Lord of Falcon Ridge

by Catherine Coulter

  She ran like a madwoman to Argana, shoved her aside, and stood blocking Varrick, whose right arm was raised, the dagger ready to plunge downward.

  “I don’t believe you would do this. Listen to me, Varrick. You won’t kill her, damn you. I won’t let you. You will have to kill me first to get to her.”

  Athol shouted, “Kill her, Father. Kill them both. Save me from the witch and from a disloyal mother.”

  Chessa said to Varrick, her voice low and calm as his, “You see what you fathered? He deserves to die. By all the gods, I wish Cleve hadn’t stopped me. I would have plunged my knife into his black heart. His years don’t matter. He will but become more of a bully, a tyrant, a dishonest fool, as he gains years. And he is of your seed, yet you protect him. You blame the mother. Rather blame yourself, you miserable bastard.”

  “Move aside, Chessa.”

  “Ah, your soft, persuasive magician’s voice, Varrick. I won’t move. You won’t kill Argana. She has done nothing save call me a witch and what is wrong with that? You believe me a witch, indeed, you pray I am a witch. Place your blame where it deserves to be.”

  “Move, Chessa.”

  It was Argana, and she was trying to shove Chessa aside, but Chessa was strong, stronger than the woman who was taller and built more powerfully than she. Chessa didn’t move at all. “Nay,” she said, still looking directly at Varrick who was staring down at her, his one golden eye as bright as the most brilliant sun, the one blue eye dark and turbulent as the stormy sea, his body utterly quiet, the knife still held in his hand. “Be quiet, Argana, I won’t let him kill you and that’s that. Just be quiet. You will not die for your son. It isn’t right. I wondered where Cleve was, Varrick. I realize now that you sent him away. You feared if he were here, he would protect his sister. It’s true. He returned Athol to you for punishment, but you seek only to kill Athol’s mother. Why, Varrick?”

  “Move aside, Chessa. Argana, wife or no, must pay for her betrayal. Death is her punishment.”

  “Why, damn you, Varrick?” This from Merrik, who strode forward to stand beside Chessa. “You touch Argana and I will kill you here and now. Then I will kill that little beast that sprang from your seed.”

  “You have nothing to say about anything, Merrik of Malverne. Move aside and take Chessa with you.”

  “Tell us why, Varrick?” Chessa said, now grabbing Argana’s wrist to hold her in place.

  “Think, Chessa, and you as well, Merrik. It’s because he no longer wants my sister as his wife.”

  Chessa whirled again, still keeping her body between Varrick and Argana. “Cleve. You’re here, thank the gods.” She wanted to run to him, but she didn’t dare. She knew in her deepest soul that Varrick would strike the moment she moved.

  “Aye, he told me that Kiri had run away from Igmal and I’ve been searching for her. I see that she’s been here all the while, with Laren and Merrik. It’s true, isn’t it, Lord Varrick? We’ve been here but two days and you decided you wanted Argana dead so you could have Chessa, my wife, the daughter of Hormuze the magician. But then what was your plan? Athol could have easily killed Chessa as well as the rest of us. He had a good two score bandits to do the job for him.”

  “It is Argana who wanted her dead, not I,” Varrick said. “Doesn’t that convince you, Cleve?”

  “Nay,” Cleve said, slowly shaking his head. “I believe Athol went beyond what you wanted. Athol wants us all dead. You would have lost, Father, had Athol won. Who then would you have killed?”

  “You’re wrong, Cleve, quite wrong.”

  Cleve said, “Let us say that Chessa survived, that I survived. Then what was your plan after you killed Argana? To murder me, your son? Somehow force Chessa to wed you? By all the gods, Father, you don’t know Chessa. She would have you slavering to be free of her within three days if you did that, if, that is, she’d allowed you to live that long.”

  Slowly Varrick lowered the knife. He slipped it back into his belt. He said nothing for a very long time. Then he said in that calm deep voice, “Chessa is a woman, a woman just like any other woman. I don’t want her. Why would I want her? She’s your wife. Aye, she’s naught but a simple woman. She does as she’s told. Watch, Cleve.” He said to his wife, “Argana, fetch me a cup of mead. I’m thirsty.”

