Page 35 of The Viking’s Captive

“And I had the room stripped of all objects, including the mattress, and everything was scrubbed with lye soap, even the walls,” Tyra said. “Plus I had the rushes swept out.” Although Vana disdained rushes in the great hall, she did allow them in the bedchambers to insulate the coldness of the floors.

He nodded, but said nothing. He had not wanted Tyra to be present, but she had insisted that she be there to represent the family. “You forget, Saxon. I am a soldier. I have seen blood afore,” she’d reminded him.

How could he forget? He still saw images of her in his head, wielding a broadsword against the sea pirates. “It’s different when it’s a loved one,” he had countered.

Also in the bedchamber were Father Efrid, the monk healer, who wanted to learn more about trepanation of the skull, and Rafn, whose muscle might be needed to hold down the king.

“Is everyone ready?” Adam asked.

“Wouldst object if I said a small prayer first?” Father Efrid inquired.

Adam nodded his head. “I am willing to accept help from any quarter.”

“Blessed Lord, be with this man today as he performs his healing skills. Guide his hands, and if it be Thy will, bring Thorvald of Stoneheim out of his deep sleep and back into Thy living goodness. Amen.”

“Amen,” they all said, even Tyra, who was presumably not of the Christian religion.

“May Muhammad be sitting on my master’s left shoulder,” Rashid added, “and Allah on his right. Praise be to Allah!”

Rafn coughed and put in his prayer as well, to everyone’s surprise, “Odin, god of wisdom, look down upon your servant, Adam of Britain. Give him your strength and make his hands adept. No straw-death for our king. Instead, save Thorvald’s journey into Asgard for another day … in the midst of battle.”

Adam couldn’t help chuckling then, despite the dire circumstance he found himself in. “It looks as if we have ourselves covered from all celestial bases.”

Everyone laughed nervously.

It was two hours after that, though, before anyone laughed, or smiled, or really breathed. Adam’s hands had not trembled … not even once … in the course of the operation. He had feared they might after two years away from medicine and after his failure to save his sister.

And Tyra! My God, what a wonder she was! He had not expected her to flinch at the sight of blood … though it was her father and not some nameless enemy … but he had to admit to being impressed at her coolheadedness and efficiency under stress. She had seemed to anticipate his moves, even before Rashid, who had assisted him for many a year. If the woman were not so dead set on spilling blood, she would make a wonderful healer’s assistant.

He smiled to himself, and not just at the image of Tyra the Warrior becoming Tyra the Healer … or any man’s assistant. Whether Thorvald lived or died, the trepanation had been the most horrible, exhilarating experience of Adam’s life. Those final moments when his drill had broken through the bone structure had been filled with suspense for them all. As one, they exhaled with a loud whoosh. Afterward, Adam applied bruised betony to the wound so it would unite and heal, then wrapped a long, clean strip of linen about the king’s temple and all around his head.

Adam, for one, felt as if he’d been touched by the hand of God.

Whether Thorvald lived or died, and despite Adam’s two-year absence from medicine and his vow never to practice again, he knew one thing without a doubt.

I am a physician.

He teased so good …

Tyra found Adam on one of the ramparts of the castle.

He sat with his back against the outer wall and his face pressed against his arms, which were folded over his raised knees. She had no idea whether he slept, or wept, or both. Nor did she know whether he would welcome her intrusion. Probably not.

Even so, she sank down to the rampart floor beside him and put a hand on the nape of his neck. He wore one of the loose Arab robes today, like the one she’d first seen him in back in his Saxon home.

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it most sincerely.

He didn’t raise his head, but he did turn it so that he could look at her. “For what? We may not know for days if your father will recover.”

“It matters not,” she said, and moved her hand from his nape to his shoulder, which she squeezed briefly as a further sign of her appreciation. “Oh, I do not mean that my father’s life has no importance. ‘Tis just that I know you did not want to practice your healing skills, and definitely not in such a serious case.”

“And not in another country, where I was brought against my will,” he added. There was mirth in his voice now. She knew he was teasing her … again.

“That, too,” she agreed. “Despite all your objections, though, you did a fine, fine job. I am impressed.”

“Impressed, hmmm? I like the sound of that.” He sat up, which she regretted. She no longer had an excuse to lay her hand on him. And she did so like the feel of his clean hair under her fingertips and the hard muscles of his back under her palm.

“Do not be letting your ego get more overblown than it already is. Any bigger and your head might explode,” she teased back. She was not experienced with teasing games … certainly not teasing games with men. “I merely thanked you for completing the task competently. Just say, ‘You are welcome, my lady,’ like a humble healer.”