Lord of Raven's Peak (11 page)

Erik looked at her, saw the relief in her eyes, and cursed quietly. It was obvious he'd forgotten about the boar hunt. He said nothing, merely turned to Sturla. “Let us be off, then.” He said over his shoulder to her, “I will see to you this night. You will not gainsay me.”

Laren said not a word. She waited, unmoving, until Erik disappeared through the palisade gates with six of his men.

A woman said from behind her, “I heard Merrik warn you, yet you came out here alone. Do you not heed your master's warnings?”

Laren said nothing, just continued staring after Erik and Sturla until all the men were gone from view.

The woman continued, “Erik will have you, despite your wishes, despite his brother's wishes.”

Laren turned slowly to face a young woman with brilliant blue eyes and blond hair that looked filled with the morning sunlight. She was taller than most women, deep bosomed and well garbed. Laren said, “I had to relieve myself. That is not a thing done with others. Who are you?”

“I am Caylis. Erik has kept me for nine years now. His father bought me when I was only thirteen years old to assist his wife and to be a companion to their niece Sira. Erik wanted me and took me. My son is eight years old now. He is Kenna, a good boy, strong and proud. If Sarla has no children, then Erik will doubtless make him legitimate. I pray it will happen. I have borne him three other children, all girls, but they died.”

“But Erik is wedded to Sarla.”

“Aye, the poor little weak fool. Over two years now. 'Twas a marriage arranged by Erik's father, Harald. She hasn't the guile to hold him, to make him do what she wants him to do. She is timorous as a newly foaled calf.” She paused, looking Laren up and down. “Erik was careful whilst his parents still lived. He only visited my bed and the other women's after his parents had departed to their sleeping chamber for the night. He knew they were fond of Sarla, so he did nothing untoward toward us whilst they were about. But now he has no reason to deny himself anything. He can do whatever he pleases, and for whatever reason, he wants you. I suppose it is because you are new, and like all men, Erik will seek to bend you to his will until he has bedded you and discovers that you are but like the rest of us, only not as pretty or as well made.”

Laren didn't say anything, but as she lifted her skirt, she smiled at the woman. Caylis sucked in her breath. “Your leg—it's horrible!”

“Aye, I burned myself. I will show your lord Erik. Perhaps that will cool his ardor.”

Caylis just shook her head. “So you are Merrik's mistress, just as I heard you tell Erik. Merrik is a beautiful man, I have many times remarked on it. Is he a good lover or does he just want you to pleasure him and watch whilst his face flushes with his own passion? Does Merrik care what you feel?”

Laren stared at her. Caylis laughed. “So, you haven't bedded with him. Resign yourself, then. It is Erik who will have your virginity. It isn't bad, if he is in a pleasant mood. If he isn't, you will know much pain. Sometimes he enjoys pain, sometimes not. You will learn soon enough what it is he will want from you.

“It is a pity that Merrik has no power here now. Erik
will grant him none. If Erik wants you, he will have you. Do you really make an excellent porridge? Sarla doesn't. Come, then, for I am quite hungry.”

That night, replete with the delicious boar steaks that Laren had helped Sarla to prepare, Erik called for the end of the tale of Grunlige the Dane.

Laren thought first of the silver coins, then of what would come after. She knew that Erik would come to her tonight. She simply didn't know what to do about it. First, she would tell her story, then she would decide.

She rose and rubbed her hands together, saying nothing until all attention was on her. “ ‘I will tell you who and what I am,' Grunlige said, his foot poised over Parma's neck. ‘I am still myself and none other. I am not a shade from the nether regions. I am flesh and bone, but I have gone beyond a mere man's flesh and bones to a higher realm. But mistake me not, Parma, I am still myself and Selina is still my beloved wife. You see my hands are still bandaged. That was for you to remark upon and feel superior about.'

“Grunlige slowly unwrapped the bandages from his hands. Parma could but stare. No longer were Grunlige's hands shriveled like claws, fingernails twisted and blackened. No, his hands were whole and clean and strong, and the sword handle fit well into his palm.

