Page 29 of Truly, Madly Viking

He gaped at her, then clicked his jaw shut. It was not fitting that he should appear dumbfounded at his own incredible strength.

"How did you do that?"

He shrugged, as if it were nothing. In truth, he had no idea how he had done it.

One minute he had seen her near tears, and the next minute he was consumed with frustration at his being unable to... what? Hold her? Holy Thor! Best I rein in those thoughts.

"Are you Houdini, or some kind of magician?"

"Well, I have been known to wield magic onoccasion," he lied. Ha! The only sorcery skill he could boast was that an overendowed Saxon tart had once told him he had magic in his rod, and she had been drunkinn at the time.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you been playing a game with me?"

"Nay." But I'd like to. One that involves kiss some lips, sweet, succulent toes, long legs, round breasts, and a sexvoice.

"Just tell me this... have you been able to break free from that straitjacket all along?"

"I have not," he answered honestly.

She seemed to accept his answer.

In a matter of seconds, he had tossed the garment aside and was flexing his limbs to get the blood flowing again. He turned back to the wench, glanced away, then immediately turned back. "What?" She was staring at his bare chest as if she'd never seen a naked man before, though he was not really naked, since he still wore those loose blue hospital braies with the waist ties.

He would have to be blind not to see the interest in her eyes. He stepped closer, obeying a strange compulsion that drew him against his will. It was like the sensation one got sometimes when standing on a cliff. A person didn't want to jump or fall forward, but there was some physical pulling sensation nonetheless. Had she cast a spell on him?

"Don't touch me .... " she protested weakly.

"I have wanted to touch you for days," he admitted in a gravelly voice, but he restrained himself from doing so. For now, he was content to inhale her flowery scent, to appreciate the rise and fall of those magnificent breasts, to wonder at the trembling of her full, cherry lips. "You shouldn't... you can't."

"Who says I cannot?"

"I do. It's unethical."

"What?"

"I'm a doctor; you're my patient. There can be nothing personal between us."

He made a snorting sound of disagreement. "I know about this dock whore/pay-shun business from The Guiding Light. There was this man, Dock-Whore Rick, who... well, never mind that. Heed me well, wench; I never hired you to be my dock whore. Therefore, I cannot be your pay shun. Mayhap I will be Dock-whore Hairy's pay shun. Then I can touch you all I want."

He could see that he was confusing Mag-he. Good. It was always best to keep a wench in a muddled condition, lest she start thinking she had a brain equal to a man's.

Also, women, no matter their station, were more likely to succumb to men's baser suggestions in that state. Once he had befuddled an Irish wench so badly that she had agreed to the most outrageous things.

But that had been a long time ago, and it was neither here nor there.

Jorund needed a plan. Too many baffling thoughts and feelings were hitting him from every angle. If he were in the midst of battle, he would be dead by now.

Where was his legendary gift for war tactics? How had he lost his focus?

"Come." He directed the wench to a small metal table with folding chairs on either side. "Sit down, and let us come up with a plan for healing me."

She eyed him skeptically, the way that women were wont to do on occasion when they thought their men were up to some mischief.

He sat down, but she still stood on the other side of the room, suspicious of him. He wished she would hurry so they could get this business over with. By his count of the big, circular ticking device on the wall, Judge Judy would be coming on the black world box soon, and he did enjoy her saucy tongue when wielding her edicts. He was learning much about the law of this land.

The wench went to a door first, which he had learned previously was called a close-it. From it she took a shert, which matched his braies. "Put this on first," she demanded.

He was about to ask why, but he knew... somehow he knew. His near-nudity disconcerted her. Now that was a fact to be stored for future reference. He did as she asked, leaving the strange fastening devices undone; they were known as buttons. For a certainty, he intended to take a sampling of these back to his country. He knew a few merchants who would pay a fortune for knowledge of their marvelous usage.