Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

Kerek smiled sadly at her. “You will, Chessa. You now have your babe to protect.”

Cleve tapped the leather ball with his foot, sending it bouncing to Kiri, who scooped it up and threw it to little Torik, who let it hit his chest and bounce off.

Kiri immediately scolded him until Inga, Askhold’s wife, bent down and put her face right up to Kiri’s. “He’s but a little bit of a boy, sweeting. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands yet. Be patient. It’s a female’s lot in this life—patience. You must begin to learn it now.”

Cleve laughed. “Aye,” he said, nodding, “it’s true. Listen to her, Kiri. Then you will tell your second papa, for sometimes she rush

es off without proper patience.”

“Aye, little one,” Igmal said, coming down on his haunches in front of Kiri, “you must be patient with boys just as Inga says. They take a goodly time to ripen, many take more than a goodly time.”

“All right,” Kiri said. She held out her hand to Torik. “I’ll take him to the loch and call out to Caldon. She’ll come when I call her.”

“Aye,” Igmal said, “but you take heed, little one. You’re the big sister here, so pay attention to little Torik. You come back soon.”

Kiri nodded, took Torik’s dirty hand, and pulled him from the longhouse.

Cleve just shook his head. It was like Malverne, like Hawkfell. Every man and woman attended every child when they were close, and all worked for the good of the farmstead. He felt an overwhelming sense of belonging that had been denied to him most of his life until he’d found Laren and Merrik and lived as one of them at Malverne. But this was different. This was his home. His and Chessa’s. He felt warm and secure. He wanted to hug Chessa, he realized, perhaps kiss her mouth, and lick her lower lip, something she liked very much.

“Inga, where is Chessa?”

She said, “She was kneading dough but an hour ago, then she just shook her head and said she had to go to the privy again. I haven’t seen her, Cleve. Let me ask.”

“Aye, and I’ll look outside.”

Chessa loved to visit the waterfall, to sit on the moss-covered rocks and lean back against the gnarled old sessile oak tree and dream, that’s what she’d tell him, dream about the babe she carried, if it would be a boy or a girl, and would the babe have his golden hair or her black hair? But if she’d been kneading bread, why would she simply leave the longhouse and go off?

It was at that moment that he felt a chill in the air, a raw current of air that ruffled his hair and made him shiver. Then the cold died and the air warmed, touching his flesh, making him wonder what had happened.

Everyone searched for her but she wasn’t to be found. Toward evening, Varrick came, alone, and he said to Cleve, “Chessa’s been taken. I don’t know by whom, but a man took her. I saw it all clearly.”

Cleve stared at his father. “It’s true we can’t find her, but who would take her? Who could come into the farmstead and take her?”

“I don’t know but he got in here and has been waiting to get her alone and take her.”

“How do you know this?”

Varrick pulled the burra from its sheath at his belt. “I felt it and then I saw it just a short time ago. I saw a large man, muscled and thick, a man with fierce eyes, and thick red hair threaded with gray, but I also saw pleasure in his eyes at the sight of Chessa. I saw them speak. They argued, but he was pleading with her. Then, finally, he stuck a gag in her mouth, bound her wrists, covered her with a blanket, and pulled her over his shoulder. He’s gone now, but I don’t know where. The images stopped. But he has her.”

“How old is this man?”

“He has my years, but he looks older, more rough-hewn, more lines on his face. Do you know this man, Cleve?”

“Aye,” Cleve said quietly, “I know him very well. His name is Kerek and he is Queen Turella’s man.”

“Turella?” Varrick said, looking off into the distance. “Turella? That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Once I tell you the history of all this, you’ll believe it more than odd. Turella is the queen of the Danelaw. It’s put about that the king has kept her prisoner for many years, but it’s a false rumor. She rules. He is a fool, but she allows him to think that he is the important one. Something must have happened in York. Turella was convinced that Chessa should marry her son, Ragnor, that she could control him, that she could lead after Turella and secure the safety of the Danelaw. Ragnor is a selfish little toad with no more sense than Athol.”

Varrick said, his voice as stiff as the burra that he still held in his right hand, “Athol improves. Once you left Kinloch, he began to regain his balance. His broken leg mends.”

Cleve only grunted. “Do you wish to accompany me to get Chessa back?”

“Aye,” Varrick said slowly. “We’ll find Chessa.”

And Cleve thought, he still wants her, he’s just biding his time until the babe is born, then it will begin again. He prayed Argana was safe from Varrick, at least until Chessa birthed their babe. By all the gods, he hated it, but now he needed his father’s help. He watched Varrick gently slip the burra back into its leather sheath and fasten it to his belt. What would his father be without the burra?

Cleve, Varrick, and Igmal discussed which route Kerek had taken. By sea or traveling overland through Scotland into the Danelaw?