Lord of Falcon Ridge

by Catherine Coulter

  “Ah, here is Kerek. She knows now, my friend.”

  “Princess,” Kerek said. “I couldn’t tell you before, surely you realize that. I would never place her in such danger.”

  “It makes no difference. I won’t wed Ragnor. You, my lady, once the king dies, you will rule through your son. Pick him a wife who will flatter him and let him breed a boy child off her. I won’t do it.”

  “I cannot live forever. I must train someone to take my place. The Danelaw mustn’t fall to the Saxons and it surely will if nothing is done.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, my lady, the Danelaw can rot. If you cannot control your own land, then you deserve to lose the rule.”

  “If I have to force you,” Turella said calmly, smelling that incredible red rose, “I will.”

  Chessa just smiled. “And what will you do with my first child?”

  “I will rejoice, as will all the people.”

  “Ah, but the first child won’t be Ragnor’s.”

  Kerek gave a start and then began shaking his head back and forth. “You’ve done this before, Princess. It won’t work twice.”

  “I am pregnant with Cleve’s child. Do you doubt that, Kerek?”

  “I don’t believe you. He kept you at a distance. He kept yelling at you to begin your monthly flow so you could wed William of Normandy.”

  “But you knew I didn’t want to marry Ragnor or William. You knew, Kerek, that I wanted only Cleve, thus my lie about carrying Ragnor’s child. All believed it. I was safe, at least for a while, but Cleve held firm, you’re right about that. I became desperate. I came to him at night and he came awake only enough to feel a man’s passion. When he reached his climax he awoke fully and saw it was me. He cursed, then took me again and many times after that because the damage was already done. You said to him yourself that you were sorry since he loved me.”

  Kerek looked as if he’d cry at any moment. He smote his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I am cursed,” he said low, and began rocking back and forth on the stone bench. “From the moment I first saw you fishing in the Liffey, I’ve been cursed. You spin tales and then you make them come true. By all the gods, I don’t deserve this. You revile me, then you protect me. It is too much for a mortal man to bear. Tell me you’re lying, Princess. Tell me this most recent pregnancy story of yours isn’t true.”

  “Aye, it’s quite true. Send me back to Cleve. Leave us in peace. My lady, as I said, you can rule openly when the king dies. Kill him. Or would you like me to poison him for you?”

  “He has tasters,” the queen said absently. “It wouldn’t work. I tried it once a while ago. The taster died. The king doubled his tasters. Also the concubines taste everything before it goes into his toothless mouth.” She paused, staring at Chessa. “If Kerek believes you then I must. Very well, I will rid you of the babe. Kerek, take her inside and I will do it now.”

  Chessa said very quietly, “If you touch me, lady, I will kill you. Doubt me not.”

  “Mayhap the child will be a girl, my lady,” Kerek said, looking as dejected as a dog who’d just released his bowels in front of his master’s guests. “Then no one will care.”

  The queen sighed. She leaned over to pick another rose, this one a soft pink. She inhaled deeply. “My flowers always agree with me. They give me difficulties, but I can measure their moods and do the right things. But with this girl? I don’t know, Kerek. Perhaps we should send her to the Saxon court and let her wed one of Alfred’s grandsons. Let her create havoc there. Let her poison all of them.”

  But she’d done nothing, Chessa thought. She’d only realized the truth about the queen, then she’d been stupid and told her what she realized. Then she’d lied. She’d not done well so far this morning. At least the queen was thinking about her differently now. Just perhaps they’d send her back.

  “Actually, my lady, I came to tell you that the king has remembered the princess.”

  “Someone must have reminded him,” Turella said. “That, or the old fool remembers touching her and wants to do it again. Aye, my girl, let’s see how you deal with it now when you’re alone with him and there’s no one to pull him back.”

  “I’ll stay with her. He won’t do those things again.”

  The queen looked at her. “Don’t kill him openly, else I couldn’t save you.”

  “I won’t. But Ragnor is another matter.”

