid says she would make a good harem houri.”

“Perchance she will be Adam’s first. Houri, I mean.”

“Nay, nay, nay! She will be his wife.”

“Then we can all marry.”

“Ingrith, you will take care of the wedding feast,” Breanne said brightly. “Vana can make the wedding finery. Drifa, the flowers … and the music, too. Your voice and lute playing are the best of all of us. And I can construct a wedding canopy.”

Over and over, Tyra tried to interject her objections into their discussion. Finally she took on her best military stance, legs widespread, hands on hips, and shouted, “Silence!”

When the kitchen became so quiet they could hear the crackle of the fire and the steady sniffle of one of the maids cowering in the corner, she spoke, calmly but with a firmness that would not be denied. “There will be no wedding betwixt me and the healer … or any other man. But this I promise you. If our father lives, I will find a way for me to go my own way, and for each of you to wed. Do you accept my word?”

Each of them nodded in turn. Soon, everyone was off and about her business, and Tyra walked toward the bedchamber to complete her toilette.

It was final, then. She would never wed. Everyone understood that now. Although she’d never been quite so adamant with her sisters before, it was something she’d known for a long time.

Why then did the prospect suddenly make her feel so sad?

His cold heart began to melt …

Adam was resting on the linen-covered straw mattress of an alcove bed in the small guest bedchamber he’d been assigned when he sensed someone tiptoeing into his room, uninvited and unannounced.

He’d lain down on the bed after returning from a bath in the sweat house, never intending to sleep before the evening meal. But the mattress was so comfortable and he must have been more tired than he’d realized, for he’d soon dozed off.

His eyes opened to mere slits, then shot wide open. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to the rush-covered floor. For the love of the Lord! He should have pretended to be still sleeping. How was he going to handle this latest disaster?

Standing before him was Alrek, his skin pink-scrubbed and his pale hair washed and clubbed back at the nape with a leather thong. Worn but clean garments covered his skinny form.

Standing behind him was a boy of about eight. He kept peeking around Alrek’s arms, gazing at Adam as if he were some fascinating creature. God knows what Alrek had been saying about him. Calling him the Miracle maker, he would wager.

A toddler of no more than two was clinging to Alrek’s neck, her chubby legs wrapped around his hips. Her blond hair had been clumsily braided and secured into a crown atop her head. She was adorable.

Another girl stood at Alrek’s other side.

“I wanted you to meet me fam’ly,” Alrek explained quickly, sensing Adam’s rising vexation. The boy was pestsome beyond belief.

“This is me brother, Tunni.” Alrek indicated with a jerk of his head the youthling standing shyly behind him. “He’s eight … the man of the fam’ly when I’m off a-Viking.”