Lord of Falcon Ridge (18 page)

“I'll stay with her. He won't do those things again.”

The queen looked at her. “Don't kill him openly, else I couldn't save you.”

“I won't. But Ragnor is another matter.”

“He has always been another matter,” Turella said, and rose from the stone bench. “His father took him away from me when he was born, I told you that, and it quite ruined
him. Now, Kerek, take her to the king and stay even if the king orders you to leave. I can't trust her to tell me the truth.”

Kerek said to her as they walked down the narrow passage to the king's chamber, “Please, Princess, you must begin your monthly flow.”

She just laughed. “Oh no, Kerek, I very much want Cleve's babe. It will be a boy, I know it. My stepmother has four sons. She always said that boy babes made her puke up her guts. I've not been feeling very well.”

Kerek stopped in the hallway and stared down at her. “Perhaps Turella is right. Perhaps we should send you to the Saxon court.”

She just laughed. “All you have to do is send me back to Hawkfell Island.”

Kerek just sighed. “There is so much to think about. I cannot allow you to ruin my plans. They're good plans. They encompass the future. They cover all possibilities save your character, Princess. It's your character that brings chaos to my plans.”

“Good,” Chessa said.

 

 

Hawkfell Island

 

 

Cleve kissed his daughter's nose, gave her another bite of roasted sea bass, one of Entti's specialties, and said, “Just keep eating. I'm leaving tomorrow for the Danelaw, and no, you're not coming with me. If you stop eating this time, you just might starve to death and both your first papa and your second papa will be forced to stretch out on each side of your skinny little dead body and die themselves. Do you want that?”

“No, Papa.”

“Good. Then eat and keep eating. Keep talking to your aunts and uncles so they won't worry. Keep playing. Keep learning how to weave from Erna. She's very good and kind. If Gunleik whittles you another knife, take it and
thank him sincerely. I'll return when I can. I don't know the number of days. Can you just believe that I'll return with Chessa?”

“It's hard, Papa. You won't leave her in the Danelaw, will you? Even if she makes you very angry?”

“Nay, I promise to bring her home, then I'll spew curses at her head.”

Kiri chewed the sea bass, licked the oil from the tartar leaves, and smiled. She nodded.

“Now, here's your aunt Mirana and aunt Laren. Promise me again in front of them.”

“I promise,” Kiri said, giving each of her aunts a small smile, “to eat and not to be dead when papa returns with my second papa. But I still would like some sticks to count, Papa.”

He tossed her into the air as he groaned. “No sticks. Eat, sweeting.”

 

 

York, capital of the Danelaw

the king's palace

One week later

 

 

Chessa chewed on an apple. It was more sour than not, and crisp, just as she liked it. Ragnor was sitting in a chair, trying desperately to play the small harp with emotion. He was singing a romantic poem the court skald, Baric, had taught him. It rhymed but Ragnor couldn't seem to make the rhyme fit the music.

Chessa picked up another apple and took a bite. She'd eaten nothing today since she'd been forced to be in the king's presence at both meals. He both frightened and repelled her, a combination that took away her appetite. He'd told her that he'd bed her if Ragnor didn't please her and make her scream with pleasure. Then, he said, if she pleased him sufficiently, he would allow her to chew his food for him.

She shuddered now thinking about it. Finally, Ragnor
looked up at her, his expression both pained and defiant. “Did you like it?”

“Oh, yes. I love music. Your display of ardor moved me, Ragnor. I've asked Baric to teach me lullabies to sing to Cleve's babe when he's born.”

Ragnor raised the harp at her, cursed, then threw it to the floor and stomped on it. Each stomp made her smile. “Damn you,” he yelled, “you will be quiet. You will not have his babe, Chessa, I forbid it. That damned Cleve. I should have killed him. I should have known that he would seduce you, the damned bastard, just to thwart me. He lied about marrying you to William of Normandy. He just wanted to have you for himself.”

