“How did she die?” Laren said.
“I do not know,” Rollo said. “There is no blood. Her face is without pain, without struggle. Helga came to visit her early this morning and found her thusly. The guards said she hadn’t tried to leave the chamber. Cardle left late last night. They had no reason to stop him.”
“Bury her,” Hallad said suddenly. “Leave her be and bury her now, this morning.”
Rollo slowly nodded.
“What of Cardle?” Helga said. “He killed her, he did it. What will you do, Uncle Rollo?”
“I will tell you soon,” Rollo said. “Aye, I will tell you soon.”
26
TABY WAS SITTING on the
bench next to Cleve, tying a knot under his direction. There was sudden loud commotion from outside the longhouse. Taby raised his head like a young animal trained to the sound.
“Is it Laren?”
“Let us see,” Cleve said and took the boy’s hand. But he couldn’t keep up. Taby scampered away with Kenna and both boys bounded through the now wide palisade gates, through the fields now flat and dull, their barley and rye harvested, past the slaves who were mending the palisade walls with tight cord, wet and then dried three times over for added strength, and down the path to the fjord.
Taby saw Merrik, shouted at the top of his voice, and hurled himself at him. Merrik, laughing, caught the child in time and threw him high into the air, then caught him and held him tightly against his chest. Laren watched from behind him, saw him close his eyes as he buried his face against Taby’s hair. She felt the familiar bittersweet longing as she watched. Then Taby raised his head, kissed Merrik’s cheek, a loud smacking kiss that made him laugh, then saw his sister.
“Laren!” he shrieked. She was then the one to have his child’s arms around her neck, his wet kisses on her face.
“You are like a puppy, Taby,” she said, knowing tears were in her eyes and trying to swallow them back. “Stop wriggling so. Soon you will be licking my face like that massive beast Kerzog. Will you grow as big as that monster?”
The child laughed at that. All was as it should be.
“I have something to tell you,” she said to Taby and set him on the ground. “Our father is alive. Hallad came back here with us.”
The child grew very still, his eyes wary. “No, no, Laren. I don’t remember my father, Laren. Merrik is my father.”
“Oh no, sweeting. Merrik is your brother. Do you not remember? No, here is your father and my father as well.”
Hallad hung back, staring at the little boy who looked up at him, his expression suspicious.
“You are nearly six now, Taby,” Hallad said, then wondered where that had come from. He hadn’t seen his son since he was a babe. Now a little boy stood in front of him, a sturdy little boy who looked just like him when he’d been young. He watched the boy take a step back and stop when he hit Merrik’s legs.
He saw Merrik’s hand come down to the boy’s shoulder and gently squeeze. He saw Merrik come down to his knees and look at Taby, all the love he felt shining in eyes the brilliant blue of the autumn sky. Merrik said, “Your father lives and I have brought him back with me. What happened to him is better than any tale Laren can weave in her skald’s voice. Aye, and he will tell you about such things as he has seen when you return with him to Normandy. Come now, Taby, and greet your father.”
Hallad saw the pain in Merrik’s eyes when he gently placed Taby’s small hand into his. “This is your father. Bid him welcome.”
“I welcome you to Malverne, sir.”
Merrik shook his head and laughed. “He is a stubborn little mite and loyal to his finger bones. Come, Hallad, let us go inside and have some of Sarla’s fine ale.” He lifted Taby onto his shoulder and marched up the path, back through the fields scythed flat of their crops.
It was difficult for Hallad, Laren knew it. It was difficult for her as well, and Taby was her brother. She watched her father try to remain impassive, a smile on his face, but his little son was curled into a ball against Merrik’s chest, sound asleep, his small fisted hand clutching Merrik’s tunic.
“They love each other very much,” she said to her father. “It is very odd really. As you know, this fat merchant, Thrasco, had bought me, and they’d pulled me away from Taby. Merrik saw Taby and wanted him. It is that simple and it goes that deep.”
“You were both very lucky,” Hallad said. “The woman, Sarla, she is comely, very comely. And so very gentle. You told me she was married to Merrik’s brother, the former master of this farmstead?”
Laren nodded. “He was killed. His former skald, a jealous man named Deglin, killed him and tried to blame me, for he wanted me gone. Many believed that I did it, for Erik wanted to bed me. I did not like Erik, for he was cruel toward his wife and arrogant in his actions, but to die because Deglin wanted me blamed, it is horrible.”
“What will become of Sarla?”
Laren smiled as she sipped her cup of sweet mead.