Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

“Both of them would. Then they’d kick him and stick a knife in his soft belly.”

Aslak yelled, “By the gods, Rorik, here comes a fleet of ships. Who can it be? Outlaws? Viking raiders?” Rorik wasted no time. He yelled out to his men to arm themselves. In but a moment the men had dashed up the path to the longhouse to get their swords, shields, arrows, and axes. They were ready for battle within minutes.

“At least we have seventeen more men to fight with us,” Rorik said, looking at Ragnor’s men, standing close with his own men.

“No need,” said Hafter. “Look, Aslak is waving to the lead warship. Its stem is the Malverne dragon. It’s Lord Merrik come to visit us.”

“I wonder,” Rorik said slowly, “if Cleve is with him. By the gods, does he have a surprise awaiting him if he is with him.”

Cleve saw her immediately. He stood in the entrance of the palisade gates and just stared at her. He shook his head. He’d heard the incredible tale the men had told him as they’d climbed the path to the palisade atop Hawkfell Island. But still he hadn’t believed it. There was no escape to plan, no rescue to save an innocent young girl from the miserable likes of Ragnor of York. He supposed he was both relieved and disappointed. He supposed he’d wanted to prove himself. He frowned. Prove himself to whom? Certainly not to her. Damnation. He didn’t believe this. She was here and she was staring at him as hard as he was staring at her.

She was here and she was safe. Now she was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe he was really there. He saw her shake her head once, then again, then look at him once more. He saw the recognition in her eyes. Then she was running toward him, her lustrous black hair long down her back, flying out behind her intertwined with scarlet ribbons, glistening beneath the bright morning sunlight. She was calling out his name and laughing. Her arms were stretched toward him. He didn’t move, couldn’t seem to bring himself to move out of her way. He felt the shock of her when she threw herself against him, hugging him tightly. She clasped her arms around her neck and rose on her tiptoes. “Ah, Master Cleve, you’ve come. This isn’t what I expected. The gods aren’t usually so kind to mortals. You’re here. Ah, but I’ve missed you and thought of you endlessly, wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking of me and what you were thinking. I’ve wanted to see you so very much.” She kissed his chin, his cheek, because he quickly turned his face aside so she wouldn’t kiss his mouth, so she wouldn’t kiss the scar by accident. He didn’t think he could bear to see the revulsion on her happy face.

In the next moment, Chessa realized his arms were at his sides. He was standing there like a pillar, not saying a word, not doing anything. Except suffering her. Her arms fell away. She quickly stepped back from him. Her eyes dropped to her sandals. She felt humiliated. And everyone had seen what she’d done. Everyone had seen him reject her. Everyone. The shame of it ate to her soul. Just seeing him like that, so very unexpected, had sent her right at him, joy suffusing her. She was a fool. She didn’t know men, had no idea what they were like, what was in their minds. Aye, she’d been wrong again.

She knew she had to do something. She couldn’t just stand here in front of him like a child scuffing her toes into the dirt. She raised her face. He was pale.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her chin went up. “You surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you. You were a friendly face, nothing more, just someone here for me, someone I knew. No, not that, it’s just that I’ve thought of you so very much, no, I don’t mean that exactly, and—”

“I know,” he said. “Are you all right, Chessa?”

“Aye, I’m fine. I suppose the men told you everything that has happened?”

Cleve nodded. “Not all of it, but enough for now. You can tell me the rest before we leave.”

“What do you mean, leave?”

“To return to Rouen for your wedding to William. We were at Rouen awaiting your arrival for the wedding when we heard that you’d been kidnapped. It seemed the likely man to have done it was Ragnor of York. Thus we were coming after you, to rescue you.”

Chessa nodded, feeling blessedly numb.

Cleve said, his voice deliberate, “Then we were returning you to William.”

She nodded again, feeling nothing at all, thank the gods. “But why did you stop here at Hawkfell Island?”

“Lord Merrik of Malverne and Lord Rorik are brothers. We had planned to stop here. That the storm brought you here as well is something I hadn’t even considered.” He took a step toward her, his voice low. “Chessa, try to understand. I have no choice in this, in little of anything really. I only have choice in my own life and even now my own future hangs in the balance.”

She said nothing, but she wondered what he meant. He had no choice in anything? Did that mean that he would want her if she weren’t a princess, if she weren’t promised to marry William? She had no idea what was in his mind. He was very smooth. Very closed. “I see,” she said, turned, and walked away.

Rorik, who was standing next to his brother, Merrik, said, “She spoke of Cleve with such enthusiasm before you arrived that I wondered if there was something between them. There is, but it’s all on her side.”

Merrik said, looking at Cleve, who was standing in the same spot, watching Chessa disappear into the longhouse, “You know that Sarla and her treachery made him very suspicious of any woman. By Thor’s hammer, Rorik, Sarla even tried to murder him. She tried to steal away Kiri and hold her for ransom. How would you feel about women were you Cleve?”

“I don’t know,” Rorik said. “As for Cleve I believe he could love her but since he negotiated the marriage contract for Duke Rollo, his honor would make him withdraw from her. It’s odd. She doesn’t seem to see the scar on his face. She called him beautiful, both of face and body. She went on about him endlessly.”

“If Sarla ever saw that hideous scar she didn’t say anything either,” Merrik said.

“Oh, she saw it. It repelled her. She told Ileria that if his body weren’t so well-formed, if he didn’t give her such pleasure, she wouldn’t let him close to her. She said she could forgive his face since he worshipped her so completely, since he made her forget Erik. When Ileria told me that, I wanted to kill Sarla. But Chessa is honest in her feelings, in what she said, in what she believes.”

Merrik cursed quietly.

“You’re right,” his brother said. “Nothing is easy in life.”

“It’s all a damnable mess,” Merrik said.

8

RAGNOR OF YORK eyed Cleve with growing rage. The man was hideous with that white slashing scar from the edge of his eyebrow to nearly his chin, a curved scar that looked like a half moon. He hadn’t heard about that scar. It made him look mean, even vicious. It made him look dangerous. He was built strong and tall as a Viking, his chin was smooth, his hair golden and long, clubbed back in a queue. He was calm and he spoke in a smooth, reasoned way. His eyes were fascinating, it was that simple. They held him, even though he didn’t want them to. One golden eye and one blue eye. Surely the gods had cursed him, surely he was unclean. Ragnor hated him. He wondered if women admired him even more with those strange eyes. Ragnor hated him even more from that moment to the next. He wanted to kill this Cleve, who shouldn’t have come, who shouldn’t have been friends with this peasant, Rorik, who himself crowed like a cock on this stupid pile of rocks he called his island.