“He was relieved that I wasn't pregnant with your babe,” she said, and took another bite of her apple. “He was pleased that I was a virgin. He lost his head when he discovered that he was the first. Then he just couldn't stop. The act was quite nice, at least with him.”

“My father isn't pleased. You shouldn't have just spat it out at him the way you did and all because he said he'd like to bed you and make you scream. He would have forgotten. He even forgets he's angry at me now. But you had to anger him, didn't you? He was so furious he forgot to have the concubine that stands on his left hand taste every bite he wanted. He could have died from poison.”

“Perhaps,” Chessa said, “I could bribe the concubine who stands at his left hand.”

“Stop that, you evil witch. You try to anger me now. You do it apurpose. My mother warned me that it was your way. She told me not to let you arouse my ire, that you never meant what you said, it was all a ploy. My mother is very smart, but you make it difficult to do as she directs.”

“I agree,” Chessa said. “She is very smart.”

“Ah, here's Baric, here to ask you how you liked my singing and playing. You will tell him that you felt it in your soul, if you have one, or I'll beat you.”

Baric was very short and thin. He had a lush dark brown beard that grew nearly to his waist. But he was completely
bald. But he was kind and had merry, intelligent eyes. Chessa liked him and guessed he enjoyed watching Ragnor gnash his teeth. At his side was a woman, a very tall woman, whose head was bowed. She was carrying Baric's prized harp. She wore white mittens on her hands and her hair was covered with the hood of her tunic.

Ragnor eyed her as he did every female. “Who is this, Baric? She's twice your size. Do you like to climb her as a man would a mountain?”

“Aye, my lord. Her size gives me great pleasure as well as protection. She's a hardy wench and strong. Her name is Isla and she comes from Iceland. I sang to her in the market and she swooned. Now she is mine and gives me all her loyalty. Such, my lord, is the power of music.”

Ragnor cursed.

“Have you given the princess pleasure, my lord, with your sweet verses?”

“I always gain pleasure in Ragnor's company,” Chessa said, and chewed on her thumbnail. “Who could not?”

“I did mean with his music, Princess.”

“Ah, that is another matter. He sought such perfection, Baric, that when he didn't achieve it, he stomped the harp into the ground.”

Baric looked at the destroyed harp and blinked back tears. But he did manage to keep his mouth shut. He mumbled something and picked at his huge beard.

The woman raised her face. She was beautiful. She was also painted like a harlot. Her brows were black with kohl, her one eye lined so heavily with it that it was difficult to gauge her expression. Ah, and the other eye was covered with a patch of white linen. The uncovered one was blue. Her lips were vermilion and looked wet. Her cheeks were dead white, painted thickly from ground cornstarch and panza root, mixed into a paste. Chessa blinked at her. Her face must weigh as much as the armlets Ragnor was wearing, heavy silver, coiled in the shape of snakes.

Ragnor blinked as well, only his blink was assessing and excited. “Isla,” he said, leering at her. Chessa had seen
him once practicing that look when he saw his reflection in a metal shield one of the soldiers was holding.

The woman breathed his name, “My lord Ragnor. I've waited long to see you. Baric tells me you play brilliantly. I wish to hear you sing. Ah, but your poor harp. Did the bitch break it? And you're so noble, you protect her?”

The bitch.
Chessa eyed the woman more closely. This was interesting.

“Isla,” Baric said, shaking her arm. “This is a princess, not a bitch.”

“She is what she is,” Isla said. “It was another miserable princess who wounded my poor right eye and thus I have to wear this patch. It makes me look interesting and mysterious, but still I would like the use of both my eyes. This princess is a bitch. I know it.”

The bitch.
Ragnor nearly burst with pleasure. This Isla was smart and big and he liked big women, at least he did now that he'd seen her and heard her insult Chessa. He also liked that patch over her right eye. He wondered what the eye looked like without the patch.

“What were you doing in the market when Baric came upon you?” Chessa said.

