Lord of Falcon Ridge

by Catherine Coulter

  She laughed. “Not for long, I wager. Every time I’ve believed that the sun would remain strong and bright, the mist rolled in and reduced it to nothing in but minutes. Should you care to wager about this, Varrick?”

  “Why don’t you call me lord?”

  “You’re my father-in-law. Why should I? Don’t you know that I respect you since you’re my husband’s father?”

  He looked as if he wanted to strangle her. “I will wager that the sun remains high and strong today,” he said, his white slender hands still fisted at his sides. “If I am right, I want something from you.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I want you to bear my child.”

  “You what?” She stared up at him, so surprised that no other words formed in her mind. “You what?” she said again.

  “I can’t kill my own son and take you. Thus you will be my concubine and bear my child. Cleve will never know. But the child we produce will have more skill in the magic arts than I have, than your father had, Chessa. You owe it to the force of all that remains hidden from mortals to produce a child who will claim an inheritance no man has ever possessed. Forget the stupid wager, I did not mean to say it. This is more important than you or your husband or anything. Tell me, Chessa, will you be my concubine? Will you bear my child who will be a great sorcerer?”

  She stared up at him and said very calmly, “So Cleve was right. You would have killed Argana to have me. But it was a stupid plan, Varrick. Cleve was right again. What would you have done then? Killed your own son?”

  “Nay, he wasn’t right. I would have killed Argana because it was a matter of honor. I want you, but not as my wife since you are married to Cleve. Answer me now, Chessa. Will you bear my child?”

  What was she to say? To do? She forced herself to say calmly, “Perhaps sometimes in the future, Varrick.”

  “Nay, we mustn’t wait. Men die in the flicker of an eyelid. It must be now.”

  “I can’t, Varrick,” she said, still calm, now smiling at him. “I am pregnant with Cleve’s child.”

  “You what?” Cleve stared down at her, too many memories running riot in his mind, unable to take in what she’d said. He’d been kissing her, caressing her breasts when she’d told him, just blurted it out without adornment. He just shook his head at her. He cupped her chin in his hand, which was difficult to manage since he was on top of her. “Again, Chessa? Yet again you carry my child? I had believed we were well beyond your games by now. At least it isn’t Ragnor’s child this time.”

  “Listen to me, Cleve, and you’ll understand how clever I’ve been. Your father decided he wanted me to bed with him and bear his child.”

  “He what?” Cleve smote his forehead with his palm, nearly falling on her. “You wait until you’re making my eyes cross with pleasure and then you tell me that my father wants a babe by you? He’s an old man, curse him. I’ll slit his damned throat for this. He’s as perfidious as Ragnor, just smarter, but this wasn’t very smart. He wants to bed you? I’ll kill him, Chessa, and you’ll not gainsay me.”

  “Nay, I won’t gainsay you, Cleve. But listen to me. Varrick doesn’t really want me, he just believes with all his soul that a child we would produce would be the greatest magician ever to live. He is old enough to be my father. When he wanted to speak to me, I looked at him and then at Argana and agreed that I’d go walking with my father-in-law. I thought he would choke me, but he didn’t. He had this on his mind, you see. No, when he told me that the child he and I would produce would be the sorcerer of the millennium, that was when I told him I couldn’t do it since it was your babe I carried in my womb. I don’t know if you should kill him just yet.”

  Cleve lifted himself off her. His desire was like the cool ashes in the fire pit, banked for the night. He sat on the edge of the bed, naked, his hands clasped between his knees. “My father wants my wife. Aye, I knew that, but after you stopped him from killing Argana, I believed it over. He knew that all of us realized his motive, thus I believed you safe from him. But this. By all the gods, what am I to do? I should kill him. That would end it once and for all. Ah, but that would leave Argana and her sons alone as well as all his people.”

  She came up on her knees and hugged her arms around his chest. She kissed the back of his neck, breathed in the scent of his flesh, the scent of his golden hair. She kissed the scar that ran down the side of his face. This time, to her joy, he didn’t flinch away from her. She kissed his shoulder. “I’m sorry I told you when I did. You now have no more interest in matters of the flesh, do you?” She was looking over his shoulder.

