Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (4 page)

Rain couldn’t remain silent this time. “Your arrogance revolts me. I have no interest whatsoever in making love with you.”

“Hah! Love has naught to do with mating. When a man feels the need to relieve himself betwixt a woman’s legs, ’tis rutting, pure and simple. Ofttimes ’tis simpler to do it himself.”

Rain’s upper lip curled with disgust, and she turned her eyes heavenward. “I pity you if you think of lovemaking as a bodily function.”

“In truth, ’tis much like pissing,” he persisted.

Rain detected a hint of humor in Selik’s voice and turned to look back at him as they rode. His blank face told nothing, but a slight twitch of his lips betrayed a barely suppressed grin.

“Humph! Well, you’re certainly different from the man my mother described. To hear her tell it, you had a reputation as a great lover.”

“What nonsense! Well, mayhap,” he admitted on second thought, “I did have wordfame as a lover once, but ’twas long ago.” He shrugged. “I no longer care.”

In spite of herself, Rain giggled. “You have no idea what a strange conversation this is for me. With my failure rate in sexual relationships, I’m no one to criticize.”

“What is your meaning? Failure rate? Do you not mate with your husband?”

“I’m not married.”

“Aaah.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I understand now. You are an unwed woman who ruts with men.”

“Hold it, buster. Don’t make any rash judgments. I’m not promiscuous, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I imply naught. ’Tis you who speak of bad ruttings with men to whom you are not wed.”

“I wish you’d stop using that ugly word.”

“Which word?”

“Rutting. Animals rut. If you can’t refer to it as making love, at least call it having sex.”

Selik laughed again, deep and throaty, and the sound rippled musically in Rain’s ears.

“Just how many men have you
had sex
with?” he
asked with a chuckle, his arms tightening around her imperceptibly like a warm cocoon.

“That is none of your business.” Rain stiffened her back indignantly.

“Methinks you have had no man, wench, with that waspish tongue. No man would risk his male parts with its razor edge.”

Rain lifted her chin indignantly. “Don’t think that just because I’m—I’m tall, that no man has ever desired me.”

The brute made a small choking sound behind her neck. “Well, now you call it to my attention, you are rather…
large
. In truth, some men are put off by…
largeness
.”

Tell me about it
.

“So, what of these
few
men who desired you?”

Geez! He had a one-track mind. Oh, what difference did it make, Rain decided. “When I was eighteen, I had a really bad sexual experience, an unfortunate one-night stand. In the past twelve years, I’ve had only two serious love affairs. They didn’t work out very well.”

Selik remained silent for several moments, considering her words. “So, you have seen thirty winters. I did not realize you were so long in the tooth.”

“I’m no older than you,” she retorted hotly.

“Well, then, we must both be long in the tooth, sweetling,” he concluded with a soft laugh. He pressed her cheek against his chest, indicating an end to the conversation, and expertly put the horse into a faster pace.

Sweetling!
Rain snuggled closer and put her arms around his waist for balance. Weariness overwhelmed her. This time-travel business was exhausting.

Before she dozed off, somehow confident that Selik would protect her from any danger, Rain wondered how she would ever be able to save this
savage Norseman who referred to lovemaking as rutting, who killed men as easily as he’d stomp on ants, and who’d just as soon be dead himself. Rain vowed that she would help him, God willing, and somehow, in the process, she hoped to regain her own life as well. But the question was—would it be here in the past, or in the future?

Rain slept peacefully until she felt the horse climbing a sharp incline. The path it followed wended through near-impenetrable brush and vines, which Selik slashed aside when necessary with his sword. Fierce, primitive soldiers stood watch silently along the way, waving them forward when they recognized Selik, then covering their tracks immediately after. Soon they emerged onto a flat clearing atop the hill. From here they could see for miles around, obviously a good vantage point for detecting any pursuing enemy.

Rain was surprised to see that hundreds of Vikings and their allies, including the Scots and Welsh, had escaped the Saxon assault. Many of the men still wore battle raiment, while others covered themselves with wolf skins and other animal furs as the cool autumn evening approached. Only a few women were present, cooking over open fires off to the side.