The woman shrugged, not looking at Chessa, her one good eye still trained on Ragnor. “I make the finest mead in all of York. I was selling it in the market when Baric came to have a cup to rest his throat. He drank it and swooned. He begged me to stay with him. I like a man with a lot of hair, particularly a thick beard and handfuls of it on his back. That his head is naked bothers me not at all.”

“Thus,” Baric said, running his long slender fingers through his beard, “I sing to her and she makes me mead and threads her fingers through the hair on my back.”

“Mead,” Ragnor said, his eyes lighting with hope. “Does she really make it well?”

“She is an angel,” Baric said. “Now, my lord, I have come to teach you another love poem.”

Ragnor said, “I haven't any hair on my back. Will that make her dislike me?”

“Nay, my lord. Once you sing for her, she will love you for yourself.”

Chessa thought she'd gag. She said in a loud voice, “The babe is making me ill. I think I shall go vomit.”

Ragnor was looking at Isla with the hunger of a starving man. He said to Baric, “Aye, teach me a love poem and I will recite it to Isla. For practice.”

“Your sweet voice will tire, my lord,” Isla said. “Allow me to bring you some of my special mead to soothe you whilst you sing to me. For practice.”

Chessa walked quickly from the chamber, ran up against a guard who awaited her just outside. He grabbed her arms to keep her upright.

Suddenly, she heard Ragnor yell from the inside of the chamber, “Begin your monthly flow, Chessa, damn you.”

She heard Isla laugh. “Her monthly flow, my lord? What is this?”

 

 

T
HE CHAMBER WAS
dark. Chessa was alone. She was more worried than frightened. She knew she wouldn't marry Ragnor and there was no way the queen would force her to. But she didn't want to wait until the last minute to see what the queen would try. She knew she had to think of something. She sparred daily with Turella, insulted Ragnor until his eyes were crossed, and tried to avoid the king. Olric no longer terrified her, but he was unpredictable and he could lash out before Turella could control him. Kerek was an immovable rock, always there standing in her path, but she didn't fear him at all. What was she to do now?

Just two hours before, at the evening meal, at least two dozen of the king's nobles dined with them. Baric played his harp and sang, his woman Isla beside him. Slaves served heaped platters of roasted boar, broiled pheasant, and at least four different kinds of fish. There was more sweet wine and ale than Chessa had ever seen, and most of it was being steadily poured down all the gullets present. Men and women alike ate like stoats and drank until they were laughing at nothing at all, giving insults without anger, cheering Baric even when he wasn't singing. The woman Isla was given leers and drunken suggestions from most of the men until surely even she must be horrified. But she hadn't
looked it. She just sat there, a besotted look on her face, as she stared at Baric.

After the slaves had cleared away the food, the king looked at all of their drink-flushed faces and said, “You have met Princess Chessa of Ireland. She will wed with Ragnor in three days. She is already carrying his babe, so an heir is assured.”

Chessa had nearly fainted.

Ragnor had nearly fainted as well. She heard him say to Kerek, “Damn you, it's all your fault. I didn't want her, I wanted Utta. But now I want Isla. Her mead is as tasty as Utta's—she let me drink out of her own goatskin—and she wants me. Did you see how she smiled at me? How she spoke to me? Baric even commented on it. She doesn't care that I don't have hair on my back, that I haven't a lush long beard. I hate it that all the men here want her as well. Many of them are as hairy as Baric. Chessa won't make me mead. She won't even drink mead with me. She won't even try to make me happy.”

The king didn't care that she was pregnant with another man's child. Surely Turella hadn't lied and told the king that it was Ragnor's child she was carrying. Surely she couldn't have done that. On the other hand the king had sounded so certain, so pleased when he'd announced that she was carrying Ragnor's babe. It made her dizzy to try to figure out and keep straight in her own mind everyone and his own set notions. She had to think of something. And she did. She could think of nothing else. She rose slowly, aware that Kerek was nearly choking with fear, pulling at her gown, saying over and over, “No, Princess, keep your mouth shut this time. Please, it isn't wise to go against the king in front of his nobles. Listen to me, sit down, and smile. Drink mead with Ragnor, it will please him.”