  He grunted but didn’t turn to her.

  “I told you, Cleve, because you must make me pregnant. We can no longer just think of lust, as we did last night and the night before and the night before that. We must now think very hard of a babe.”

  He did turn back to her then, shoving her onto her back and coming over her. He balanced himself above her on his elbows. “My life has taken many strange turns. You’re the strangest, Chessa. Nay, don’t argue with me, you know it’s true, you know that you’ve twisted me about and made me question everything that I was, everything that I ever wanted to be. You’ve been pregnant more times without producing a child than any woman alive. Now you’ve done it again. I have to think lustful thoughts. Every time I look at you I think of loving you, caressing you with my mouth, coming into you. A child follows when these thoughts become actions. There is naught more either of us can do. I don’t suppose you told him how many months you were pregnant with my child?”

  “He didn’t ask,” she said, kissing Cleve’s chin. “I think he was so surprised, that what I’d said was so unexpected, that it didn’t occur to him. He’s probably been thinking about it all through the afternoon and evening,” she continued, trying to pull him back down to her, but he wouldn’t move, just stared down at her, now balancing himself on his hands. She stroked her hands down his back to his buttocks. He frowned at her, but she just squeezed and smiled up at him. “You feel so very nice,” she said, and arched up, but it didn’t encourage him. Her fingers were between his thighs now, lightly touching him, searching, enjoying him.

  “Don’t,” he said, shaking his head at her. “I love you, aye, that’s true enough, though I never wanted to, but now that I do, I will just have to accept it, but even with this love I have for you I still have no interest in this, at least right now. Pay attention, Chessa. You must know that my father is at this very moment deciding what he will do. It worries me, Chessa, for he is ruthless. He wants you. By all the gods, must every man on this wretched earth want you? Must I constantly look at every man to see if there is lust in his eyes and that his eyes are fastened on you?”

  “Ragnor didn’t really want to marry me. He wanted to marry Utta or you.”

  “I wish you’d say that another way. Now, be quiet and stop doing that with your hands. I mean it, Chessa, I must think, I must decide what is best to do. You’re right, I can’t kill him yet. Tomorrow you may be certain he’ll want to know when the babe will be born. Oh, damnation, part your legs and let me take you. Perhaps my seed will come deep into your womb and you will accept it.”

  He didn’t touch her further, just pushed her legs apart and came into her, sliding deep and hard. He closed his eyes against the feeling of her soft flesh around him. She’d taken him, she’d been ready for him, yet he knew if he didn’t slow, she would gain no pleasure. It would be her own fault for being pregnant yet again with his babe, but he shook his head even as he thought it. He wasn’t thinking of a babe when he brought his mouth to her, nor did he think of a babe when he watched her arch upward, yelling in her pleasure. He smiled when he came again into her, harder this time, and she brought him deep and stroked her hands over his back as he moved within her. “I love you,” he said when he reached his pleasure.

  When he was lying in a near stupor, his head beside hers, his body heavy on hers, she said in his ear, “What is this plan you have that you spoke of to
Merrik and Laren?”

  Cleve said to his father, “I would like to build a farmstead to the south of the loch where there are the hills and the glens and meadows, filled with flowers. I remember the waterfall and the lushness of the trees and bushes. I remember the boulders and the thick moss that covered the earth. The land to the east flattens enough to grow the crops we would need. Perhaps some of your men would like to join me. They would learn loyalty to me, which is something I know you want.”

  Varrick said, “Naturally my men will also owe you their loyalty. Igmal already would die for Kiri. She is your image, save for that scar on your face. You have yet to tell me of her mother, Cleve. Did she die birthing the child?”

  Cleve only shook his head.

  “This place you describe, you spent much of your time there when you were a small boy.”

