Page 47 of The Viking’s Captive

“Mayhap,” she corrected.

“Probably,” he countered. “And I did not bargain for a scarred-up naked body in my bed.”

“You are insufferable.”

“Yea, I am. ‘Tis one of my better qualities, don’t you think?”

“Aaarrgh!”

“I assume that means yes.”

“Stitch the bloody wound and get it over with. Alrek is probably out there shooting arrows again, or attempting to sharpen your sword. Better yet, I heard him asking the beekeeper if he could help collect honeycombs today. Do you know how to treat bee stings?”

Now, that was reason to make haste.

“I like your attire today,” he commented as he washed the gash carefully with soap and water.

“Save your soppy words for someone who cares.”

“Lord, I love a sharp-tongued woman. Makes one wonder what else she can do with it.”

He poured a small amount of that Scottish brew uisgebeatha on the cut to further the cleaning and to dull the sensations in the skin before he inserted his needle.

“For the love of Valhalla! Why are you wasting good brew? Do you intend to lick it up … like the dog you are?”

“There is a thought,” he said with a laugh. “Would you like me to?”

“Nay!”

She sat in one chair at the table and he at the other. He forced her to lay her arm flat as he began sewing … tiny, tiny stitches that really would be almost invisible. In order to distract her from what he was doing, he asked, “So what does a woman warrior wear under a tunic such as this?”

He thought she might say “Nothing” as he had about his Arab robes, but, nay, the woman was always a surprise to him.

“A codpiece.”

He had to laugh at her quick wit. “Can I see it?”

“When the sun shines in Niflheim.”

“Would that be comparable to ‘When hell freezes over’?”

“Precisely.

When he was done stitching her wound, he acted quickly. Grabbing her by the waist, he tossed her onto the table face down and flipped up her tunic. She was screaming like a banshee and trying to rise, but he had one hand firmly on her neck and the rest of his body weight pressed over her bottom. Leaning back, he noted that she was not wearing a codpiece, but she did have on some kind of loin cloth. He ripped it off so that he could examine her arrow wound.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking to see what kind of butchery Bjorn performed on your buttock. See, you should have let me do the work. The wound is healing nicely, but you will have a scar there for life. Not to worry, though. It rather resembles a star. Attractive, really. Methinks I should rub some healing ointment on it, though.”

She made a gurgling sound of dismay, then yelled, “Do not dare put your fingers on my arse.”

He laughed and let go of her, jumping back at the same time, knowing she would punch him in the face, or kick him in some unmentionable spot, if she got a chance.

Quickly she stood and adjusted her clothing, the whole time glaring at him. “I could kill you for that.”

“I was just doing my job. You must not think of me as a man when I am acting in my capacity as healer.”

“Hah! I do not know of any healer who gets aroused when looking at a woman’s arms, or legs, or backside.”