Lord of Raven's Peak (Viking Era 3)

Hallad just stared at her. Slowly, he raised a cup of ale to his mouth and drank deep.

“I could be wrong, for when we returned they seemed somehow distant. I don’t know. He is a good man, Father, and he was there with me in Kiev. He tried to save me at the risk of his own life.”

“This man is naught but a slave, or at least he used to be. Sarla is so wondrous kind she feels pity for him, nothing more, just as she would for any of the people here at Malverne. Perhaps if he recovers he will come back to Normandy with us.”

She cocked her head to one side in question. “Us?”

“Of course I mean Taby and me,” he said, but Laren didn’t trust that tone of voice she’d heard men use before. It was false in its sincerity, gentle in its sarcasm. Ah, yes, his voice was smug, that was it.

“Laren!”

She turned to see her husband striding toward her. In his hand was a rock. When he thrust it at her, she saw the dried blood on it. “Cleve didn’t fall by accident. Someone struck his head with this rock and shoved him over the edge. Here is the proof of it.”

“Just as Deglin struck Erik,” Laren said and shivered. “I don’t like this, Merrik. It means there is another at work here, since Deglin is dead.”

“Nor do I like it. I had to know if Cleve had simply lost his footing. I searched and searched, Oleg and Roran with me. Roran found the rock thrown behind a bush halfway down the path. But this time, the man who struck down Cleve wanted us to believe that it was an accident.”

For the first time in many days, Laren ran from the longhouse and vomited. As Merrik held her head, stroking back her hair from her forehead, she knew it wasn’t from the babe in her womb. No, it was from fear. She was very afraid.

Taby had changed, utterly. He was no longer happy and carefree. Now he was silent, sullen, wary of anyone who spoke to him. He even avoided Merrik. He looked drawn and thin. In just a day, he had lost the glow of health from his small face. He refused to leave Cleve. Finally, Merrik pulled the boy into his arms and hauled him out of the small sleeping chamber. He carried the kicking little boy out of the longhouse. He didn’t say a word until they were well beyond the palisade wall. He eased Taby down, then held him down as he sat beside him on a huge smooth boulder. “When I was your age,” he said easily, “I would come here and think. If my father had cuffed me for some wrongdoing or I had hurt someone, or I was just uncertain about anything, I would come here to think and to ponder. It is a good place, Taby.” He said nothing more, merely held Taby’s hand so he couldn’t run away.

“Your father is distressed because you avoid him,” Merrik said at last, not looking at the child, but speaking calmly as he gazed out over the fjord. “He believed you dead for two very long years. Then he found you again and now you avoid him. It is very strange and he does not understand.

“However, I believe I do understand, for you are closer to me than to anyone else. I have thought about this. You saw who hit Cleve with the rock. You saw who shoved him over the side of the cliff. This is why you refuse to leave Cleve, because you fear the man will come again and try to kill him. You are a brave boy, Taby. I love you deeply and I want to help you. But you must tell me the truth for I cannot begin to guess who this man is. Do you also realize that it could be the same man who killed Erik? That Deglin was innocent of his murder?”

“It wasn’t a man.”

Merrik jerked at the small voice, thin and liquid with fear and dread.

Merrik waited. He could do nothing more.

“She said she would kill Laren if I said anything. She said Laren was a fool and didn’t deserve to be mistress here at Malverne. She said life had not dealt fairly with her, not until my father came. She said that was why she had to act. She said after she killed Laren, she would kill you. I couldn’t say anything, Merrik, I couldn’t.”

It was so very clear then, so very clear. Merrik said quietly, “Sarla.”

Taby shuddered and pressed against Merrik’s side. “She will kill Laren. She will kill Cleve, for he is helpless, Merrik. He is helpless; he has not regained his wits. I must go back to him. You will take care of Laren.”

“Aye, I will, and I will take care of Cleve as well. Come, Taby. We will return now.”

“I am afraid, Merrik.”

Merrik smiled down at him. “For once, I am not afraid.”

He told Taby to remain with his father. “Aye, you have done the right thing. Now it is my turn. Stay here, Taby. Soon Laren and I will come to you.”

He heard Laren’s jubilant voice as he neared Cleve’s small sleeping chamber. “He is awake, Sarla! Thank the gods, Cleve is finally awake. Now we can learn what happened.”

Merrik slowly drew back the thin bearskin pelt from the doorway. He saw Laren leaning over Cleve, a smile on her face. He saw Sarla standing behind her and now she was lifting a heavy oil lamp from the floor.

“Do not even think to do it, Sarla,” he said very quietly. “Put the lamp down.”

Sarla whirled around to face him. “No,” she said. “No, Merrik, you misunderstand.”

Laren turned. “Cleve is going to be all right, Merrik. Come and speak to him. Now we will learn what happened.”

“I know what happened, Laren. But not all of it. Sarla will tell us all of it, will you not, sister-in-law?”

Laren straightened very slowly. She studied Sarla’s pale face, her dulled eyes. But Sarla shook her head, saying again, “You do not understand, Merrik. It is not what you believe. Cleve, ah, it was an accident, I swear it.”