Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

“Oh, yes, but he’s like all the rest of those mealy-mouthed diplomats who come here wanting you to do things for their masters. He’s smooth as an adder in his speech but he doesn’t really say anything.”

“Perhaps you are just a bit prejudiced, Chessa. I had hoped that by now you would have forgotten that unfortunate incident with Ragnor of York.”

Her chin went up and her father smiled. She was so very different from her mother, soft-spoken, submissive Naphta, whom he’d loved more than wisdom and nearly more than his own life as well, but not more than his small daughter’s life.

He hadn’t sought to temper his daughter’s forthrightness or her blunt candor. No, he’d had to leave her weapons so she could stand toe to toe with his witch of a second wife, who needed more discipline than he ever managed to mete out to her. She always distracted him with that lithe body of hers and her passion. By all the gods, her passion made him mad with lust even now after eight years. But he had to control her, for she was a witch, and he knew that she detested Chessa, seeing her as a threat, which was ridiculous.

“I have forgotten Ragnor, Father. He was naught but a foolish boy. Indeed, I gained my revenge on him, then spit his name into the dust. He has been gone from my mind for a long time now.”

“Don’t lie, Eze. You still smart from the wounds. He hurt you with his talk of everlasting adoration.”

“You haven’t called me Eze in a very long time.”

“It’s true, you’re really more Chessa to me now than Eze. It just slipped off my tongue. You still don’t mind your name, do you? You know I had to change it. As you became older Eze sounded more and more strange in the court. People remarked on it so I changed it to Chessa, a long-ago Irish heroine.”

“Just as Naphta sounded strange?”

He stiffened. “Aye, if you will. But we are not speaking of your stepmother.”

“Thank Freya for that,” she said, then fell silent. She rarely digressed. Once focused, she usually never wavered. He was content to wait. She said at last, “It’s true, Father. I don’t think often of Ragnor. I can’t believe I was so gullible that I actually believed his lies. But I did gain revenge on him, that is—oh—”

This was interesting. This closemouthed daughter of his rarely let anything slip. He saw that she was chagrined. “What did you do, Chessa?”

“You don’t really wish to know, do you?”

“What did you do, Chessa?”

“I ground up malle leaves with some fist root and added just a touch of ginger to make it tasty. Ragnor loves ginger. I heard that he puked up his guts for a good three days.”

He laughed, he couldn’t help himself. Thank the gods she hadn’t killed the officious bastard. He wouldn’t put it past her. But no, she’d exercised restraint, a quality her stepmother couldn’t seem to master. She’d grown up well, he’d seen to it. He was proud of her. She learned from mistakes and never, to his knowledge, repeated them. It was a pity she was only a woman.

Chessa smiled in relief. She loved her father dearly. She hated to distress him. She said now, without thought, “Will you invite this Cleve of Malverne to dine with us?”

“Why?”

“To see if he will speak like a man and not continue like a smooth-pebbled rock skipping over the water.”

“You aren’t simply content to stare at his handsome face? At his golden eye and blue eye? At his well-made man’s body?”

“For a while, perhaps. Nay, for more than just awhile. But you know, Father, his voice is very nice and pleases me.”

“Very well. Oh, I hear you and your stepmother were fighting today. What about this time?”

“Did Cleve of Malverne tell you?”

“No, sweeting, he did not. Why would he? How would he know of it? What did you fight about?”

“I would prefer not to speak of it.”

“You will do as I tell you. What, Chessa?”

“She struck little Ingrid again.”

“What did the girl do this time?”

“She wasn’t fast enough with Sira’s hair comb. Sira bruised her ribs she struck her so hard with her fist.”

“I will speak to her,” he said. “Try not to fight with her, Chessa, all right?”