She sat down, lowering her head as the nobles began cheering, then yelling lewd advice to Ragnor, who looked quite pleased with himself, despite what he'd just said about not wanting her.

“This isn't the end of it, Kerek,” she said quietly. “I won't wed that ass.”

“As you will, Princess,” and she knew he didn't begin to believe her. He was just humoring her. He had ultimate faith in Turella. Truth be told, so did she.

“Did you and Turella lie to the king about the babe or doesn't he care that I carry another man's child?”

Kerek, curse him, just shrugged.

What was she going to do? Whatever it was, she must move quickly. Three days. She found herself wondering if any prince or any king would care if she'd been impregnated by a goat.

She pushed herself more deeply into the woolen blankets. Suddenly she heard a sound. Was it Ingurd to see if she wished anything more? She didn't move when she heard the door quietly open. Was it one of the guards? Surely the queen hadn't dismissed them. Was the queen ready to force her hand? It was too soon for Turella to act, surely.

There was a sliver of light, then it quickly disappeared as the door closed again. She pulled the knife from its wrapping beneath her pillow. She rather hoped it was Ragnor, here to rape her. Just let the little worm try.

She held the knife easily. Her fingers were steady and dry. She was ready.

“Did you begin your monthly flow?”

The words were softly spoken, mocking, and she knew it was the woman Isla.

“No, and I don't intend to either, not that it makes any difference to anybody. I'll just wager that even William of Normandy wouldn't care either. I thought men wanted purity in their brides. It makes no sense.”

“Men are strange creatures,” Isla agreed and sat beside her on the edge of the box bed. “I wish I could see you, but I won't light the lamp, it's too dangerous. The guards outside are dozing, but not fully asleep yet.”

“What do you want?”

“First I want to know if it's true. Are you pregnant with another man's child?”

“Is that what Ragnor bleated to you and Baric after I left you?”

“Aye. He is furious. He said you tried this trick before and thus he didn't want to believe you this time. He said though that Kerek was certain and thus it had to be true. Who is the man this time?”

Chessa sighed. Certainly this was strange to be speaking in her dark chamber to a woman she'd met only today, a woman who called her a bitch, a woman who was obviously teasing Ragnor, for what reason she couldn't imagine. “His name is Cleve. He is a beautiful man, a brave warrior, the only man I want to have for the rest of my life. He's sometimes very difficult, but there is a richness deep inside him. He doesn't yet realize he needs me, but he will. He believed he loved before and the woman betrayed him. I would never betray him and he will come to believe me. He believes himself ugly, hideous even, but he's blind to himself. I will make him laugh until I die. I don't know where he is now, but I pray he's safe.”

“He bedded you?”

“No, but I told everyone it was he.”

“Your reasoning is pathetic. Listen, you little fool, who do you think I am?”

“You're a painted harlot Baric found in the market. I hope you will seduce Ragnor so he'll keep away from me, although I can't imagine why you'd want to. He's even begun trying to woo me now, doubtless on orders from his mother. Perhaps even orders from his father as well. I never know what Olric will do. When you and Baric came in today, he'd just sung me a romantic song and was demanding praise. He is such a worm.”

“Why wouldn't you want to be the future queen of the Danelaw? You're a princess, after all, despite the fact you're really not, but it doesn't matter. I paint my face and make mead, but you, Princess, you can do anything you please, have any man, any prince you wish. Why are you so stubborn about this Cleve?”

“I love him. Perhaps someday he will come to believe
it. But that can't be important to you, Isla. What I please is to leave this place. The king is a strange man, his moods dance about, the queen has been a prisoner for twenty-one years but she isn't a prisoner at all, she rules here, and poor Ragnor is a pawn between the two of them. Now the king thinks I can be forced to marry Ragnor. Actually, he knows that the queen will see to it. All he has to do is belch and drink and fondle his concubines, who are thankfully mute, else they'd be screaming when he touched them. I don't suppose you would lend me your paint pot so I can look like a harlot and leave here?”

