Page 30 of Truly, Madly Viking

Now that they were sitting across from each other, Jorund took a deep breath and began, "Your problem is that you must heal me within a week, whilst—"

"No, not exactly. That's the purpose of a mental facility... to be helping patients with problems. What we can't have is your being locked in a barred room with ankle restraints and a strait jacket. I'm not saying they aren't legitimate tools for controlling out-of-control patients, but if the need for them continues for a week or more, then that person probably belongs in a maximum security mental facility. Not here."

He put both hands in the air in a manner that said, What is the problem?

She tilted her head in silent question.

"Can't you see, the problem is halfway solved? My feet are free .... "he teased, extending one leg and wiggling his toes at her.

Her face went prettily pink at his action, and he thought, not without some satisfaction, that mayhap she had a fascination for his feet, just as he'd experienced over her flame-colored toenails. How odd! That was another fact to store for future reference.

"And I no longer wear the torture shert. Do you see me attacking anyone? Or harming myself?"

Just then the guard must have peered through the window and noticed that he was free. He opened the door and rushed in, about to attack him—or try to. "Dr. McBride! Why didn't you call for help?"

Dock-whore Muck-bride stood quickly, placing herself between Jorund, still seated, and the burly guardsman. "Everything's all right, Hank. I, um... I released Joe. A little experiment. And it's working out just fine."

God, he loved it when his very own Valkyrie— even if she wasn't such, he liked to think of her so—went hostile on his behalf. He would have jumped up and defended himself if he hadn't been enjoying the sight of her in battle mode so much.

"Well, if you say so," the guardsman agreed reluctantly and left, though Jorund noticed that he left the door ajar.

"Well done, m'lady." He gave her a smart salute.

"Huh?"

"You put Hunk in his proper place."

"Huh?"

"Now that we have resolved the first two obstacles—the ankle restraints and the torture shert— what can be done about the bars and locked doors?"

"I think an experiment is in order. We move you to another room. No bars. And the door will be unlocked for certain periods of the day... not all the time, at first. At those times you will be able to go to the activities room or the workout room, where you can mix with some of the other patients. How does that sound?"

Just wonderful! I will get to exchange pleasantries with demented people. "Fine," he said, because that was obviously the answer she wanted.

"Good." She smiled broadly. "I think we'll start by having you eat dinner with the others in the dining hall."

"I hope there will be no more of that green jail low. That provender is a torment even the vilest prisoner should not be subjected to."

Mag-he thought a moment, then laughed. "Oh, you mean Jell-O. Yes, you're right. They do tend to overdo the green Jell-O a bit. Anyhow, if the dining experience works out all right, tomorrow you can join group therapy for the first time."

He didn't even want to know what he would be doing in a group with other half-witted people. But his brain cautioned him not to protest too much, to take one step at a time, to watch, assess, then act. "So this is how you heal people?"

"Well, not exactly. Usually we draw up a contract."

"See. Did I not offer already to have a contract with you?"

She shook her head at him as if he were a mischievous child. "Not that kind of contract."

His shoulders slumped with disappointment.

"You do not want me for a love slave?"

"Get serious, Joe."

"I was serious. Well, mayhap I wasn't, really. But it did pose interesting possibilities. On the other hand, you could be my love slave. That definitely would be of interest. What do you think?"

"I think you just took five steps forward and ten steps backward in your healing with that comment."