  Argana said nothing, merely turned and walked toward the huge barrel that held Kinloch’s mead. The men, women, and children parted for her, as would two parts of cloth rent apart.

  He waited for her to return.

  Cleve said, “You will answer me. What would you have done? Murdered me, your son?”

  Varrick merely waved his hand, waiting until Argana handed him a silver cup of mead. Cleve wondered from whom he’d stolen it. He watched his father drink deep, then toss the silver cup to one of his men, who caught it deftly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his flawless white hand.

  “Answer me,” Cleve said.

  Varrick said very quietly, “What you say, Cleve, is painful to me. I am your father. I don’t wish to kill Athol because he is also my son. I believe the mother to be the one to have incited him to this treacherous deed. I sought only to punish the guilty one. What you have said wounds me deeply. You must believe me that I don’t want your wife. I don’t know where you got such an idea.”

  Cleve waved his words aside. “You would have killed her if not for Chessa.”

  Varrick then turned his eyes to her. “Why, Princess? Why did you save her? I believe her guilty. Surely you have your doubts, do you not?”

  Chessa just shook her head at him in disgust. “You weren’t there, Varrick. You didn’t see what Athol did. You didn’t hear what he said. He is like a mangy dog, blaming us for his fleas. He is unworthy of you as a father or of Cleve as a half brother. You won’t harm Argana.”

  “She’s right, Lord Varrick,” Igmal said, stepping forward. “It is just as I told you. Athol doesn’t deserve any leniency from you.”

  Chessa said, “Do as you will with Athol, but you won’t harm Argana, ever.” She looked at Cleve, saw him nod, and took his hand. He drew her against his side.

  Varrick smiled, then laughed, a rusty sound, deep and frightening, for he hadn’t laughed in so very long. All his people stared at him, but they held themselves quiet, saying nothing, not moving. Chessa believed she could smell their fear. That was it, the stillness in this great hall. It was the air, dark and heavy, weighing down on them. It was filled with year upon year of fear.

  “You think, you foolish woman, to prevent me from doing whatever I wish to do?”

  Chessa dropped Cleve’s hand, and calmly strode up onto the dais to stand in front of him. She looked up at him as if she were looking at an insect that faintly interested her. “If you harm Argana, I will kill you and none will know how I did it. Argana is right. I’m a witch. I am the daughter of Hormuze, the greatest sorcerer who’s ever lived. You said that yourself. You said yourself that as his daughter I carried his magic. Believe it, Varrick. Believe also that Cleve is the only man who will ever have my loyalty. He and Kiri are deep within me, deep within my woman’s soul, my witch’s soul. No one will harm either of them, or he will die.” She didn’t turn from Varrick, merely said louder, “You hear what I said, Athol? I pray so, for if you try anything, I will see you dead before the dropping of the sun into the western sea. Don’t doubt me. Men have before and they’ve paid for it.”

  She didn’t wait for Varrick to speak, merely turned on her heel, and walked away from him, stepping down from the dais and walking directly to her husband. When she was close to Cleve, she looked up at him, smiled, and winked.

  Cleve just stared down at her for the longest time. He knew no one else had seen that wink, just him. He said finally, his voice low and deep, “Now I understand exactly what Kerek meant. But heed me, Chessa, you play with things you don’t understand. It frightens me and angers me. You will take care and you will act only when it is necessary, only when I am not present—”

  He broke off, shak
ing his head, for she’d been in the right of it. He’d been gone. She’d been alone and she’d acted. She’d done exactly what he would have done. “Damnation, what is a man to do with a woman who could have led soldiers into battle against the Romans?”

  “That is Kerek’s nonsense and you well know it.”

  “Do I?” he said. “I wonder.” He added very quietly, “I suppose I shall just have to keep you close to me. I suppose I shall just have to love you. Will you accept that?”

  She stared up at him. She’d wanted these words from him for so very long. She said only, “Aye, I’ll accept that, husband, just as I accept you, forever.”

