Lord of Falcon Ridge (11 page)

“I repeat, Rorik, I don't want to go back. Would you want to go back to Dublin and live with my stepmother, Sira?”

Rorik blinked, then laughed. “By the gods, that isn't a fate I should seek out.”

“That wretched bitch,” Mirana said. “She would have killed me if she could. She wanted Rorik, you see. She was cruel to you, Chessa?”

“When I got to be old enough I was cruel back. It's just that my father is blind to her wickedness. He enjoys her body, you see. She is with child again. She has already given him four boys.
Four.
I like my brothers. Indeed, the eldest, Brodan, is a dear boy, albeit very thoughtful and mayhap too solemn. He is a Christian and takes his studies very seriously. Sira forbids me to play with them. I don't think I can go back now. I would perhaps stick my knife through her wicked heart.”

“Oh, dear,” Mirana said. She turned to look up at her husband. “What are we going to do?”

“I had thought,” Rorik said, “that Sitric was going to discipline Sira, teach her submissiveness to him. That was what he claimed he would do when he took her that night.”

“She doesn't behave horribly in front of my father, at least not so horribly that even he is taken aback. She's wicked, not stupid. Never stupid. Besides, he is quite used to the carping between us. He pays it little attention, just blames her foul moods on her pregnancies.”

Kerek came into the longhouse then, carrying a shivering Ragnor in his arms as if he were a small child. Ragnor's face was blue, his teeth were chattering.

“I'd rather hoped he would drown,” Rorik said. “I suppose now that one of your men must give him some dry clothes.”

“I rather hoped so too,” Mirana said. “He was eyeing Utta as a goat would a succulent boot.”

“Does Sira still have her beautiful hair?” Rorik said.

“Oh, aye. My father let her rid herself of the dye on the day she presented him with his first son. I attacked her once and tried to pull out that hair of hers. Cleve saw me do it. I think he was stricken like every other man by her beautiful hair.” She sighed. “Papa told me I didn't understand about men and women. I think Sira pleases him immensely in the marriage bed.”

“Cleve,” Rorik said, staring at her blankly, “by all the gods, what is this? You know Cleve?”

She cocked her head to one side, a movement identical to Mirana's when she had questions about to bubble over. “Certainly. It was he who negotiated the wedding contract for Duke Rollo, curse him to the Christian's devil. What's the matter? Isn't that his name? He said he was Cleve of Malverne. Do you know him as well?”

“Oh, aye, that's his name,” Mirana said. “We have known Cleve for five years, ever since Rorik's brother, Merrik, brought him out of Kiev.”

“What was Cleve doing in Kiev?”

“He was a slave.”

“A slave! But surely that's not possible. Why, Cleve is a beautiful man, utterly splendid, and he is very smart and he speaks well, perhaps too well because he's a diplomat, and he has to say nice smooth things so he doesn't offend anyone, but—” She stopped speaking, aware that Rorik and Mirana were staring at her. She gulped, then said more slowly, “Perhaps I am wrong about him. Isn't he a good man? A very handsome man who isn't vain about his comely face and magnificent body? Isn't he a warrior of some skill? He threw a knife and struck this assassin right in his throat. I didn't actually see him do it since I threw my knife as well and struck him in the back, but I did see his knife sticking out of the man's neck.” She stopped talking again, aware that Rorik and Mirana were still staring at her, their mouths open. Kerzog barked, sat on his haunches, and let his tongue loll free of his mouth.

“Very well,” Chessa said. “I can accept whatever you tell me. Was I just as wrong about him as I was about Ragnor of York? You will tell me the truth about Cleve.”

Rorik cleared his throat. “Everything you've said is true. Cleve is a very fine young man. He has known cruelty, too much cruelty, and he is smart and speaks well, and Merrik has taught him warrior skills during the past five years, but—” Rorik stopped talking, looking down at his wife, who simply smiled and shook her head.

“I must see to our midday meal. Shall we feed Lord Ragnor, do you think, Chessa?”

“He has dry clothing. Surely that is enough.”

 

Two days later the men had nearly finished repairing Ragnor's warship. “It's a fine ship,” Hafter said to Rorik as they watched the men paint the sides with thick black pine tar. “Sixty feet long, not as long as the
Raven's Wing
of yours, but still, adequate. The keel needed some work, but it's sufficient to get them to York. Six oars were lost, but it doesn't matter. The others are sturdy enough, as are the oar holes.”