  “He has always been another matter,” Turella said, and rose from the stone bench. “His father took him away from me when he was born, I told you that, and it quite ruined him. Now, Kerek, take her to the king and stay even if the king orders you to leave. I can’t trust her to tell me the truth.”

  Kerek said to her as they walked down the narrow passage to the king’s chamber, “Please, Princess, you must begin your monthly flow.”

  She just laughed. “Oh no, Kerek, I very much want Cleve’s babe. It will be a boy, I know it. My stepmother has four sons. She always said that boy babes made her puke up her guts. I’ve not been feeling very well.”

  Kerek stopped in the hallway and stared down at her. “Perhaps Turella is right. Perhaps we should send you to the Saxon court.”

  She just laughed. “All you have to do is send me back to Hawkfell Island.”

  Kerek just sighed. “There is so much to think about. I cannot allow you to ruin my plans. They’re good plans. They encompass the future. They cover all possibilities save your character, Princess. It’s your character that brings chaos to my plans.”

  “Good,” Chessa said.

  Hawkfell Island

  Cleve kissed his daughter’s nose, gave her another bite of roasted sea bass, one of Entti’s specialties, and said, “Just keep eating. I’m leaving tomorrow for the Danelaw, and no, you’re not coming with me. If you stop eating this time, you just might starve to death and both your first papa and your second papa will be forced to stretch out on each side of your skinny little dead body and die themselves. Do you want that?”

  “No, Papa.”

  “Good. Then eat and keep eating. Keep talking to your aunts and uncles so they won’t worry. Keep playing. Keep learning how to weave from Erna. She’s very good and kind. If Gunleik whittles you another knife, take it and thank him sincerely. I’ll return when I can. I don’t know the number of days. Can you just believe that I’ll return with Chessa?”

  “It’s hard, Papa. You won’t leave her in the Danelaw, will you? Even if she makes you very angry?”

  “Nay, I promise to bring her home, then I’ll spew curses at her head.”

  Kiri chewed the sea bass, licked the oil from the tartar leaves, and smiled. She nodded.

  “Now, here’s your aunt Mirana and aunt Laren. Promise me again in front of them.”

  “I promise,” Kiri said, giving each of her aunts a small smile, “to eat and not to be dead when papa returns with my second papa. But I still would like some sticks to count, Papa.”

  He tossed her into the air as he groaned. “No sticks. Eat, sweeting.”

  York, capital of the Danelaw

  the king’s palace

  One week later

  Chessa chewed on an apple. It was more sour than not, and crisp, just as she liked it. Ragnor was sitting in a chair, trying desperately to play the small harp with emotion. He was singing a romantic poem the court skald, Baric, had taught him. It rhymed but Ragnor couldn’t seem to make the rhyme fit the music.

  Chessa picked up another apple and took a bite. She’d eaten nothing today since she’d been forced to be in the king’s presence at both meals. He both frightened and repelled her, a combination that took away her appetite. He’d told her that he’d bed her if Ragnor didn’t please her and make her scream with pleasure. Then, he said, if she pleased him sufficiently, he would allow her to chew his food for him.

  She shuddered now thinking about it. Finally, Ragnor looked up at her, his expression both pained and defiant. “Did you like it?”

  “Oh, yes. I love music. Your display of ardo
r moved me, Ragnor. I’ve asked Baric to teach me lullabies to sing to Cleve’s babe when he’s born.”

  Ragnor raised the harp at her, cursed, then threw it to the floor and stomped on it. Each stomp made her smile. “Damn you,” he yelled, “you will be quiet. You will not have his babe, Chessa, I forbid it. That damned Cleve. I should have killed him. I should have known that he would seduce you, the damned bastard, just to thwart me. He lied about marrying you to William of Normandy. He just wanted to have you for himself.”

  “He was relieved that I wasn’t pregnant with your babe,” she said, and took another bite of her apple. “He was pleased that I was a virgin. He lost his head when he discovered that he was the first. Then he just couldn’t stop. The act was quite nice, at least with him.”

