Lord of Falcon Ridge

by Catherine Coulter

  Rorik straightened from his examination of the ship. “We can repair the ship well enough for the men to row it to York. The mast sheared off completely. We can do nothing about that. The rudder needs repair, but it can be done.”

  “We will take one of your warships,” Ragnor said, striding across the beach. “I have looked at both of them and the trading vessels too. I believe I will have one of each. You will consider it your tribute to me.”

  Rorik merely looked at Ragnor of York, who was more ragged than most of his men. None, evidently, had offered him clothing, else he simply hadn’t thought of it.

  “Aye,” Ragnor said more loudly, for now Kerek and six of his warriors were behind him. “We’ll take that warship over there. It looked sound enough for us.”

  “I see,” Rorik said mildly. “And will you return it to us once you’ve done with it?”

  “Naturally not. It is your tribute, as I told you. We will leave after the morning meal. I told your wife and that toothless old hag to prepare extra food for us for our journey. She looked at me so strangely that I think she must be simple. I told Chessa to ready herself. Also there is a young girl who much pleases me. Her name is Utta. I will take her with me. She would be honored to be my concubine.”

  Kerzog growled, showing vicious yellow teeth.

  Rorik grinned and said in that same mild voice, “I doubt her husband would be honored at the notion. My dog doesn’t like it either. The dog’s name is Kerzog. Her husband’s name is Haakon. Perhaps you could speak to him about taking Utta. He’s the tall man over yon, helping lift away the broken mast. I will call him for you.”

  “Nay, my lord, that isn’t necessary,” Kerek said quickly. “Lord Ragnor merely jests. He wouldn’t want a girl who was wed to another man.”

  “Mayhap not,” Ragnor said, eyeing the flexing muscles of Haakon’s arms and back. “However, I will have that warship and one of the trading vessels.”

  Kerek said, “My lord Rorik, this is difficult. I must get my lord Ragnor back to York, the princess with him.”

  “Nay, it’s not at all difficult,” Hafter said. “You will keep your mouths shut, else I and my men will kill each of you slowly and with a good deal of pleasure. You will keep quiet until Lord Rorik decides what is to be done with you. Is that clear enough, even for you, lackbrain?”

  Ragnor shrieked, “Nay, I am Ragnor of York, you cannot speak to me like that. Lackbrain? Not even my mother ever called me that. I’ll have you flogged.” He paused a moment, eyes frightening in their anger, then he calmed, as suddenly as the sky had after it had nearly killed them in the storm. “Listen, Rorik. You must help me. You must give me what I demand.”

  Kerzog looked ready to leap. “No, down,” Rorik said, pulling on Kerzog’s ears. “Kerek, do remove him. He grows wearisome. Not my dog, your master. As Hafter says, I will inform you what you will do and when you will do it.”

  “My lord, come with me. The island isn’t at all a pile of rocks. There is no mud now. It’s quite beautiful with a lot of arable land. We can explore, perhaps—”

  Ragnor turned and struck Kerek hard in his mouth with the flat of his palm. “You stupid old graybeard, how dare you treat me like a witless child? How dare you take their side? I’ll flay the flesh from your coward’s back, I’ll—”

  Rorik heard a furious yell. He saw Chessa scrambling down the path, running straight at Ragnor. She was red in the face, from exertion, and from anger, he realized. She didn’t stop, but ran right into Ragnor, shoving him hard in his chest with her fists, pushing him backward, kicking his shins with first one foot then the other, yelling into his face all the while, “You filthy bully! Kerek tries to keep you alive but you are too stupid to realize it. Leave him alone. I will hurt you badly if you strike him again.”

  Ragnor tried to grab her, but she was like leaping fire, her hands flying out to hit him hard in his belly, in his chest, in his face. He yelled when she brought up her knee and kicked him in the groin. Then she snorted as he doubled over, and coolly shoved him off the dock into the water. She turned and said in a voice as sweetly calm as the beautiful morning, “Are you all right, Kerek?”

  He looked at her from his great height and said, “I must take you to York, Princess. Surely you realize it is the Danelaw’s only hope. You must marry the worm.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Kerek. I would kill him or he would kill me. I’m not this Boadicea or any other warrior woman you can come up with. I am nothing but an ordinary woman. Ah, Ragnor cut your cheek with that silver ring of his. Let me bathe it for you.”

  But Kerek stepped back. “You are a princess. It isn’t right.”

  “Let me tell you just how much a real princess I am,” she said, but was interrupted by one of Ragnor’s men who came forward and said to Rorik, “Ragnor cannot swim, my lord. Should one of us save him?”

  Rorik could only stare at the man. Then he threw back his head and laughed deeply, turning only when they heard yells from Ragnor, who was clutching one of the slimy wooden supports beneath the dock.

  Hafter said, “It took only two days for our people to show Ragnor’s warriors that any life is better than the one they live under that little bastard’s thumb.”

  “Aye, Arek,” Rorik said on a sigh. “Save him, though it pains me to tell you to do so. He is the future king of the Danelaw and thus we have no choice but to keep him alive. Even Ragnor is preferable to rule by the Saxons.”

  “The Saxons aren’t beginning to seem so bad, Rorik,” Hafter said.