Isla laughed. “Perhaps if you paid me enough silver I would try to help you, but you haven't even a valuable armlet, do you? No, I didn't think so. Tell me about Kerek. What is his position here?”

“He worships the queen. He would do anything she asked of him. The king trusts him as well. That's why I'm here. Kerek got this idea that I, a simple woman, was the one to save the Danelaw from the Saxons. He's set on this course. It's utterly ridiculous.”

“I agree. As you said, you're just a simple woman. Mayhap you're even more of a simple woman than anyone even realizes.”

“Aye, I said that, but I didn't think you'd agree with me so eagerly. I'm not all that simple. I'm not less than simple. Perhaps Kerek is right. Perhaps I am some sort of warrior goddess. I could ride in a chariot as that British queen probably did and men should shout how wonderful I was and they would follow me and—”

“Be quiet. I'm going to puke. You're just a girl, nothing more. I doubt you could save a hair comb. Men follow you? It's beyond ridiculous.”

She punched Isla in the arm.

Isla grunted. “What do you plan to do? Nay, don't hit me again. It's an innocent question.”

Chessa sighed. She was lying here in the dark speaking to this painted harlot, and yet, she had no one else to speak to. She said slowly, “I suppose I will remain pregnant for
a while, until I can escape. My problem is I don't know where to escape to. Hawkfell Island is a long way away from York. Even if I had silver to pay you, where would you take me? The queen thought I should be sent to the Saxon court and cause chaos there.”

Isla laughed. “I should go console the queen. She's quite right. Wherever you go you bring confusion and trouble. Men grind their teeth at your mischief. They want to strangle you because you dance around them, making up one tale after another, leaving them confused and crazed. You refuse to consider anyone else save yourself. You don't honor your father's wishes. You take it into your silly head that you want only one certain man. You say he has a richness deep inside him. You don't even know what that means. You don't even know this man, not really. You're just like Kerzog who won't let go of a stick. You just dig in your heels and hang on.

“Another thing. This man Cleve is ugly. He's not blind to himself. And what does that mean? That sounds like that deep richness nonsense. The scar on his face makes him look like a devil. It's true, it's you who are the blind one. You refuse to see him clearly because you're so damned obstinate. He has nothing. He doesn't want a wife because he should have had one once before, but by all the gods, that was a disaster. He doesn't need more disasters in his life. He doesn't need a woman who's very nature creates havoc.”

“How dare you, Isla.” She came up on her elbows, ready to battle. “Now listen here, I don't create havoc. I may try to change things, but at least I don't wear enough paint on my face so my head is bowed to my knees. Wait a minute, how do you know all this? How do you know of Kerzog? How do you know about Cleve? Oh, goodness, who are you really?”

“Why, who do you think, Princess? I'm the man who seduced you and impregnated you.”

“Cleve?”

“Aye.”

“Oh, I prayed you'd come,” she said, and threw herself against him. “You're here, at last. I've missed you, Cleve.” She hugged him tighter. He sucked in his breath in pain.

“What's wrong? Oh, I'm sorry.”

“You stuck your knife into me. I'm here to save you and you stab me. Keep away from me.”

“I didn't mean to.” She was frantically trying to find where she'd stuck him, but he slapped her hands away.

“No, don't touch me, you might smear the paint on my face. Put that damned knife down and lie back.”

She slipped the knife beneath her pillow again. Her heart was pounding. She'd never been so happy, so utterly relieved. Everything would be all right now, she knew it. Cleve was here. Surely what she'd said had to touch him. At least he should think about her words, shouldn't he? She said, “You don't mind that I'm to bear your child, do you?”

“Not at all. If my seed can be of use to you, why then, drain me of as much as you like.”

“I had to do something. Tonight the king announced that I'm to wed Ragnor.”

“I know. I was there. I was relieved when you showed the good sense to keep your mouth shut when he did make his announcement.”

“I nearly didn't, but Kerek told me to.”

“And if Kerek hadn't stopped you, what would you have announced?”