“Has Ragnor bothered you?”

“Aye, but every time he comes near me, I simply call out to Haakon or to Aslak. I think Lord Ragnor is afraid Haakon will pound him into the surf.”

“Both of them would. Then they'd kick him and stick a knife in his soft belly.”

Aslak yelled, “By the gods, Rorik, here comes a fleet of ships. Who can it be? Outlaws? Viking raiders?” Rorik wasted no time. He yelled out to his men to arm themselves. In but a moment the men had dashed up the path to the longhouse to get their swords, shields, arrows, and axes. They were ready for battle within minutes.

“At least we have seventeen more men to fight with us,” Rorik said, looking at Ragnor's men, standing close with his own men.

“No need,” said Hafter. “Look, Aslak is waving to the lead warship. Its stem is the Malverne dragon. It's Lord Merrik come to visit us.”

“I wonder,” Rorik said slowly, “if Cleve is with him. By the gods, does he have a surprise awaiting him if he is with him.”

Cleve saw her immediately. He stood in the entrance of the palisade gates and just stared at her. He shook his head. He'd heard the incredible tale the men had told him as they'd climbed the path to the palisade atop Hawkfell Island. But still he hadn't believed it. There was no escape to plan, no rescue to save an innocent young girl from the miserable likes of Ragnor of York. He supposed he was both relieved and disappointed. He supposed he'd wanted to prove himself. He frowned. Prove himself to whom? Certainly not to her. Damnation. He didn't believe this. She was here and she was staring at him as hard as he was staring at her.

She was here and she was safe. Now she was shaking her head, as if she couldn't believe he was really there. He saw her shake her head once, then again, then look at him once more. He saw the recognition in her eyes. Then she was running toward him, her lustrous black hair long down
her back, flying out behind her intertwined with scarlet ribbons, glistening beneath the bright morning sunlight. She was calling out his name and laughing. Her arms were stretched toward him. He didn't move, couldn't seem to bring himself to move out of her way. He felt the shock of her when she threw herself against him, hugging him tightly. She clasped her arms around her neck and rose on her tiptoes. “Ah, Master Cleve, you've come. This isn't what I expected. The gods aren't usually so kind to mortals. You're here. Ah, but I've missed you and thought of you endlessly, wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking of me and what you were thinking. I've wanted to see you so very much.” She kissed his chin, his cheek, because he quickly turned his face aside so she wouldn't kiss his mouth, so she wouldn't kiss the scar by accident. He didn't think he could bear to see the revulsion on her happy face.

In the next moment, Chessa realized his arms were at his sides. He was standing there like a pillar, not saying a word, not doing anything. Except suffering her. Her arms fell away. She quickly stepped back from him. Her eyes dropped to her sandals. She felt humiliated. And everyone had seen what she'd done. Everyone had seen him reject her. Everyone. The shame of it ate to her soul. Just seeing him like that, so very unexpected, had sent her right at him, joy suffusing her. She was a fool. She didn't know men, had no idea what they were like, what was in their minds. Aye, she'd been wrong again.

She knew she had to do something. She couldn't just stand here in front of him like a child scuffing her toes into the dirt. She raised her face. He was pale.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and her chin went up. “You surprised me. I wasn't expecting you. You were a friendly face, nothing more, just someone here for me, someone I knew. No, not that, it's just that I've thought of you so very much, no, I don't mean that exactly, and—”

“I know,” he said. “Are you all right, Chessa?”

“Aye, I'm fine. I suppose the men told you everything that has happened?”

Cleve nodded. “Not all of it, but enough for now. You can tell me the rest before we leave.”

“What do you mean, leave?”

“To return to Rouen for your wedding to William. We were at Rouen awaiting your arrival for the wedding when we heard that you'd been kidnapped. It seemed the likely man to have done it was Ragnor of York. Thus we were coming after you, to rescue you.”

Chessa nodded, feeling blessedly numb.

Cleve said, his voice deliberate, “Then we were returning you to William.”

She nodded again, feeling nothing at all, thank the gods. “But why did you stop here at Hawkfell Island?”

