Lord of Falcon Ridge (14 page)

Cleve was red-faced with rage. He sent his fist into Ragnor's throat, then quickly drew the knife from its sheath at his waist.

“No, Cleve.”

He stopped cold. She'd but whispered the two words, but it stopped him. He looked at Chessa, who was still on her hands and knees, but she'd managed to work the gag from her mouth even with her wrists bound. “No,” she said again, trying to crawl to him. “Don't kill him. I don't want you declared an outlaw and it is what King Olric would do, at the very least. He would even send men here
to Hawkfell Island. He's not worth it. Don't kill him, Cleve.”

He slowly withdrew the knife. Ragnor was looking up at him, so terrified that he couldn't even groan at the pain in his ribs and his head.

“Has he hurt you, Chessa?”

“No, I'm fine. Could you please release me?”

Cleve rose slowly, looked down at Ragnor, then kicked him in the ribs. Ragnor yelled, then screamed, “Kerek, I'll kill you for this. It's all your fault. You took her and look what happened.”

Kerek turned to Utta, who was still standing close to her husband. “I'm sorry he did this. He is sometimes ungoverned. Will you kill him, Haakon?”

Rorik said nothing, just looked at his man.

Utta said, her arms around her husband's back, “Nay, Haakon, leave him be. It is as Chessa said. You would be made an outlaw and I won't want our children to know their father had to flee to survive.”

“Our children?” Haakon said blankly.

“Aye,” she said, smiling up at him. “At least we will have the first one in seven months or so.”

Merrik shouted at Chessa, “Have you begun your monthly flow yet?”

 

They would return Lord Ragnor, Kerek, and Torric to York once they'd taken Chessa to Rouen for her marriage to William. The men made the decision, then informed the women.

“I see,” Mirana said after Rorik had finished. “You mighty men thought this all through, did you? You doubtless sat about swilling ale and weighing this complicated decision. How pleased I am that you deign to inform us of your plans. How tired you must be after all your mental discussions. Would you like some more ale, my lord? Are my lord's feet weary? I could go onto my hands and knees and you could rest your feet upon my back.”

Rorik looked harassed. “Stop your sweet attacks,
Mirana. Nay, they're vicious, you just speak sweetly. Damnation, someone had to make the decision. You women—” He paused, taking in Laren and Chessa, and beyond them, Entti, Amma, Erna, Old Alna, all the women of Hawkfell Island, falling in behind their mistress, ready to kill for her if need be, their loyalty always to her, not to him. He wasn't happy. He turned to his brother. “Merrik, you will speak to Laren before she makes a skald's tale of this and casts us all in the role of the Christian devil. Make her see reason. As for you, Cleve, take Chessa away from here and tell her to begin her monthly flow. She has no say in anything. Her father has made the decision for her.”

“Laren,” Merrik said in his softest voice, which was just beneath a roar, “surely you don't agree with Mirana. Surely you won't mock me as she does Rorik. Surely you won't make this pitiful little happening into a skald's tale, will you?”

“A Christian devil is too good for you, Merrik,” his wife said, standing toe to toe with him, even though she reached only to his chin.

Suddenly Old Alna cackled. “I think we shouldn't cook for them anymore. No more porridge from Utta. No more ale. No more roasted boar steaks. What say you, Amma?”

Amma, a strong woman, a large woman, grinned up at her huge husband, Sculla. “What say you, husband? Do you want your belly to shrink just because you've been an ass?”

Cleve interrupted in his best diplomat's low, calm, smooth voice, “We are getting far afield. I will ask the women just one question. Choose from amongst you who will give me your answer.”

“What is the question?” Utta asked.

“Who should Princess Chessa wed?”

The women withdrew, drawing together into a tight circle, speaking, all talking at once, until Mirana held up her hand. “Let us go outside. I do not wish the men to hear this. Doubtless they argued and insulted each other and yelled and carried on, but they will deny it and make us
feel like fools when we do the same.”

When all the women had left the longhouse, Rorik clapped Cleve on the back. “That was well done of you.”

“Aye,” Merrik said, grinning like a Viking who's just plundered a rich town, “what else can they decide? They must decide exactly what we decided. There is no other way to settle things.”

“They are women,” Cleve said. “Women aren't like men. They don't think like we do.” He shook his head, sat on the bench, his hands between his legs, and just stared down between his shoes.

The other men drank ale, sharpened their axes, their swords, played with the children, pulled Kerzog's ears. The three wounded men lay in the corner, watching, but saying nothing. They wondered what would become of Lord Ragnor. All three hoped he would magically drop dead in his tracks before the fool managed to get all of them killed.

“Papa, what's happening?”

Aglida climbed onto her father's lap. “Mama isn't pleased with you, is she? What did you do?”

“Nothing, sweeting. It's just a thing that happens between men and women. Where is Kiri?”

