“If I hadn’t been fishing at the river, I would have been safe from you. That I look like a slut from my exercise was to your advantage, otherwise this man couldn’t have taken me.”
“Oh, I’d have gotten you, Chessa,” Ragnor said with a laugh. And with that, he left her.
Rouen,
Duke Rollo’s Palace
“She’s been taken,” Bjarni said, still out of breath, for he’d run from the dock to the palace. “Stolen away without a trace. The king is frantic.”
Rollo turned to Cleve. “Could she have run away? Did she not wish to wed William?”
“What she wanted didn’t matter. It wasn’t her decision to make. It was her father’s.” Cleve sighed. “Someone took her. Who would benefit the most?”
Bjarni said, “King Sitric believes it to be Ragnor of York. He said that the Danelaw king, Olric, wanted her to marry his son.”
Cleve laughed, unable to help himself. He told Rollo what Chessa had done to Ragnor of York. “Thus, sire, I cannot imagine that Olric ever planned to negotiate with Sitric, for he knew it wouldn’t work. Nay, he simply took her. He will wed her to Ragnor and it will be done.”
William, who should have been profoundly distressed by the news, said in an almost cheerful voice, “Aye, it is most probably Ragnor of York. Lothaire the Bald, one of King Charles’s ministers, also told me that Olric of the Danelaw wanted her for his son. Even King Charles wants her, though his eldest son is only eleven years old.”
“You never said a word of this to me,” Rollo said, bending those compelling dark eyes of his on his only son.
William merely shrugged. “The French want one of Sitric’s sons to wed into their family. They don’t want the Irish alliance with Normandy that Chessa would bring. Thus it wouldn’t surprise me that Charles assisted Olric and Ragnor to kidnap the girl.”
“This girl is to be your wife, William.”
“Does it really matter, Father? She will not be dishonored. She will one day be a queen. I will continue as I have. I have my son dear Margaret gave me. Eilder will follow me. He will survive. I need no more sons.”
Duke Rollo looked at his son, who was thirty years old, and said, “You are a fool. To love a dead woman so much that you put a dynasty into danger makes me want to search inside your head for reason.”
Cleve, scenting an old squabble, cleared his throat, and said, “I will go after her.”
“Aye,” Rollo said. “You will fetch her back here, Cleve. William will do his duty by her and wed her and he will have a dozen more sons. It is necessary. Our line won’t die out, not because of your love of this damned dead woman.”
Cleve cocked his head toward William.
William said slowly, knowing there was no hope for it, “Aye, Cleve, bring her back. The matter was agreed to and I will honor it.”
“Merrik will enjoy the adventure,” Cleve said.
“As will I,” Laren said quietly from behind him. “As will I.”
“Papa,” Kiri said, and held out her arms to him. Laren released her and Cleve knew that he would have to be very careful in his rescue.
It was very dark. Chessa heard the men talking outside as they bent over their oars. They complained that the wind had died and now all of them would have to exhaust themselves with the rowing. They complained that Ragnor was pushing them too hard. He wanted to be in York in another four days. They were sailing in the Channel between Normandy and England, she thought, so very close. Soon they would turn northward and sail past East Anglia into the North Sea until they reached York. Then she would escape.
She wondered if Cleve knew yet she’d been taken. She wondered what he thought, if he worried about her, if he wished to see her again, safe and unharmed. She wondered if he ever thought about her the way she did about him. She saw his beautiful face clearly, the clean gold of his hair, the fascination of his one golden eye and his one blue eye. She didn’t wonder at all what William or Duke Rollo thought.
She sighed, settling herself on the mat, pulling the woolen blanket more closely about her. As she had for the past three nights, she worried that Ragnor wouldn’t keep his word. She worried that he would come and rape her. She knew Kerek couldn’t stop him if he decided to force her, but she believed now that he would try to aid her. Kerek’s thick red hair was whipped by the wind, his face deeply seamed from years in the sun. He was as strong as a much younger warrior, but there was softness in him, kindness that made her think frantically of how to get him to help her. He couldn’t bear Ragnor, that was clear.