  “I was small when I was left for dead,” Cleve said. He paused and looked toward the fire pit. The sweet smell of mead rose strong in the air. Cayman made it. It was as excellent as Utta’s. He smelled the breakfast porridge, the honey Argana gathered. “After I remembered everything, I believed it was you, my stepfather, who’d tried to kill me. Now I know that can’t be true.”

  Varrick stretched out his black-clad legs and looked at the rich leather of his boots, dyed as black as his trousers. He wore the burra at his wide belt. His tunic was the softest wool, the sleeves full-cut. Black, he wore all black. He said finally, “I know who tried to kill you. There were no doubts because there was no other who would have done it. I’d hoped you wouldn’t ask me. I have no wish to cause you further pain.”

  “Who was it?”

  Varrick looked directly at his son. “I’m sorry. It was your brother, Ethar. He was fourteen at the time. He looked at your eyes and knew that you weren’t his father’s son. He knew you sprang from my seed. He knew you were mine. The girls never realized it. But Ethar did. He hated you from that moment as much as he hated me.”

  Cleve rocked back with the pain of it. “Nay,” he said, shaking his head, his voice hoarse and low. “Not Ethar. I worshipped him. He never showed dislike toward me, never.”

  “That’s true. He tried to kill you very soon after he realized the truth. I believe he wanted to kill me even more than he wanted to kill you, but he couldn’t do it. He failed with you as well, thank the gods. I’m sorry that you were a slave for fifteen years. I cannot imagine what you did during those long years, what you suffered. I know you must have many scars, Cleve, not just the one that shows on your face, but scars no one else can see. But it’s over now. You’re home again. You’re safe.”

  Cleve thought of those long fifteen years, of the different masters and mistresses who’d made his life a living hell, of that one kind old man who’d told him stories and fed him regular meals. The old man had died and he’d been sold then to a man who was a pig. So much had happened. So many years. His father was right. It was behind him. He was home again. His father had said he was safe. He thought of Athol’s attack. He imagined Varrick would deal with Athol. He looked at his father now. He knew the answer even before he asked him, “I’ve been told that Ethar drowned in the loch.”

  Varrick stared off into the pale smoky air in the hall. “Aye,” he said finally. “That is what happened.”

  Of course Varrick had killed him for what he’d done to his small son. All during those fifteen years Cleve hadn’t questioned who’d tried to kill him. He’d been sure it was Varrick, his stepfather, thus his hatred had had a focus. But now, Ethar was long dead, killed by Varrick. He supposed he should thank his father for avenging him, but he couldn’t find it within him. Ethar, his brother, nay, his half brother. It had been so very long ago. Ethar had been so young. Ah, but he’d been only five years old. Too young for Ethar’s revenge. He cleared his mind. It had been a lifetime ago. He couldn’t even remember his brother’s face.

  He looked at his father, so still he sat, his long white hands utterly motionless, fingers splayed on the carved chair posts. Surely then he could trust his father, in everything except where Chessa was concerned. He couldn’t trust any man where Chessa was concerned.

  “You’re to have another child,” Varrick said at last.

  “Aye,” Cleve said without hesitation.

  “She isn’t ill.”

  “Not as yet. It’s early days. Kiri’s mother vomited constantly after all the other women said she’d be fine.” He smiled at his father. “Why did Chessa tell you?”

  “I’m her father-in-law. Of course she would tell me. I’m pleased that you will give me a grandson.”

  He was a liar, but he was as smooth as stones washed over by the waterfall. Cleve said, “I would like to begin today to build my farmstead. Eventually, perhaps Athol could live there.”

  “And you and Chessa and your children would move here after I die?”