“Lord Merrik of Malverne and Lord Rorik are brothers. We had planned to stop here. That the storm brought you here as well is something I hadn't even considered.” He took a step toward her, his voice low. “Chessa, try to understand. I have no choice in this, in little of anything really. I only have choice in my own life and even now my own future hangs in the balance.”

She said nothing, but she wondered what he meant. He had no choice in anything? Did that mean that he would want her if she weren't a princess, if she weren't promised to marry William? She had no idea what was in his mind. He was very smooth. Very closed. “I see,” she said, turned, and walked away.

Rorik, who was standing next to his brother, Merrik, said, “She spoke of Cleve with such enthusiasm before you arrived that I wondered if there was something between them. There is, but it's all on her side.”

Merrik said, looking at Cleve, who was standing in the same spot, watching Chessa disappear into the longhouse, “You know that Sarla and her treachery made him very suspicious of any woman. By Thor's hammer, Rorik, Sarla even tried to murder him. She tried to steal away Kiri and
hold her for ransom. How would you feel about women were you Cleve?”

“I don't know,” Rorik said. “As for Cleve I believe he could love her but since he negotiated the marriage contract for Duke Rollo, his honor would make him withdraw from her. It's odd. She doesn't seem to see the scar on his face. She called him beautiful, both of face and body. She went on about him endlessly.”

“If Sarla ever saw that hideous scar she didn't say anything either,” Merrik said.

“Oh, she saw it. It repelled her. She told Ileria that if his body weren't so well-formed, if he didn't give her such pleasure, she wouldn't let him close to her. She said she could forgive his face since he worshipped her so completely, since he made her forget Erik. When Ileria told me that, I wanted to kill Sarla. But Chessa is honest in her feelings, in what she said, in what she believes.”

Merrik cursed quietly.

“You're right,” his brother said. “Nothing is easy in life.”

“It's all a damnable mess,” Merrik said.

 

 

R
AGNOR OF
Y
ORK
eyed Cleve with growing rage. The man was hideous with that white slashing scar from the edge of his eyebrow to nearly his chin, a curved scar that looked like a half moon. He hadn't heard about that scar. It made him look mean, even vicious. It made him look dangerous. He was built strong and tall as a Viking, his chin was smooth, his hair golden and long, clubbed back in a queue. He was calm and he spoke in a smooth, reasoned way. His eyes were fascinating, it was that simple. They held him, even though he didn't want them to. One golden eye and one blue eye. Surely the gods had cursed him, surely he was unclean. Ragnor hated him. He wondered if women admired him even more with those strange eyes. Ragnor hated him even more from that moment to the next. He wanted to kill this Cleve, who shouldn't have come, who shouldn't have been friends with this peasant, Rorik, who himself crowed like a cock on this stupid pile of rocks he called his island.

Cleve was also the emissary for Duke Rollo, the bastard who wanted Chessa for his son, William. It was Kerek who had told him this, all pleased with himself, and Ragnor had let him talk even though he already knew all of it, but it was Kerek's duty to ask all the questions of these lowly creatures and then give an accurate report to him, Ragnor
of York, his master. It mattered not what Ragnor already knew.

Aye, surely this Cleve was lowly. What was a slave even if he did become an emissary? By Odin-All-Father's beard, he remained a lowly man with a smooth tongue. Ragnor didn't even know if this Cleve's tongue was that smooth, for he'd said little, merely sat quietly on the bench against the wall of the longhouse, watching and listening. Ragnor hated him for his control, so effortlessly exerted.

Ragnor said finally to Kerek, “We won't allow him to take her anywhere.” He still stared at Cleve, unable to look away from him. Those damned eyes of his. “The man's a slave, naught more than a miserable slave.”

“He's a free man,” Kerek said. “Lord Merrik freed him some five years ago. He's Duke Rollo's emissary. I have already told you this.”

“Aye, but you didn't draw the right judgment. None of that matters. He's offal even though he does perhaps speak well. He could die easily. He should have in Dublin if—but that isn't important now. He's here and he's alive. I will have Chessa.”

“Aye, you must have the princess, but we must move very carefully, I don't want Cleve slitting your throat.”