“‘Your witch wife, she brought you back,' Parma gasped, so frightened now, he felt his bladder loosen and knew great shame for his fear.

“ ‘Nay, 'twas Odin All-Father,' Grunlige said matter-of-factly. ‘He deemed me worthy, deemed my people worthy, and thus restored me. You are a fool, Parma, do you not recognize where you are?'

“Parma gazed about him, but he recognized nothing. Then he saw Selina walking toward them, her white robe flowing, her shoulders proud, her walk confident.

“ ‘You have gone nowhere, Parma. You are still here where you attacked my wife. Odin but played with you, teased you, and you were a fool. Now, what have you to say for yourself?'

“Parma thought furiously, and knew he had but one chance to keep his life. He said, ‘If you are truly a hero, if Odin All-Father truly deemed you brave and worthy, why then go perform a deed that would prove your greatness. Do not crush my neck with your foot. That would be nothing, it would be more the act of a coward. Aye, go, Grunlige, and prove yourself. Go in a vessel into the seas east of Iceland. Once again, shred the ice floes, once again, aye, and see if you are truly the gallant hero you believe yourself to be.'

“Selina cried out, ‘Listen not to him, Grunlige! His tongue is wily and he wants only to mock you, to make you lose your sense of what is right! Don't heed him!'

“But Grunlige had lifted his foot from Parma's neck. He stepped away from Parma, who didn't move at all, who resembled a statue, so still did he lie. Grunlige gazed upward at the heavens. He threw back his mighty head and shouted, ‘Odin! Hear me, oh mighty lord of the heavens and of all warriors! I will go again to prove myself and when I return you must grant me what it is I deserve!'

“Suddenly, a great white flash of lightning streaked through the sky, turning the air itself to vapor. Again and again there was that sheer white filling the air, filling their lungs. It was followed by crash after crash of thunder that shook the ground itself. Selina fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Parma felt fear, but now he also felt hope. He stared at Grunlige.

“Grunlige was smiling. ‘I hear you, Odin. I go to prove myself yet again to you.'

“Before he strode away, he grasped Parma by the
throat and hauled him upright. He shook him until Parma believed his neck would break apart from his body. Grunlige said, ‘If you touch my wife again or any of my belongings or any of my people, I will peel the flesh from your body. I will then fling you onto an ice floe and there your seeping blood will freeze and you will know more agony than a man can bear.'

“He strode to his wife, drew her to her feet and embraced her. Then he was gone, his shoulders straight and strong, his stride quick and sure.”

Laren stopped then, and smiled, first down at her clasped hands, then at each of her audience in turn.

“I will not accept this dithering,” Erik shouted at her. “Finish the damned tale! Finish it!”

She just shook her head.

It was Sturla, Erik's huge warrior, who said now, “Nay, my lord, leave her be. I like this suspense, it teases my wits and makes me wonder what will happen next. Aye, perhaps tomorrow night she will continue the tale. Mayhap she will even finish it for us.”

Erik subsided. He sat in his lord's chair, fingering the magnificently carved chair posts that had come through the family for two hundred years. The oak was smooth as silk with the many fingers that had stroked it, but the images of Odin and Thor and Frey were still clear, the expressions on their carved faces still sharp.

He waited, was content to wait. He watched Sarla dismiss the slaves, watched all the children herded off to the small sleeping chamber where they slept, watched his men and Merrik's men roll themselves into blankets. He waited until all was nearly silent. He prepared to rise, but stopped. Merrik was walking to where Laren was lying near the fire pit, her blanket wrapped closely around her, Taby tucked in the curve of her belly. He came down beside her on his haunches.

He said low so as not to awaken Taby, “You are my concubine, I have heard said today. I think it is the only thing that might save you from my brother's lust. You will give Taby to Cleve and come with me. We will sleep in my sleeping chamber.”

She stared up at him in the dim light cast by the dying embers. “Will you hurt me?”

