Lord of Falcon Ridge

by Catherine Coulter

  There was nothing he could do. He yelled, “Everyone prepare to row until your hearts burst, else you’ll be food for the fish.”

  When Ragnor reached the warship, Kerek yelled, “Drop her, Ragnor, leave her, else they’ll come after us and kill us all.”

  “Nay, she will make me mead and let me bed her. You’ve seen how she looks at me. She wants me. She won’t mind that I can’t wed her. You’ll see. When I bed her, she’ll scream my name. Think you I should demand that when she screams, she screams Prince Ragnor or Lord Ragnor?”

  “Damn you, you idiot, drop her on the beach!”

  Ragnor raised her off his shoulder and tossed her to one of his men, his mightiest warrior, Olya, who caught her against him as if she were naught but a small child. He looked at Kerek and just shrugged. Ragnor yelled even as he jumped onto the warship, “Row, damn you all, row!”

  But it was too late. Kerek watched helplessly as men swept down the path yelling at the top of their lungs, carrying swords, axes, knives. Some had even picked up rocks beside the path. At their head was Haakon, Utta’s husband. Had Ragnor grabbed her right out of her bed? Had her husband still been beside her?

  Behind him were Rorik, Merrik, and Cleve. Kerek would die for this fool of a man, all of them would die.

  He said to Torric, “Tell Olya to throw the girl Utta back onto the beach. Do it or we’ll be butchered.”

  Ragnor screamed, “Row!”

  They obeyed Ragnor, muscles straining, they rowed, but still it wasn’t enough. Haakon and two dozen warriors splashed through the waves and climbed over the side of the warship. The fighting began.

  Torric tried to rise, but Rorik merely frowned at him and brought the flat of his sword down on his head. Torric collapsed and fell beneath the rudder. As for Olya, he dropped Utta on the center wooden plank, drew his sword and fought with all his strength and skill. He got a sword through his belly, another through his chest. Because they were Vikings, because they were trained warriors who would never surrender, most died. Three were groaning, helpless, when it was over.

  Kerek, as had been his vow to the queen, had protected his prince. He now stood at the stem of the warship, waiting to be slashed apart. The men had stayed away from him until the others were either dead or helpless. Now it was his turn. He expected no less. Ragnor was behind him, the bloody coward. Suddenly Ragnor raced around Kerek, grabbed up Utta and pulled her upright in front of him. He pulled the knife from his belt. He screamed at Rorik, “Keep them back or the girl dies. I care not though she makes the best mead I’ve ever drunk.”

  There was instant silence. The boat swayed and rocked in the waves, for they were still close to shore. Slowly, all the Malverne men and the Hawkfell men fell in behind Rorik, staring at Ragnor, and the still-unconscious Utta held in front of him like a shield.

  Though his hand shook, Cleve said in his calm diplomat’s voice, “My lord Ragnor, it is over for you. If you wish to live, you will at once release Utta. You will lay her down very gently. You will not so much as make a shadow on her throat with that knife. Do you understand me?”

  Ragnor didn’t know what to do. It was all Kerek’s fault. If only he’d captured Utta instead of that arrogant Chessa, who looked at him as if he were naught but a worm, even after he’d solved the skald’s riddle. He called out, “ Haakon, I will buy her from you.”

  Kerek saw Cleve gently touch Haakon’s arm. “No, don’t move.” To Ragnor, he said in that same calm voice, “ Release Utta now. You, Kerek, and Captain Torric will survive if you do as I tell you. Mirana will tend those men’s wounds.”

  “You’re nothing but a slave, Cleve, you’re ugly with that scar sliced up your face. I don’t know why Chessa thinks you so manly and beautiful. She must have a squint. You’ve no right to even speak to me. Go away, all of you.”

  Suddenly there was a moan, a woman’s moan. All the men looked toward the small covered cargo space to see Chessa on her hands and knees, her mouth tied with a rag, trying to crawl through the opening.

  “You damned bastard,” Cleve yelled, all his diplomat’s calm vanished, and ran right at Ragnor. “I don’t care who you are or what your damned father may do. You’ll die now, you gutless worm!” The ship rocked wildly, throwing Ragnor to the side. At that moment, Utta awoke, shook her head to clear it, saw her husband’s white face in front of her, and sent her elbow back into a soft stomach.

  Ragnor yowled. She was free. She rolled aside just as Cleve leapt upon Ragnor. He dragged him down else they’d both have gone flying over the side of the warship. He pounded Ragnor’s head against the center plank, the thud sounding loud and painful.

  “Kill the damned bastard,” Haakon yelled out, grabbing Utta and holding her steady.

  “Wring his fool’s neck,” Hafter said. “Slice off his mangy parts.”

  “Please, Cleve,” Kerek begged. But this time Rorik held him back and said, “If Cleve wishes to kill him, let him. He is responsible for the death of all of these good men.”

  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,” Mer
rik 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.”

  11

  THERE 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 t
he 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.”