Ragnor looked up at Kerek in some surprise. “You sound passionate. Do you want her for yourself? Aye, you lust after her, don't you, Kerek? She's a proud little bitch, surely you've seen that. She'd never part her legs for you.”

“She won't for you either, my lord.”

Ragnor hissed, rising from the table, so angry he wanted to kill anyone, and Kerek was the closest.

“Sit down,” Kerek said, his voice suddenly so cold that Ragnor would have shivered if he'd been a small boy. He started to tell Kerek that he would hit him again, when Kerek said easily, “I know how we will keep the princess.”

“You do?”

“Aye, sit down again and listen to me.
My lord.
”

Ragnor sat down and tossed down a cup of mead. “I want that girl, Utta. She made the mead. She's excellent.”

“You can't have her. Now listen to me.
My lord.
”

“I don't like you now, Kerek. I don't like what you've become from a moment ago to now. Now you're mocking me and I won't stomach it. I allowed it before because you recognized that you were nothing compared to me. You knew that I was your master and you knew to obey me. You knew that you were to protect me with your life. But now, you seem to be insolent. Stop it or I will kill you.”

“If you kill me, you bloody fool, the princess will shove a knife into your meager heart. Is your mind so small you don't remember how all you did was strike my face and she attacked you and knocked you off the dock?”

“She took me off guard. Also, I didn't want to hurt her. It doesn't look well for a strong man to harm a small girl. I allowed it, even allowed her to kick me and shove me, but she will pay for that. I will kick her in the ribs again. I liked having her on the floor in front of me. I liked having her pant. That was nice.”

Kerek wondered how he'd let Ragnor get him off his course so easily. “Listen to me.
My lord.
William of Normandy will only marry a virgin.”

“Aye, no man of power would marry a girl other men had taken. So what?”

Kerek wanted to tell him that he was the stupidest cretin he'd ever known, but he merely smiled, thinking about Chessa, knowing she would come to deal well with Ragnor and with Olric, that she would some day save the Danelaw. He knew it. She wasn't just an ordinary woman as she claimed. She was young, untried, but he knew what was in her, aye, he knew. He would make this marriage happen. Then he would advise her, teach her, let her discover herself the strength within her. And Turella would be there to teach her as well. Both of them would be there for her, always. He said patiently to Ragnor, “If you had raped the princess then William would have to relinquish her to you, for he couldn't trust any issue from her body if perhaps she were pregnant.”

Ragnor stared at Kerek. “By Thor's hammer, you're
stupid, Kerek. I wanted to take her but you stopped me. I could have planted my seed in her belly, but you stopped me.”

Kerek pictured his hands around Ragnor's neck. He could practically feel the soft flesh sinking into the bones. He forced himself to control. “It doesn't matter that you didn't rape her. You need simply say that you did.”

“But she will deny it. I could beat her, then perhaps she would stay silent, perhaps even nod her head when I said it. But I would have to beat her senseless to gain that result.”

“You can't beat her senseless, else Lord Rorik or Cleve would surely kill you despite your high position. That is the only thing that stills their hands against you. You must simply say that you forced her, that she is no longer a virgin, that indeed you forced her several times.”

“She will deny it and try to kill me for saying it.”

Kerek shrugged. “No woman wants to admit to being raped. Even the princess wouldn't want to admit to it.” Ah, but the princess wasn't like other women. She had the soul and spirit of a warrior. She would grow stronger under his tutelage, his and Turella's. He said thoughtfully, “If she does deny it, why, who ever believes a woman? However, to be certain, I will say it is true also.” He said as an afterthought, “I won't let her kill you.”

“You're wrong about all of it, Kerek. She will scream and yell and probably attack me. She will do the same to you. She will never be submissive. She will never willingly obey me. I don't want her. Let my father do away with my mother, she does naught save pull weeds in that garden of hers, then he can marry Chessa. I want that girl Utta. The mead is delicious, sweet and strong, and it makes me want her more each time I look at her. I think she wants me too and that's why she makes the mead so well. It is for me that she brews it, not for Haakon, her brute of a husband.”

And Kerek thought,
Let the gods give me grit.

