Lord of Falcon Ridge (22 page)

“I'm going to the bathing hut,” Cleve said and left them to stare after him. He rubbed his arm as he walked out of the longhouse. He didn't look at his new wife, the wife who'd hounded him since he'd met her, the wife who'd stood firmly against a marriage to either the future king of the Danelaw or to the future Duke of Normandy. It made no sense that she'd always wanted him. Now she had to regret her choice, surely now she didn't want to see him again. Then why was she laughing with Laren? Why did she look so happy?

Chessa was very aware of every movement he'd made since he'd picked up a bowl of Utta's porridge, then quickly set it down again as if it were a bowl of snakes to bite him. She saw the men jest with him, doubtless questioning him about what he'd done the previous night. She smiled. She couldn't wait to kiss him, to touch him again. Then he
turned from them and walked out of the longhouse, never looking back, not even at her. What was wrong with him?

Rorik came up, kissed his wife, then turned to Chessa, a big grin on his handsome face. “So Cleve finally confessed that he'd failed you. The men have berated him unmercifully. Tell me, Chessa, did he truly fall asleep?”

Ah, so that's what it was all about. Chessa looked shyly down at her shoes. In a voice so soft Rorik had to lean down to hear her, she said, “He did finally, just before dawn. I have to admit I was relieved. It was more than I expected. No one told me about how it would be.” She gave Laren and Mirana a reproachful look.

“Relieved he fell asleep?” Rorik said, looking at her closely. “That makes no sense at all. Why the devil would you be relieved?”

“I was so very tired, Rorik,” she said, eyes still on her shoes, her voice very faint now, a thin thread of a sound. “Ah, it's not that I didn't enjoy it, for Cleve is a man who demands passion and knows how to call it forth from a woman.” She shuddered delicately in memory. “But truly, isn't mating five times sufficient for a man? Must he continually want more? Does he never tire?”

Rorik just stared at her. “Five times?”

She nodded, shy as the shyest maiden, eyes still down, mute as the babe in Entti's arms.

Rorik frowned. “Chessa, are you certain you counted correctly? That is, to be five times, it's not just that he comes into, well, never mind that. It's
separate
times with time in between so that, well, it means—” Mirana poked his arm. Rorik shook his head. “By all the gods, you'll be pregnant by the end of the day if he continues as he's begun. Five times? You're sure it was five
separate
times?”

She never looked up, just nodded. Her voice was tiny now in embarrassment. “Very separate. The fifth time was difficult for I was very tired, but Cleve just laughed and kissed me and wouldn't stop. The pleasure he forced upon me, well, it nearly sent me into oblivion. But even then I fell asleep before he did. I have to admit it. I was glad he
was kind enough to let me sleep. He said he fell asleep then? I wondered for he never slowed, never stopped touching me and giving me pleasure.”

Rorik strode off, shaking his head. Mirana looked at Chessa, saw the wicked gleam in her eyes, and began to laugh. “Ah, that was very well done of you. You rival Laren as a skald. My poor husband will now believe he's failed me, Chessa. Actually, I can't wait until tonight. He'll believe he must prove himself. By the gods, all the men will feel as if their manhood has been called into question. Ah, the women will love this. Well done, well done.”

“I thought it was,” Chessa said, grinning like one of Mirana's sons when he'd managed to fool his father. “I believe I'll go to the bathing hut.” She turned. “Is five times more than a man can accomplish in one night?”

“I honestly don't know. I hope to find out tonight. Rorik will do his best now that he knows the new standard. A standard that every man on Hawkfell Island will know before the day is out.
Separate
times. Ah, that was well done.”

When Chessa entered the outer room in the bathing hut Cleve was already dressed. She walked up to him, took his face between her hands and brought his head down to kiss him. “Hello, husband,” she said, and kissed him again. His hair was wet, the thick golden strands brushing his shoulders. He looked so barbaric, so wonderfully alive she never wanted to let him out of her sight.

