Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

She sighed, knowing she must return to the palace, knowing that her father was having a special banquet for her, this last evening of her life in Dublin. She imagined how delighted Sira would be to see the back of her, though she knew that Sira had argued and shrieked at King Sitric not to go through with the marriage. All Chessa could think was that Sira didn’t want Chessa to be above her in rank. But she wouldn’t be, would she?

She picked up her skirts and made her way through the thick water reeds. The wind picked up. The thick willow trees that overhung the river Liffey swayed and whispered in the still air. It would rain soon. Even now the clouds were rolling in from the Irish Sea. Aye, it would be a grand storm, and it would be upon them soon now.

She picked up her skirts higher and began to run. She dropped her sandals, leaned down to grab them up, and heard something behind her. She whirled about to see a man standing there, tall and muscled and smiling.

She calmed herself. “Who are you?”

“My name is Kerek. You are Princess Chessa?”

“Why do you wish to know?” She stared at the huge man, his thick red hair threaded with white.

“Aye, you are she.” He took a step toward her, still smiling, and she tried to duck around him. He grabbed her arm, whirled her about, pulled her against him.

She’d left her knife in her chamber.

She forced herself to ease against him. His hold on her loosened. She raised her foot and kicked him hard in the shin. He yelped and she threw the knotted net of glailey fish in his face. He released her and she was running faster than she ever had in her life. He was on her in an instant, nearly pulling her arm from its socket as he yanked her about.

She raised her leg to strike him in the groin, but he was faster. He cursed her, then, calmly, he raised his fist and sent it squarely into her jaw, grabbing her arms even as she went flying backwards.

Chessa fell against him.

Kerek picked her up and threw her over his massive shoulder. When she awoke some minutes later and reared up, he merely brought her down in front of him and said, “Will you lie quietly or shall I knock you out again?”

She felt dizzy and sick. She didn’t want him to hit her again. She merely nodded.

He slung her over his shoulder again. She closed her eyes, wondering who this man was and what he wanted. Her father had told her so very many times that she wasn’t to wander outside the palace fortifications alone. It was dangerous. She’d never paid him any attention.

He’d been right and she was a fool. She looked at the ground, knowing that the man was carrying her toward the harbor where all the trading ships docked. The market was near. There were always people there. Someone would help her.

He wove through a good dozen traders hawking fish, shoes, soapstone bowls. She reared up and screamed at the top of her lungs, “I am Chessa, daughter of King Sitric. Help me!”

The man hit her hips hard, laughing as he did so. “Aye, my sweeting, you’re a princess, a beautiful princess. Everyone is looking at you, admiring your Royal Highness’s beauty. Ah, your gown is beyond fine, isn’t it? The dirt on your face ennobles you right enough.”

“Help me! I’m Princess Chessa, help me!”

But the people were just staring at her, some of them pointing, some of them laughing now.

“Aye, she’s a muddy little lark,” said a woman who was examining a jeweler’s silver armlet.

“Those dirty little bare feet of hers are as royal as the hairs in my husband’s nose,” another woman shouted, this one rubbing her large hands on a trout that was still wriggling.

The man’s hand hit her bottom again, this time much harder and she sucked in her breath.

“Quiet now, sweeting,” he said aloud, all jovial and loving. “Don’t give laughter to these good people at your own expense. Or do you do it because you like the feel of my hand on your sweet buttocks?”

He was through the market then, and he walked faster. “I will make you pay for that,” she said quietly.

“You think so, do you? Well, we will see, won’t we?” She tried to jerk away from him, and he laughed. “I don’t know if my poor master will enjoy you,” he said. He broke into a trot, bouncing her up and down until her stomach knotted with cramps and nausea.

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nbsp; Then he was carrying her across a wooden ramp onto a large trading ship. He lowered her to her feet and she would have fallen had he not held her arm.

“Come along,” he said, and dragged her along solid pine planks between the rowing spaces. At the stern of the ship was a large covered area for sleeping and cargo. He shoved her into the area. There was a man there, seated on a chair, which was so silly she would have laughed if she wasn’t still trying to swallow the wretched nausea, for his head brushed the top of the leather canvas.

Aye, he was seated there in the shadows as if he were in a throne room and not aboard a trading ship beneath a sheltering canvas.

“She looks like a slut,” the man said. “She looks like a slave.” Chessa froze. Surely life couldn’t be this unfair. By all the gods, she’d rather be off to Normandy and marry this William Longsword.