“I will look at your leg and at your back and probably apply more healing cream to both. Then we will see.”

“I don't want you to see,” she said. “I don't want to be your concubine, Merrik, 'tis just that I could think of nothing else to say.”

“I know, but you are the one who said it. Therefore we must continue as you began, else Erik will be beside you within another instant. Well? What do you wish?”

She didn't look at him, just said calmly, “Where is Cleve?”

Merrik smiled at her. “I will fetch him.”

E
RIK STOOD OVER
her, oblivious of his brother and their people who stood near. “Give the child over and come with me.”

“I fear she cannot, brother,” Merrik said. He turned to Cleve. “Take Taby for the night. I would keep his sister with me.”

Cleve said nothing as he gathered up the sleeping child, nor did Laren. She waited there on the floor, wrapped in her blanket, watching the two men.

“I want her,” Erik said, and she heard the petulance, the covetousness in his voice.

“She is my concubine and she is my slave as well, Erik. When I tire of her, I will consider selling her to you. Come along, Laren.”

“She said you didn't want her because it was her monthly flow. She said you wouldn't want her until she had finished it. And I've watched you, Merrik, you haven't touched her, even scarce looked at her since you came home. All you care about is that damned boy.”

Merrik said slowly, consciously relaxing his hands from fists at his sides, “It is true that I like not taking her at those times, but I am in much need and thus will make do. I try not to look at her, because whenever I do it makes my lust rise. I do not like to torment myself.
But tonight I will not wait longer. It is my will that prevails here, for she is my slave, not yours. I bid you good night, brother. I see Sarla awaiting you.”

“Damn you, Merrik, 'tis not just that I want to plow her belly, I would have her tell me what happened to Grunlige the Dane!”

If she hadn't been so afraid, Laren would have laughed.

“She will tell you tomorrow night, Erik.” Merrik reached out his hand, and without hesitation, she placed her own in his. He pulled her upright. She fell forward, against his chest, and he laughed a little, stroking her hair with familiarity as he did so. He held her there as he said, “I told you she was thin. She is. So thin you would look at her only once and tell her to leave you. Also, her hair is short and ragged, as you see, not as full and thick like your wife's or your mistresses'.”

Laren heard a laugh and knew it was from the woman Caylis.

She saw Sarla from the corner of her eye. How could Erik shame his wife like this? It enraged her. Before she could say anything, Merrik leaned down and kissed her hard.

The shock of it rendered her immediately silent. He laughed again, gave his brother a small salute, and picked her up in his arms. She didn't move, barely breathed in fact until he laid her upon the box bed that had belonged to his brother before their parents had died.

The chamber was small and dark. Merrik cursed under his breath, left the chamber, and soon returned with a lit oil lamp. There were wool blankets on the bed and atop those were otter and reindeer skins traded from the Lapps in the North. There was a beautiful
large chest at the foot of the bed, nothing else.

Merrik walked to the entrance of the chamber, pulled the skin aside and looked out. Erik was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he was with Sarla. All was quiet, save for the snores from some of the men and the few moans and giggles from the men and women enjoying themselves before sleep came.

He cursed again, and once more left the chamber. Laren didn't move, just stared at the bearskin that covered the entrance. When he came back there was a soapstone jar in his hand.

He said briefly, “The cream for your back and leg. Take off your clothes.”

She didn't move. “Why did you kiss me?”

“For my brother's benefit. To show him my possession of you.”

“But everyone was watching.”

He shrugged, and said matter-of-factly, “I know. It will keep Erik's men away from you as well. Obey me now. I am tired and wish to sleep.”

She didn't want to take off her clothes in front of him, didn't want to repel him with her thinness. It hadn't mattered to her before but it did now for the simple reason that now she cared what he thought. No, she didn't want to have to obey that command. It was as if she didn't matter, who she was and what she was—it was entirely unimportant to him. It was Taby he wanted, not her, Taby he cared about, not her. Erik was right about that. She said nothing to him, nothing at all. She tried to remember that if he hadn't saved her from Thrasco, she would surely be dead now. But that wasn't true. She had escaped from Thrasco on her own. She would have managed. She owed him only for saving Taby.

