Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] Read online

  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?

  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.

  Chapter Three

  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.”