“She followed Aunt Laren outside with the women.”

“It won't be good,” Cleve said, shaking his head back and forth. “I was stupid to suggest it.”

“There is nothing else they can decide,” Merrik said.

“What if she doesn't begin her monthly flow?” Rorik said.

“She could begin it and not tell us,” Hafter said. “I will order Entti to tell me the truth.”

The men stared at Hafter as if he'd grown another head. “You will
order
Entti to spy for you?” Rorik said, then he laughed, low, deep laughter, and soon all the men were jesting and laughing and drinking more ale.

The women came back into the longhouse, Mirana at their head. “We have decided what will happen.” Slowly the men rose. They didn't say anything.

Mirana smiled at her husband. “My lord, we agree that
Ragnor, Kerek, and Torric must be returned to York. It's unfortunate that we can't kill them since they richly deserve it, but there it is. We'll return the other three men as well.”

“You see,” Rorik said to Cleve, “I told you there was no other way for them to decide.”

“As to Chessa marrying William. She doesn't wish to and we agree with her. She wishes to marry Cleve.”

Cleve stared at Mirana, just stared, knowing he was turning pale, knowing that he'd been a fool to ever give the women the chance to add their agreement to the men's.

He said finally, breaking the thick silence, “I won't marry the princess. For that reason. She's a princess. I am nothing, less than nothing.”

“You are the son of the Lord of Kinloch,” Laren said. “That's what you told us.”

“I don't even know what this Kinloch is. It could be a bloody rock in the middle of Loch Ness. It could have been overthrown and the Scots could now control it, or the Picts, or the Britons. I could have dreamed it all in my dream. I could have made myself another boy who was captured. It isn't possible.”

Laren cleared her throat. “Cleve, we know that two times now you have attacked Lord Ragnor when he was hurting Chessa. It is obvious to all of us that you want her.”

“Aye, I want her, she's a woman and she's beautiful and I haven't had a woman in far too many weeks. By Thor's axe, what does that have to do with anything? I am a man. All men need to have a woman to see to them.”

“I think perhaps we'd best steer clear of that,” Merrik said, eyeing the women uneasily. “Laren, you women are thinking with your hearts, not with your heads. Cleve has negotiated the wedding contract. He must bring the princess to William. He has given his word. His honor is at stake.”

For the first time, Chessa made her way to stand in front of the women. “You say it is Cleve's honor at stake. It is my life at stake. I have listened to all of you. Now it is time for the truth, the truth that four of you already know, perhaps all of you know.”

“Chessa, no—” Mirana said, grabbing her sleeve.

“Leave be, Mirana. It's my future, not yours. Leave be. I beg that all of you in the longhouse swear to keep silent about this for I wouldn't have my father harmed. Don't forget to take away Ragnor and Kerek and the three wounded men. Do it now. Leave Captain Torric. He's so drunk with Alna's potions he doesn't know where he is.”

There were murmurs of assent.

“Don't, Chessa,” Rorik said.

Hafter, Aslak, and Sculla carried the three wounded men from the longhouse, all of them swearing on pain of death by Thor, by Odin, that they wouldn't say anything if only they could remain. Ragnor looked bored and Kerek started to open his mouth, saw the look on Rorik's face, and closed it. Hafter raised an eyebrow at Rorik, who just shook his head. Ragnor and Kerek were herded out after the other men.

Chessa just looked at Cleve for a long moment. He looked both utterly bewildered and furious. He said, “What do you have to say, Princess? Be quick about it for I would leave to return you to Rouen—to your bridegroom, to the man you must marry, for there is no choice for anyone, least of all you. I trust you will begin your monthly flow on our journey.”

She said slowly, looking straightly at him, “Cleve, listen to me, for I tell you the truth. I am not a princess.”

 

 

T
HERE WASN'T A
sound in the longhouse. Even the children were silent. Kerzog was sprawled on his belly, his head on his paws, not moving except for his tongue lolling out.

“Did you hear what I said?” Chessa said, staring at all the men and women around the huge chamber. “I said I wasn't a princess. Before my father killed King Sitric of Ireland, he was Hormuze the magician. I'm his daughter.” She couldn't understand why people weren't shocked, weren't yelling that such a thing couldn't be true.

Of course, she thought. Everyone knows. They've known since the beginning. Their only surprise was that she would admit it.

Mirana said, “Chessa, everyone knows the truth. Just after your father Hormuze married Sira and became the king of Ireland—renewed and young again—he sent a skald here the following winter solstice and he told the incredible tale of how the mystic Hormuze had wrought the change in the king and made him young again and given him a wife who would give him sons. All believed it. Those who didn't realized that your father would be an excellent king and thus kept their mouths shut. You see, your father wanted us to know that everything had come about just as
he'd predicted. If I remember aright, Sira was pregnant with the first son.”

