Lord of Raven's Peak (29 page)

“You have naught now,” Rollo said. “You have lost everything, Ferlain.”

“I still have Cardle.”

“Aye, he is a harmless man, a faithful man. He never knew that you had bedded with Fromm, did he? Or Otta?”

“He wouldn't know anything if I didn't tell him,” she said, her voice filled with contempt. “You, Rollo, you wed me to that imbecile. He would not even bed me unless I took him in my mouth and brought him to a man's size. I had to thrust him into me, uncle, for he would just gaze at me, and I knew his mind was in the past, thinking of all those miserable Romans or King Alfred or that gallant fool, Charlemagne. At least Fromm and Otta were men with men's appetites and men's knowledge. I would that you would die, Uncle Rollo, but you will not. You will continue forever, I know it.”

Very slowly, she slipped to her knees. She bowed her head and held her arms around her, slowly rocking back and forth.

“Why did you try to kill Merrik?” Rollo said, quiet now, his voice oddly soothing. “He did nothing to you, nothing.”

She was silent for a very long time. Rollo started to ask her again, when she raised her head and looked toward Merrik, as if he were a stranger. “He would have been another damned heir. If I couldn't produce a son, I wouldn't allow the possibility that he would rule, his son after him.”

“He would never rule, Ferlain,” Rollo said, and his voice was that of the ruler of Normandy, cold and decisive and no one would gainsay him and live. “He will never rule. Taby is alive. Your father told you but you didn't heed him. Aye, Taby is alive and happy as a child should be. He is safe in Norway, in Vestfold, at Merrik's farmstead.”

Ferlain jumped to her feet. “No! You lie! It is Merrik who now holds your favor, it is he who will—”

“Taby is alive. Merrik found both Laren and Taby at the slave market in Kiev. I would that I could have sired a son like Merrik, for he is honorable above all things. But then so is William, and it is he, Ferlain, it is William my son who will rule after me. Taby will be at his side, loyal to him and brave, his arm and his mind strong and sure.”

Ferlain said nothing. She merely stared first at Rollo, then at Laren and Merrik. She didn't look at her father.

Finally, Rollo said, “Weland, return her to her sleeping chamber. Post two soldiers near. We will decide what is to be done with her.”

 

It was Helga who came to their sleeping chamber late that night. She didn't look as young in the dim shadows. “Come quickly,” she said, shaking Merrik's shoulder. “Come.”

Rollo and Hallad were there before them, looking down, both silent. Ferlain lay on the box bed, a soft pillow beneath her head, an exquisite embroidered robe covering her, smoothed by loving hands over her body. Her face was smooth with renewed youth in death, her eyes closed by gentle fingers. Her hair was brushed until it shone and braided very neatly, the long ropes lying over her breasts. Her arms were at her sides, palms up.

“Cardle is gone,” Rollo said to Merrik and Laren. “She
has been dead for a long time.”

“How did she die?” Laren said.

“I do not know,” Rollo said. “There is no blood. Her face is without pain, without struggle. Helga came to visit her early this morning and found her thusly. The guards said she hadn't tried to leave the chamber. Cardle left late last night. They had no reason to stop him.”

“Bury her,” Hallad said suddenly. “Leave her be and bury her now, this morning.”

Rollo slowly nodded.

“What of Cardle?” Helga said. “He killed her, he did it. What will you do, Uncle Rollo?”

“I will tell you soon,” Rollo said. “Aye, I will tell you soon.”

T
ABY WAS SITTING
on the bench next to Cleve, tying a knot under his direction. There was sudden loud commotion from outside the longhouse. Taby raised his head like a young animal trained to the sound.

“Is it Laren?”

“Let us see,” Cleve said and took the boy's hand. But he couldn't keep up. Taby scampered away with Kenna and both boys bounded through the now wide palisade gates, through the fields now flat and dull, their barley and rye harvested, past the slaves who were mending the palisade walls with tight cord, wet and then dried three times over for added strength, and down the path to the fjord.

