He dismissed her in the middle of the afternoon to eat. The sky was no longer overcast, the rain of the morning long before moved northward. The sun was brilliant overhead. Laren thought of food, realized there was something more important to her than warm bread for the first time in two years, and walked quickly toward the trail that led upward to the summit of an outjutting cliff that stretched out over the fjord. She’d looked at it several times in the past days, wanting very much to climb to the top to see the magnificent scenery, but knowing that her body wasn’t yet strong enough. Her body was strong enough now. She set out at a brisk walk, keeping her eye on the sun. She didn’t want to be gone too long from the field.
She didn’t want to be gone too long from Merrik’s side. She thought about that, thought about him smiling at her, laughing, stripping off his clothes, coming into her body, holding her close, giving her pleasure until he’d hurt her, but surely that wasn’t his fault, but her own body’s, unused to a man.
She wanted him again, very much. It was stronger now, this wanting. She looked at him and felt a quickening that was both frightening and exhilarating. But she would be a fool to allow herself the pleasure of him.
The path steepened; it was narrow with deep ruts and strewn rocks on it. Her breath was becoming labored. She hated it, this weakness of her body.
She looked at the top, not too far distant now, and kept looking until she was there, finally, breathing hard, a stitch beginning in her side. But she’d made it.
She straightened and walked to the edge. The view was more magnificent than she’d imagined. The fjord below made many turns, curving inward, then winding sharply outward, the dark blue flowing forever beyond the eye. She gazed at the fir-covered uplands opposite the fjord where no one had touched the land, for it was too steep, too irregular, with sharp faces falling hundreds of feet to the water. She turned now to gaze down at Malverne with all its slightly sloping or flat land given entirely over to farming. The wooden palisade looked like a near perfect circle from her vantage point, with its pointed wooden spikes standing high that would surely gut any enemy who tried to scale them. All the buildings within looked sound and solid, surrounding the large rectangular longhouse. Smoke snaked upward, a thin blue line that disappeared into the sweet air, and she fancied she could smell Sarla’s cooking. Toward the back of the enclosure, she saw the burial site and the t
emple. She knew Merrik had visited his parents’ graves many times, always returning to the longhouse quiet, his head and shoulders bowed. She knew he grieved deeply for them, but she’d said nothing. What could she say? She couldn’t speak to him of her own parents’ deaths because he would want to know who they were and he would push her and push her. She knew she would tell him soon. He’d been right about her tale being a test. She could trust him; she had to, it was that simple.
She sat down, not too far from the edge of the cliff, and leaned back against a rock. She hoped Sarla was all right. She hoped Letta’s scalp hurt. Then she thought of Merrik and wondered if many lovers had come up here in the past, aye, many, she thought, as her eyes slowly closed.
“I saw you come up here. I waited to see if my brother would come after you but he didn’t. Then I followed you.”
She heard his voice in a half-sleep, far away, a caressing voice, one filled with satisfaction, but still only a voice and it couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t frighten her.
“No one else saw you, or me, come up here. This place is called Raven’s Peak. In recent years there have been fewer attacks by other Vikings, thus it is no longer much used as a lookout point. No, it is a lovers’ place now, and you are here, Laren.”
More than a voice now. There was gloating in it and pleasure, the sort of pleasure a man would find if he caught a woman alone, unawares, a woman he knew was his for the taking. She felt her heart begin to pound.
“I know you are awake, Laren. I thought perhaps you were coming here to meet a man—as I said, it is that sort of place—but you are alone. I am pleased. You turned Merrik away or didn’t he want you in the middle of the day?”
She opened her eyes and stared up at Erik. It was hard to see his face because the sun was directly behind him. If she didn’t know him, she would have believed, briefly, that he was a god, golden and radiant, so very big. Slowly, Laren eased up, scraping her back against the rock. It made her wince, but she said nothing, merely moved up until she was sitting. Then, very slowly, she stood, her hand back against the rock.
“It is late,” she said. “I must return to the fields. Merrik will expect me.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I was told Raven’s Peak offered the most beautiful view of your land. I wanted to see for myself.”
“As I said, many men and women have come here to couple.”
“I came only to look.”
“I came to have you. I won’t wait longer. Perhaps you knew I would follow you if only you managed to get away from Merrik. Is that what you wanted?”
“No, I don’t wish you to hurt me, Erik. I must go now.” She whirled about even as she spoke, but she wasn’t fast enough. He was as strong as Merrik, and his long fingers dug into her upper arm. “You are still too thin. My fingers can wrap about your arm. Don’t try to run from me again. I don’t like it.”
She turned back to face him now, looking up at his face, now brutal to her, its beauty masked by his lust. She remembered that long-ago night, how she’d managed to fool the one man by pretending to be faint. Somehow she didn’t think she could succeed with the same ploy with Erik.
“I don’t wish to couple with you. I belong to Merrik. Why would you want to anger your brother? Do you not love him? Is there not honor between you?”
His eyes narrowed on her face; his fingers worked on her arm, squeezing still, but not hurting her now. He said easily, as if to a half-wit, “You think yourself above Caylis and Megot because you weave a tale well. You are not. Listen to me, Laren, I am now the lord of Malverne, not my father, not my brother. I am the master of all you see from here. I have waited and waited for my turn and it was long in coming. I wanted to leave, to make my own way, perhaps voyage to Iceland, but my father begged me not to, told me that I was the future lord of Malverne and my duty was here. I am sorry that my parents died, but with all their damned words, their damned promises, I was still but a son, someone to be governed by them, naught more. But it is different now. Even Sarla now sees that she will be what I wish her to be. I had not struck her before, for my parents defended her, even though she is barren and useless to a man. At least now she will obey me without question and tread lightly around me.”
“Erik, I am not a wife. I am naught of anything. I am useless as well. You have said I am too thin. It is true. Please, Erik, don’t hurt me.”
He smiled down at her and now he grasped her other arm. He pulled her against him and she realized he was as tall as Merrik, as strong and as big. She would have no chance against him, none. She didn’t want him to rape her. She didn’t think she could bear it.
She threw back her head and looked at him straightly. “Don’t do this or you will regret it.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. A woman didn’t threaten him. She watched his eyes narrow until they were slits, she saw the pulse pounding in his neck. He was furious and now she would regret it. She did regret it. He slapped her hard, just as he had his wife. She caught the cry in her throat. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of hearing her cry out.
“Now,” he said, and kissed her hard, his mouth grinding against hers, his teeth cutting her lower lip. One of his hands clutched her right breast and he kneaded her furiously, hurting her. His other hand was ripping her tunic, but the material was sturdy. He reared back, took both of his hands and grasped the neck of her gown and jerked.
She heard the rip even as she drove her knee upward into his groin. He loosened his grip just enough in his shock. She jerked away from him, running frantically down the narrow winding path. She heard him bellow behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She heard him groaning, gasping for breath from the blow she’d dealt him. But still, she was terrified that he was behind her, almost upon her, and any moment now she would feel his hot breath, his clutching hands on her arms, spinning her around, and striking her hard. Then he would rape her and then he would kill her. She ran until she tripped, falling on the steep path until she struck a rock. She saw an explosion of white, then she saw nothing.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when she awoke, slowly, her head spinning, her eyes unfocused. She shook her head, and felt the lump over her left ear. Pain coursed through her, striking hard behind her eyes. Suddenly she remembered. She grasped the edge of the rock and pulled herself upright. She stood there, weaving, trying to gain her balance and control the pounding in her head. She was listening, hard. There was no sound, nothing.