Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

Duke Rollo shook his head. “Actually, I have already sent two warships to Dublin. They should return shortly. Now, where is Laren? I wish to hear a story. She keeps me guessing, what with the queen who was captured by a lord of Bulgar and how she kept him at bay by telling him stories. Aye, Laren is wily. She is sly. She is a good skald.”

“I believe she and Merrik are with Taby. Merrik misses the boy sorely.”

“Aye, I know it, but now he has his own sons. What are their names? I forget such things now.”

“Kendrid and Harald, both the image of their father. They will be men of valor. But it makes no difference. Taby is the son of Merrik’s heart. I hope his own sons will never realize it.”

Duke Rollo rubbed his chin, felt the sagging skin, and frowned. “Nay,” he said, “this princess doesn’t sound at all submissive. Think you that William will have to beat her?”

“If he did I fear he would receive an unwanted and unexpected purge.”

“A woman is submissive when her belly is filled with a babe. William will see to it immediately. Think you she’s a good breeder, Clev

e?”

He pictured her in his mind’s eye. Not all that tall, slender waist, full breasts, the size of her hips unclear because of the draped, full-cut gowns she wore. “She seemed of adequate size, sire.” He pictured his hands splayed, nearly meeting around her waist. Then going lower to spread over her belly, letting his fingers span outward. Aye, she was large enough to bear children.

But not William’s children. Not Ragnor’s children.

As he left the duke’s presence Cleve wondered from whence that errant thought had come.

Dublin, Ireland

Court of King Sitric

She’d caught a netful of glailey fish and was laughing as she scooped it out of the river Liffey only to have one of them wriggle through the net and fall back into the water. “You escaped me and ’twas well done,” she called to the wildly escaping fish, only a small blur now.

Chessa was alone, Brodan having been escorted back to the palace by two of Sira’s bodyguards. He’d complained, but the bodyguards had their orders. Chessa had told him to go. They’d catch glailey fish another morning. She loved Brodan. Nearly eight years old, he was bright and loving, like their father, thank Freya’s beneficence, and not at all like that witch, Sira. He was usually a very serious boy, studying with the Christian scholars, dreaming silent dreams whilst he was awake.

But her father wasn’t all that loving.

He’d told her that morning that William had sent two warships to take her to Rouen. She would leave on the morrow.

She’d said, her chin up, for she’d thought and thought about it, “No, Father, I don’t wish to wed with William. I don’t wish to leave Dublin. I don’t wish to marry a man I’ve never met. I won’t do it. Besides, he is nearly your age. I don’t wish to wed my father.”

He’d held to his patience, she recognized the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the pursing of his lips. “Men come in all ages, Chessa. They are still men. As for William, Cleve told me he was only thirty, not old at all.”

“Women come in all ages as well. Let this William marry one who is closer to his age than I am. There are still eleven years between us.”

“He needs a young woman, one to bear him children.”

“I refuse to become like Sira, who breeds one child after another. It is all she does. It is all she is. No, she is also a witch and mean-spirited and—”

“We are not speaking of Sira,” the king said, and she saw now that he was losing patience and sought another path to convince him.

She placed her hand in his, as she’d done when she was a small child, and he, her protector, her father, the only being in the world, as far as she was concerned. “Papa, please don’t send me away. I will try to be kinder to Sira. I won’t take the boys to the river to throw the nets for theglailey fish. I will try to soften my words.”

Sitric laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “You make vows you cannot keep, my sweeting. Nay, now listen to me, Chessa. You are a woman grown, ’tis time for you to wed, time for you to leave me. William is a fine man, Cleve assured me of that. I questioned him closely. William will treat you honorably.”

And that, Chessa thought now, shoving her hair out of her eyes, was that. This was very probably her last day of freedom. Even now her servant was packing her huge wooden trunk with soft linen undershifts, wool gowns dyed soft reddish brown from the madder plant. Ah, and the linen gown of brilliant gold, dyed from a lichen that grew close to the Affern Swamp. Her father had given her a special wool gown of pure scarlet, dyed with the rare orchid lichen from many miles to the south, stitched with intricate embroidered designs. She had a woolen gown to match each of the gowns. She had elaborate brooches to wear on the shoulder, dainty earrings of the purest silver, gold, and ivory. She had gold neck chains and a chain of colored beads presented to her by one of her father’s ministers. She was a princess and she would go to this William looking like a princess.

That made her smile. Her feet were bare and dirty, her hair hanging down over her forehead, smudges of muddy water on her cheeks. Her hands were as dirty as her feet and her back hurt from bending over to net the fish. Her brown gown was tucked up, leaving her legs bare to her knees.

If this William could but see her now perhaps he would turn on his royal heels and run the other way.

She thought of Cleve and wondered if he would be in Rouen. She’d thought about him a lot, truth be told, for the past month. She still hadn’t found out who had tried to have him killed. That was odd, for what could he have done to earn such enmity?

She rubbed the small of her back and looked back toward the town. It was all wooden buildings, many of them connected by wooden walkways since it rained so often here and the paths became muddy holes very quickly. The fortifications were also of wooden poles, thick and sturdy, strongly bound together, with walkways along the ramparts. Dublin was a trading center that was gaining fame by the year, and that meant more enemies wanted to seize it and rule in her father’s place. There were always Irish raids by local chieftains, unwilling to accept Viking rule.