  “That is the way of things,” Cleve said. He looked up and smiled at Chessa, who was walking to him, a cup of mead in her hand. She handed it to him, then placed her hand on his shoulder. He covered her hand with his. He felt the warmth of her, the softness of her flesh. He turned to smile up at her. Let his father see that she was his and only his. He not only wanted her. He not only admired her and found her both humorous and aggravating, he also loved her, and it was nothing like the feelings he’d had for Sarla, Kiri’s mother. He’d believed he’d loved her more than a man could love any other being, but it wasn’t true. Much of what he’d felt for Sarla, he realized now, was anger and pity at how her husband had treated her. And he’d desired her, wanted desperately to protect her, to be her champion, to prove that he was no longer a slave but a man who could take care of his woman. But he was stupid enough to confuse lust with caring, and that’s what he felt for Chessa. Caring. Deep caring. He hadn’t even realized that something so intense, something so profoundly altering, could exist, but it did, and he felt it for her in full measure. He loved her. He loved her more this moment than he had the previous moment. He shook with the realization that this love he felt for her would continue into the future until they were both bones and dust. He knew now what it was she felt for him. He didn’t understand it, for he was just a man, nothing special, just a man who’d been a worthless slave, but yet she’d not seen the hideous scar on his face. She’d always believed him beautiful, and that was the truth of it. He hadn’t understood her, thus he’d believed it a sham. But it wasn’t. These feelings were as real as the high mist that hung over the loch. The caring he had for her, this bone-deep pleasure at her closeness, all of it made him feel warm and filled with hope and energy and the blessedness of being human and knowing what she was to him and what he was to her. He smiled at her, what he felt making his golden eye brilliant as the sun. “I will take you to see where we will begin our building.”

  “Aye, I’d like that,” Chessa said, leaned down, and kissed his mouth. In front of Varrick. But he knew she’d kissed him because she’d looked into his eyes and seen his soul. She was accepting him into her and her delight was plain for him to see. For his father to see.

  26

  MERRIK, LAREN, AND all the Malverne men left two days later, on a bright morning that Chessa now believed would stay bright, the mist biding its time, but not closing in about them until the evening. Eller sniffed the air and grunted. “Aye,” he said. “’Twill serve.”

  Chessa and Cleve, Kiri in his arms, waved until the two ships disappeared around a slight bend in the loch. “This is our home now,” Chessa said.

  Kiri said, “Papa, let me down. I want to go find Caldon. I haven’t seen her for two days now. She misses me. I told her I wanted to meet her children.”

  He merely nodded and set her on the narrow path that led to the wooden dock that stretched out into the loch beside the promontory. “Her imagination rivals Laren’s. Unfortunately, Laren never saw the monster again. Merrik says she will droop like a withered flower for a while.”

  “Let’s take Kiri and go back to work,” Chessa said. “I would have our own bed
soon.”

  Varrick looked at her belly every single day, asked her how she felt every single day. She merely smiled at him, nothing more.

  It was soon after that things began to change at Kinloch. There was some laughter now, some arguments amongst the men as they ate, as they drank, as they worked. The children, led by Kiri, battled with their wooden knives and swords and axes. They threw their leather balls. They ran about the hall, tumbling over each other, insulting each other. The women chatted as they wove the wool into thread. Varrick frowned, but remained quiet. Chessa laughed more than she’d ever laughed in her life, most times not because she was amused, but because she wanted all the Kinloch people to know that laughter was a wonderful thing, that they could do it and not be struck down. She wanted them to know that Varrick would do naught to stop it. Cleve must believe he’d become the greatest wit in all of Scotland, she thought, for she laughed at nearly every thing he said. She looked over at Cayman, who still only spoke to either of them when it was necessary, never volunteering a word or a thought or an opinion. She was gone most of the time, out in the hills, Argana said. As for Argana’s sons, they called Cayman a madwoman, singing to the goats, they said, speaking strange incantations over rocks, they said, then they’d stare toward their father.

  The day Chessa broke Athol’s leg began with a dull gray mist, then cleared into a magical morning that smelled crisp and clean. A falcon perched on the high ridge of rocks that formed the eastern perimeter of their new farmstead. All the men were working on the farmstead, to be named Karelia, named after an isthmus between Lake Ladoga and the Gulf of Finland, a place Cleve remembered with pleasure. When Chessa questioned him more closely about this pleasure, he simply kissed the tip of her nose and told her it would go with him to the grave.

  “Karelia,” she said. “It sounds pleasant, thus I will allow it, husband, even though I know you knew a woman there. What was her name?”