“I'm going hunting with Merrik and Oleg and the Malverne men,” he said, clasping her wrists and pulling her arms down. “You will help the women dry meat and fish. We will need a lot of food when we leave for Scotland. I wish to leave in four days. I've already spoken to Kiri.”

“All right. I don't know anything about drying meat or fish, but Mirana will show me. Do you have time for another bath, Cleve?”

He felt the hunger in her, felt her absolute acceptance of him, and he felt like garbage tossed in a refuse mound. He'd failed her, left her wanting and not understanding
what it was she'd missed because he'd been such a frantic pig. He had to gather himself together. Even now, after she'd just kissed him, he wanted to fling her down to the pounded earth floor, rip up her gown and come into her. He wouldn't. He couldn't begin to imagine what Merrik would think of him if he knew how he'd treated his virgin bride the previous night. She wanted him to bathe with her? He shuddered at the thought, seeing her naked and wet, his hands slick with soap, stroking over her, seeing himself lifting her and coming up into her. By the gods, it was too much. He'd kill himself before he shamed her again.

“Nay, I can't now, Chessa. I will see you later.” He kissed her quickly and strode to the outer door. He turned and said, “I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what happened to me, but I just had to have you and that's never happened to me before, but—” He looked furious with himself and embarrassed and desperate.

She said, looking at him straightly, “I want to touch you again, Cleve, wrap my fingers around you, listen to you moan, feel you shudder. The feel of you makes me very happy. Don't you like it when I touch you there?”

He looked as if she'd just shot him with an arrow. He was gone in an instant.

Chessa looked down at her toes and smiled. Men were strange. They were also fascinating. She couldn't wait to get him alone tonight.

What to do about Kiri? She grinned, remembering how the little girl had called in Kerzog and told the damned mongrel that he'd been right. She'd thought it all a game, the two of them in the same box bed, both of them naked, laughing, tugging at Kerzog, racing out of the small sleeping chamber. She'd lifted Kiri that morning after she'd finished her porridge, tossed her into the air and told her she was going to tie her to Kerzog's tail so she couldn't come in and attack her poor papa before he was even awake.

“Which Papa?” Kiri had said, laughed at her own cleverness, and wriggled out of Chessa's arms.

She hadn't known what to expect that morning, but she'd
been hopeful. Her hope hadn't lasted long. He'd acted ashamed, embarrassed. He'd quickly left the chamber, saying little to her. Now she understood. She wondered what the men had said, what he'd said to the men.

 

Cleve was red-faced, the cords in his neck pulsing madly. “You told Rorik I took you five times?
Five
times? Five
separate
times? And you asked him if it was enough? You asked him if men never tired?”

She looked down at her shoes. She gave him a furtive look, all shy and flustered. “Aye,” she said in a small little voice, scuffing the toe of her slipper into the dirt.

“Damn you, Chessa, stop it. I don't believe your act for an instant. Look me in the eyes and stop the smiling you're doing inside.”

“All right.” She grinned up at him shamelessly. “I thought Lord Rorik would drop his jaw on the ground. He wanted to question me to make sure I knew what five times really meant. He kept saying, Were they
separate
times, with time in between? It was very important to him that I understood.”

Cleve could still see Rorik's face in his mind's eyes, staring at him, marveling at him, wondering if he could have that extraordinary stamina. He sighed, saying, “What a day it's been. It's all the men can talk about. Surely you didn't think Rorik would keep such a bit of wickedness to himself, did you? No, of course you didn't.” Cleve sighed, plowed his fingers through his golden hair, loosening several strands to frame his face, and said, “I mauled you and then I fell asleep. That's the truth of things and—”

“And what, Cleve? I'm pleased that you desired me so very much that you couldn't slow yourself. I can't believe you told the men you'd failed me. That's ridiculous. You didn't hurt me overly. I look forward to this evening.”