Taby saw Merrik, shouted at the top of his voice, and hurled himself at him. Merrik, laughing, caught the child in time and threw him high into the air, then caught him and held him tightly against his chest. Laren watched from behind him, saw him close his eyes as he buried his face against Taby's hair. She felt the familiar bittersweet longing as she watched. Then Taby raised his head, kissed Merrik's cheek, a loud smacking kiss that made him laugh, then saw his sister.

“Laren!” he shrieked. She was then the one to have
his child's arms around her neck, his wet kisses on her face.

“You are like a puppy, Taby,” she said, knowing tears were in her eyes and trying to swallow them back. “Stop wriggling so. Soon you will be licking my face like that massive beast Kerzog. Will you grow as big as that monster?”

The child laughed at that. All was as it should be.

“I have something to tell you,” she said to Taby and set him on the ground. “Our father is alive. Hallad came back here with us.”

The child grew very still, his eyes wary. “No, no, Laren. I don't remember my father, Laren. Merrik is my father.”

“Oh no, sweeting. Merrik is your brother. Do you not remember? No, here is your father and my father as well.”

Hallad hung back, staring at the little boy who looked up at him, his expression suspicious.

“You are nearly six now, Taby,” Hallad said, then wondered where that had come from. He hadn't seen his son since he was a babe. Now a little boy stood in front of him, a sturdy little boy who looked just like him when he'd been young. He watched the boy take a step back and stop when he hit Merrik's legs.

He saw Merrik's hand come down to the boy's shoulder and gently squeeze. He saw Merrik come down to his knees and look at Taby, all the love he felt shining in eyes the brilliant blue of the autumn sky. Merrik said, “Your father lives and I have brought him back with me. What happened to him is better than any tale Laren can weave in her skald's voice. Aye, and he will tell you about such things as he has seen when you return with him to Normandy. Come now, Taby, and greet your father.”

Hallad saw the pain in Merrik's eyes when he gently placed Taby's small hand into his. “This is your father. Bid him welcome.”

“I welcome you to Malverne, sir.”

Merrik shook his head and laughed. “He is a stubborn little mite and loyal to his finger bones. Come, Hallad, let us go inside and have some of Sarla's fine ale.” He lifted Taby onto his shoulder and marched up the path, back through the fields scythed flat of their crops.

It was difficult for Hallad, Laren knew it. It was difficult for her as well, and Taby was her brother. She watched her father try to remain impassive, a smile on his face, but his little son was curled into a ball against Merrik's chest, sound asleep, his small fisted hand clutching Merrik's tunic.

“They love each other very much,” she said to her father. “It is very odd really. As you know, this fat merchant, Thrasco, had bought me, and they'd pulled me away from Taby. Merrik saw Taby and wanted him. It is that simple and it goes that deep.”

“You were both very lucky,” Hallad said. “The woman, Sarla, she is comely, very comely. And so very gentle. You told me she was married to Merrik's brother, the former master of this farmstead?”

Laren nodded. “He was killed. His former skald, a jealous man named Deglin, killed him and tried to blame me, for he wanted me gone. Many believed that I did it, for Erik wanted to bed me. I did not like Erik, for he was cruel toward his wife and arrogant in his actions, but to die because Deglin wanted me blamed, it is horrible.”

“What will become of Sarla?”

Laren smiled as she sipped her cup of sweet mead.

“I may be just a few years older than she,” Hallad said sharply, eyeing his daughter, “but I am not dead.
No segment of me is dead, daughter. I am still a man of many fine parts. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, Father, I understand you quite well,” Laren said solemnly.

“You should since you are carrying Merrik's babe in your womb.” He was clearly irritated and she couldn't help herself, she giggled. Merrik looked up and smiled widely. It had been too long since there had been lightness in her. He was enchanted, and he told her so later that night when they were finally settled beneath a soft woolen blanket in their box bed.

