Lord of Falcon Ridge

by Catherine Coulter

  “I’ll talk to her, Papa,” Kiri said and ran to where Chessa stood with her aunt Mirana and her aunt Laren.

  “Ah, my little beauty,” Chessa said and picked Kiri up in her arms. She groaned. “You’re a big girl now. I can’t lift you much longer.”

  “But you’re my second papa. Papas are strong.”

  “That’s true,” Chessa said. “I will have to grow more muscle.” She set Kiri down. “Now, sweeting, what do you think of my gown?”

  Kiri walked around her, just looking, saying nothing. Chessa cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well?”

  “I don’t know what to call you now.”

  Mirana said, “Perhaps you can call her mama sometimes.”

  “You just think about it, Kiri,” Chessa said. “I would like that, but it’s up to you. Now, do you like the saffron gown?”

  Kiri nodded slowly. “Papa said he had to marry you because you’d count sticks and starve yourself if he didn’t.”

  “That’s right.”

  Kiri just nodded then and skipped away.

  “Children,” Entti said, shaking her head.

  “And men,” Laren said.

  When the men came to stand in the circle for the ceremony, it was to hear the women giggling.

  17

  THE AFTERNOON SKY over Hawkfell Island was brilliant with light, sweet with the scent of the gorse and heather, and tangy with the salty spray from the sea. There were plump white clouds to soften the force of the sun. There was no wind. The crashing of the waves against the rocks was rhythmic and heavy.

  As was the Malverne custom, the men stood behind Cleve, the women behind Chessa. The children stood off to one side, the oldest children responsible for relative silence among the younger ones. The pets stayed with the children, all except Kerzog, who nestled his nose between Chessa’s feet.

  “Since Sira is your stepmother,” Old Alna said to Chessa, “you’ll not have to worry about her coming to steal Cleve, like she tried to steal Rorik. To think of Sira as a queen, it makes my brain spin. Aye, she tried to seduce Rorik from Mirana, you know, nearly killed my little sweeting. Ah, but I saved her.”

  Mirana began to whistle.

  Rorik, Lord of Hawkfell Island, yelled out for silence. “We’re graced with fine weather, a sure sign that this marriage is blessed by the gods. Cleve of Malverne is here to wed with Chessa, daughter of King Sitric of Ireland. Listen all of you to their pledges of faith.”

  Cleve stepped forward, clasped Chessa’s hands in his, and gently tugged her to the center. “Kerzog,” he said, pushing the mongrel away, “leave her be. You can sniff her toes and sleep on her feet after I’m done with her.”

  There was laughter.

  Cleve felt the coldness of her hands. “Don’t be afraid,” he said low. “A papa shouldn’t ever be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid. I’m terrified. I’ve never been married before, Cleve.”

  He just smiled down at her and said in a loud voice that carried to the waves crashing against the black rocks at the base of the eastern cliffs, “I offer this woman all that I have and all that I will ever have.” He raised her hand in his. “Our future is shrouded in the unknown. She stands with me in this. When it is clear to me who and what I am, she will still be at my side. I hold her in honor. I will pray to Freya daily that we are blessed with many babes and that all of them will be mine this time.”

  There was a spurt of laughter, then silence again as Chessa clasped Cleve’s wrist and raised it high. “You will be my mate, the man who will be with me forever. I give you all my loyalty, my fidelity. I will protect you with my life. We will conquer Scotland together. I love your daughter as my own. I love you, her father, with all that is within me and I have since the first moment I saw you in the queen’s garden. You are my husband now and forever.”

  Love wasn’t usually spoken of in a Viking wedding. Honor and fidelity were the important vows. Loyalty to one’s people, to one’s king. There was a moment of sharp silence. Cleve stared down at her, his head cocked to one side. “You loved me that soon?” he said, his voice low, but since no one was saying a word, everyone heard him.

  “Aye,” she said. “I’d never seen a man as beautiful as you. You were golden and strong. You shone beneath the sun in the garden that day.”

  He leaned over and kissed her mouth. The silence broke with cheers from men and women alike. Cleve took her in his arms and pressed her face against his shoulder.

  “Papa!”

  “Which one?” Chessa said, turning to look at her new daughter.