He wanted to shake some sense into her. Instead, he growled at her just like Kerzog when someone was trying to pull a stick out of his mouth, turned on his heel and strode away.

Laren came over to her and held out an apple. “Here, chew whilst I tell you about men.”

Chessa took a big bite.

“Men,” Laren said, staring after Cleve, who was nearly running out of the palisade gates, “can't bear it if women take away something they consider to belong to them.”

“Men consider mating to be theirs?”

“Oh, yes. It involves their prowess, you see. Even more than that, it is how they see themselves, it is the very core of what they are. They must see themselves as the masters in this. It is they who decide how the act is to be done properly, and this is based on certain rules they've developed from father to son over the years. Women are never to talk openly about such things.”

“What rules?”

“A man such as Cleve is thoughtful, slow to temper, a man of thorough habits. Since I overheard what you said, why then, he feels as though he failed not just you, but himself, and all men. He's ashamed. However, what you said to Rorik was excellent. All the men now consider Cleve near to a god's throne. I've heard ‘
five times
' more than I ever wish to hear two words again in my life. Actually ‘
five separate times.
' And that embarrasses him even more because, Chessa, you made it up to hide what he views as his failure. You, a mere woman, are trying to protect him, to save him from humiliation. He can't bear that.”

“By all the gods,” Chessa said, tossing the apple core onto a refuse pile, “that's ridiculous. There are two of us, not just Cleve doing things according to some sequence. I'm half of this business, aren't I?”

Laren hugged her. “Aye. The women are all delighted at what you've done. You've made them laugh at how easily you drew the men's manly noses into your drama. Perhaps Kerek was right.”

“Right about what?”

Laren just shrugged. “Perhaps I can picture you in an open wagon, hundreds of men following your orders.
Perhaps I can see you as the woman warrior Boadicea, the queen of the Iceni. You think, Chessa, and you act. Whether or not you see things clearly—well, it doesn't matter. You can't be right all of the time. The point is, you don't dither. You act. I like that. Cleve does too, just not now when his man's feelings are raw. Will you handle him tonight?”

“Oh, yes,” Chessa said. “Mirana wants me to search out some plover eggs. I'm taking Kiri. She and I must decide how we're going to divide up her first papa at night. She's very smart, you know, Laren. It's difficult to keep a step ahead of her. I must ask her about Kerzog too.”

“I agree. Too, since Kiri isn't a man, you will come to agreement very quickly, I doubt it not. What's this about Kerzog?”

“I don't know. As you said, Kiri's a female. Already, she loves mysteries.”

 

That night after all had eaten roasted herring, rye bread dripping with hot fat from the baked pheasant, and stewed onions and cabbage, and drunk Utta's mead, Laren stood and cleared her throat. In an instant of time, all were turned to her, leaning toward her, waiting expectantly. Even Kerzog looked alert, which was something, Chessa thought, since he'd eaten more than three starving men.

“I have a story to tell you,” Laren said.

There were cheers and all sat forward even more, the longhouse completely silent. All anticipation.

“This is a story about a man beyond any man, a man who didn't want it known that he had powers no other man could claim. He was calm and thoughtful, never loud or boisterous. He was looked upon as a kind man, a man who was a good friend, but surely, not a man who could claim such powers, such endurance.

“It came to pass that this man married a woman of extraordinary lineage. He hadn't wanted to, but she was strong and sure of what she was and what she wanted, and thus it was done. That first night of their union he took her
to his bed and mated with her five times before the dawn sent the shadows into mists of the sunlight.”

“Stop this, Laren,” Hafter yelled, tossing down his mead. “I don't believe it. I have never taken Entti more than three times in a night.”

“It couldn't be five
separate
times,” Rorik said. “That isn't possible. Chessa just doesn't know how to count things like that properly. She's mistaken, that's all. By all the gods' beards, she was a virgin. How could she know how to figure out anything at all?”