Lord of Raven's Peak (Viking Era 3)

Laren said slowly, incredulously, “You, Sarla? You struck Cleve?”

Sarla said nothing, just shook her head.

“But why? I don’t understand. He loved you. I saw it in his eyes before we left to journey to Normandy. And you were coming to care for him as well, were you not?” Laren stopped. She looked wildly at Merrik as she whispered, “Erik? She killed Erik as well?”

“Aye, she did. I suppose she killed him because he was betraying her yet again, this time with you. I suppose she killed him, too, because she wanted Cleve.”

“I saved Laren from dishonor. Surely you will acquit me, for I saved her.”

“That was a consequence, surely,” Merrik said, “but do not make yourself into a heroine, Sarla, for the truth does not fit itself to you. Why did you try to kill Cleve?”

His voice was low, filled with pain. “Tell him, Sarla. Tell him the truth or I will.”

“Oh, Cleve, you are back again.” Laren whirled about to hover over him, protecting him now, Merrik saw, for she was standing between him and Sarla.

“Be qui

et, you fool! You are a liar, say nothing!”

Cleve said quietly, “Move away from me, Laren. She will not strike me again. Merrik, she carries my child in her womb, and, aye, we were to wed upon your return. Only you brought Hallad back with you. He looked at gentle, kind Sarla and wanted her. Sarla wanted to wed with him then, for he is rich and powerful. She would have power and jewels and slaves. What am I? Nothing at all, at least to her now. Thus she had to convince Hallad that it was his child she carries. I told her I wouldn’t betray her, I swore to her that I loved her, but I would not give up my son to another man, a son he would believe was his. She struck me down.” He’d never taken his beautiful eyes off Sarla. “You have lost your beauty, Sarla. It is odd but true. Your beauty was in your sweetness, your gentleness, but now you are showing to the world what you were on the inside for a long time. I remember when you claimed before all that you had killed Erik, but no one believed you, did they? They all believed that you were protecting Laren, protecting me.”

Merrik stared at her, a woman he’d grown so very close to, or at least he thought he had, a woman he would have sworn to the very gods themselves was pure and honest and good. He said slowly, “Did you kill Deglin as well?”

“I will say nothing more,” Sarla said.

“I always wondered about that,” Merrik continued. “How did Deglin get loose? Why didn’t he try to escape? Where did he find that knife? The blacksmith simply accepted that the knife must have been in his hut, left by one of the men, waiting to be repaired. But it wasn’t. You fetched it and you killed Deglin. You took no chances, Sarla, none at all.”

Sarla straightened to her full height and said to Merrik, her voice proud and tight, “I wish to return to my parents’ farmstead. I wish to leave very soon. This man is lying. His jealousy of Hallad has twisted him. He is pathetic with his scarred face. How could any woman love such an ugly man, a man who was nothing more than a slave? He is lying, about everything. I spurned him and now he wishes to destroy me. I wish to leave this place.”

Cleve forced himself up onto his elbows. “You will bear my child, and then you can leave. What say you, Merrik?”

“It is not your child!” she shrieked at him. “It is Erik’s! If it is a son, he will be the heir to Malverne!”

Cleve just shook his head. “I am sorry, Sarla, but it is my babe. I will swear that your woman’s flow occurred after Erik’s death.”

“Liar!”

“But he isn’t, is he?” Merrik said. He bowed his head and was silent for many moments. When he spoke again, he said, “I am glad you survived, Cleve. I am very sorry for all this.”

Epilogue

IT WAS TWO days after the winter solstice. A blizzard raged outside the longhouse. Inside, it was warm, the air thick with smoke, the smell of broiling venison steaks, and the ripening smell of the two goats and two cows. The horses were, thankfully, safe from the storm in the end of the stable, plenty of hay piled in the troughs for them.

Laren occasionally looked up from her needlework to see Merrik still speaking to the messenger from Rollo. The tunic was nearly done and he would look splendid in it, for the blue was darker this time, but just one shade darker than the beautiful blue of his eyes. It would be the third tunic she’d sewn him of varying shades of blue. Their people were beginning to notice and to hurl jests at him. Merrik just laughed and shook his head.

The child moved suddenly within her and she jumped and smiled, her hand going automatically to her growing belly.

Merrik came to her then, dropping to his knees beside her chair. He began to caress her belly. “I saw you jump and then smile. My babe moves?”

“Aye, your babe moves. Has the messenger told you more of anything?”

“Cardle is in Britain, at the Wessex king’s court. Rollo decided not to have him killed. He said that after all those years with Ferlain, he deserved to think about his Saxon kings and his Greeks in peace.”

“That is good.”

“Also, Cardle sent Rollo a message that he planned to spread tales of Rollo’s greatness throughout Britain. Perhaps this is one reason your uncle decided to let him live. Also, your father has wedded a girl your age. He says that he is getting no younger, therefore his haste in wedding again. She is a daughter from one of the men of King Charles’s court. Aye, you’ve the right of it, I can see it in your eyes. His wife—your stepmother—is already pregnant.” He looked over at Sarla as he spoke. Once she birthed her babe, he would send her back to her parents’ farmstead. He’d said naught of her actions to anyone, nor had Laren or Cleve. If any of them had told what she’d done, doubtless one of Erik’s men would have killed her. As it was, all treated her as they always had, even Cleve. But it was his child he guarded, Sarla knew it, but no one else did. All wondered why they didn’t wed since she was carrying Cleve’s child. All finally came to believe that she didn’t wish it because Cleve, after all, had been a slave. No one, however, was brave enough to ask.

Laren, unaware of her husband’s thoughts, laughed at the news, she couldn’t help it. “My father,” she said helplessly, and shook her head. “And now he does it again. What is my new stepmother’s name?”