  “My father isn’t pleased. You shouldn’t have just spat it out at him the way you did and all because he said he’d like to bed you and make you scream. He would have forgotten. He even forgets he’s angry at me now. But you had to anger him, didn’t you? He was so furious he forgot to have the concubine that stands on his left hand taste every bite he wanted. He could have died from poison.”

  “Perhaps,” Chessa said, “I could bribe the concubine who stands at his left hand.”

  “Stop that, you evil witch. You try to anger me now. You do it apurpose. My mother warned me that it was your way. She told me not to let you arouse my ire, that you never meant what you said, it was all a ploy. My mother is very smart, but you make it difficult to do as she directs.”

  “I agree,” Chessa said. “She is very smart.”

  “Ah, here’s Baric, here to ask you how you liked my singing and playing. You will tell him that you felt it in your soul, if you have one, or I’ll beat you.”

  Baric was very short and thin. He had a lush dark brown beard that grew nearly to his waist. But he was completely bald. But he was kind and had merry, intelligent eyes. Chessa liked him and guessed he enjoyed watching Ragnor gnash his teeth. At his side was a woman, a very tall woman, whose head was bowed. She was carrying Baric’s prized harp. She wore white mittens on her hands and her hair was covered with the hood of her tunic.

  Ragnor eyed her as he did every female. “Who is this, Baric? She’s twice your size. Do you like to climb her as a man would a mountain?”

  “Aye, my lord. Her size gives me great pleasure as well as protection. She’s a hardy wench and strong. Her name is Isla and she comes from Iceland. I sang to her in the market and she swooned. Now she is mine and gives me all her loyalty. Such, my lord, is the power of music.”

  Ragnor cursed.

  “Have you given the princess pleasure, my lord, with your sweet verses?”

  “I always gain pleasure in Ragnor’s company,” Chessa said, and chewed on her thumbnail. “Who could not?”

  “I did mean with his music, Princess.”

  “Ah, that is another matter. He sought such perfection, Baric, that when he didn’t achieve it, he stomped the harp into the ground.”

  Baric looked at the destroyed harp and blinked back tears. But he did manage to keep his mouth shut. He mumbled something and picked at his huge beard.

  The woman raised her face. She was beautiful. She was also painted like a harlot. Her brows were black with kohl, her one eye lined so heavily with it that it was difficult to gauge her expression. Ah, and the other eye was covered with a patch of white linen. The uncovered one was blue. Her lips were vermilion and looked wet. Her cheeks were dead white, painted thickly from ground cornstarch and panza root, mixed into a paste. Chessa blinked at her. Her face must weigh as much as the armlets Ragnor was wearing, heavy silver, coiled in the shape of snakes.

  Ragnor blinked as well, only his blink was assessing and excited. “Isla,” he said, leering at her. Chessa had seen him once practicing that look when he saw his reflection in a metal shield one of the soldiers was holding.

  The woman breathed his name, “My lord Ragnor. I’ve waited long to see you. Baric tells me you play brilliantly. I wish to hear you sing. Ah, but your poor harp. Did the bitch break it? And you’re so noble, you protect her?”

  The bitch. Chessa eyed the woman more closely. This was interesting.

  “Isla,” Baric said, shaking her arm. “This is a princess, not a bitch.”

  “She is what she is,” Isla said. “It was another miserable princess who wounded my poor right eye and thus I have to wear this patch. It makes me look interesting and mysterious, but still I would like the use of both my eyes. This princess is a bitch. I know it.”

  The bitch. Ragnor nearly burst with pleasure. This Isla was smart and big and he liked big women, at least he did now that he’d seen her and heard her insult Chessa. He also liked that patch over her right eye. He wondered what the eye looked like without the patch.

  “What were you doing in the market when Baric came upon you?” Chessa said.

  The woman shrugged, not looking at Chessa, her one good eye still trained on Ragnor. “I make the finest mead in all of York. I was selling it in the market when Baric came to have a cup to rest his throat. He drank it and swooned. He begged me to stay with him. I like a man with a lot of hair, particularly a thick beard and handfuls of it on his back. That his head is naked bothers me not at all.”

