Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] (5 page)

Dr. Chin Lee, a colleague at her hospital, had been teaching her acupuncture for the past few years as an alternative to traditional painkillers and anesthetics, but she’d never tried the procedure on her own. She inhaled deeply and made a decision.

“Selik, can you find me some long needles with very sharp points?”

He nodded.

“Bring as many as you can find, and make sure you put those in boiling water, too.” He frowned at her dictatorial tone but had the grace to wait until later to reprimand her. When everything was ready, she demanded, “Everybody out of this tent.”

“Nay. We stay to witness her atrocities,” the healer protested.

“The boy needs to be held down,” one man argued.

“Mayhap she practices sorcery,” still another offered.

“Selik,” Rain pleaded, “if all goes well, Tykir won’t need to be restrained.”

“Hah! He will be dead,” the healer declared shrilly, and the others affirmed his accusation with much grumbling.

Selik considered her words, then compromised, “Father Cedric and I will remain to witness your work. The others will stay outside the tent in case they are needed.”

“Well, then, you both have to scrub your hands.”

“The wench demands overmuch,” Father Cedric whined.

“Selik, my brother is in more danger from infection than from the wound itself. Dirt and tainted blood carry bacteria, a deadly killer in open wounds.”

At first, Selik glared at her stubbornly, but then he looked to Tykir’s pleading face. He told the healer with finality, “We do as the wench asks—for now.”

They left the tent to scrub up, muttering curses when she added that they should wash under their fingernails as well. Rain turned to the barely conscious Tykir.

“Honey, I’m going to do some things to lessen the pain. You’ll feel better right away, and you shouldn’t even be able to tell when I probe in your wound to repair the damage. Do you trust me?”

“I must needs trust you,” he said uncertainly.

“There’s one thing, though, Tykir…the way I’ll stop the pain involves sticking needles in your skin in at least ten spots.”

His eyes widened, but then he gave a weak, pain-filled smile and chuckled. “Best you prick me afore Selik returns, lest he skin you alive. He has a fearsome aversion to needles.”

Thanking God for her almost photographic memory, Rain mentally reviewed Dr. Lee’s lessons on ancient Chinese medicine. She pictured the meridians that divided the human body and the three hundred and sixty-five “gate keepers” or puncture points where the meridians supposedly emerged to the surface. Even Dr. Lee, with all his expertise, hadn’t been sure how acupuncture worked as a natural anesthetic, but he contended that when a sharp point was inserted in precisely the right spot it sent a message to the brain which released natural opiates, such as endorphins and enkephalins, to mask the pain.

Tykir was scared to death, but the brave boy just pressed his lips together tightly and closed his eyes as she stuck the long needles into various parts of his body, including his head. Then he looked up in wonder. “’Tis a miracle. I feel no pain.”

Rain closed her eyes for a second.
Thank You, God!

“Nay!” Selik and the healer shouted together as they entered the tent and saw what she’d done with the needles. At first, Selik swayed from side to side, his huge body threatening to fall into a dead faint at the sight of the needles. Then he picked her up bodily, softly whispering various obscene tortures he would inflict on her for hurting his injured friend, but Tykir spoke up weakly, “Nay, Selik, the needles kill the bloody pain. I gave her permission to do thus.”

Selik eyed Tykir dubiously and finally told the babbling healer, “Shut your teeth, man, or depart.”

The operation took hours, with a white-faced Selik holding the magnifying glass she’d purchased early that morning to examine the museum painting.

Was it really only this morning, or a lifetime ago?

Despite the acupuncture, Tykir mercifully passed out midway through the procedure. At the end, Rain’s fingers shook with tension and exhaustion as she completed the final sutures, bandaged the leg, and put on the splints.

Shaking his head, Father Cedric left the tent, muttering, “Sorceress! Devil’s Spawn! Black Arts!” But Selik just watched her steadily, deep in thought, as she picked up her meager supplies. He stepped outside and spoke to someone, then came back and helped her. Finally, he drew her protestingly from Tykir’s side, assuring her that a guard would watch him through the night and call her if there was any change. He led her to a small tent nearby and pushed her inside.

“’Tis the best I could do,” he apologized, indicating the sleeping furs on the ground and the basin of water for bathing. A cup of water and a wooden plate with a hunk of bread and several slices of fire-blackened meat sat on a small stool.

