The Viking's Captive Read Online Free PDF

surprised her. She shook her head hesitantly.
    “Good,” he said and grinned some more.
    Good? What does that mean? Hell and Valhalla, this man is much more clever with words than I am.
“Why would you care, one way or another?”
    “I have no idea,” he admitted. “But I do.”
    Oooh! Tantalizing words to a woman who had only garnered attention for her skill with sword and lance.
    “Tyra!” Rafn, her chief bodyguard, exclaimed.
    “Master!” the Arab servant exclaimed at the same time.
    The two of them must have just returned to the great hall from the tower stairwell.
    Tyra was suddenly alarmed. She did not want Rafn to overreact, putting her life in peril. “I am safe, Rafn. Do not proceed farther. Go about the business of packing. I am just … uh, talking … with the Saxon physician.”
    “Talking!” Rafn declared with a snort of disbelief. “Methought you were about to couple.”
    “Couple? Couple?” the Arab inquired with great interest. “Two years my master has remained chaste. ‘Tis past time for a bit of coupling, if you ask me. By the by, Master Rafn, do you have harems in the Norselands?”
    A dozen or more voices shouted from the courtyard steps through the open doorway, “Two years!” All eyes turned on the healer, who still lay atop her.
    Adam groaned and pressed his forehead against the witch’s.
    Damn, damn, damn! Rashid of the Running Tongue just had to expose all my secrets. I am going to cut off his tongue the instant I get off this woman.
He raised his head and gazed down upon the woman, who gazed right back at him, chin raised high with pride, not the least bit frightened. He realized then that the last thing he wanted was to get off this woman.
    “Two years?” she asked. “Are you a monk healer?” The questions were simple, but the tone was taunting.
    “Yea, two years. And, nay, I am no monk,” he grumbled. “How long has it been for you?”
    Despite all her efforts to appear masculine, she ducked her head, but not before he saw the less-than-masculine blush that bloomed there. “A virgin!” he guessed. “A thirty-year-old virgin!”
    “I am not thirty years old. I am only twenty-five,” she asserted too quickly, before she realized what she had revealed. It wasn’t her virginity she had denied, just her age.
    He smiled.
    She snarled.
    “What are those stains upon your tunic?” he inquired, suddenly noticing the blotches that marred the fine wool fabric.
    “Blood.”
    “Yech!” He started to raise his chest off her chest, but then changed his mind, deciding he’d rather feel her breasts pressed up against him, despite the blood. Still, he asked, “Whose?”
    “Some bloody Saxon who had the temerity to be in my way when I stepped off my longship in Jorvik.”
    This woman was certainly unlike any he had ever met. “You killed a man because he was in your way?”
    “And because he laughed at me.”
    “Remind me never to laugh at you,” he said, and did just that … laughed at her.
    She stiffened, which caused her body to rub slightly against his. He felt the whisper of a caress from her metal-webbed breasts to the soft mound of her sex. “I can scarce wait till we make love,” he whispered against her ear.
    “You go too far, Saxon,” she hissed back in his ear.Little did she know how erotic her breath felt there. He wished she would dip the tip of her tongue in, as well.
    She made a snorting sound, as if she sensed his thoughts.
    That felt good, too.
    “Enough of this nonsense!” he said finally.
    “I agree. Let me go.”
    He nodded. He wanted her free so that her hands could roam his body, just as he intended his to do to her. “First, let us come to an understanding. I will not be leaving my keep, but you are welcome to stay as long as you want. No repercussions.” That was rather magnanimous of him, he concluded. But then, he wanted her in his bed furs that night. “Well?” His tied hands still gripped her neck. He would not let go till she gave