  “My manly papa,” Kiri said.

  Laughter took the place of cheers.

  Cleve picked up his daughter, hugged her, and said, “Now you’ve a new mama who is also your second papa.”

  Kiri frowned at Chessa. Slowly, she reached out her hand and lightly touched her fingers to Chessa’s cheek. “I just don’t know,” Kiri said.

  “I don’t either,” Chessa said. “We’ll all find out together.”

  It was very late, but the wedding banquet hadn’t slowed at all. It just got louder and more raucous. Laughter filled the air. There were several good-natured fights between Malverne men and Hawkfell men, but as Cleve told Chessa, it was their responsibility to remain sober and watchful so that no one got his head broken. No one did.

  “It’s magic,” Chessa said to her new husband.

  “Will you truly give me your loyalty, Chessa? Will you stay with me until I can no longer breathe?”

  “Aye,” she said, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth. There were cheers and shouts of advice. She felt his tongue on her lower lip and started with surprise. He raised his head and grinned down at her.

  Old Alna said, “She’ll be more giving, Cleve, if you pour some of Utta’s mead down her gullet.”

  Cleve lightly stroked his fingers over her throat. “Is there a gullet in there that wants mead?”

  Her stomach growled and he laughed. “Come, wife, let’s stuff you with some boar steaks. Ah, smell that. They’re sizzling, just the way I like them.”

  Food was piled on every surface. Ale and mead filled casks whose ladles were never still. Laren told three stories until she was giggling so hard from the mead she’d drunk, she fell from the corner of a table, thankfully into Merrik’s arms. Both of them went down amid a tangle of arms and legs. Kerzog was too full to do more than lift his head every once in a while to see if anyone was bringing him more food.

  The children were all inside the longhouse, hopefully asleep, for it was very late.

  Chessa hadn’t drunk even a sip of ale, hadn’t even sniffed Utta’s infamous mead. She was too excited. And Cleve knew it. He would look at her and smile, a small and mysterious smile, one that promised things she didn’t yet know, and he did. He was teasing her and doing it very well.

  Rorik, whose stomach turned on him if he drank more than a goblet of mead, was as sober as Chessa. He said to her as the evening stretched toward midnight, “You have brought more change to Cleve’s life than I can imagine. I had worried about him, as had my brother, Merrik. He has known a lifetime of hardship, a lifetime that gave him nothing but pain and humiliation. That he survived it is amazing. That he still smiles, that he’s able to enjoy the beauty of the sunset, appreciate the beauty of a woman’s white breasts, ah, it bespeaks strength that only a Viking can know.”

  “I will protect him, Rorik, I swear it,” Chessa said. “I will give him all that I can.”

  He smiled down at her. “That is what you said in the ceremony. The women were moved, the men disbelieving, save those who have dealt with my wife.”

  “Men always disbelieve. It makes no difference. I will always be there for him. He knows I can wield a knife as well as he can.”

  “Not quite,” Cleve said, coming up behind her. He lifted the hair from her neck and kissed her damp skin. She shivered. He laughed, dropped her hair, and just stood there beside her, stroking his long fingers through her hair, saying to Rorik, “Black as a
Christian’s sins, just like Mirana’s. Forget not that I have spent five years at Malverne. Merrik has become like a brother. He’s a vicious fighter, and he taught me everything he knows. He also taught me to trust. I have been blessed, Rorik, truly. Now, I would like to take my wife to a very private place and teach her how a man goes about planting a babe in a woman’s belly. The next time she brays about such things, at least she’ll know what she’s talking about. Aye, Freya has been nudging me all evening to begin my duties.”

  “I do use a knife as well as you do,” Chessa said, and skipped next to him to keep up.

  Rorik laughed and called after them, “Mirana and I give you our chamber. You can’t escape the jests of our people though.”

  “We will come in a moment,” Cleve said. “First, I want to walk a bit. Unlike my wife here, I drank my share of Utta’s mead.”

  He took her hand and led her through the palisade gates.

  “No, you didn’t. I’ve been watching you. You’ve smiled and nodded and even laughed at all the advice everyone’s given you, but you didn’t drink. You broke up that fight between Aslak and Hafter.”