She didn't know what to do.

She wanted very much for him to kiss her again, but of course he would never kiss her freely, never because he wanted to, never because of desire for her. Quite simply, there was no one for her, no one save a five-year-old child.

Suddenly the terror of the last two years, of the endless weeks that had flowed into months and beyond, that endless time of hopelessness, of rage and fury that had eaten at her deeply and more deeply still as time passed, it all welled up in her then and she felt herself crushed under the weight of it. It erupted and she couldn't prevent it. She began to sob, deep ugly sobs that shook her whole body. She buried her face in her hands, hating the ugly sounds that showed him her weakness, but the wave upon wave of grinding pain wouldn't cease. The helplessness, the fear, the bitterness, all were there, pulling at her, defeating her. She tried desperately to gain control, for she didn't want him to see how pathetic she was, she didn't want anyone to see it, but the sobs were deeper now, a part of her, and they wouldn't stop.

Merrik stood by the bed simply staring down at her. His first thought was that Erik had terrified her. Then he knew that wasn't the case. She wasn't some gutless female. No, she was a survivor. Surely Erik's lust would have no effect on her, at least not this effect. But she sounded as if her very world had ended.

He set the cream on the bed, sat down, and without a word, pulled her into his arms. He rubbed his large hands down her back, only to remember that her back must still be sore from the beating Thrasco had given her. He rubbed her scalp, just holding her with one arm loose around her back. He said things to her, words that had little meaning to him, to her, just words, but their tone was gentle and reassuring, and he supposed,
vaguely, that was what was important. He realized he might be holding Taby, stroking him, telling him everything would be all right because he, Merrik, was here now and he would take care of him, he would protect him with his life.

She moved against him and then he felt her breasts.

She wasn't a child and he felt like a fool. No, she wasn't a child and he felt a surge of lust for her. It was unexpected and he didn't like it. She was Taby's sister. It was just that it had been a long time since he'd had a woman, too long. But, of course, he remembered the softness of her, the feel of her when she'd hugged herself to him in Kaupang.

He didn't intend it, but he kissed her temple, felt her soft hair tickle his cheek, his nose.

“It's all right,” he said again, but now his voice was deep and hoarse with his burgeoning need. “I won't hurt you.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she hiccuped. His hands came around to close around her chin and he lifted her face. Tears were wet on her cheeks and she was gulping for breath. Her eyes and nose were red, her hair was loose from its braids and straggling over her forehead. She looked as appetizing as a gutted herring, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

And he wanted her.

In that moment, he forgot Taby, forgot that this was Taby's sister. He leaned forward and kissed her. The second time. He tasted the salty tears, and something else, something sweet and dark and mysterious, something that had no part of either of them separately, but something that was both magical and an odd enchantment when he touched her mouth, when the two of them came together. It was something he'd never
experienced before; it was something he wanted for himself, and he wanted it badly. He was a man with a man's needs and she was here alone with him. She belonged to him.

She wasn't moving. Yet he wanted her even more now. He kissed her again, harder this time, willing her to part her lips, but he realized suddenly that she very probably had no idea what to do. And that stopped him cold. She was innocent in deed, if not in what she had witnessed during the last two years.

She didn't know how to kiss him. He started to say something, to pull away from her, but suddenly, she leaned forward, her hand came up to touch his cheek, and she kissed him. Her lips were soft and firmly together and she just pressed them to his mouth, but it was a kiss and it was she who was freely offering it. A virgin's kiss.

He opened his mouth slightly and let the tip of his tongue lightly touch her mouth. She jumped. Then, to his surprise and pleasure, she leaned into him, and this time her lips were sightly open as well.