He had spent much of his time with her during the past three days. To protect her in the only way he knew how. He brought her food, water, and stiff conversation, for he was but a man of modest means and place, and she was, after all, a princess.
She was a princess only because her father was brilliant, she thought, smiling to herself. All these kings wanted her for her pure northern bloodlines and her father’s strength. If only they knew the truth.
“Princess.”
“Aye, Kerek. It is very dark tonight. There is no moon at all. How does the man at the tiller know where the men should set their oars?”
“There is the faint glitter of the North Star. The navigator is a man who’s eyes know every speck in the heavens. Were it raining, I vow he would still be able to see the right path.”
“What do you want, Kerek?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and she said again, “Why are you here?”
“To keep him away,” he said at last. “He has drunk too much mead. He talks to the men. He laughs and he boasts. He claims he will break you in before he takes you to wife. He claims if you aren’t to his liking, he will give you to the men, then throw you overboard and claim an accident to his father, Olric. He doesn’t like you overmuch. He won’t ever forget how it was you who made him sicker than an asp biting the Christian devil.”
“But he needs me,” she said, wondering exactly how true that really was.
“Aye, but he doesn’t know it. He wants his father’s throne. He is tired of the restraints his father places on him. Ragnor is a man with a boy’s passions and a boy’s selfishness and greed. The Danelaw grows weaker. Soon the Saxons will conquer York, take all our lands, and there will be no more Viking kings, all will come under the kingdom of the Saxons. It is but a matter of time. When Olric dies, Ragnor won’t have the ability or the skill to keep the Saxons at bay.” He was silent for a good number of minutes, sitting cross-legged beside her now beneath the thick leather tarp. “I believe you could keep the Saxons from defeating the Danelaw.”
“I? I am naught but a woman.”
“That is true. But there have been other women who were strong, warrior women who led men into battle and overcame the enemy.”
“Aye,” she said quietly. “I’ve been told stories about Boadicea, the queen of the Iceni. She fought bravely against the Romans, but she lost eventually, Kerek. She died, and thousands of warriors with her.”
“Men followed her into battle. It is said her warriors killed seventy thousand Romans before they themselves were defeated and put to the sword.”
“You believe me another Boadicea?”
She could feel his eyes on her in the darkness. He said, “You are still very young. It is too soon to tell. But I saw the cold disdain in your eyes for Ragnor. You spoke fiercely to him even knowing that he would hurt you. You didn’t cry or whimper. You showed no fear.”
“That doesn’t mean I am a warrior woman. That simply means that I am stupid.”
“You avenged yourself. You didn’t seek out a man to use for your revenge.”
“It was naught to grind up the malle leaves and the fist root.”
“How did you convince him to drink it?”
She laughed. “He believed I would still let him bed me, though I had told him earlier he was goat offal and a river snake. He simply didn’t believe that a woman could ever mean what she said. Thus, when I smiled at him and offered him a ginger drink, he lee
red at me and drank it down. He didn’t become ill until late the following day. He didn’t realize what I had done.”
“He was sicker than a river snake tied into knots. The men laughed behind their hands.”
“I am still a woman, Kerek,” she said. “I believed him, you see, truly believed that he loved me. No, I am no brave female to save anyone. I was nothing but a fool.”
“Had you ever known another man before?”
“Nay, but still—”
Kerek rose to stand in the opening. “I have come to know you in the past days. You will grow and learn. Ah, it begins to rain. The wind has suddenly risen. We will see if the navigator can truly sniff out the stars to keep us in the right direction.”
“I would just as soon he ran us aground.”
Kerek said quietly over his shoulder, “I would take you again for Ragnor. Know that I do it for the Viking Danelaw, not for that puffed-up little prince.”
Chessa eased back down onto the mat, pulling the blanket to her chin. He believed her a warrior woman? Kerek was mad.
