Page 24 of My Fair Viking

Or was it just Adam's attentions that touched her so?

Now, that was an alarming prospect. Best to think of other things. What was it Rashid had asked? Oh, about a god of cleanliness. That was all Odin and Thor would need—a Vana-style goddess insisting that the great hall of Asgard be spotlessly clean! Asgard was reputed to be big enough to let 800 armed hesirs stomp in with their dirty boots through 540 doors… doors with brass hinges that would need polishing.

"Alrek says there are two dozen spotlessly clean garderobes at Stoneheim," Rashid commented, "and as many outside privies."

"Alrek was jesting," she said. "There are only ten… each."

"Nice to know, though, that the bed furs will be clean and fragrant at Stoneheim," Adam said. "I do so like to have clean bed furs when I am"—he paused long enough for her to look at him and blush—"sleeping." He winked again, then leaned down to pick up his leather medical bags.

"I would pick you up and toss you overboard if I did not need your skills so much," she snarled.

"Lucky me!" Adam murmured, a somber expression on his face now that the time to revive his medical talents was at hand.

"Skills? Skills?" Rashid hooted, obviously inferring that she'd meant a different kind of skill altogether.

"His medical skills," Tyra emphasized. Then she did to Rashid what she would have liked to do to his master. She picked him up and tossed him over the side into the icy water.

She glanced around then to see everyone staring at her. The men were laughing. Her sisters were frowning with disgust.

And Adam—the bloody rogue—safe ashore… he winked at her.

A short time later, they were in her father's bedchamber.

With an authority and expertise he hadn't displayed before, Adam ordered everyone from the sickroom except his assistant and the king's resident healer, Father Efrid, a monk from a monastery in Ireland. Thorvald practiced the Norse religion, but was Christian, too, when it was convenient. And everyone knew the monk healers were the best physicians… next to Arabs, that is.

Adam had also ordered Tyra to depart, but she'd dug in her heels, and he'd finally relented, saying firmly, "Stay, but keep your distance and shut your teeth, or I will remove you bodily myself." She stood at the back of the room, watching with silent fascination as he did his work.

Adam laid his various vials of ointments, linen packets of herbs, and instruments such as lancets and cautery rods on a small side table before turning to examine her father. With gentle efficiency, he removed the king's garments, exposing a big body which was still wide-shouldered and barrel-chested and bulky, though his muscles had no doubt lost their firmness from lying abed so long.

He pushed back the king's eyelids and examined the whites of his eyes. He pressed his ear against her father's chest and seemed to be listening to his heartbeats. He examined her father's fingernails and toenails, even his genitals. The wound itself at the back of his head garnered the most attention.

Quietly he asked questions of Father Efrid, whom Tyra knew from experience to be a good man and a good practitioner of the healing arts when less serious injuries were involved. In truth, she knew of no physician who had a high rate of success when mortal wounds were involved. Mostly, it was luck, or in the hands of the gods. Still, she had heard of Adam the Healer's reputation and knew she had to let him try his particular talents on her father, even if it turned out to be a futile effort.

"How long has he been thus? Does his condition never change?" Adam asked.

"Do you manage to get food and liquid into his body?"

"Does he pass water regularly? What is the color of his waste?"

"Any fever?"

"Does he appear to be in pain? No screams, or excessive groaning?"

"When did the bleeding stop?"

On and on his questions went. During the course of the examination, her father's eyelids fluttered occasionally, and once or twice he even muttered aloud. Father Efrid reported that the king had regained consciousness a few times while Tyra was gone. They'd been able to feed him thin gruel and liquids, and he did swallow with ease. All these things Adam seemed to take for good signs.

When they left the room, after an hour-long examination, Tyra walked with Adam back to the great hall. "Can you help him?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I just don't know. There are some good signs, but the length of his unconsciousness troubles me deeply. There is something I could try, but… nay, I will not do it."

"What?"

"You have put me in an untenable situation, and I resent it mightily."

She tilted her head in question.

"I could try drilling a hole in his skull to reduce the swelling. Trepanation the procedure is called. It has been done afore, and even successfully in some of those cases. But…"