He felt the surge of lust throughout his body, not just his groin. He was swelled and ready, but that wasn't all there was to it. He felt that mystery again, felt that something deep and still hidden from him, felt it moving within him, pushing him toward her, and knowing even as he felt those odd feelings that coming together with her would change his life. He fought it even as it swamped him, lured him toward her. Surely she was just a woman, and he'd known many women, but at the same time, she was just herself and like none other. He drew away from that. It struck fear in him, for he believed a man must remain unto himself and not give himself over to anyone else, particularly a woman, particularly this woman who was scarce a woman really,
just a girl who was so thin that surely she wouldn't have the strength to take him as a man, and she was Taby's sister. He had not saved her to ravish her. He had not saved her to hurt her.

No, he saved her because she was Taby's sister, nothing more, nothing less. Suddenly, he saw her as he'd seen her so long ago now, aye, ages ago, it seemed, yet not really, but he saw her very clearly in his mind's eye—the ragged boy, defeated yet as proud and defiant as he was himself, standing there, helpless, in the slave pit of Khagan-Rus. No, he'd looked at her and looked again and he knew now that what he had felt was different, for she had touched him with the essence of herself. He would never be free of her just as he would never be free of Taby.

He supposed that right now, at just this moment, he didn't want to be free of her, didn't want to rail against it and try to protect himself, for his lust for her was grinding him down. When her tongue lightly touched his, he gave it up.

There was no rape here. If he hurt her because of her thinness, so be it. He would try not to, but . . .

He pulled her down and came over her. The feel of her beneath him made him want to shout and groan and come into her, all in the same instant. His hand was wild on the skirt of her gown, and he was jerking it up, his movements frantic. His fingers scraped against her bare leg and she jerked and cried out.

At first he didn't realize what had happened. Then he knew. He'd hit her burned leg and hurt her. He drew a deep breath, feeling his whole body shudder with the force of the control he was trying to find within himself.

Her breasts were heaving against him, but now it wasn't desire or even a girl's excitement in the unknown, it was the pain he'd just brought her. He
gathered her up against him and whispered against her ear, “I'm sorry. Damnation, I hurt you. I have the cream. Hold still and soon the pain will lessen.”

Laren lay there, breathing hard from the curious mixture of intense pain and feelings that she herself couldn't begin to describe. She just knew that she'd never felt such things before, in such places, and it was wonderful and she wanted them again. She didn't want them ever to stop. She didn't want him to stop, but he had because he'd hurt her. She looked at him now and he was flushed, his hands none too steady.

She felt his fingers, chill with the cream, lightly touch her leg and she gasped, the pain making all the other feelings recede. She tried not to cry out, but she couldn't help it.

He said nothing, just looked up at her and saw that she was crying and her eyes were closed, the tears just seeping from beneath her lashes and trailing down her cheeks.

He saw the print of his fingers on her still-red flesh. He gently rubbed in the cream. Actually, her leg looked much better. If there would be scarring, it would be slight. He began a gentle rhythmic motion and stuck to it. His desire was nearly gone, and for that he was grateful. He would find a woman this night and drain his desire so this wouldn't happen again. Then he realized he could not leave her, could not leave this sleeping chamber. He was in here with his concubine and none must doubt it, least of all his brother.

“How is your back?”

She got control of herself. No more damnable tears, no more weak moans and groans. The cream was leaching out the pain. She could manage it now. “My back is fine, Merrik. My leg is better too.”

He should look at her back, but the thought of her
naked made his belly seize with cramps. But he'd seen her naked before and it hadn't particularly moved him. But that had been before he'd kissed her and held her hard against him and touched his tongue to her lips, to her tongue, breathed in the scent of her, felt the wondrous feelings that had passed between them, locking them together in that brief instant of time. It was beyond what he could understand or accept. He hadn't come inside her; he hadn't spilled his seed in her and come to his release. No, it was just the simple kissing, the holding of her close to him, and those simple acts had brought him to the edge. He had never lost himself before, certainly not with the simple matter of sex, certainly not in the simple things that came before sex. It wouldn't happen to him now. It would never happen to him. He wouldn't allow it. He would look at her back, rub in more of the cream if necessary, and it would be as it had been before.