Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

“I know,” she said, a tiny smile curving up the corners of her mouth. “I’m very powerful, mayhap even a witch. Every man who comes near me does exactly what I wish him to do. You were no exception, though I thought you might be and—”

“Be quiet. You can taunt and mock Ragnor. You won’t do it to me. Be quiet.”

“All right. Ah, here’s Kiri. Come here, little sweeting. You can see that your papa’s just fine.”

Kirk looked frightened and it smote Cleve. He quickly drew her up onto his lap and pulled her against his chest. “I’m sorry that I was so unlike myself, Kiri.”

“I thought you were splendid, Papa.”

Women, he thought, rubbing his bruised hands together. Were they never too young to be perverse?

“I’m just sorry that Uncle Merrik had to hit you. He’s very sorry. He told me so. Laren said she wished Oleg had been here, that he’d have been so pleased to see you boil over like one of her stews in the cooking pot.”

“I don’t believe any of this,” Cleve said, setting Kiri on the floor. “Go play with your cousins. I’m all right. Go, Kiri.”

“They’re not really my cousins.

“It’s close enough. Go.”

She skipped away from the box bed, but at the door, she turned and said, “Why did you get so angry, Papa? Why do you care who she marries? She’s not even beautiful like you are, like she says I am.”

“Go,” Cleve said, and watched her dash out of the bedchamber. He said, turning to Chessa, “I mean it. You must start your monthly flow.”

She laughed. “But I’m still not a virgin.”

“William is thirty, more seasoned, more mature. He will understand. After all, a girl is only a virgin once. A man who demands a virgin is a fool. William isn’t a fool.”

She said, “If he, a future ruler, doesn’t demand that his wife be a virgin, then he must really be seasoned.”

“Damnation, he isn’t old. He is but five years older than I am. He is wise because he was married to the same woman for ten years before she died. He adored her. He was faithful to her. He isn’t a fool because he’s never been a fool. You will be able to trust him.”

“Perhaps this William isn’t a fool, but you are, Cleve. Do tell me, why did you attack Ragnor?”

He looked at her as if he wanted to strangle her.

9

“IDEMAND THAT you kill this man, this former slave, Cleve who isn’t anybody, he just pretends to be important. He must die. He dared to strike Ragnor of York, son of Olric.”

Rorik looked at Ragnor’s black right eye, the swollen bruised jaw, the reddened flesh of his throat. “Why do you speak of yourself as if you were another?”

“I am of royal blood. Royalty speak like that when they wish others to obey them immediately, just as I’m ordering you, Rorik. Kill him.”

“If everyone was dead that you ordered to be killed, the earth would have n

o more people on it. You may forget your demands. However, I would think it wise were I to give Cleve your share of mead. It is rotting what little brain you have left.”

“I am Lord Ragnor.”

“Your ship is ready to leave for York,” Rorik said, knowing he didn’t have too much longer to keep himself from attacking Ragnor just as Cleve had done. “I hope you have sufficient men left to row you back.”

“I have more men than I need.”

“That’s good, because I think some of the men won’t go back with you.”

Ragnor just stared at him, then yelled, “Utta, bring me some mead. Kerek, come here and tell me that Rorik lies.”

Rorik just shook his head and quickly took himself out of the longhouse. He patted Entti’s shoulder as he passed by the bread trough. He’d rarely in his life seen so much dough. She was singing softly while she kneaded the dough. It was a relief that Ragnor was leaving on the morrow. Rorik feared that the island’s stores of barley, rye, and wheat would be severely depleted. They were eating more and more fish. Rorik wanted to go hunting on the mainland, beyond the salt marsh, for pheasant and grouse, perhaps even a wild boar, but he didn’t dare leave the island for fear of what Ragnor would do. Nor did he want to make Ragnor Merrik’s responsibility. Both his men and Merrik’s men were staying close, keeping a tight watch on Ragnor and his men. But his belly was growing tired of fish, even Utta’s roasted herring and baked sea bass, even wrapped in oiled and spiced tartar leaves.