  “Thus,” Baric said, running his long slender fingers through his beard, “I sing to her and she makes me mead and threads her fingers through the hair on my back.”

  “Mead,” Ragnor said, his eyes lighting with hope. “Does she really make it well?”

  “She is an angel,” Baric said. “Now, my lord, I have come to teach you another love poem.”

  Ragnor said, “I haven’t any hair on my back. Will that make her dislike me?”

  “Nay, my lord. Once you sing for her, she will love you for yourself.”

  Chessa thought she’d gag. She said in a loud voice, “The babe is making me ill. I think I shall go vomit.”

  Ragnor was looking at Isla with the hunger of a starving man. He said to Baric, “Aye, teach me a love poem and I will recite it to Isla. For practice.”

  “Your sweet voice will tire, my lord,” Isla said. “Allow me to bring you some of my special mead to soothe you whilst you sing to me. For practice.”

  Chessa walked quickly from the chamber, ran up against a guard who awaited her just outside. He grabbed her arms to keep her upright.

  Suddenly, she heard Ragnor yell from the inside of the chamber, “Begin your monthly flow, Chessa, damn you.”

  She heard Isla laugh. “Her monthly flow, my lord? What is this?”

  15

  THE CHAMBER WAS dark. Chessa was alone. She was more worried than frightened. She knew she wouldn’t marry Ragnor and there was no way the queen would force her to. But she didn’t want to wait until the last minute to see what the queen would try. She knew she had to think of something. She sparred daily with Turella, insulted Ragnor until his eyes were crossed, and tried to avoid the king. Olric no longer terrified her, but he was unpredictable and he could lash out before Turella could control him. Kerek was an immovable rock, always there standing in her path, but she didn’t fear him at all. What was she to do now?

  Just two hours before, at the evening meal, at least two dozen of the king’s nobles dined with them. Baric played his harp and sang, his woman Isla beside him. Slaves served heaped platters of roasted boar, broiled pheasant, and at least four different kinds of fish. There was more sweet wine and ale than Chessa had ever seen, and most of it was being steadily poured down all the gullets present. Men and women alike ate like stoats and drank until they were laughing at nothing at all, giving insults without anger, cheering Baric even when he wasn’t singing. The woman Isla was given leers and drunken suggestions from most of the men until surely even she must be horrified. But she hadn’t looked it. She just sat there, a besotted look on her face, as she stared at Baric.

  After the slaves had cleared away the food, the king looked at all of their drink-flushed faces and said, “You have met Prin
cess Chessa of Ireland. She will wed with Ragnor in three days. She is already carrying his babe, so an heir is assured.”

  Chessa had nearly fainted.

  Ragnor had nearly fainted as well. She heard him say to Kerek, “Damn you, it’s all your fault. I didn’t want her, I wanted Utta. But now I want Isla. Her mead is as tasty as Utta’s—she let me drink out of her own goatskin—and she wants me. Did you see how she smiled at me? How she spoke to me? Baric even commented on it. She doesn’t care that I don’t have hair on my back, that I haven’t a lush long beard. I hate it that all the men here want her as well. Many of them are as hairy as Baric. Chessa won’t make me mead. She won’t even drink mead with me. She won’t even try to make me happy.”

  The king didn’t care that she was pregnant with another man’s child. Surely Turella hadn’t lied and told the king that it was Ragnor’s child she was carrying. Surely she couldn’t have done that. On the other hand the king had sounded so certain, so pleased when he’d announced that she was carrying Ragnor’s babe. It made her dizzy to try to figure out and keep straight in her own mind everyone and his own set notions. She had to think of something. And she did. She could think of nothing else. She rose slowly, aware that Kerek was nearly choking with fear, pulling at her gown, saying over and over, “No, Princess, keep your mouth shut this time. Please, it isn’t wise to go against the king in front of his nobles. Listen to me, sit down, and smile. Drink mead with Ragnor, it will please him.”

  She sat down, lowering her head as the nobles began cheering, then yelling lewd advice to Ragnor, who looked quite pleased with himself, despite what he’d just said about not wanting her.