Lord of Raven's Peak (Viking Era 3)

“He hurt Sarla very much.”

“I saw the bruises on her face. That wasn’t well done of him. She is a gentle girl, kind and giving. Still, to die in such a way, I would have wished it otherwise.”

“Deglin is dead, and that is something.”

“Aye,” he said, kissed her forehead, and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

Weland, Duke Rollo’s first lieutenant, a man who had been at Rollo’s right hand since they’d both been boys, a man so strong he could pull a sapling oak from the ground, was grinning like a hyena.

“I have a great surprise for you, sire, a very great surprise.”

Prince Rollo, as he was called by his people, even though his lands were called a duchy and thus he was only a duke by grant of the French king, was taller than any sapling Weland could pull from the ground. He turned his dark eyes on his man and said, “Aye, Weland, what is it this time? You bring me a Nubian maid to warm my old bones? Mayhap a magic potion to stop the grinding pain in my joints? A stallion tall enough so my feet don’t drag the ground?”

“Nay, sire, I bring you a gift beyond any weight of silver. Laren has come back.”

Rollo just stared at Weland. “You jest,” he said at last. “She and Taby are dead, long dead. I forgive you most things, Weland, but this is too much. Do not trifle with me.”

Weland just shook his head, still smiling like a fool, and called out, “Bring them in!”

Rollo saw only the slender girl with her glorious red hair, nearly curling to her shoulders, the way he’d always liked her to wear it when she was younger. He’d hated her braids because they’d dimmed the beautiful color, the exact same shade as his older brother Hallad’s hair. She was too slender, he saw as she walked closer, ah, but she’d become a beauty, and more than that, there was more of life in her eyes, and more shadows, but there was also joy and confidence that the child had lacked. She was gowned beautifully in a soft blue linen that was belted at her waist. She wore finely wrought silver brooches and silver armlets. She was almost

of his loins, this graceful creature, and now she was here, alive, with a man striding beside her.

He said her name softly, just the saying of it making her real, very real. He rose, towering over even the back of his throne.

“Laren!”

His shout reverberated throughout the chamber, and she laughed aloud and ran to him, and he caught her up in his arms, lifting her high off the floor, and squeezing her and laughing with her now.

“By the gods, you’re taller,” he said, and kissed her on both cheeks, back and forth, squeezing until she groaned with the force of his strength.

“I am home, uncle,” she said. “Ah, you are still so very handsome. The two years are as nothing with you, my lord. You haven’t Weland’s grizzled gray hair. I am also pleased you have not grown taller, bless the gods.”

He lowered her to the floor, and just held her hand, then pushed her a little bit farther away from him, and continued to stare down at her. “You are the same yet you have changed more than I can begin to imagine.”

“Aye, it’s true.”

Suddenly his eyes clouded. She knew he was thinking about Taby but was afraid to hear that he was dead. She said quickly, “My lord, Taby is well and healthy and safe.”

“Ah,” Rollo said and raised his voice heavenward. “I will make sacrifices to all the gods, even the Christian God. We searched everywhere for you and Taby. Your cousin William led scores of men throughout the countryside and even into Paris. There was no trace of you. Tell me, Laren, tell me what happened to you.”

“I will, my lord. First you will meet the man who saved both Taby and me, the man who is now my husband. He is the master of Malverne, a wealthy farmstead in Vestfold, and his name is Merrik Haraldsson.”

Weland said, “Go to His Highness, Merrik.”

Merrik walked slowly to the mighty Rollo, a man he’d heard unbelievable tales about all his life. Now this man was of his family, this man whose legs were so long Merrik imagined that he would need a horse at least seventeen hands high to keep his feet from touching the ground. It was said he walked most places, his men riding beside him. That would be a sight indeed, Merrik thought. Ah, but his was a royal bearing, even though the years had dragged a few strands of white through his dark hair and etched lines in his cheeks and forehead. But his eyes, dark as midnight, were bright with intelligence and, Merrik saw with some surprise, with humor. He had all his teeth and his jaw was firm and stubborn. A man to reckon with.

“My lord,” he said, coming to a halt in front of Rollo. He would not bow. A Viking bowed to no man.

“You saved Laren and Taby.”

“Aye. I was in Kiev and found them both at the Khagan-Rus slave market.”

“Slave market!”

Laren laid her hand lightly on her uncle’s richly embroidered woolen sleeve. “It is a very long story, my lord. Quickly put, Taby and I were abducted from my bed two years ago and sold as slaves south in the Piedmont. We have lived as slaves ever since.”

Rollo just stared at her.