  “Be careful, the path can be treacherous,” he said, drawing her closer to his side. “You’re right. I drank only enough to make my fingers curl when I thought about all I would do to you tonight. I still can’t decide where to begin. Perhaps with your breasts, but I must give it more thought. Or perhaps I’ll just stroke my hand over your belly and let my fingers go where they will. Have I made you turn red, Chessa? Turn around and let me see.”

  He gently pulled her around to face him. He lifted her chin with his fingertips. Slowly, he stroked his fingers over her shoulders, then downward until he cupped her left breast. “Ah, this is nice. Your heart is beginning to pound. Aye, this is a good place to begin.”

  He didn’t move his hand, just held her breast. He leaned over and kissed her mouth. His hand lifted and his fingers began to caress her breast. “Open your mouth, Chessa.”

  She did, coming onto her tiptoes, pressing her breast more fully into his hand. She felt his tongue lightly glide over her lower lip.

  “Oh, Cleve, that is rather strange. I want to come closer and I want to yell.”

  “Do it.” His tongue slid into her mouth and she gasped with surprise.

  “Please don’t bite my tongue off,” he said, and kissed her ear, licking the soft flesh, then nibbling on her earlobe.

  “I’m sorry but you surprised me. That’s surprising too. I don’t like this. You’ve got all the surprises and I’m just standing here like an ignorant fool.”

  He drew back from her and folded his arms over his chest. “A full moon. It’s magnificent, don’t you think?”

  Her heart was pounding; she ached in her belly. She wanted to kiss him and to touch him as he touched her. She wanted to bite his earlobe.

  “Aye,” she said. “The moon is so brilliant I can see the two plovers in their nest over beneath that gorse bush.”

  He stepped to her again, pulled her against him and without hesitation or warning, he ran his hand over her belly, downward, to cup her. His hand was very hot through her clothes.

  She could only stare up at him. “No one’s ever touched me there before.”

  He moved his fingers slightly and she jumped. “I trust not, though you’ve been pregnant with so many babes surely someone must have touched you somewhere. You look worried, Chessa. What’s wrong? Don’t you like me pressing my hand against you?”

  She looked up at him, all her feelings for him clear on her face. “I don’t know if I like that. It isn’t what I’m used to. But I will tell you, Cleve, that I love you. No, if you don’t love me yet, it doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know.”

  He groaned, jerked her against him, and let her feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his sex against her belly. He was breathing deep and thick, he wanted to have her now, at this very instant, over in the gorse and heather where the two plovers were nesting. “Chessa,” he said into her mouth. “It’s too much, sweeting. Now, I want you now. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but I can’t wait. I’d thought to go slowly with you, but somehow I can’t. I’d thought to tease you and caress you until you were whimpering and moaning, but I can’t.”

  She nearly knocked him onto his back so quickly did she throw herself against him. He staggered, laughed, then began kissing her again. Slowly, he eased her onto the path, only to realize that they were on an incline, the ground was hard, and it was her first time. He cursed, lifting himself above her. “We can’t stay here. It’s too rough. Come, Chessa. Hurry, by all the gods, hurry.”

  He was holding her hand so tightly he knew her fingers must be white, but he didn’t care. He was dragging her, not letting her run to catch up with him. He looked neither to the right nor to the left. All their friends were still laughing and drinking, but they stopped when Cleve pulled Chessa through their midst and into the longhouse. There were shouts of laughter, Old Alna yelling, “Give her your tongue, Cleve. A woman loves a man’s tongue.”

  “Ha,” Hafter said. “You can’t even remember a man’s tongue, Alna.”

  “Alna, pay Hafter no mind. Here’s some mead,” Utta said, giggling as Haakon patted her buttocks.

  Kerzog barked and ran after them, then abruptly stopped just inside the longhouse. He cocked his big head, then turned and bounded back into the laughing and shouting people.

  “At last,” Cleve said, panting, his chest heaving. He quickly pulled the bearskin over the opening to Rorik’s and Mirana’s chamber. Bless them, they’d left a lit wick in a bowl of oil. The light was gentle and shadowy, the air warm and soft, and this was his wife. She was his.

