Page 126 of The Outlaw Viking

Athelstan was a good-looking man of medium height, about forty years old. His flaxen hair, with golden highlights, gleamed in the flickering candlelight, and Rain couldn’t help but admire the magnificent couple these two beautiful people made.

Emotion filled the king’s eyes, and he leaned toward Elgiva, brushing his lips against hers lightly. He seemed oblivious to the priest who hovered in the background. Rain stood in the shadows near the doorway.

Rain turned away from the intimate scene and walked from desk to desk, admiring the exquisitely detailed illuminations—some copies from other books, others original compositions. Unfortunately, most of these priceless books would never survive the wear-and-tear of the centuries.

“Dearling, I would have you meet my new friend, Rain,” Elgiva said, drawing the king over to where she stood. “She is the one I spoke of earlier this day.”

The king raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, with Elgiva on his arm. “Ah, the self-proclaimed physician.” His lips twitched slightly with a smile, and Rain somehow knew he was thinking about vasectomies.

“Not self-proclaimed,” she asserted. “I have many years’ education and experience in some of the best hospitals in my country.”

“Do you mean hospitiums?”

Rain shrugged. “They’re about the same thing.”

“And these hospitiums in your country allow females to study?”

“Yes, we’re quite…enlightened.”

“Hmmm.” He studied her through eyes that Rain could see were very intelligent. “I have a medical manuscript here that one of my scribes is working on,” he said, walking over to a huge tome. “’Tis in Latin.”

Rain looked at some of the pages. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t read Latin.”

“Ahh,” he said, shooting an “I told you so” look at Elgiva. Apparently, all healers were supposed to know Latin.

His condescension irritated Rain, and she blurted out, “Some of the drawings are wrong.” She immediately regretted her outburst.

Rain heard the priest gasp with outrage behind them, and the king’s shoulders stiffened at her boldness.

“Show me,” the king demanded.

Rain looked to Elgiva for advice on how to proceed with the king, but the Saxon woman’s silent face spoke volumes. Rain was on her own.

“I don’t want to alter these beautiful illuminations. Give me a blank piece of parchment and a pen, and I’ll show you.” With a few quick strokes of the quill, which she dipped in thick black ink, Rain sketched the interior of the body, showing the location of the lungs, heart, liver, stomach, pancreas, large and small intestines. See,” she pointed out to him. “Your illustration has the liver and stomach in the wrong places. Also,” she added, doing another sketch, this time of the heart, “this is how the heart really looks when it’s dissected. There are four sections—the two above we call the atria, and the two below the ventricles—and the blood is pumped into and out of the heart through these veins and arteries.”

She stopped, suddenly aware of the ominous silence in the room. The priest was peering over the king’s shoulder, and both men were staring at her as if she’d just sprung a halo. She wished she had. A pair of wings, as well, would come in handy right now. Lord, when would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

“Father Egbert, is it possible that what the wench says is true?” the king asked.

“Nay, of course not.”

But they could all hear the hesitation in the cleric’s voice.

“Mayhap you would come back on the morrow and discuss this further with me?” Father Egbert asked Rain tentatively. “Your sketch is, of course, incorrect, but I would be interested in hearing more of your theories. Where didst thou study?”

But the king interrupted, his eyes narrowing, as he asked, “You mentioned dissection. Surely, you did not cut a man’s body open for your inspection.”

Uh-oh! Rain sensed she was treading on hallowed ground.

“Did I say dissection?” she said, hoping the heat of her face didn’t betray her. “I must have meant inspection.”

The king eyed her speculatively. “Exactly who are you?”

“Rain—Thoraine Jordan. I believe you met my mother once—Ruby Jordan.”

Athelstan’s brow furrowed in concentration, then brightened. “The lady who claimed to come from the future? The one with the outrageous undergarments?”

“Don’t tell me my mother showed you her lingerie, too?”