Cleve looked at Merrik. “When I asked you about that tale, you denied any knowledge.”

“Naturally. It was never to have been spoken of and hasn't, until now. Thank the gods we got Kerek and Ragnor out of here. Chessa was right, I wouldn't trust Ragnor any more than I'd wager Mirana could outrun Kerzog.”

“It's true?” Cleve asked, now looking at her. “Chessa isn't a princess?”

“Actually,” she said, clearing her throat loudly. “I'm from that far-away land to the south called Egypt, the land Laren spoke about last night. My father wanted Mirana for his wife because she looked so much like my mother, but she had already married Lord Rorik.” She sighed. “So he took Sira. Papa was so certain he could improve her. She was wild and vicious and ruthless, excellent qualities, I believe, in a king, but not in a queen. I don't think he dwells on it much now.” She looked at Cleve now. “I'm not a princess. I'm just me, no royal blood, nothing to interest William of Normandy, nothing to interest Ragnor of York. My father even changed my name because he didn't want anyone to remember Hormuze or that I was his daughter or to take the chance that someone might think that King Sitric had the look of Hormuze.”

Cleve said, “Now I know the full story. It's an excellent story. Nay, I believe it. I have but to look at Rorik's face to know it's true. As for your not having royal blood, why then, neither does William. His father, Duke Rollo, wasn't royal until he negotiated the treaty with King Charles III. But now he is royal simply because of that treaty, just as you are a princess simply because your father is now a king. None of it makes any difference. I gave my word to Duke Rollo that I would bring you to him. I will keep my word. You will begin your monthly flow.”

She looked at him straightly, holding herself very still. “I will marry no man but you.”

Cleve strode to the door of the longhouse.

“Where are you going?”

He turned to look at her, standing there, her hands clasped in front of her, her black hair loose down her back, braided strands threaded with strips of yellow linen, her linen gown of soft saffron making her skin look golden, making her eyes look greener, which surely wasn't possible. She'd just said it in front of everyone. She would marry no man but he. She was beyond foolish. She was beyond blind. Just looking at his face should have turned her against such a notion. It was an infatuation. Surely she would wake up one morning soon and realize that she didn't want him, and perhaps wonder how she could have ever believed that she had.

“I must think,” he said, and fled the longhouse. No one said anything until they no longer heard his retreating footsteps.

Chessa just stood there after he was gone, just stood there seeing nothing really, hearing the voices around her becoming thick now, louder, for now everything must be discussed and argued about. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone would be heard.

She heard Rorik say to Mirana, “You should have told her it wouldn't work. To claim a man like that with no warning, especially a man like Cleve, who doesn't really know who or what he is, a man who doesn't want a wife, and that's understandable given what was done to him.”

“Why doesn't Papa want a wife?”

“Oh, dear,” Laren said as she scooped Kiri up in her arms. “Your papa, sweeting—well, it isn't that he doesn't want a wife, he just—”

She stalled and Merrik said, patting Kiri's golden hair, “Your papa has much to do, Kiri. You know that. We are going to Scotland to return to where he was born. All this is uncertain, thus he can't have a wife right now.”

“Why not? She could help him just like Aunt Laren helps you. She could tell him the right of things when he gets confused, just like Aunt Lar—”

“I know, Kiri,” Merrik said quickly, trying not to laugh. “It's just that things are, well, very difficult right now.”

Chessa said, “Kiri's right. Why can't he marry me?”

“Chessa,” Rorik said, “be quiet.”

“No, I won't. Kiri, your papa can have me for a wife right now, this afternoon if he wishes it. This evening if Mirana must have time to prepare for a celebration. I would help your papa learn about where he came from and why he was left to die as a small boy, then sold as a slave like your Aunt Laren.”

“I don't know if you should marry Papa,” Kiri said, looking at Chessa. “You look just like my Aunt Mirana.”

“That just makes her very lucky, Kiri,” Mirana said and grinned.

“Maybe my papa doesn't want a wife because he loved my mama so much. Maybe my papa just doesn't like you. I don't know.”

She wiggled out of Merrik's hold and ran to the doorway.

“Sweeting,” Laren called after her, “just play outside with your cousins. Don't go beyond the palisade.”

Cleve returned in early evening, a sleeping Kiri in his arms. “We spent the afternoon on the eastern cliff, watching the dunlin and oystercatchers.” He said nothing more, paid no attention at all to Chessa until late that night when everyone was preparing to sleep. He walked to her, just stared down at her, but said nothing for a very long time. There was a food stain on her bosom, her hair was loose, her face flushed from the heat of the fire pit.

“Look at my face,” he said.

She looked at his face.

“What do you see?”