Some tents had been erected, but most of the men lay on the open ground, resting or treating wounds. At least she could be of some help as a physician.

Rain turned to offer her medical skills and noticed the proud, arrogant set of Selik’s shoulders. Even in a crowd, his presence was compelling, but no welcome greeted Selik from his beaten comrades. An air of isolation surrounded her lone Viking, as if he were an outcast of some sort.

Selik dismounted and helped Rain off the horse. A number of men stared at her with curiosity. Lord, by the ferocious, barbaric looks of
them, she’d landed in a den of Dark Age warlords.

“Go help the women,” Selik directed curtly.

“Huh? Cooking? Me?”

“Do my ears play me false? You question my orders already?” Selik hissed through gritted teeth.

“No, it’s just that I thought you’d need my medical skills.”

“Go to the cooking fires,” he snapped in a choked voice. Some of the men snickered at her questioning his orders.

“I’m a doctor, for heaven’s sake,” Rain muttered petulantly as she started to stomp off.

Selik grabbed her braid and pulled hard, jerking her back sharply.

“Ouch! What’d I do now?” She yanked her braid out of his hands and squared her shoulders defiantly, despite his stormy face.

“Your flapping tongue defies reason, and I warned you about missaying the truth. First, you claim to be a guardian angel. Now, a healer. What next? The goddess Freya?”

Rain closed her eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. “I
am
a physician. I spent many years studying to be a doctor. I’m a surgeon at Holy Trinity Hospital.”

Rain heard hoots of disbelief and derision around her, but Selik rubbed his chin and eyed her speculatively.

“A physician!” he grumbled with a resigned shake of his head. “Bloody hell! The gods surely showed their displeasure by dumping this feminine blight on me this day.” Before she could protest, he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her toward the nearest tent, demanding, “Show me.”

Rain soon discovered that three tents held wounded warriors in a triage system based on the severity of their injuries. Still carrying her shoulder bag
containing an emergency medical kit, she entered the tent with the most grievously wounded. For hours, she worked like an automaton as best she could with her limited supplies—suturing wounds, treating shock, and trying to avoid infection wherever possible.

At first, Selik stood guard over her, watching her every move. He stopped her when she tried to give pills to several men, but let her continue when she assured him they were just aspirin and Tylenol, mild painkillers, much the same as the herbs his own healers used. She gave Darvon to some men who needed stronger medication.

When she finished with all the patients in her tent, Rain went outside and stretched her back to remove the kinks. She knew she’d treated only a few of the many victims. She heard loud moans and screams from the other tents, where God only knew what kind of primitive medical practitioners doctored the helpless victims.

Selik stood alone, propped against a tree trunk on the other side of the clearing, apart from his military comrades. Their gazes locked for a second, and Rain wondered what he had been thinking, standing in the chill night air.

He needs you
, the voice said.

Hah! He needs a good shot of pacifism. That’s what he needs
.

Then Selik gave her a questioning glare, as if asking why she was resting when so many needed her help.
The boor!

Rain walked huffily into the next tent and gazed in horror at a young man lying on a long table, protesting wildly the restraints of several men who held him down. Rain couldn’t believe what she saw. Then, as the victim turned his face toward her, Rain screamed in horror.

It was her brother Dave on the table, and a floundering, Dark Age Ben Casey wielded a knife the size of the Grim Reaper’s blade, preparing to amputate his leg. Worst of all, the contaminated blood of other patients covered the healer’s instrument and his cleric’s garb, even his tonsured head. Apparently, he’d used the knife over and over without cleaning or disinfecting it.

“
Stop!
” Everyone in the room turned to look at her as she rushed forward. “Don’t you dare touch my brother, you bloody butcher.” With a force fed by pumping adrenaline, Rain knocked the healer aside, taking in the medical problem immediately. The deep wound above the knee was bad, and he’d probably sustained some permanent muscle damage, but she thought she might be able to save his leg. Of course, he’d lost a lot of blood, and she had no plasma, but it was worth the risk. Wasn’t it?

“Don’t worry, Dave, I won’t let them cut off your leg.”

