Part 10 (1/2)

”The warrior princess. I mentioned a kiss being the first step in the seduction process leading to a harem, and-”

”You told herthat ?”

”Yea.”

”Now she will think I kissed her with ill purpose... to gain some end.”

”Didn't you?”

”Nay, I did not. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And 'twas no big thing, Ras.h.i.+d. Do not make it so.” ”Hmmm.”

”What does thathmmm mean?”

”Just that she had the same response. Told me in no uncertain words not to make much of nothing. But me-thinks she protested too much. Methinks it was a big ado to her. In fact, methinks-” ”Dost know what I think, Ras.h.i.+d? Methinks you think too b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.n much. Stop interfering in my life.” Adam closed his precious journal and was about to put it away in its leather case; it was obvious he would have no more opportunity to study it this evening. He couldn't stop himself from asking the next question, though. ”So, what was Tyra's reaction to your telling her that kisses lead to harems?”

”She stomped away.”

”Aaahh,” he said, and would have liked to do the same.

But there was a knock at the door. A series of knocks, actually. Four of them.

Adam looked at Ras.h.i.+d, and Ras.h.i.+d looked at him.

”Enter,” he called out.

And in came Tyra's four sisters, all wearing voluminous night s.h.i.+fts, like the one Tyra had had on. He had

thought all women slept naked, as their menfolk did.

”You kissed her,” they all charged as one, smiling their congratulations at him.

He pushed a path through the women and did what he should have done before. He stomped down the

corridor. Aaarrgh! he wailed inside.When did my life become such a nightmare? When did I revert to such youthling impulses? When did I let a woman turn my brain to mush ? He promised himself not to repeat the mistake. Unless there were tongues involved. Or bed furs.

Aaarrgh!

Adam was preparing to operate on the unconscious king.

They had slipped some of the strong, amber-colored, Scottish brew,uisge-beatha , between Thorvald's lips to help dull the pain and make his sleep deeper, as well as a small amount of poppy juice, though henbane or mandrake might have served as well if they had been available. It would not do for him to awaken in the midst of this procedure.

”Did you boil my tools?” he asked Ras.h.i.+d, who was arranging the implements on a cloth-covered table near the bed. There were several knives with short, sharp blades, a special miniature saw of his own design that fit in the palm of the hand, an extra-large needle, strong thread, and, of course, the hand-driven metal drill.

”Yea, I did.” His a.s.sistant knew how important it was to his master that everything that touched the patient's body be pure. It was a lesson Adam had learned well from his stepmother, Rain, who claimed to know of medical practices far into the future. He could hardly credit that, but he accepted that cleanliness was important.

”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,” Ras.h.i.+d added, ”and Allah on his right. Praise be to Allah!”

Rafn coughed and put in his prayer as well, to everyone's surprise, ”Odin, G.o.d 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 circ.u.mstance 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 G.o.d, 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 antic.i.p.ate his moves, even before Ras.h.i.+d, who had a.s.sisted him for many a year. If the woman were not so dead set on spilling blood, she would make a wonderful healer's a.s.sistant.

He smiled to himself, and not just at the image of Tyra the Warrior becoming Tyra the Healer... or any man's a.s.sistant. 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 loudwhoosh. 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 G.o.d.

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.

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.