She smiled up at him. Slowly, she raised her hand and traced her finger over his mouth, his nose, his eyebrows, smoothing them, then at last, she lightly traced her fingertip down the curved scar. “I see you,” she said. “I see the man I want, the only man I will ever want. I see you and I want to smile and laugh and perhaps do a little dance. I want to kiss you and touch you. What I see is the man the
gods fashioned just for me. Now, Cleve, look at my face.”

He looked at her face.

“What do you see?”

He didn't touch her as she had him. He said, “I have never seen eyes the color of yours. I had thought your eyes like Mirana's, but it isn't true. The green of your eyes is different, darker, nearly black in this dim light, and there is a slight tilt to the corners of your eyes that makes you look like you're keeping secrets, that you know things that other people don't know. Is that true, Chessa?”

“Nay.”

She wanted very much to kiss him. She'd kissed Ragnor several times and thought it strange, this touching of mouths.

“Cleve,” she said, standing on her tiptoes. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he must hear it. She spread her palms on his chest, feeling the heat of his body, feeling the steady pounding of his own heart.

“Do you see anything else, Cleve?”

“I see a woman who will not do as she's bid.”

“That's all you see? Strange eyes and a woman who won't be led about by the nose? I feel your heart, Cleve. It's beating very fast now.”

“If you were closer you'd feel how hard my sex is. It means nothing, Princess. I'm a man and a man is always ready to bed a comely woman. It's no more than that.” Then his hands were on her wrists and he was gently pushing her away from him.

He stepped back from her. “Merrik, his men, and I are taking Ragnor, Kerek, and Torric back to York. It should only take five days, no longer than eight days, depending on the weather, depending on things I can't begin to think of. When we return then we'll go to Rouen. In the meantime you will begin your monthly flow. I don't think you're pregnant. After all, you don't want to bear Ragnor's child. No, I feel that you are just being stubborn. You refuse to obey your father's wishes and thus this is how you go about
gaining your own way. If you refuse to wed William, I will return you to Sitric.”

“But didn't you hear me? I'm not a princess.”

He shrugged. “I said it before and it's true. Since you are the King of Ireland's daughter you are thus a princess. You could have left Ragnor in here and told him that. He could have told the world. It makes no difference. Now, we're leaving in the morning. I bid you good night, Princess.”

She stared after him. He felt he had to keep his word, both to her father and to Duke Rollo. She had to come up with a good reason why it was no longer so important. But it was much more than that. The woman he'd loved had tried to murder him. Surely that would make a man wary of women. She realized that she had to prove herself to him, prove to him that he could trust her, prove that he was safe with her, that he would have her loyalty forever.

But what if he really didn't want her? But she didn't believe that was true. She wouldn't allow it to be true. All had seen him become as ferocious as a berserker those times she was attacked. She supposed she had to tell him the truth. Not only wasn't she a princess, she was also still a virgin. By Thor's hammer, she could just see his face when she told him that. She realized that she'd dug a very large hole at her feet and she was fast slipping into it. It had seemed such an excellent idea at the time. After all, if she wasn't a virgin then William wouldn't want her, thus she was free, she could have Cleve and surely, when at last he came to her, her virginity would have pleased him.

Now she knew it wouldn't. He would know she'd lied. He would believe she was no better than Sarla, that wretched bitch Chessa wished were here right now, right this instant. Surely she'd kill Sarla for what she'd done to Cleve. She wondered how much more there was to the story than the bare bones she'd been told. Probably a lot more.

 

Merrik, Cleve, and all twenty of the Malverne men left the following dawn. All the Hawkfell Island men and
women were there to see them off. Chessa, Laren, and Mirana stood close together on the dock as the men loaded the warship with provisions. Entti handed Merrik a large skin filled with ale, saying, “This isn't intended for Ragnor's gullet. It's for the first night you're sailing from York, having rid yourself of these three.”

Old Alna was there to say good-bye to her Captain Torric. She patted his bound wrists and cackled. “Aye, my pretty boy, you would have fought to have me. I was more beautiful than those young twittering crows who stand here with me.”

Captain Torric said, “But Alna, if you were ever that beautiful, then it would have been my grandfather to have fought to have you and perhaps then I would have been your grandson.”

She cuffed his ear, then cackled. “You keep that leg straight, Captain, it will heal faster, and take this potion.” She handed him a small vial. “If you weren't leaving, my pretty boy, I'd give you another vial and it would be a love potion and you would fall in love with your grandmother.” She laughed and laughed, and Captain Torric looked desperately toward Merrik, who just grinned and said, “ Consider Old Alna a gift from the gods, Torric.”

Laren smiled at her husband, but didn't say anything. She'd already told him ten times to keep a keen eye, for she didn't trust Ragnor at all. As for Kerek, he was even a greater danger, for he was obsessed with having Chessa for Ragnor, for the Danelaw.