Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4) - Page 84

“You have nothing to say about anything, Merrik of Malverne. Move aside and take Chessa with you.”

“Tell us why, Varrick?” Chessa said, now grabbing Argana’s wrist to hold her in place.

“Think, Chessa, and you as well, Merrik. It’s because he no longer wants my sister as his wife.”

Chessa whirled again, still keeping her body between Varrick and Argana. “Cleve. You’re here, thank the gods.” She wanted to run to him, but she didn’t dare. She knew in her deepest soul that Varrick would strike the moment she moved.

“Aye, he told me that Kiri had run away from Igmal and I’ve been searching for her. I see that she’s been here all the while, with Laren and Merrik. It’s true, isn’t it, Lord Varrick? We’ve been here but two days and you decided you wanted Argana dead so you could have Chessa, my wife, the daughter of Hormuze the magician. But then what was your plan? Athol could have easily killed Chessa as well as the rest of us. He had a good two score bandits to do the job for him.”

“It is Argana who wanted her dead, not I,” Varrick said. “Doesn’t that convince you, Cleve?”

“Nay,” Cleve said, slowly shaking his head. “I believe Athol went beyond what you wanted. Athol wants us all dead. You would have lost, Father, had Athol won. Who then would you have killed?”

“You’re wrong, Cleve, quite wrong.”

Cleve said, “Let us say that Chessa survived, that I survived. Then what was your plan after you killed Argana? To murder me, your son? Somehow force Chessa to wed you? By all the gods, Father, you don’t know Chessa. She would have you slavering to be free of her within three days if you did that, if, that is, she’d allowed you to live that long.”

Slowly Varrick lowered the knife. He slipped it back into his belt. He said nothing for a very long time. Then he said in that calm deep voice, “Chessa is a woman, a woman just like any other woman. I don’t want her. Why would I want her? She’s your wife. Aye, she’s naught but a simple woman. She does as she’s told. Watch, Cleve.” He said to his wife, “Argana, fetch me a cup of mead. I’m thirsty.”

Argana said nothing, merely turned and walked toward the huge barrel that held Kinloch’s mead. The men, women, and children parted for her, as would two parts of cloth rent apart.

He waited for her to return.

Cleve said, “You will answer me. What would you have done? Murdered me, your son?”

Varrick merely waved his hand, waiting until Argana handed him a silver cup of mead. Cleve wondered from whom he’d stolen it. He watched his father drink deep, then toss the silver cup to one of his men, who caught it deftly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his flawless white hand.

“Answer me,” Cleve said.

Varrick said very quietly, “What you say, Cleve, is painful to me. I am your father. I don’t wish to kill Athol because he is also my son. I believe the mother to be the one to have incited him to this treacherous deed. I sought only to punish the guilty one. What you have said wounds me deeply. You must believe me that I don’t want your wife. I don’t know where you got such an idea.”

Cleve waved his words aside. “You would have killed her if not for Chessa.”

Varrick then turned his eyes to her. “Why, Princess? Why did you save her? I believe her guilty. Surely you have your doubts, do you not?”

Chessa just shook her head at him in disgust. “You weren’t there, Varrick. You didn’t see what Athol did. You didn’t hear what he said. He is like a mangy dog, blaming us for his fleas. He is unworthy of you as a father or of Cleve as a half brother. You won’t harm Argana.”

“She’s right, Lord Varrick,” Igmal said, stepping forward. “It is just as I told you. Athol doesn’t deserve any leniency from you.”

Chessa said, “Do as you will with Athol, but you won’t harm Argana, ever.” She looked at Cleve, saw him nod, and took his hand. He drew her against his side.

Varrick smiled, then laughed, a rusty sound, deep and frightening, for he hadn’t laughed in so very long. All his people stared at him, but they held themselves quiet, saying nothing, not moving. Chessa believed she could smell their fear. That was it, the stillness in this great hall. It was the air, dark and heavy, weighing down on them. It was filled with year upon year of fear.

“You think, you foolish woman, to prevent me from doing whatever I wish to do?”

Chessa dropped Cleve’s hand, and calmly strode up onto the dais to stand in front of him. She looked up at him as if she were looking at an insect that faintly interested her. “If you harm Argana, I will kill you and none will know how I did it. Argana is right. I’m a witch. I am the daughter of Hormuze, the greatest sorcerer who’s ever lived. You said that yourself. You said yourself that as his daughter I carried his magic. Believe it, Varrick. Believe also that Cleve is the only man who will ever have my loyalty. He and Kiri are deep within me, deep within my woman’s soul, my witch’s soul. No one will harm either of them, or he will die.” She didn’t turn from Varrick, merely said louder, “You hear what I said, Athol? I pray so, for if you try anything, I will see you dead before the dropping of the sun into the western sea. Don’t doubt me. Men have before and they’ve paid for it.”

She didn’t wait for Varrick to speak, merely turned on her heel, and walked away from him, stepping down from the dais and walking directly to her husband. When she was close to Cleve, she looked up at him, smiled, and winked.

Cleve just stared down at her for the longest time. He knew no one else had seen that wink, just him. He said finally, his voice low and deep, “Now I understand exactly what Kerek meant. But heed me, Chessa, you play with things you don’t understand. It frightens me and angers me. You will take care and you will act only when it is necessary, only when I am not present—”

He broke off, shak

ing his head, for she’d been in the right of it. He’d been gone. She’d been alone and she’d acted. She’d done exactly what he would have done. “Damnation, what is a man to do with a woman who could have led soldiers into battle against the Romans?”

“That is Kerek’s nonsense and you well know it.”

“Do I?” he said. “I wonder.” He added very quietly, “I suppose I shall just have to keep you close to me. I suppose I shall just have to love you. Will you accept that?”

Tags: Catherine Coulter Viking Era Historical
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