Lord of Falcon Ridge (31 page)

“That,” he said, kissing her deeply, “is true. When will our babe be born?”

“In March.”

“That's when Kiri was born,” he said, and rolled off her, bringing her against his side.

“What happened?”

He told her about Sarla then, how he'd believed he'd loved her, how she'd betrayed him, but he'd forced her to remain at Malverne until Kiri was born. “I remember how
she cursed me as she was birthing Kiri.”

“Why?”

“It hurts, Chessa.”

“Are you certain? Sira said it was nothing. She said she grunted a few times and another boy came out of her body.”

Cleve winced at the hopefulness in her voice. What did he, a man, know about birthing babes? He said, kissing her ear, “Why don't you ask Argana about it?”

“Did it take a long time for Kiri to be born?”

He started to lie then knew it wasn't fair. “A very long time,” he said, “but I know that it is different with every woman.”

“And many women die.”

“You won't and I forbid you to speak of it. I'll be with you and it will be fine.”

“My father never went near to Sira when she was birthing each of the boys.”

“Merrik was with Laren with both boys. Is there some sort of rule in Ireland that a husband must leave?”

“I didn't think that men wanted to be close to their wives whilst they were birthing a babe. My father always left the palace and went hunting.”

“I won't go hunting.”

She kissed his chest. “I remember that Sira wouldn't let my father near her when her time grew near because she was fat and ugly, I heard her say to one of her women. Of course she'd never say anything to me. The truth is I never thought she was ugly even when her belly was huge.”

He caressed her flanks, then slid his hand between them to her belly. “I won't leave you,” he said. “I won't ever leave you.”

“You swear it?”

“Even if you look like Laren's pet pig, Ravnold, I'll stay close. I'll even try to hold you every night. At least I'll come as close to you as possible.”

She bit his chin, then came down over him.

He said, puzzled, “I don't understand, Chessa. You're
pregnant. My seed took hold inside you. You mean we must continue to do this?”

She leaned down and bit his chin again. “This is for me, not for a babe,” she said as he came high and deep into her.

 

“It is a messenger from King Sitric,” Igmal said. “He claims he knows you, Chessa.”

Chessa wiped her hands on a woolen cloth, straightened her tunic, pulled off the linen kerchief from around her hair and came outside the farmstead. There was Brodan, her half brother, behind him two dozen soldiers, her father's bodyguard, Cullic, at their fore.

She yelled his name and ran into his arms. “Ah, Brodan,” she said between kisses, “you're here! I thought never to see you again, oh my, you're here. How much you've grown. How did you find us? Oh, you're quite a young man now, so very big. Your eyes are dark, just like father's. The girls must adore you, Brodan.” Since he was only eight years old, this didn't please him, and Chessa quickly called out, “Cleve, come here and meet your new brother, Brodan.”

He had grown over the past nearly six months, she thought. He would become a handsome man. She thought of Athol and said a prayer to every god she knew that Brodan wouldn't grow crooked as Athol had. She watched him stare up at Cleve, eyeing him as another grown man would, for strengths and weaknesses, something their father had taught him. “I remember you,” Brodan said. “You were the emissary from Duke Rollo. When your messenger from Hawkfell Island came to Dublin and told my father of your marriage to Chessa, he cursed and ranted and kicked furniture and yelled at everyone who came near him for three days. He even yelled at mother. She didn't understand that. It confused her. Then he smiled again. I remember his telling mother that you were a good man and that Chessa thought you nearly perfect, especially your face. He said she never saw the scar and thus she must love
you very much. He is content now, not happy, but content.”

“I am relieved,” Cleve said, gripping the young boy's shoulder. “I didn't want your father to come here and slit my throat.”

“My father said Chessa would slit your throat if you ever deserved it.”

“She would,” Cleve said, nodding.

“Father let you come to Scotland,” Chessa said, marveling, for Brodan was only a young boy, after all, and such a journey was always fraught with danger.

“I wanted to see Iona where Saint Columba lived and preached. Did you know that Kenneth moved his remains from Iona many years ago to near Scone?”

“Aye,” Igmal said. “My grandfather told me that after Kenneth united the Scots and Picts together, he wanted to prove that the Scots were the better ones and he moved his capital from Argyll to Scone in Perth. He took poor Saint Columba's bones away from Iona and moved the Stone of Destiny from Dunadd to Scone. My grandfather hated the little man for that, said that he'd gotten the Pictish throne through the female line and everyone knew that was madness.”

“What's the Stone of Destiny?” Chessa asked.

Brodan's voice dropped to a whisper. “It looks like a simple slab of sandstone, but it was the pillow on which Jacob, the son of Isaac and grandson of Abraham, had his dream about the angels and the stairway to heaven.”

“You've become a Christian, Brodan?” she said, not recognizing these names, but hearing the awe in her brother's voice.

“Aye, Chessa. I've told Father that I want to live on Iona and practice the old ways.”

“Oh,” she said. He was only eight years old and he believed he'd already found what he was meant to do? He'd always been a serious child, older than his years, but he'd loved fishing with her. She remembered the
glailey
fish they'd caught that had been served that one night at the
evening meal to Cleve in Dublin. “Father is all right, Brodan?”