Selik’s consideration surprised her. She turned to tell him so, but he’d already left.

After gobbling the unpalatable food down hungrily and drinking all the cool water, Rain removed her outer clothing and gave herself a quick wash as best she could with the limited supplies. What she wouldn’t give for an underarm deodorant!

She put her slacks back on and eyed her dirty, torn blouse distastefully. Then she saw the large—very large—reddish-brown stain on its back.

Blood!
How could that be? She reached around and felt her skin. No cuts there. And it couldn’t be Tykir’s blood on her back. Then realization hit her as she remembered that the Saxon’s blade had cut through Selik’s armor. The jolting ride on the horse must have opened the wound, and the stupid Viking didn’t have the good sense to complain.

Saving Selik was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought. Rain put the blouse back on and stormed out with her medical kit, stepping defiantly in front of the vigilant guards and over sleeping warriors as she made her way to Selik’s tent.

He’d removed the mail shirt and his cross-gartered leather shoes. Standing barefoot in a thigh-length tunic, he was drinking deeply from a large goblet. At Rain’s choking sound, Selik turned his head to look back at her over his shoulder. His slumberous eyes held hers in a questioning caress for several long moments before he asked in an amused voice, “To what do I owe this honor? Didst thou get a heavenly message?”

Rain swallowed dryly at the sight of Selik’s eyes boldly raking her. Lord, what a devastatingly handsome man he was! Even his feet were beautiful—high arched and well-formed. Although the tunic covered a good portion of his body, Rain’s eyes feasted on the slim waist and hips, wide shoulders, and bunching muscles everywhere.

She made a mental note to proceed with caution. To a six-foot-tall woman, this more than six-foot-four male looked awfully appetizing. She shook her head to clear her senses, then blushed at the knowing grin on Selik’s face as he turned around.

“Didst change thy mind about the rutting?” he asked with a mocking twist of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh!” she gasped, his crudity taking the steam out of her simmering blood. “No, you randy goat. I came because of the blood.
Your
blood.” She turned and showed him the back of her blouse. “Why didn’t you tell me about your injury?”

He shrugged. “’Tis of no importance. The healer can treat my piddling wound on the morrow.”

“He will not!” Rain declared vehemently. “I wouldn’t let that butcher near you. Now take off your tunic.”

Selik arched an eyebrow at her protectiveness but walked toward her with slow, sensuous grace, lifting his tunic over his head as he approached. He wore only a sort of loin cloth underneath.

Rain bit her lower lip to hold back an exclamation at the magnificence of his finely honed body. Then she looked at the deep, ten-inch slash across his abdomen and chastised him sharply, “Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind? A wound like this is serious. It needs cleansing, an antiseptic, and at least fifty stitches.”

“Do not dare to think of putting those long needles in my head or any other part of my body,” Selik warned and started to back away. “Ne’er will I allow such.”

Rain laughed softly. “So, the big brave warrior fears a little needle? Don’t worry. I’ll derive great pleasure from watching you writhe in pain, just a little, for chasing me through the woods this morning.”

She pushed him toward his sleeping furs, and when he lay on his back, she knelt beside him. Working quickly, she soon had the wound sutured and bound with clean cloths. He never muttered a sound of pain, just watched her every move as if trying to work out some puzzle in his mind. He declined her offer of a painkiller, saying others needed it more.

When she finished, Selik grinned wolfishly and in one quick movement pulled her down and on her back next to him.

“Methinks you should sleep here tonight.”

“Forget it. I told you before that I wouldn’t
rut
with you. Besides, you’re in no condition to have sex.”

“Hah! Leave it to me to decide
that
particular condition. And didst thou forget, your skinny bones hold naught of appeal to me as a bedmate?”

“Oh.”

“Now, shut thy teeth, as well as thy eyes, and go to sleep, sweet slush.”

“Slush?” She bristled with indignation. “My name
is Rain. And I don’t appreciate your making fun of me.”

“Nay, methinks the name Rain suits you not. It speaks of gentleness, and the rebirth of springtime, and…hope.”

