In the confusion of the struggle, the first attacker had cut me across the arm. Now, lying in the safety of the hovel, the pain creased me up. She lowered me gently to the bed and stripped away my jerkin, and within moments applied a soothing balm over the angry looking slice across my right bicep.
Her fingers were like the touch of angels and I almost swooned beneath her as the pain eased and I became like one floating.
“By the gods you are well made, Harald.”
My eyes snapped open and I caught her wrist, for her words brought a different pain to me, not to my body, but to my soul. “By the gods?”
She smiled, “You need something for your throat,” and she went to move away. But I held her tight, pulled her back to me. She frowned. “Don"t tell me you are fearful of my beliefs? You have al
