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“I hope you’ll speak English until I can learn Norwegian, which might take a while.” Leaning sideways, she glimpsed the warmth in his gaze as he nodded, which sent her pulse racing. The road leveled out in the approach to Bryggen, the city’s harbor area. Beautiful, green vistas, some dusted with snow, stretched in every direction. Despite the frosty temperature, she opened the window just as the winds gusted and sprinkled fresh mist over her cheeks. Deeply inhaling, she relished the salty marine air in her lungs. “This is stunning—the mountains rise straight out of the sea.”
“As a little boy, I believed the seven mountains were mythic warriors who surrounded the city to protect children from evil. I’d like to think they still do.” Mark drove with one hand on the steering wheel.
Seeing his windblown hair and easy smile, she imagined him as a young boy, dreaming of mythological heroes and sledding in the snow. “The mountains must be mighty protectors because Bergen appears well-preserved. Can we see the view from higher up?”
“We’ll park here, and I’ll take you to the best place.” He eased the sedan into a parking spot near the harbor’s entrance.
The harbor’s unmistakable smell of weathered wood, salt, and tar filled the brisk air. Colorful shops and cozy-looking cafés lined the cobblestone street which led to the waterfront. Although historic Bryggen attracted thousands of tourists yearly, the ancient harbor street was free from crowds today. Despite biting winds and thick clouds, she found the cold invigorating and the city welcoming. “Tell me more about growing up here.”
“Ah. I'd visit this harbor every Jonsok, Midsummer’s Eve, with my entire family. We’d eat ice cream, watch the boats, and play in the sunshine. When I feared I’d die in Canada, I dreamed of being here.”
“Sounds like a perfect summer day. I can see why you love it.” Tess surveyed several open-air booths lining the harbor as she and Mark strolled for several minutes.
Mark gestured to a small ticket booth. “Here we are—the Fløibanen Funicular, over one hundred years old. We’ll take the tram to the top.” He pointed at the cable cars forming a line along the mountain’s face, then bought two tickets.
After boarding the cable car, she enjoyed the slow, chugging ride to the top of Mount Fløyen. She followed Mark as he disembarked at the summit, which offered a spacious viewing platform and an expansive vista. Sprawling green meadows nestled near the many fjords, and a safety ledge with a wide railing offered a panoramic view of the coast. With Mark standing behind her, she leaned against his chest, and pleasant warmth spread across her back. She reached behind to grasp his hand and interlaced their fingers, and all his fingertips squeezed hers with equal pressure. Surprised, she turned to face him. “Your left hand—you moved all your fingers!” A hint of pink flushed his golden cheeks.
“My hand therapy is progressing, and the motor control is returning, finally.” He tilted the corners of his mouth upward.
“Will you be able to perform surgery?” Eager for happy news, she hoped for good luck.
“I’m cautiously optimistic. Yesterday, I sutured an orange and stitched perfect, straight lines. And my ribs are almost healed.” Exhaling, he whistled softly. “No more sleepwalking or night terrors, either. I’ll still check in with Dr. Rabinowitz weekly, but happily, I’m Dr. Calm again.”
She turned and hugged him. “We have lots to celebrate.” Clasping his hand, she strolled with him to the far edge of the platform to see the western view.
Mark's mobile phone buzzed. He scanned a new text message, first blinking, then laughing. “You’ll never believe this. Gordy, a fellow surgeon in Crimea, says our field hospital just received a huge, unexpected shipment of new equipment: a CT scanner, an MRI machine, and two ultrasound machines.”
“Generous gift. Any word on who the donor is?” Despite her piqued curiosity, she suppressed a hopeful grin.
“I’ll ask.” He typed a reply, and the mobile buzzed again seconds later. “Gordy has no clue. The donor required complete anonymity as a condition of the donation. Strangely, though, the shipment included a case of vintage, fifteen-year-old Scotch.” He formed a crooked, lopsided smile. “What do you make of that?”
“Nothing beats the kindness of a Scottish stranger.” Elated by the serendipitous proof the Raven was alive and well, she released a sigh.
“Indeed.” Mark raised the hood on his jacket and tightened his arms around her.
Leaning against Mark, Tess gazed at the mountain vista at the city’s edge and inhaled the salty ocean air. Soaking up the landscape’s outrageous beauty, she memorized the view of Mount Fløyen and watched the sun descend over the horizon as snowflakes appeared. A calm breeze shifted to a blustering wind. Shivering as darkness fell, she realized the nightmares of Kyle drowning in icy water, which plagued her for months, had finally disappeared.
“Let’s take the tram back before it gets too windy. We’re staying at the Bryggen Star, a gorgeous hotel with a harbor view. We’ll spend a couple of days relaxing—no interruptions and lots of room service.” He extended a hand, gesturing for her to walk before him.
“Perfect—I can’t imagine a lovelier weekend.” Impressed by his foresight and planning, she relished the prospect of cozy relaxation together. An hour later, she and Mark had checked in at the hotel and settled into their suite, which offered a panoramic view of the harbor and a small, but elegant, covered deck. The three-story historic exterior was built of traditional brick, but the interior featured modern furnishings and décor. The spacious room had a king bed with a rich, tufted headboard, an ebony dining table, and a suede couch paired with sizable armchairs.
Mark set their luggage in the corner and flicked on the room’s fireplace before stepping over to the dining table. A large wooden tray held an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. “It’s not Farmer Campbell’s whiskey, but may I offer you a glass?”
“I’d love one.” Moistening her lips, she stroked Mark’s back.
He cut the foil wrapper and removed the wire cage at the top with a decisive twist. With his thumbs on either side of the cork, he gently pushed and a soft hiss arose before the pop. A crackling fizz sounded, then subsided as he poured two glasses and handed her one.
“Skål. Here's to us surviving.”
“Skål.” Attempting to repeat his pronunciation, she clinked his glass and found him grinning. The straw-gold liquid sparkled as the light shimmered through the glass. Effervescent bubbles swirled and spiraled before settling in a delicate layer of fizz. She savored the first sip, detecting citrus and ripe pear with a hint of buttery brioche. “Velvety and lovely.”
Mark’s cobalt gaze shone bright and glossy, and his lips formed a soft smile. Raising his hand, he skimmed his fingertips over her jawline. “You feel chilled.”
“A little.”
“Ah.” He picked up the room’s Do Not Disturb sign, slipped it around the outside handle, then locked their door. After picking up the champagne bottle, he nodded toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you into a hot bath. Bring your champagne and follow me.”
Happy to comply, she followed him down the hall. Tiled in white Carrara marble, the room held a large tub, a double-sink vanity in black onyx, and an array of luxury bath gels. Stacks of neatly rolled white towels filled a cubby under the sink.
