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brought her here.
    Suddenly the sword came up, and its point came to rest against her breast. “You will heal him,” Henrik said.
    “I’ll try,” Fianna answered, “ but even I can only—”
    “You heal him or you die.”

Chapter Five
     
    She met his steely, blue gray eyes and refused to look away from his demanding gaze. For several quiet, tense moments they stared at each other. She searched for the lover she’d known and found naught of that one. Instead she saw a pain so deep and cruel clawing at him, it could only find outlet in this way.
    Finally Fianna said, “Your threats are useless. I’ll give him my best efforts as a healer. I do that for all I treat. But I cannot guarantee it will be enough to save him. I cannot heal all.” She stepped back and turned away to face the sick man. “What is wrong with him?” She went to her knees and put a hand on the man’s forehead. His flesh felt hot and was coated with sweat.
    Henrik sighed, set his sword down on a table and knelt beside her. “He was injured in a raid. The wound was stitched and appeared to be healing, but then it started to swell and he became ill. They brought him back here.” He lifted the man’s tunic and removed the dressing from a wound in his shoulder.
    Fianna drew in a sharp breath. A cut ran along the top of his shoulder then angled down across his chest. It had been stitched, but it wasn’t healing cleanly. The skin all around the wound was swollen and red streaks radiated from the area. She muttered a quick prayer under her breath since she feared it would take a miracle to save him.
    “This will not be easy,” she said to Henrik . “I’ll need hot water and cloth, as much of both as you can find.”
    He nodded and went to give the orders. She was checking over the sick man’s body to be sure there weren’t any other injuries she didn’t know about when he returned. “How long ago was he wounded?” she asked.
    “Four days past.” For the first time his stoicism slipped and Fianna got a glimpse of how much he cared about the patient and how much it was costing him not to show it. His hands clenched into involuntary fists and his entire body tensed with evident frustration.
    “Your brother?” she asked him.
    He nodded. “ Ranulf .”
    She looked at Henrik again. “This will be difficult. The wound must be opened again, to allow the ill humors to drain from it.”
    He shut his eyes for a moment and drew a harsh breath. “It will heal him?”
    “It may. If the ill humors haven’t taken too strong a hold on him. I’ll need someone to help me.”
    “I’ll help. What need you?”
    She looked at him, meeting his eyes again. For the first time since his unexpected rescue of her earlier, she felt she really saw the man rather than the image of invincible power he tried to convey. The shadowy depths of his light blue eyes betrayed the pain and fear he hadn’t allowed to show before.
    “This won’t be pleasant,” she warned.
    “Tell me what to do.”
    Before she could answer, the woman who’d been tending the pot earlier pushed the hanging cloth aside and brought in a bucket of steaming water along with a pile of clean linen. She set both down hastily and left. Before she could go, Fianna called to her, “Wait. I need a brazier with lit charcoal and some cool water as well.”
    The woman gave her a blank stare then turned to listen to Henrik as he translated. She nodded and left again.
    While waiting for her return, Fianna removed the dressings and began to clean the area around the wound. The young man on the mat groaned once or twice but otherwise gave no indication he was aware of what she did.
    The woman returned with the brazier and set it on the floor then left and came back with the cool water.
    Fianna pulled her mother’s dagger from its sheath. Henrik’s eyes flashed and he moved toward his sword.
    “I won’t harm him,” she said. “I told you I must reopen the wound.”
    He drew a long breath, nodded