“If I enchanted you then I must be a witch.”

“Aye, you may be my witch. It has been a very long day,” he added and kissed her ear, then licked lightly inside.

“Aye, but we are home, Merrik. How glad I am to be home at last. And alive.”

“Your father was asking me questions about Sarla, how well placed her family was, what I planned to do with her. I told him that she would do as she pleased, that she was welcome at Malverne forever if she wished it.”

Laren came up on her elbow above him. “My father is a man of fine parts, that each of his segments was working. He told me so. Do you think Sarla would like to marry my father? Live with him in Uncle Rollo's palace? Be a great lady?” She giggled again, nestling her face against his shoulder, and he felt her warm breath, and squeezed her tightly against him.

“I do not know. You told me that she and Cleve were growing close. Indeed you told me they loved each other.”

“Aye, but now I don't know.” She sucked in her breath, all thought of Cleve and Sarla forgotten. “I like your hand there, Merrik.”

“Do you?” He gently cupped her breast in his hand, leaned down and began to caress her with his mouth. When she moaned, arching into him, he raised his head and smiled down at her. “You have not been ill for a week now. I am relieved. You were growing too thin again. Ah, but not here, not here.”

“You are a man,” she said, and kissed his warm mouth, “and a man likes to caress a woman's breasts. Ah, Merrik, I do love you. More than you can begin to imagine. I will love you until I die.” She'd said the words, she didn't regret saying them even though he was still beside her. For just a moment he was very still, and silent, then he was kissing her frantically, his tongue stroking her mouth, his hands wild on her breasts, then his fingers were moving to her waist and belly, gently probing there, searching for a sign of the babe, then going lower still to find her and caress her.

“It has been too long,” he said as he eased her down over him. “Far too long. By all the gods, Laren, you give me so very much.”

The pleasure he brought her momentarily made her forget the truth of things, and that truth was always there and would always be there, even after Taby and her father left to return to Normandy. Taby would always be in Merrik's heart, closer than any other man or woman or child. She thought of the child she carried. Merrik would love the babe, surely he would love his own son or daughter, but not so much as he loved Taby, never so much as Taby.

She cried out in her release, shaken by its power and its sweetness as she always was, then held him to her as he took his own pleasure.

“You please me,” he said, his voice low and deep, for he was sleepy now and sated. She felt him leave her, felt the wet of his seed, and eased down beside him. He
kissed her forehead, caressed her shoulder, then he closed his eyes.

She loved him more than she could imagine loving another human being. She would love him forever. He was her husband and in that, he would always be hers.

 

“My father has been here with you, has he not, Sarla? Do you know where he is now?”

Sarla smiled as she stirred the mutton, cabbage, and onion stew. “Aye, he was here and he made me laugh. He is a very valiant man, Laren, your father. Perhaps he is outside now, speaking to Merrik. Or perhaps he is yet again trying to gain Taby's affections. Do you think I should add some mashed lingonberries?”

Laren agreed, waited for Sarla to say more, but she didn't. She went outside to the privy, then to the bathing hut. Merrik and her father and Taby were all within, their shouts loud, making her smile. When they emerged, all of them wet and well scrubbed, she saw that Taby was in his father's arms, not Merrik's. She looked quickly to her husband. To her profound relief, he was smiling. There was no hurt in his fine eyes, no sign of shadows.

“Laren,” he said to her. She ran to him, flinging her arms around his back. He laughed as he hugged her to him. He continued to hold her close, waiting until Hallad and Taby were farther away. “Taby begins to accept him,” he said, and now she heard the ache in his voice, but also his acceptance. “It is the way it must be. I've known it for a very long time. Aye, all will be well. You and I will visit Rouen and see him and your father and Rollo. Now, sweeting, I must see Cleve. He will tell me what has happened at Malverne whilst we were gone adventuring. And I must know what it is he wishes to do now that he is a free man.”

