Page 34 of The Viking’s Captive

Rashid nodded. A short time later, while they examined the tools laid out on linen cloth, he tried once again. “I think she is melting.”

“Who?” Adam asked … as if he didn’t know who.

“The warrior princess. I mentioned a kiss being the first step in the seduction process leading to a harem, and—”

“You told her that?”

“Yea.”

“Now she will think I kissed her with ill purpose … to gain some end.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Nay, I did not. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And ‘twas no big thing, Rashid. Do not make it so.”

“Hmmm.”

“What does that hmmm mean?”

“Just that she had the same response. Told me in no uncertain words not to make much of nothing. But me-thinks she protested too much. Methinks it was a big ado to her. In fact, methinks—”

“Dost know what I think, Rashid? Methinks you think too bloody damn much. Stop interfering in my life.” Adam closed his precious journal and was about to put it away in its leather case; it was obvious he would have no more opportunity to study it this evening. He couldn’t stop himself from asking the next question, though. “So, what was Tyra’s reaction to your telling her that kisses lead to harems?”

“She stomped away.”

“Aaahh,” he said, and would have liked to do the same.

But there was a knock at the door. A series of knocks, actually. Four of them.

Adam looked at Rashid, and Rashid looked at him.

“Enter,” he called out.

And in came Tyra’s four sisters, all wearing voluminous night shifts, like the one Tyra had had on. He had thought all women slept naked, as their menfolk did.

“You kissed her,” they all charged as one, smiling their congratulations at him.

He pushed a path through the women and did what he should have done before. He stomped down the corridor.

Aaarrgh!he wailed inside. When did my life become such a nightmare? When did I revert to such youthling impulses? When did I let a woman turn my brain to mush?

He promised himself not to repeat the mistake.

Unless there were tongues involved.

Or bed furs.

Aaarrgh!

The physician began to heal himself…

Adam was preparing to operate on the unconscious king.

They had slipped some of the strong, amber-colored, Scottish brew, uisge-beatha, between Thorvald’s lips to help dull the pain and make his sleep deeper, as well as a small amount of poppy juice, though henbane or mandrake might have served as well if they had been available. It would not do for him to awaken in the midst of this procedure.

“Did you boil my tools?” he asked Rashid, who was arranging the implements on a cloth-covered table near the bed. There were several knives with short, sharp blades, a special miniature saw of his own design that fit in the palm of the hand, an extra-large needle, strong thread, and, of course, the hand-driven metal drill.

“Yea, I did.” His assistant knew how important it was to his master that everything that touched the patient’s body be pure. It was a lesson Adam had learned well from his stepmother, Rain, who claimed to know of medical practices far into the future. He could hardly credit that, but he accepted that cleanliness was important.