Viking Ecstasy (8 page)

Why wasn't she overjoyed with all that she had accomplished?

"Bring her," Tabor said. "If she's guilty, we can exact justice later. If not . . ."

Sven cursed savagely. "She's the cause of this! Don't let your lust make you a fool!"

"Get her," Tabor said, his eyes locked with Sven's. Very seldom did he actually give a direct command to his friend.

Sven rushed to Tanaka, taking her by the wrist to drag her along with him, though she seemed to be willing to come of her own volition. They fought their way through the gates of Hedeby into the thick forest that surrounded the village. With each step he took, Tabor felt himself growing weaker. Though he tried to keep pressure on the arrow wounds on his arm, the ongoing battle forced him to react and the lacerations kept re-opening.

"To the boat," Tabor said to Sven during a lull in the fighting. "We must make it out to sea if we are to live."

Tabor's ship was the fastest in the Scandinavian waters, his crew the ablest sailors. Even with the shrunken ranks of fifteen men, he was certain that he could find safety and recover his strength once he was upon the waters, where he felt most at home.

❧

The battle had begun shortly after sunrise. Eight hours later, Tabor, his bedraggled crew, and Tanaka reached the inlet where he had anchored his boat. The crew he'd left behind was dead, and the ship was still burning, resting low in the water, about to sink. Tabor cursed as he watched the yellow, orange, and blue flames eating away at what was left of his vessel.

"You'll have other boats," Tanaka said softly, sympathetically, standing just behind Tabor.

Throughout the pain and turmoil he'd endured since she'd been given to him, she'd not seen him look defeated . . . until now. She did not know that to a Viking, his boat is more than a means of transportation and a place to live, it is also a personal shrine that has mystic and religious importance. The expression of defeat lasted no more than a moment before Tabor closed his eyes and heart to the painful sight. When he reopened his eyes, there was an icy hardness in their blue depths that lacked any human warmth.

"If she says another word, tie her up and gag her."

"Aye, Tabor. As you command," Sven responded. .

Tanaka shivered because she knew that Tabor meant the threat and Sven would carry it through without a moment's hesitation. When the weary band of warriors continued on their trek across the Danish countryside, Tanaka got in step with Tabor, casting occasional sideways glances at him, wondering constantly if he hated her as much as he seemed to, if he blamed her for Ingmar the Savage's treachery, and what her fate would be if she could not convince the tall Viking of her innocence.

W
ith nightfall, the constant threat of exposure and renewed battle lessened. Although Ingmar's men could no longer spy Tabor from a great distance, it was equally true that travel had slowed to a crawl so they wouldn't inadvertently stumble into a search party. Thick, autumnal clouds blotted out the moon; and, though it did not rain, the threat was constantly there. No one spoke a word as they trudged through the night, staying near the shore line in hopes of finding a boat to use for their escape.

It was shortly after midnight when Carl, a short but powerfully built youth who'd been sent ahead to scout, rushed back to the main body of men. "There's a group of maybe twenty just over the next rise," he whispered to Tabor and Sven as they huddled together in the dark. "I recognize them. They're Hugh's men."

Sven and Tabor exchanged glances. In the hours since the attack at Hedeby, they had deduced that Hugh had led the attack force which had slaughtered Tabor's men left in Medworth.

"Have they a craft?" Tabor asked, and though he had lost a great deal of blood from his wound, the will to win rang strong and clear in his voice.

"Nay. They were afoot, bragging of their bravery and of the men they'd killed."

Tabor thought about the good men who had fallen in battle, fighting valiantly despite the incredible odds. He touched his shoulder, which throbbed, then the biceps, which still jolted him with stabbing pain. At least his arm had finally stopped bleeding.

"Let's give them an hour or two to settle under their blankets and get comfortable," Tabor said with venom and resolve, "then we'll see how uncomfortable we can make their lives."

Tanaka approached Tabor later as he rested, his back against the trunk of a tree. She had not uttered a word since Tabor's threat to have her bound and gagged many hours earlier. She waited until Tabor noticed her and motioned for her to move closer.