“You remember that Uncle Rollo told us that Cleve was welcome to come to him. He said he would see that he was rewarded.”

“I will tell him that. Stop looking at me like that, Laren, and take your hands off me. Go now, sweeting, else I'll take you back in the bathing hut, lather you with that sweet-smelling soap Helga made for you, and keep you there until neither of us can speak or walk.”

She laughed and said, “I would like that better than stirring mutton stew, my lord.” Slowly, unwillingly, she released him. She stood there, watching him stride toward the fields, his hair fair and bright beneath the sun, his body strong and brown from the sweet summer.

Merrik found Cleve chopping wood with a fine old axe that had belonged to Merrik's grandfather. Its blade was as sharp as ever, the grip smooth from the scores of years of men's hands gripping it. Merrik waited, watching him. He was stripped to a loincloth and he saw him now as a handsome man, well made, his golden hair glistening with sweat and health beneath the bright sun. Even the scarring on his face no longer detracted. He wondered if Sarla would take him as her husband. Cleve or Hallad, an old man, but rich and powerful, a man of wit and learning and kindness. No man could know a woman's mind. Suddenly Cleve looked up.

“That pile of logs will last us a week this winter,” Merrik said. “I came to thank you, Cleve, helping Oleg look after everything here at Malverne.”

“Naught of anything happened,” Cleve said, gently cleaned the axe blade on his tunic, and strode to where Merrik was standing beneath an oak tree that was as old as the fjord. “The crops are safely stored, the goats and cows and children are fattening well, and Taby learned to ride the children's pony, Ebel. Your
farmstead is a fine place, Merrik. You are blessed with sufficient arable land for your needs.”

“Aye, I know it,” Merrik said. “But you also know, Cleve, it was never destined to be mine. It was Erik's. It feels strange to me to be the lord here. Did Taby miss me and Laren?”

“Aye, but he forgot you soon enough on Ebel's back.” Cleve laughed and punched Merrik's arm. He drew back instantly, a flare of the old slave terror in his eyes.

“Nay, my friend. You are free. Indeed, I come to ask you if you wish to return to Normandy with Taby and Hallad. The great Rollo himself wishes to reward you. Whatever you wish is yours. Whatever life you choose to lead, he will see that you gain it. He is a good man, a man to admire and follow. You would have a good life there, Cleve.”

“I shall think about it, Merrik. I thank you.”

“Tell me what you think of Hallad.”

“He is a good man, despite the richness of his blood. He is also a very lucky man. His brother believed in him and protected him for three long years. And now he has returned to what he knew and he has his son and daughter as well. Aye, a very lucky man is Hallad.”

“He is those things, it is true. However, Cleve, he is not young and strong and filled with health and a young man's vigor and eagerness for life. He is an old man. If he were to breed a child, he would probably be dead before the child reached his boyhood years.”

Cleve grew very still. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “I trust so, Merrik, but life is always uncertain, is it not?” He looked away from Merrik, into the distance at the stark mountain peaks on the opposite side of the fjord. “There is much to consider.”

Merrik began to stack the logs Cleve had cut. “Tell me about what you did in my absence. Tell me how
many fights there were, how many men are now just growling at each other.”

That night Laren took up her duty as Malverne's skald once again. She told the story of an Irish merchant whose son, Ulric, was a bully, a vicious coward, and could never be trusted to act with honor. “Aye, our proud bully wanted to be a chieftain. One day he chanced upon a strange lady, and even though he was a spiteful ruffian, he wasn't stupid. The lady was stuck in a bog and couldn't free herself. Ulric managed to rescue her. He even decided not to rape her, such was his goodwill that day. It was a good thing, this goodwill of his, for then she told him she was a fairy and that she would grant any wish he asked for. He wanted to be chieftain, he told her, all puffed up, his eyes gleaming in his greed, for he believed her. Ulric said, ‘I want to rule all the people in all the lands hereabouts for as far as I can see.'