  Old Alna cackled by way of an answer, for she hadn’t heard the question, her hearing now wandering away from her as much as her mind. The lovely captain Torric was drinking one of her potions that she’d sweetened with honey and ground-up almonds. Actually it was one of Utta’s potions, for Old Alna’s eyes were too blurred to tell most ingredients apart. “You’ll be seeing Valkyries soon,” she said, and the captain sighed, “but not real ones, just Valkyries I’ll conjure up for you with my potion.”

  “I see several now. Who is that beautiful Valkyrie giving her breast to the babe?”

  “Eh? Ah, that’s Entti. Look not too interested, Captain, else her husband Hafter just might gullet you and my sweet lady’s nursing of you would all be for naught. Hafter is possessive of Entti.”

  “She has a beautiful breast,” Torric said, and drank down some more of Old Alna’s potion.

  “The other one is just the same.”

  “Aye, ’tis probably true. Will I see it?”

  “She’s not showing it to you, Torric. She’s feeding Verad, greedy little stoat, and being modest about it. It’s just that Mirana has moved to stir the huge pot of stew and thus you can see clearly. You’d best keep your eyes on my face. That will give you incredible dreams of beauty.”

  Captain Torric groaned at that. Old Alna cackled. “I was once that beautiful, my breasts that full and round.”

  Captain Torric groaned again and closed his eyes for Mirana had moved again to stand in front of Entti. “What is happening with Lord Ragnor?”

  “My master hasn’t killed the ass yet, if that’s what you’re asking me, Captain. Aye, my lad, finish the potion. Before you sleep, you’ll believe me beautiful. You’ll want to wed with me. You’ll want to bed me.”

  Torric moaned again, stared at the potion as if it had become poison. But he drank it down nonetheless for his leg pained him a great deal. “I’m glad Rorik hasn’t killed him. King Olric placed both Kerek and me in charge of his safety, but it is difficult, for Ragnor is difficult, nay, more than difficult. He swaggers and boasts and all want to kick his teeth down his throat. But it’s odd, you know. When he decides to play a man with wit and charm, even a man who’s brave, a man who feels compassion for others, he can actually do it. Kerek told me that was how he first won the princess’s heart. I can’t imagine any man fooling her, but he did it. He dished himself up to her as a generous, kind man who adored her. Ah, but then he showed his true colors. They’re not pleasant colo
rs, at least never around me and the other men.” He sighed, wishing he had more potion. He was feeling sweet and soft in his belly. He no longer felt his broken leg. He didn’t even feel his tongue.

  “I don’t know what to do. Kerek wants the Princess Chessa to marry him. He’s convinced that she will make a better man of him.”

  “It would be a wager I wouldn’t take,” Old Alna said. “The gods know she has little enough to start with. A man can’t be molded as can a loaf of bread.”

  “Less than little enough to start with,” Torric said, and tried to shift his weight. He felt as if he were floating, his head light, his body thrumming with the pleasure of no pain. He could sell casks of the potion. He could become a wealthy man. “What was in that drink?”

  Old Alna cackled.

  Mirana said over Old Alna’s shoulder, “How do you feel, Captain?”

  “Another Valkyrie,” he said. “Are your breasts as beautiful as Entti’s?” He smiled vaguely, then sighed himself into a stupor.

  “He just saw one of Entti’s breasts, for little Verad was suckling hard. He’s a lovely man, this captain. I remember once when I was even younger than you, Mirana, when I became lost and this fierce man found me and—”

  Mirana smiled as Old Alna continued to tell her of a long-ago adventure with a man she’d never seen before but who was, she claimed, the best lover she’d ever had.

  Soon Old Alna was sleeping too, huddled next to the captain. Mirana covered both of them, wondering as she did so if Alna had also drunk of the potion.

  Kerzog bounded up to her just as she was turning back to the fire pit. “No, don’t do it, you brute,” she yelled at him, but it did no good. He was happy to see her, full of energy after being penned up during the long storm. His run on the beach hadn’t been enough for him. He knocked her down and held her there, licking her face. She tried to cover herself with her hands, but Kerzog was used to that ploy and was butting his head beneath her hands, licking her all the harder. “Rorik,” she yelled. “Help me.”

  Rorik was laughing, as was Chessa behind him. “Good dog,” Chessa said, and leaned down to hug Kerzog.

  “You’ll be sorry you did that,” Rorik said, but it was too late. Kerzog, a lover of women, released Mirana, eyed Chessa, who looked remarkably like his mistress, even smelled a bit like his mistress, and leapt against her, his two front paws on her shoulders. She stumbled but managed to keep upright. She was laughing, hugging the huge dog, then pulling on his ears.

  “She’s grown up well,” Mirana said to her husband as he pulled her to her feet. He dipped the corner of her tunic in the barrel of water and wiped her face.

  “Aye. But what will we do with her? Ragnor wants her. William is supposed to marry her. By all the gods, I dislike problems of this sort. Do you suppose we could send her back to Dublin? Surely this must be Sitric’s decision.”

  Chessa said, her voice sharp as the knife in Rorik’s belt, “I don’t want to go back. My father would force me to go to Rouen, to William. I don’t want this William. I don’t know him. He could be as offensive as Ragnor. I could think of him like a brother. Would you want to marry Ragnor, Mirana? Would you want to marry a man you felt was your brother, Mirana?”

  “Or you could come to love him as a wife should a husband,” Rorik said. He cuffed Kerzog, then picked up the dog’s favorite stick and threw it out the open doors of the longhouse.

  “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 ke
el 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.