"You are pale ... so pale," she whispered, kneeling at Tabor's side. The bandage of white cotton Sven had wrapped tightly around his biceps was now solid red, caked with dried blood.

"I only appear so to you" Tabor replied with little conviction. He attempted a smile, but did not succeed. "You think that everyone should have skin like yours —the color of gold in the moonlight."

His gaze briefly met Tanaka's; and, though no words were exchanged, she thought there was some lessening of the distrust between them, though she did not dare mention this for fear of piquing his Viking anger once again.

"May I look at the wound?" she asked. "I can put a fresh bandage on for you."

Sven, who had stepped closer once Tanaka began speaking with Tabor, said in a low, ominous voice, "I'll be the one to change his bandage." It was all he said, but the threat of violence was unmistakable.

Tabor said, "Let her put on the bandage." Then, to diminish the sting, he added, "That is woman's work. They are good at it. We, Sven, are Vikings."

Sven smiled, nodded in agreement, and stepped away.

The insult did not offend Tanaka. She had seen past the words to their cause.

"Yes, you are a Viking. . . . and Vikings are only good at killing." She softened the effect of her words with a gentle touch and began unknotting the bandage.

Tabor was shocked that she would have the temerity to taunt him. She was the only woman who'd ever shown the courage to tease him, and that, among so many others things, made her completely different from all the other women he'd known. Though he was in no mood for a verbal duel with the sharp-tongued woman, the corners of his mouth curled up in appreciation and, for the first time in hours, his eyes strayed down from her face to the breasts which quivered beneath her woolen dress as she unwrapped the saturated cloth from his arm.

"We're good at more than just killing," he said, the husky timbre of his voice intentionally conjuring up the erotic memories she had tried to forget. "It's just that killing is what frightens the men in the lands we sail to. Did you know that Normans end their prayers with 'Oh, Lord, protect us from the Northmen'?"

Tanaka had removed the bandage from his arm.

Tabor grimaced, not because he was in pain, but because he had seen men with similar wounds get sickness in their blood and die. Bad wounds bred poison; it was a hideous way to die.

She felt her insides constrict at the sight of the wound. As a priestess, she had been protected from the unsightly, but on two occasions she had been summoned to tend injured high-ranking men under Pharaoh Abbakka's command. Though she had done everything she could to save the men, one had died within hours and the other lasted less than two days. But the memories had lasted much longer for Tanaka, and the frustration and sense of loss and failure had never left her.

Turning to Sven, she said, "Bring strong drink to me." The icy glare she received from the Viking warned Tanaka that she was no longer in Egypt and could not issue commands.

Tabor added, "Do as she says, Sven . . . for now."

"He doesn't like me," Tanaka said, when Sven stormed off.

"He doesn't trust you. That isn't the same as not liking you," Tabor replied. "He used to like you . . . before the attack."

Tanaka refused to take her eyes away from Tabor's wounded arm. She was afraid to look into his eyes, afraid of what she would see if she looked there. The attack. The damned attack. Sven blamed her. Tabor, too. The men, she knew, blamed her. As if she'd wanted to be kidnapped by Ingmar the Savage. As if she'd planned to be given, like a brood mare, to Tabor.

With some difficulty, Tanaka forced such thoughts away. They were too infuriating, and they did her no good. It wasn't fair that she should be blamed, she wanted to shout. But nothing had been fair since she'd been snatched from the security of Ofar.

Sven returned with a skin full of potent liquor and a cloth that had been torn into strips.

"Thank you," she said.

Sven got down on one knee and whispered into Tanaka's ear, "If he dies, so do you."

Although he walked away, Tanaka felt as though he had already stabbed the dagger into her heart. She tried to pretend that he had said nothing, certain that if she mentioned the threat to Tabor, he would not believe her. She picked up the skin of liquid and removed the stopper to sniff it. It smelled vile —and very strong.

"What are you going to do with that?" Tabor asked, aware that the priestess tending to his wound would never drink the heady brew.

