Page 59 of The Viking’s Captive

Rafn’s long-winded speech seemed odd, though Adam couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason why. Perchance it was because he’d kept his eyes averted the entire time. Adam had a sneaky suspicion about the king’s continued unconsciousness, but the notion was too outlandish for even this rascally king.

Adam changed the linen dressing on the head wound, checked the King’s eyes and mouth and ears, and listened to his heartbeat. All seemed normal … or as normal as a man with a hole in his head could be.

He stepped away from the bed and said, “I will stay with him for several hours. Mayhap he will awaken whilst I am here. I would like to see myself how he reacts.”

“Uh, master, didst know that folks started lining up afore dawn for your medical services?” Rashid informed him.

“As I said, I will remain here several hours. This afternoon I will see some people,” he said firmly. “Please, Rashid, not too many yet.” There was a hidden message in his last statement … a plea for his assistant to understand that he needed to move slowly back into his medical practice … that he still suffered misgivings.

Rashid nodded.

No one left right away, though. He and Rashid were gathering up his supplies, setting aside those items to be destroyed and those to be boiled for another use.

“Are you planning to wed Tyra?” Rafn inquired without any warning.

“Huh?” Now, that is a really intelligent answer. “You overstep your bounds, Rafn.”

“I know you are attracted to her … do not try to deny it. And, if I overstep my bounds, ‘tis with good reason. I want to marry Vana. Five years I have been waiting for her. And the only thing standing in our way is Tyra.”

“ ‘Tis not my responsibility to pave the way for you two lovebirds.”

“It may not be your responsibility, but if you intend to marry our lady, then I would appreciate knowing. Holy Thor, man, you would be saving Tyra’s sisters and many Stoneheim warriors much heartbreak if you could take her away with you.”

“That doesn’t say much for Tyra, does it? She has been a fine chieftain to you all, in her father’s stead, and how do you all show your thanks? By making her feel less than a woman … and less than a leader. Has anyone asked Tyra what she wants?”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Finally Tykir noted, “You are defending the wench? Uh-oh. Sounds serious to me.”

“I think I will write a saga about men who do not know what they want,” Bolthor said.

“I think I will throw you in the moat,” Adam replied.

“I think I would like to see you try,” Bolthor countered.

“There is a famous proverb that goes like this: ‘Sad is the man who searches the world over for brass and finds gold in his own tent.’”

“What the hell does that mean?” Adam snarled. Then, “Never mind.” He turned on Rafn. “In answer to your question, I have no intention of marrying Tyra … or any other woman. I can understand perfectly how Tyra must feel, with everyone nagging at her all the time. I never wanted to return to medicine and here I am in the midst of a sickroom with ailing people lined up to who-knows-where. Picking, picking, picking at my bones. Now you want to start on me and marriage. Well, I have had more than enough. All of you, out of here and leave me in peace!”

Four men’s jaws gaped open with shock at his outburst. But at least they got the message and left in stunned silence.

Once they were gone, Adam turned back to the bed. He could swear there was a smile on the old man’s lips.