They left Rouen to sail up the Seine into the Channel with two warships and two trading vessels. Merrik had said, “We have soapstone bowls of fine quality and reindeer combs and beautiful armlets fashioned by Gyre the Dane. York is a fine trading center. We will gain much silver.” He grinned down at his wife. “Besides, I wish to find you a gown of scarlet, a color you have never managed to get right with all your dyes.”
Naturally, the trading vessels also carried household goods—clothing, chests, fishing nets, seeds for planting—for none of them knew what they would find when they reached Scotland and sailed into the trading town of Inverness that sat at the end of the Moray Firth. Cleve had willingly given Kiri over to Laren, who grudgingly accepted being in charge of one of the trading vessels and his daughter.
“I want to stay with you and Merrik,” Laren had said, eyes narrowed on his face.
Merrik said easily, “The men would welcome your presence and your skald’s tales, but Oleg has begged me to allow you to oversee the second trading vessel. We haven’t enough leaders, he told me.”
“You lie with the ease of a dying man who swears he will sin no more.”
“It is why you adore me.”
She laughed, she couldn’t help it, swooped down, and swung Kiri up into her arms. “Come, love, you will see your papa tonight.”
Later, as the men rowed into the Channel, Merrik said, “It worries me that Kiri is with us. You should have left her at Malverne with the boys, or even here with Rollo.”
“Nay,” Cleve said. “We are going home, Merrik. I will protect her. Besides, you know that she doesn’t like to be apart from me.”
“That’s not the half of it and you know it. She doesn’t eat, she won’t play with the other children. She does the chores Laren gives to her but there is no joy in her. She looks like a pinched little ghost. It scares everyone to see this little girl waste away when her papa isn’t there.”
Cleve said, “You see, I am right to bring her with me, despite any risks. Choosing the correct number of days I’ll be gone is beyond difficult. I’d rather worry having her with me than worry having her waste away if I didn’t return in the time I promised her.”
“I doubt not we will manage to get Chessa back, but there will be problems, Cleve. We will have to take her to Rouen before we can voyage up to Scotland.”
“Aye, I know it, and I dislike the delay, but this girl Chessa is a good sort, as women go. She is bright. She is really quite beautiful. Her eyes are greener than the hills behind Oslo after a heavy rain.”
Merrik eyed his friend thoughtfully. “You like her?”
“Aye, I like her. She was open and friendly.”
“But you didn’t trust her.”
“I would have to be an ass to give my trust to another woman.”
“Cleve, you must forget Sarla.”
“It isn’t to the point, Merrik. It makes no difference if I believed her a crone or a Christian’s angel. She’s a princess. She is to wed William. It is good for William that she is open and friendly, or at least pretends to it.”
“If Ragnor of York has raped her, no man of high rank will wed her and you know it.”
Cleve just looked at his friend, his hand unconsciously going to the beautifully worked knife at his belt.
This was interesting, Merrik thought. He made his way to where Eller sat, tapped him on the shoulder, and took over his oar. Soon he was stripped to his loincloth, his back glistening with sweat.
6
THE SKY WAS darker than the bottom of a witch’s caldron. The storm was close now. There was no wind, no movement of any kind. The huge wadmal square sail was hanging loosely as the flesh on an old man’s neck. It was hard to breathe, the air was so thick and still. It seemed that the earth had simply stopped.
The storm was closer now. It had to be because surely they couldn’t continue like this, the warship like a ghost, eerie and silent in the water, no sound, no squawking of gulls overhead, no lapping of waves against the overlapping oak plank sides of the ship. Even the sea serpent’s head that stretched up above the prow looked strangely ghostly, as unearthly and terrifying as it must to the natives when they saw a Viking warship coming out of the fog, a demon come to take them to hell. But now it was different.
They waited, unwilling to move, silent as the still water around them that would become their tomb.
She stood in the opening of the covered cargo space looking out at the men who sat on their sea chests, bent motionless over their oars. Even they had stopped rowing, becoming as still as everything around them. They were silently praying to Thor, to Odin.