  Three days passed without incident. Athol gave all of them a wide berth. As for Argana, she said nothing at all to Chessa, but since she’d never said anything in any case, nothing had changed. As for Cayman, she seemed more beautiful as each day passed, her flesh glowing, her eyes brighter than the gleam of the noonday sun. It was odd, but it was so, and she too remained silent.

  Ah, but Varrick. He held himself apart from all except Cleve. It was as if he knew if he didn’t make Cleve trust him, he would lose everything.

  On the fourth day, Merrik said to Cleve and Chessa as they walked along the narrow path beside the loch, “Laren and I begin to believe we should return to Malverne. The men are restless. No, I will be honest with you. They are afraid of this place, of this monster Lord Varrick calls Caldon. They don’t want to leave you here, Cleve, but they are afraid.”

  Cleve looked at Laren, who was looking over the loch, searching for the monster, he knew. She spent all her time studying the loch at different times of day, searching, always searching.

  Merrik said, “She wants to see the monster again. She remembers it vividly from that day of the attack, but she says it isn’t enough. She wants it to come to her so she may speak to it. She will weave a skald’s tale that will last until more generations than we can imagine believe in this monster and search for it as she does. She tries to seduce the beast from the depths of the loch.”

  “I saw the monster just yesterday,” Kiri said, and everyone stopped and stared down at her. She was holding a piece of bright purple heather, sniffing it, and nodding up at them. “Caldon isn’t a monster. Igmal is right. Caldon is a mother and she has many children, just like my two papas will have. She came to me and smiled. She has a very long neck, but she can bend it low enough so I can see her face. I told her that Lord Varrick isn’t like my papas. I don’t think she wants to come when he calls to her. She looked sad. She made me feel that there is something even beyond her that beckons her to him. Then she just sank beneath the water and I didn’t see her again.”

  Cleve stared down at his daughter, wondering if this story was real, knowing that it couldn’t be, yet pleased that Kiri could tell such a splendid tale. Perhaps she had skald’s blood in her as did Laren.

  Laren said, “Kiri, you will tell me everything before you go to sleep tonight, all right?”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Kiri said, and skipped away to break off more heather, as purple as the bruise on Chessa’s upper thigh from Cleve’s loving the previous night.

  Cleve said, “This is my home. Chessa insists that where I am she will be also. She swears to me that she loves this savage land, that the mist now caresses her face like a lover’s fingers.”

  “Did I truly say that, Cleve?”

  “Perhaps not so eloquently,” Cleve said. “We will stay. It is my home, my birthright. There is nothing for me at Malverne, Merrik. You are lord there and Laren is lady. Aye, Chessa, Kiri, and I will remain here. We must. And I have an idea that I hope my father will approve.”

  “You could return to Duke Rollo’s court in Rouen,” Laren said. “My uncle believes you to be the greatest of all diplomats, Cleve.”

  “Chessa dislikes me as a diplomat.”

  “Aye, he’s like a snake his tongue is so smooth. If he weren’t so beautiful I would never have paid attention to him at my father’s court.”

  Merrik laughed, shaking his head, but it ended quickly. He looked out over the loch. “The mist is rolling in from the sea again. It never ends. In Norway, there is frigid weather and more snow than a man can sometimes bear, but in the summer months, then the sun scarce ever leaves the sky, it is more beautiful than Laren’s eyes.”

  “We will become accustomed,” Chessa said. “Now, you wonder what to do. You fear to leave us here alone. If Varrick wanted us dead, then he would see that all of us were killed. Your men would make no difference. Leave, Merrik. Return to Malverne and your children. This is now our home.”

  Merrik just shook his head, took his wife’s hand, and said, “We will leave in two days, if nothing more happens.”

  “I want to speak to Kiri,” Laren said, and hurried off after the child, who was trying to pat a sheep that was grazing on a hillside near a clump of heather.

  “She wants to see that damned monster again,” Merrik said. “I pray she will, else my life will be a misery.” He smiled and walked swiftly after Laren.

  25

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Chessa took a final bite of porridge, and slowly licked the wooden spoon, for Argana’s honey was as sweet as Cleve’s kisses. She offered to assist Argana but the woman only shook her head. “Once you live here and aren’t here as a guest, then you will have duties you select but not before then. Is it true that Merrik and Laren and all the Malverne men will leave soon?”