“Aye, he is the same. Mother had another boy. I told father that with four other sons, he didn't need me. He said he would consult the stars. He told me later that the signs were good, that I would be safe.”

“Ever the sorcerer,” Cleve said. He looked up to see Cullic, King Sitric's personal bodyguard, stride forward to stand beside Brodan. He still had the coldest eyes Cleve had ever seen and his skin was even darker after their journey from Dublin. Cullic gently placed his hand on Brodan's shoulder, saying, “We will remain here for three days, then the prince wishes to journey to St. Andrews. We have been told that a new abbey has been founded. The bishop there will become the leading man in the Scottish Church.”

“Aye,” Brodan said. “Iona is the old and the abbey of St. Andrews is the new. I wish to worship at both.” He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then blurted out, “I have heard also that the monster in Loch Ness was seen by Saint Columba. Surely it can't be evil, not if that great man saw it. Have you seen it, Chessa?”

“Aye, I did, just once. It has a very long neck and a small head. It appeared, then quickly sank beneath the water again. Kiri has seen the monster many times. She says it isn't a monster, but rather a mother with children.”

“Kiri?”

“Cleve's daughter. Ah, here she is. Kiri, sweeting, come and meet my brother, Brodan, from Ireland. He wants to know all about Caldon.”

The eight-year-old stared down at the small girl and looked immeasurably depressed. “You're telling me that this little girl has seen the creature?”

“Her name is Caldon,” Kiri said.

Brodan sighed. “How can this be possible? How can this be just? Little girls have imaginations that bubble over like stew pots.”

“Trust me, Brodan. Not this little girl. Now, brother, come into our new farmstead and bring your men with you.
We will prepare a feast that will even make Cullic belch.”

The Spaniard didn't smile, but he nodded, then turned about to give instructions to his men.

 

A light drizzle fell, graying the air, a soft sweet sound against the roof of the longhouse, bringing the mist to hover over the hills and sink slowly down to sit upon the dark waters of the loch. Chessa loved the rain for it stopped as suddenly as it began, bringing forth the sun to shine down upon the lush green. She left the front oak door open so that smoke from the fire pit could escape. The small hole in the roof never allowed enough smoke out at any one time. At least here in Scotland, they didn't have to worry about freezing.

Not an hour later the drizzle stopped and the sun shone over the loch. Chessa left the longhouse for the privy. She patted the small curve of her belly. “Will I make even more trips to the privy for you when it is winter and cold and snow is blowing off the loch? Does that ever happen? I wonder.”

She was humming softly to herself when she left the privy and walked to the barn where Varrick had sent hay to feed the animals for the winter. It was dark inside and smelled of cow and goat, of closely packed grain and men's sweat. When the hand came over her mouth and her arms were pinned to her sides, she froze, her first thought: Varrick.

But it wasn't Varrick. “Don't move, Chessa. I don't want to hurt you.”

 

 

“
K
EREK,” SHE SAID
through his fingers. “I've missed you.” He loosened his grip and slowly turned her to face him.

“Aye,” he said, looking down into her face, “I have missed you as well. You're more beautiful than I'd remembered, Chessa, but you look tired. You've had to work too hard. You need more slaves, more families. The farmstead looks sturdy, I doubt outlaws will attack it. I've watched you now for three days, waiting to find you alone. There are always so many people about.”

“What do you want, Kerek? Why are you hiding like a thief? This is our new home. Cleve calls it Karelia. We've all worked very hard, aye, that's true enough, but it's worth the work, for it's our home. Why didn't you just come and greet us like a friend?”

He sighed. “I wanted to but I couldn't. I don't want this, Chessa, truly, but Turella believes it the only way. She sent me. Ragnor is now king. Olric died from a piece of meat one of his concubines hadn't chewed well enough. He choked to death with many looking on. It is said that Ragnor tossed a bone in the air once his father had fallen face forward into his plate and said that he wanted his father's concubines and now they would chew his food.

“He plans to attack Hawkfell Island and take Utta. You
might believe this is his boy's bragging, but I know it isn't. He will do it. He won't listen to Turella. He blames his mother for Isla disappearing, and since he doesn't know where she is, he claims his mother killed her. Thus, he says he will settle for Utta after he's taken Hawkfell Island. He was mistreated there, he yells to all, thrown into the water to drown, given no respect as the prince of the Danelaw. Now that he's the king, he will show them. He will kill all of them or make them slaves. He does mean it, Chessa.

“You'll not credit this but he truly mourns Isla. He talks about her breasts, surely, for he is a man, but he liked the way she treated him, so easily, and yet with the respect due him as the prince of the Danelaw. He liked her eye patch more than anything else, I think. He wanted to remove it to see what was underneath.”

“If he had he would have seen Cleve's golden eye.”

“Neither Turella nor I told him this woman he desired above all others was really Cleve, come to York to rescue you. Thus, Princess, we are back to you. You are the only one he ever heeded. He fears you, aye, don't interrupt me, you know it's true. He would never admit to it, but he does fear you in a strange way that I don't understand. Turella believes you would hold sway over him where she no longer can. You must come back to York with me. You must take him in hand. You must control him.”

“No, never. He would kill me, Kerek. I would never have control over him. It's nonsense, all of it. Please, you must stop this now.”