Rain inhaled on a long sigh at Selik’s insightful words. Truly, wasn’t that why she’d been sent to this fierce warrior—to bring gentleness back into his harsh life, to show him that even the blackest soul can be reborn, and, most of all, that hope was an eternal spring for change?

Selik’s long silence spoke volumes. Rain knew he was pondering the same thoughts, but then he spoke. “In truth, Sleet would be a better name for you. Slush is gray and mushy and can be easily pushed about, unlike you, whereas sleet comes swiftly, without warning, prickling a man’s skin ’til he cannot ignore its sting, often causing havoc in its wake. Yea, methinks I will call you Sleet. Or Sleetling.”

“Oh, you’re impossible.” Rain shifted with exaggerated efforts to get comfortable. Selik reached out and held her pinned to the furs with an arm thrown over her chest and his right leg slung over both of hers.

“Let me up.”

“Nay, you might escape.”

“Escape? Where would I go?”

“Your wordfame as a healer will no doubt spread like St. Anthony’s Fire. The Saxons will put a price on your head, just as they have on mine, but they will want you alive. Good healers are priceless, especially in the Saxon court.”

Rain felt a warm rush of pleasure at Selik’s backhanded praise for her medical skills. “Well, if I’m going to sleep here, at least get your body off mine.”

Laughing, Selik removed his arm and leg. Rain turned her back on him and squirmed her body into
a more comfortable position. She sensed a brooding depression in the quiet that settled over Selik. “Is something wrong?”

“Yea, there is much wrong. So many men…so many friends…died today without a proper burial—neither the last rites of the Christian church, nor the Norse ritual of fire to begin the journey to Valhalla. A man should protect those under his shield. I failed today.”

“Can’t you see how useless that battle was, on both sides? Like all wars, when it’s over, lives are lost for nothing.”

“The war is not over—for me. I will continue to kill every Saxon that crosses my path until I am finally avenged…or in Valhalla.”

“Oh, Selik,” Rain whispered, her heart aching for his pain and his futile quest for vengeance.

After several moments of silence, Selik spoke. “Enough about me. Tell me more about your failure rate, Sleeting.”

“Huh?”

“The bad beddings.”

“Oh, there’s nothing really to tell. It’s just that I can take it or leave it—sex, that is.” Rain frowned. Good Lord! Why would she disclose something so intimate to a virtual stranger? Because Selik was not a stranger to her, she realized; she felt as if she’d known him all her life. Also, by talking of herself, she might take Selik’s mind off his grief.

“Thor’s Blood! You are blunt.”

“You asked,” she said defensively.

“When didst thou last have a man betwixt your thighs?”

“You’re a bit blunt yourself, mister,” Rain laughed, then thought for a moment. “Two years.”

“’Tis true? I can hardly credit it, but then the bed sport does repulse some women. Somehow, though, methought you more hot-blooded than that. May
hap you did not have a man with the right skills.”

“Oh, please, spare me the male ego. I’m not repulsed by sex, and I can reach an orgasm as well as any woman. After all, there are fifty-seven erotic points on a woman’s body. If a man can’t find one of them, he needs a flashlight and a sex manual.”

Holy Cow! Had she really said all those things? This dream trip of hers must have loosened the hinge on her tongue—or her mind. She hoped Selik appreciated her efforts to take his mind off more serious concerns.

Selik choked with laughter. “Only fifty-seven?” he asked dryly. “And do men have as many, or more?”

Rain knew he mocked her. Well, she’d show him. She gave her best Sex Education 101 clinical lecture straight out of medical school. When she finished, Selik’s chest shook with laughter.

“Really! What’s so funny?”

“You. You know all these details about the mating betwixt a man and woman. Like a bloody book you are, not a woman. Nay, you have ne’er felt as a real woman in a man’s arms, I wager. ’Tis certain you do not even know what you want from a man.”

“Hah! I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Know-It-All. The best sex I ever had didn’t involve…didn’t involve…well, penetration.” Realizing the corner she was painting herself into with her loose tongue, Rain practically whispered the last word.

But he heard.

At his muffled chuckle, she added with false bravado, “Was that explicit enough for you?”

“Methinks you deliberately try to shock me. You do not mean the outrageous things you say.”

“Yes, I do. I mean, no, I don’t.”

“Do you back down now, wench?”