  “Aye,” Chessa said. “There is no reason for them to remain. This is my husband’s home, not Malverne.”

  Argana gave her a look she couldn’t begin to understand.

  “What will you do, Argana?”

  “What do you mean, Chessa? Do about what? About Varrick, my husband of eighteen years, the man who would have killed me with little regret? I will do nothing. What can a woman do about anything, save serve and hold her tongue when she’s angry, mayhap even bite her tongue until it bleeds?”

  “You could tell him he’s a swine.”

  Argana stared at her, then threw back her head and laughed. She couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Chessa began to laugh with her. All looked at them, mouths agape, eyes furtively searching out the Lord of Kinloch. Chessa said, “Why is there no joy here? No laughter? You laughed and it is very nice, Argana, yet look at your people. They are shocked that we laughed and perhaps even frightened.”

  “Cayman laughs sometimes,” Argana said. “But she goes off by herself to do it. I’ve seen her in the hills, walking about, picking flowers just as your Kiri does, and she’ll sniff the flowers and then smile, then perhaps she will laugh. It is a sweet sound. Cayman was always a sweet child and a sweet girl, but she has lived here all her life, and that, Chessa, is too long. You saved my life. I’ve said nothing about it to you because I—” She paused, staring down at the cut on her thumb. It was red and swelled. “I wonder how I did this. I have no memory of it.”

  “It’s ugly and must be tended. I have some cream that Mirana of Hawkfell Island gave me. You will rub it into the cut. It will heal.”

  She left her then to go to the small chamber. In the sea chest at the foot of the box bed, she found the medicinal herbs Mirana had given her. She fetched the cream back to Argana and handed it to her. “Rub it in well, at least three times a day, and keep it clean. Mirana said healing comes more quickly if left to the open air.”

  As Argana touched the white cream to the cut, there came a shadow that covered both of them. Chessa shivered, looking over her shoulder to see Varrick watching his wife as she smoothed the cream into the cut. “What are you doing, Argana?”

  “I seem to have cut my finger, though I don’t know how I did it. Chessa gave me some healing cream for it.”

  Varrick looked for a brief instant as if he would grab the cream from her and hurl it into the fire pit, but then he only shrugged and said, “Chessa, I would speak to you. Cleve is with Kiri and Igmal, both of them teaching her to ride the pony I had Athol bring back to her from Inverness.”

  A
rgana didn’t even look up. If her finger that was smoothing in the cream paused a moment, that was the only sign that she’d even heard what her husband had said.

  “All right,” Chessa said, smiling at Argana. “Don’t forget, rub in the cream at least three times a day. The cut will heal very soon. Now, Lord Varrick, what is it you wish to say to me? Something that will make me laugh? You need some laughter here at Kinloch.”

  “I wish to speak to you of Caldon. I called to him early this morning, but he didn’t come to me.”

  “Perhaps Caldon is female,” Chessa said, her voice as cold as the spring to the south of the loch, surrounded with mossed rocks and slippery grass and overhung with full-leafed branches of maple trees. “Perhaps she grows tired of your orders and your domination.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, and his voice was even colder. “Come walk with me, Chessa.”

  She nodded. There was no reason not to. This man was her father-in-law. She would know him until he died. Unfortunately, at this moment, he looked fitter than the goat that was chasing Kiri into Igmal’s arms. For an instant, she wondered about his magic, if there was such a thing, and she looked at the burra in its sheath at his belt. She remembered clearly the stark cold and frightening heat of it, and the image of her mother. She said to Argana, “I will walk with my father-in-law, Argana.” She felt him stiffen beside her, knew he hated her saying that, and it pleased her. She was determined that soon there would be laughter at Kinloch, that there would be normalcy—bickering, arguing, jesting, wrestling, children yelling at each other, all of it, all of what life was meant to be, not this coldly oppressive atmosphere that Varrick had brought to Kinloch.

  “So, you wish to speak of Caldon?”

  He said nothing until they were beyond the hearing of any of the Kinloch people. “The sun is bright this morning,” he said finally. “It is a fine day.”