Not long after Oleg had helped Merrik to sit on the edge of the box bed, Old Firren walked into the sleeping chamber, looked around at the opulent hangings, grunted, and started to spit in the corner. He looked disgusted, saying, “I can’t spit, Merrik. It will sit on the damned wood like a spot on a woma
n’s face. I don’t like all this—it makes a man feel as if he’s walking on live coals. What did you do? Cut yourself, that’s what Oleg said, the lying sod. Give me your arm and let me see how bad it is.”
Old Firren studied the arm, pinched the flesh, ignoring Merrik’s pallor, and said, “The knife was very sharp, nice and clean the slice. Hurts, huh?”
“I’ll kill you, old man, if you don’t shut your mouth and get on with it.”
Laren came in, yawning. Old Firren had finished, and was now studying his long row of stitches. She looked at her husband lying on his back, his arm extended, all the blood-covered rags on the floor, and said, “I will surely kill you for not calling for me.”
“It isn’t bad, mistress,” Old Firren said quickly. “You were telling a fine tale. Oleg didn’t want to interrupt you, for surely your uncle wouldn’t have been pleased. He loses himself in your stories, Merrik says, believes himself young and strong again. Don’t worry about your husband. Merrik will survive, he always does. He’s a hardly lad.”
“I will kill him and you and Oleg,” she said.
She walked slowly to stand staring down at Merrik. “I am your wife. It is my responsibility to stitch your wounds.”
“You would use a different color thread?” Merrik said, trying very hard to make her smile.
She placed her palm on his forehead. His flesh was cool and dry. She said to Old Firren, “Leave Oleg to guard the door. You remove all this blood and yourself.”
“Aye, mistress,” Old Firren said, carefully spat into the basin of bloody water, grinned at Merrik, and shuffled out of the chamber.
“What story did you tell everyone?”
“Don’t try to distract me, Merrik. You got yourself attacked, didn’t you? You had a plan, I knew it from the way you were acting—all nonchalant, laughing overmuch, looking at me as if touching me would make me vomit. I won’t have it, Merrik. I told them a story about a high lord of Egypt who sold his wife into slavery to an Arab trader from the Bulgar. He had a dozen other wives, you see, so one wouldn’t be much of a loss to him, and he needed the silver she would bring him. Now, I will ask Helga to give you a potion so that you won’t sicken. Perhaps she has something for the pain as well.”
He just stared at her, his expression bemused, saying nothing as she walked from the chamber.
He awoke to see Helga sitting beside him. She was staring at him, her eyes hot. He wanted to tell her that she was the last woman on earth he would willingly touch, but caught himself in time. He tried to smile at her, an effort he hoped she appreciated.
“You are awake,” she said, and touched her fingertips to his face, caressing his cheek, his jaw. “I have looked at your arm. It is clean. I have made a potion for you. Here, let me help you.”
He drank slowly until all the potion was gone. It tasted sweet, and that surprised him.
“In a few moments you will feel no more pain.”
“Where is Laren?”
“The poor child is with Rollo. He can’t seem to let her out of his sight, the silly old man. You will rule shortly, Lord Merrik, doubt it not. Is there more pain?”
He shook his head. “What did you give me?”
She shrugged, her hand now stroking over his throat. “Ah, a bit of sweet basil, some barley water, hemlock—”
He sucked in his breath, and she added easily, “Just a bit on the end of my finger. Scarce enough to kill a fly, but not a man like you, Merrik. Other things whose names you don’t know. Ah, and a dollop of honey to make it taste good.”
“I feel no pain now,” he said, and was surprised.
“Good,” she said and leaned over him. She kissed him, her mouth soft, her breath sweet and warm. He felt her tongue gently pressing against his closed mouth, and he allowed her entrance. He responded to her, knowing there was no choice really.
The man had said that Rollo had wanted him dead.
He brought up his good arm and pulled her closer. Her breasts were full and very soft against his chest.
Why would Rollo want him dead? Surely the man lied. Aye, he lied, and Merrik was back to having nothing, and thus he continued kissing Helga, letting her do as she wished with him. When her hand smoothed down his belly to touch him, he stayed her hand. “Nay, my wife. I know not where she is. She is Rollo’s niece. I am her husband and one of Rollo’s heirs. Is it true that William Longsword is a paltry young man?”
“I have always believed so, but then I also believed that Laren and Taby were dead. I have been wrong about many things. If William has his father’s wretched longevity, why then, he won’t die until the next century.”
She kissed him again, her tongue warm and searching in his mouth.