“No! And don’t think I don’t know you’re just goading me into saying stupid things.”

“Do you say that I cause you to speak your falsehoods?”

Rain bristled. “What falsehoods?”

“The things you said about…penetration.”

“Oh,” Rain squeaked out. Then she yawned hugely with exaggerated loudness. “I’m tired of this conversation. I think I’ll go to sleep.”

“’Tis what women do all the time.”

“What?”

“Run. Hide. Try to mask their lies when caught in their own traps.”

“Really, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. I spoke the truth. Many women will tell you that the best sex they ever had was when they were teenagers and would neck for hours and hours with their boyfriends.”

“Neck?”

Rain exhaled with self-disgust at the hole she’d dug so cleverly for herself. “Necking is just kissing, but every way possible—innocently, deeply, wetly, tongues—you know, the whole works. As compared to petting, which involves touching, usually with the clothes on, but never any actual sexual intercourse.”

“Tongues?” Selik choked out.

“Yes, French kissing.”

“French? Hah! Do those bloody Franks dare lay claim to inventing the deep kiss? Norsemen were tongue-kissing long afore them.”

Rain smiled to herself at the conceit of men, of all nationalities, no matter the time in history.

Then Selik snorted distastefully. “And this kissing for hours is more satisfying to you than the mating?”

“It can be. Oh, in an ideal situation, sex would be the end result. But, as I said, ask any woman—would she rather be seduced with hours and hours of kisses, or engage in a session of wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?”

Selik said nothing, and Rain realized she’d been rambling. She’d probably bored him to death. Or shocked him speechless.

“Are you asleep?”

He remained silent for a long time before answering in a soft voice, “Nay.”

“What are you doing?”

He laughed throatily. “Relieving myself.”

Rain gasped at his vulgarity and turned to chastise him when she saw through the dim torchlight that he lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head. His lips twitched with a grin, and he winked wickedly at her.

The teasing brute!
She turned her back on him huffily.

“Rain?”

“What?”

“What is an orgy-asm?”

Rain felt her face turn hot with embarrassment, and she refused to answer him. Besides, he probably already knew and just wanted to continue baiting her.

Selik stood and put out the torch, then lay back down, pulling the furs over them both.

“Go to sleep, sweetling.”

Sweetling!
Rain’s heart hummed at the quaint endearment. He probably meant Sleetling.
Oh, well
.

Already half asleep, she said, softly, “Selik?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m glad God sent me to save you.”

She thought she heard him swear and say something like, “Your god must have a strange sense of humor,” but she was too tired to ask him to repeat the words.

Rain awakened late the next morning, totally rested—and alone. She stretched lazily under the
warm furs, wondering where Selik was.

Suddenly she realized she’d slept soundly through the night. No dreams. No nightmares. She smiled.

Well, what did she expect, she told herself ruefully. She was living inside her nightmare.

Tykir
. The memory hit Rain with a jolt, and she jumped up, frantic to check on her patient. Using a small bowl of water, she splashed her face and rinsed her mouth. Without a mirror, she could only smooth the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid.

Her half brother lay where she’d left him the night before, guarded by a young soldier who answered her questions about the patient’s progress through the night. Rain breathed a sigh of relief when she found Tykir’s skin cool to the touch. No fever, thank God. His pulse was shallow, but regular—to be expected after the traumatic surgery—and his heartbeat was strong.

While she unwrapped his bandages, Tykir awakened groggily. “Am I alive? Or dead? Be you a handmaiden to the gods?”

Rain laughed softly. “You are very much alive, young man, and I hope to keep you that way. And though Selik has referred to me as a guardian angel, I’m a mere mortal, just like you.”

Tykir tried to smile through lips white-edged with pain.

“Here,” Rain said, pulling out her bottle of Darvon. “I only have six of these left, so we’ll have to spread them out. It will help with the pain.”

“Nay, I need no magic pellets for pain.”

“Take it,” Rain ordered sternly and shoved the pill in his mouth. Then she held his head up slightly to drink some water from a wooden goblet.

“Are you a sorceress? I remember you prodding in my wound yestereve and feeling no pain.”

“No, I’m a physician. A surgeon,” Rain answered as she examined his leg for infection, then replaced the bandages with clean linen.