The young man raised his eyes hopefully and clutched her hand tightly. Refusing to relax his grasp, he tried to speak, but she told him to save his strength.

Of course, it wasn’t Dave. Her
real
older brother was forty-two years old and was probably playing golf right now, since it was Saturday. This man couldn’t be more than twenty. He must be one of the Viking Age half brothers her mother had told her about.

“Are you Eirik or Tykir?”

“Tykir,” he rasped out.

“Well, Tykir, I’m your half-sister Rain, and I won’t let them take your leg.”

“Do you swear?” he asked, still clutching her hand.

“I promise to do everything possible to save your leg.”

Hearing a flurry of noise behind her, Rain turned to see a furious Selik, his eyes blazing hotly. He stood in the doorway of the tent, flanked by the healer and the men who’d been holding Tykir down.

“What manner of trouble do you cause now?” he snarled, moving toward her purposefully, obviously intending to remove her bodily from the tent. Rain stood her ground bravely, holding her arms outstretched protectively in front of her newfound kin.

Rain shook with anger and fear, but she knew she had to speak quickly. “They’ll kill him if they amputate his leg—especially with that dirty blade. I won’t let them do that to my brother.”

“Brother? What nonsense do you spout now?”

“Tykir. They want to amputate—”

With a hefty swipe, Selik knocked Rain aside and to the ground. The healer snickered with satisfaction above her.

Selik leaned over the patient with concern. “Tykir? Oh, by all I hold sacred, boy, I did not know you were in the battle. I thought you safe in Norway with your Uncle Haakon. Damn that Ubbi for disobeying my orders.”

“Do not blame Ubbi,” Tykir whispered. “’Twas my idea.”

Rain stood and brushed off the seat of her pants. Fascinated, she watched the ferocious Viking caress Tykir’s face with remarkable gentleness. It was the most compassion she’d seen in the cold Norseman thus far. Perhaps there was hope for him, after all.

“Let the woman heal me,” Tykir pleaded, rising on his elbows. “Do not say me nay on this, Selik. Much do I prefer to gamble death with the wench than lose a limb. For the sake of my father, grant me this boon.”

Selik turned stonily to Rain. “Can you truly save the leg?”

“I think so…if we hurry. And providing I get all
the help and materials I need.” She looked pointedly at the angry healer and the hostile men.

Selik paused, torn between the outrage of his comrades and Tykir’s urgent exhortations. He held up a hand to halt the angry suggestions of the men. “
Quiet!
” he bellowed and turned decisively to Rain. “What dost thou need?”

Rain could have kissed the stubborn knight for his support, begrudging as it was. She banked her emotions, though, and demanded, “Boiling water, lots of it, needles, clean cloths. Put everything into the water to sterilize; then lay the cloths somewhere to dry where they won’t touch anything impure.”

She gave orders like a drill sergeant to the men around her, wanting the table scrubbed thoroughly and dozens of torches lit for better visibility. When the makeshift operating table was prepared, she removed all of Tykir’s clothing, much to the embarrassment of Tykir and the consternation of the cleric, who proclaimed huffily, “’Tis unseemly of the maid.”

“Listen, little brother, what you have or don’t have below the waist is of little consequence here. You want to save your leg, don’t you?”

He nodded weakly.

Rain patted his head reassuringly. Lord, he was only a boy. He should be enjoying life, not fighting in a useless war. She sighed with weary resignation. Whether tenth-century or modern-day life, some things never changed. One pointless war after another.

Rain decided not to remove the tourniquet above the wound until just before the surgery, but she examined the injury closer to determine the depth of the cut. The muscle damage might not be too bad, but some veins needed to be reconnected as soon as possible to get the blood supply going again before the leg atrophied. It would take hours under
the best of circumstances. How would Tykir ever stand the prolonged pain?

Rain rummaged in her medical kit. Of course, she had no anesthetic. And the strongest pain killers she carried were Darvon and codeine, and only a few of those. They would be better used after the surgery. Would she have to rely on alcohol to dull Tykir’s senses? Criminey! She’d kill her brother just probing around in that horrendous wound.

But there was another way, Rain realized suddenly. Did she have the courage to try it?