 

She was avoiding him. Strangely, it bothered him. He didn't like it. She seemed pale to him, withdrawn, which
was difficult, for Hawkfell Island was crammed with people. The longhouse bulged at mealtimes. At least a good dozen men slept in the outer room of the bathing hut, and on the nights it was warm enough, most slept outside, close together for warmth, all the blankets on the island in use. Some men even slept in the byre.

What was she thinking?

He remembered her joy when she saw him, when she realized he wasn't a ghost or some sort of chimera, but he was himself, Cleve of Malverne, and he was here on Hawkfell Island. She'd run to him, her arms open and she'd kissed him and spoken so freely to him. He'd wanted to feel her mouth on his, but he'd known he couldn't and had turned his face away.

He turned slightly, careful not to put his weight on Kiri, who was sleeping as deeply as only a child could sleep. Cleve wondered if she was dreaming, and if so, what her five years could conjure up for a night tale. She sighed and he hugged her, bending his head slightly to kiss the top of her golden head.

He saw Chessa's face clearly the moment she realized this small girl was his daughter. She'd looked from one to the other, for Cleve was holding his daughter and she was staring candidly back at Chessa. Chessa said at last, smiling at Kiri, “You look just like your father. You will be more beautiful than any woman on the earth.”

“Really?” Kiri had said. “I'm as beautiful as my papa?”

“Aye, you are, I swear it.”

Kiri said then, “You aren't nearly as beautiful as my papa, but you are honest and your eyes see well.”

Cleve laughed, tossed his daughter into the air, then caught her in his arms again. She was shrieking, and he tossed her up again. “You're shameless, Kiri. The princess will believe you conceited and thus your beauty will be lessened, just as a cupped hand over a lit candle dims the light.” But he kissed her eyebrows and hugged her hard against him until she squeaked.

“But she said I looked just like you, Papa.”

“Aye, Cleve,” Rorik said. “Don't argue with your babe.”

Kiri held out her arms to Rorik, who took her, hugged her, then kissed her. He breathed in the scent of her flesh. “You smell just like Aglida. Now, Chessa, do you think my little daughter is also beautiful? Will she be the second most beautiful woman on earth when she grows up?”

Ragnor walked up to them, trying to swagger, but he only managed to look a bit drunk, his walk crooked. “What is all this stupidity? This is a little girl child. She is of no account at all. Why do you speak of her becoming beautiful someday? Someday, we will be old or dead and her future beauty doesn't matter. Come along, Chessa, I would speak to you. You are to be my wife and you must begin to be submissive to me now. Come.”

Chessa sighed as she turned to Ragnor. “Go away,” she said only.

He looked shocked. “You would tell me to leave you? You don't wish to hear my words in private? You want all to hear what must be said?”

“Go away, Ragnor. I don't care what you say. You have been drinking Utta's mead, haven't you?”

“Nay, not yet. Kerek said my head must be clear and thus it would follow that I would reason well and my tongue would speak fluently. Come along or all will know what I must say.”

Kerek nodded slightly to Ragnor. He was surprised. The man had managed to gain everyone's attention. All were closing about them now. All were listening.

“It matters not,” Chessa said. “Nothing about you matters. Your warship is ready. Leave Hawkfell Island. No one wants you here. I do wonder how many of your men will return with you.”

“That is another matter entirely and doesn't concern you. You're naught but a woman and know nothing of importance.” Ragnor stopped, hearing Kerek gently clear his throat. He cleared his own then and waited a moment
before he said again, “You must come with me. This is important and it is private. Very private.”

“Out with it, Ragnor,” Rorik said. “Chessa doesn't care, so say what you will say.”

“She can't marry William of Normandy.”

Cleve said easily, “Naturally she can. She will marry William. She must marry William. It is done. The only reason you still live is because you will become the King of the Danelaw. Don't push the limits of our patience.”

Chessa just looked at Cleve and he knew in that moment that she would fight it, that she would refuse to wed William, and then what in the name of the gods would he do? He would lose faith with Rollo, he would lose faith with Sitric. And what would happen to Chessa?

Ragnor said with all the pride of a Viking raider who'd just plundered an abbey, “The princess can't marry William of Normandy because I've already bedded her. I've taken her many times. She isn't a virgin. She could be carrying my babe, the future ruler of the Danelaw. Aye, the future ruler but only after I've been king for a very long time.”