  He lifted her and laid her on her back, then immediately pulled her up again. “Your clothes,” he said, and nearly tore off the brooches at her shoulders.

  Suddenly, she was laughing. He stopped then.

  “Let me remove my own clothes, Cleve, else I’ll have to beg a gown off one of the women on the morrow.”

  He stepped back and yanked off his own clothes. He was naked and staring at her when she looked up at him, still in her long linen shift. He was breathing hard. He didn’t understand this urgency, but he accepted it. He wanted her and he would have her as soon as he could get her onto her back.

  “Oh,” Chessa said. She swallowed. “Oh,” she said again. She looked at him, every inch of him, from the whorls of golden hair on his chest to his flat belly, lower, to the golden bush at his groin. She swallowed again. “Oh.”

  “Chessa, hurry. Don’t be frightened. I’ll fit, you’ll see. I promise I’ll fit and you’ll like it. I swear it to you. Hurry. By all the gods, I don’t believe this. Hurry.”

  When she was standing in front of him, the linen shift at her feet, he looked at her and groaned.

  “I wanted to go slowly with you. I teased you all evening, but I suppose I was just teasing myself and look what’s come of it. Now, Chessa, now.”

  He lifted her, her breasts against his face, and when he suckled her nipple, she arched her back, her body taut as a sapling. Then she was on her back and he was between her legs and he was breathing hard, his hands all over her. It was as if he didn’t know where to begin, what to do first. He cursed, lifted her, and brought her to his mouth, his breath deep and hot on her flesh.

  She froze, then twisted, so surprised she didn’t know what to do. Cleve straightened over her. His mouth was glistening with her. He looked to be in pain. He pushed her knees against her, stared at her woman’s flesh, and groaned again. “I can’t wait,” he said and he was in pain, she thought, his teeth clenched, his eyes closed, his head thrown back.

  She didn’t know what to think, what to do. In the next instant, he was pushing himself into her and she wondered what was happening to him, what she was supposed to do now, if she was to move and if so, how was she to move? What was she supposed to feel? There was no longer an ache deep in her belly. There was no deep ache anywhere.

  But
she loved him, she wouldn’t forget that no matter what he did, and she was curious, but she was also aware that he was very large and she wasn’t.

  She felt pain and shoved her palms against his chest. “Cleve, please stop a moment. Just a moment, please.”

  “I can’t, Chessa, I can’t. Try to ease yourself for me. By all the gods, you’re small, too small, but I must come deeper into you, I can’t wait, please try to ease yourself, Chessa. If any woman can do it, you can.”

  “All right.” She felt his hands holding her thighs apart, felt him pushing slowly into her. The pain grew. She didn’t like it. This act gave a woman a child, she accepted that, but it was also supposed to give her pleasure? Suddenly, he thrust again and again, and she felt tearing pain, felt as if a part of her had ripped apart deep inside her. She screamed, her fists against his chest shoving at him, striking him, anything to get him off her. Then he heaved over her, groaning and trembling, sweat making his golden body glisten. She didn’t know what was happening to him but whatever it was, he appeared to want it, thus she did too. Ah, but it hurt. He was his full length inside her body. That was strange that he was deep inside her, that he was part of her. He was hot and tense, ramming into her, sealing himself against her, groaning deep in his chest, then pulling out just to shove forward again. She didn’t move. She hurt badly, but she didn’t move.

  She loved him. If this was what he wanted, then he would have it. She stuffed her fist into her mouth. It was over soon enough. He arched over her, his throat working madly, and he cried out again and again, and she felt the wetness from him fill her. She lay very still. The pain lessened and so did he.

  He was lying over her now, balanced on his elbows, breathing hard and fast. He was sweating. He smelled wonderful. She leaned up and kissed his shoulder—sweat and his unique scent. She kissed his shoulder again.

  He drew a deep heaving breath. “By all the gods, that was not well done of me. I hurt you, didn’t I, Chessa? I hurt you and I’m sorry for it but I couldn’t have done it differently. Do you understand? Do you forgive me? I was as clumsy as a raw boy and I am sorry for it. I didn’t want to take you this way, at least not the first time. Did you hate it? Do you hate me now for hurting you?”