"It is said that potent drink can prevent the sickness from spreading," Tanaka explained, hoping that what she had heard was more than just a story.

Tabor reached for the skin, but Tanaka held it out of arm's reach. "No," she said sternly. "It is not to be drunk."

"What else would you do with it, woman?"

Tanaka knew that strong drink upon an open wound was painful. She knew, too, that Tabor did not trust her and would not be willing to allow her to cause him pain. So, without warning, she said, "You do this!" and poured a long stream of the liquid onto Tabor's wound.

He flinched but made no sound. His eyes blazed brightly, the question implicit, demanding response.

"It is said that strong drink can prevent the sickness," Tanaka said, relieved that he had not struck her. "I do it only for your own good."

Beads of perspiration had formed on Tabor's forehead; and, though it was clear that he was still in considerable pain, he tried to jest. "It's a good thing you're not angry," he said, "or you might go out of your way to hurt me."

Tanaka raised the skin over Tabor's arm again, but this time there was a question in her expression. She waited for Tabor's nod before she squirted the amber liquid onto his arm again, much more liberally this time to make sure she saturated the wounds on both sides of his biceps. Then Tanaka took a rolled strip of cloth and quickly bound the arm again.

"You're so strong," she said, tying the bandage into place. "You're upper arm is as big as my thigh."

As Tanaka began wrapping a second layer of cloth around his arm, Tabor placed his hand on her thigh. Tanaka's hands hesitated for just a second before she continued her work, outwardly steady as though she could not feel the heat of his hand and gaze upon her.

"Your thigh really is no larger than my arm," he agreed, his voice gravelly, mixed with fatigue and desire.

As she ministered to him, he wondered if she were capable of deception, of being a "distraction" so that Hugh's attack would have maximum telling effect. He played his hand along her leg from knee to thigh, touching her through the dress and underdress. He glanced in Sven's direction, not wanting his advances to be observed. Though it hurt to move, he ran his palm down her leg to her ankle. When he reached upward again, he slid his hand beneath the wool dress until he felt the satiny texture of her flesh. He pushed the wool up until his hand rested above her knee, his fingertips tracing tiny circles on her inner thigh.

Tanaka's heart was racing. She, too, cast a cautious glance in Sven's direction. Tabor wouldn't force himself upon me here, now, with everyone watching. . . . would he?

She wanted to clamp her knees together to trap his hand between her thighs so that it could not stray higher; but, having already denied him the pleasures he sought, she was hesitant to refuse him anything now.

"Y-You should save your strength," Tanaka stammered, reaching for the courage to refuse. "Soon you will be fighting again, and you will need all your strength. Besides, you have already lost so much blood . . ."

Tabor chuckled, amusement fading into a groan of pain. With his uninjured right hand he caressed Tanaka's cheek, running his thumb lightly across her mouth.

"Yes, I must fight again, but I have enough strength to take you to Valhalla and carry you back." He grimaced, not liking his words. He'd always believed that men who boasted of their sexual prowess did so out of some deep-down belief that they were sexually inadequate. "But I am indeed tired. Tired of fighting, to be sure. Aye. . . . and we have even less privacy than I have strength." He looked away, saying nothing for several seconds. His hand remained on

Tanaka's thigh, but he no longer caressed her. "Another fight. . . . I've been in so many wars . . ."

Tanaka's heart went out to Tabor. This side of him —the battle-weary warrior —was something she hadn't seen before, had not even suspected existed.

She said quietly, "Maybe when you find a boat, we can sail away. Then you'll be able to stop fighting. We'll go where there are no wars, no battles to be fought."

"And where, this side of Valhalla, might that place be?"

Tanaka remembered that Valhalla was the Viking word for heaven. She smiled, almost forgetting about his hand on her thigh, and began to tell Tabor of a place where the fish were plentiful, the marshes thick with waterfowl, and the sun ever-warm. Tabor, though, did not hear her soothing words because he had drifted into a healing, exhausted sleep.