Ragnor’s ship lay off the coast of East Anglia. Kerek had told her that Ragnor was drunk. He was sprawled beside the rudder, too frightened to do anything but drink the last of the warm mead. Kerek told her in a low voice that the captain, Torric, wondered if they would see morning. Torric had seen the beginning of a storm like this only one other time in his life, off the western coast of Norway, but that time the air wasn’t warm and dead the way it was now. It had been frigid, so cold that the men accepted death when the storm blew in on them because if they were hurled into the sea, they would be frozen in an instant.
Torric was then a lad of ten years old when he and one other warrior had managed to ride the storm out, landing on the rugged rocky shores near Bergen.
Now Torric walked to where Kerek and Chessa stood. “It will be here very soon now,” he said, his voice a whisper.
She said nothing. What was there to say?
Then Kerek was pointing, nearly panting in his excitement. “Look, yon, ’tis an island. See how the blackness has parted over there? It is an island, I’m sure of it. Surely Torric, if the men row with all their might we can reach it. There must be a safe harbor there.”
“Aye,” Torric said, hope in his voice. “Aye, I see it. The gods have shown it to you. It wasn’t there before, I would swear to it.”
She waited silently, listening to Torric yell at the men, urging them to row with all their might, telling them they would survive if they made it to that island.
“It’s the storm that makes for the strange lighting,” Kerek said. “I think it’s raining hard over the island. The splurges of lightning make it visible. Go inside now, Princess.”
“Oh, no, Kerek, I will watch. Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”
“You can stay alive,” he said, and left her.
It seemed but moments later that a sheet of rain cascaded down upon them. She watched one man plucked up by a mountainous wave and tossed into the sea. No one could do anything. Torric yelled louder for them to row, row, harder and harder still.
Hawkfell Island
“My lord, all the boats are pulled ashore, lashed down, and covered. We’re ready for the storm.”
Rorik Haraldsson, Lord of Hawkfell Island, nodded, raising his face as rain swept in. He sucked in his breath at the force of it. It had bee
n years since he’d felt anything this violent. Everything had been done that could be done. Now they would simply wait.
He turned back into the longhouse. The long rectangular structure was already filled with a faint blue tint from the smoke held inside the huge closed house. He walked to his wife, Mirana, who was sewing calmly, probably a blue shirt for him, since she’d long ago declared that it made him look even more magnificent than he actually was.
He rather liked the way she always complimented him and smacked him at the same time. There wasn’t a sweetly compliant bone in her entire body and he loved her dearly. He knew she would kill anyone who tried to harm him, kill anyone who threatened their island, their people, their children. He trusted her implicitly, something he didn’t believe many men could say about their wives or their friends. She looked up as he approached, but she didn’t smile. Her face was pale, and he noticed with a frown that her fingers were none too steady with her needle.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is it blue, wife?”
“What? The air? Of course it’s blue. The smoke can’t escape, you know that, what with the doors closed against the storm and—oh, your shirt. Of course it’s blue. It’s just the color of your eyes. I must make you many of them before your eyes fade to some dull color and I forget what they were once like. By all the gods, Rorik, it sounds as if Thor has unleashed all his anger on us.”
“Aye, but what do you expect? I told you not to do those woman things to my body. The gods don’t like mere women to seek to dominate their menfolk, they know that men are weak of flesh and always eager to take whatever is offered to them.” He grinned shamelessly at her.
She was out of her chair, the beautiful blue shirt tossed on the chair arm, and at him. She was hitting his chest with her fists, laughing, biting his shoulder.
“Mama, don’t hurt Papa. Surely what he did wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Mirana turned to look down at her little girl, Aglida, so beautifully golden that it closed her throat to look at the child. “Your papa,” she said, sweeping the little girl into her arms, “is a great jester. He thinks himself amusing when he is only outrageous. He believes he can crush me down with his humor, when in fact he falls short and—”
Lord of Falcon Ridge Page 6
