Lord of Raven's Peak (19 page)

“Do not worry about my people not accepting you. We will find out who killed my brother and all will be well.”

And she believed him again.

 

“You are the niece of Duke Rollo,” he said, shaking his head in wonder even as he said the words again.

“Aye, but I was also a slave.”

“You were doubtless a much better niece than a slave.”

“And now I will be a wife,” she said with a good deal of relish. “It is strange, Merrik. But I think it will be enjoyable, with you as my husband.”

“Under my tutelage you will make an excellent wife, despite your illustrious blood. Were you unpleasant, Laren, when you were Rollo's niece? Were you spoiled and capricious? Could you have given Letta lessons in pettiness?”

She punched his arm, then immediately began to caress where she had hit him. He grinned down at her.

“Nay, all my time was spent with Taby, for he was my son as surely as he was my brother.”

She wanted to kiss him right now, right here, in the middle of the longhouse, standing near the fire pit, with all his people here, doubtless looking at them, looking, nay, staring, at her, the niece of the mighty Duke Rollo of Normandy. Did they truly believe her?

“Will you continue to be my skald?”

“I brim with new tales, even now, at this very moment, and all of them are about you, my lord, and your splendid body and your beautiful eyes.”

“You once told me that all Vikings looked alike, that we were boring with our fair hair and blue eyes.”

“I was wrong. Your eyes are unique, the blue is softer than the blue of a robin's wing yet as bright as the sun-drenched sky in mid-morning, as—”

He clapped his hand over her mouth. “Your skald's mouth is spewing out nonsense.”

He felt her kiss his palm. He drew his hand away, but continued to look at her, wondering for a moment what was in her mind, then he knew, and said, “Stop looking at me that way. Tell me of your father instead.”

“I will also tell of your noble heart.”

“I will retch if you mention such a thing.”

She laughed and shook her head, saying, “It is difficult to tell you of serious things knowing that Letta would rather be gulleting me with a knife than preparing to leave Malverne. Her father is still looking at me as his skald. He doesn't believe me to be Rollo's niece. What did he say to you, Merrik, when you told him who I was?”

“He laughed, a great belly laugh, and wiped his eyes, and reminded me I was master of Malverne and had no need to weave tales so unbelievable.”

“Does he believe you now?”

“He must. Am I not to wed you in two days?”

“I cannot wait for them to be gone from here.”

“Tomorrow. Now, tell me about your father.”

She dipped a wooden spoon into a barrel of mead and poured it into a cup. She handed it to him and watched him drink it down. “You wish me drunk?”

“No, it is just that I would put off the telling. It is painful, you see.”

“It can wait,” he said, and lifted her hand. He studied her fingers, the short blunt nails, the red chafed flesh. A slave's hands, used to endless hard work, his wife's
hands. In two days. He turned and smiled a welcome at Sarla, who looked hesitant to approach them.

“Come, sister, and tell my betrothed that you will drink mead with us at our wedding feast. She fears Letta will try to gullet her before she leaves.”

“I will drink and dance and sing, Laren. I am pleased. I would have been just as pleased had you not been Rollo's niece. Now I am not certain how to behave around you.”

Laren said nothing. She merely walked to Sarla and wrapped her arms around her. “You are my sister. You have been kind to me since the moment I arrived here, and I was naught but a slave. This is your home. Please, I am still the same.”

Merrik was pleased. He started to tell her so when he looked up to see Taby, rubbing his eyes, wearing a loose tunic that flapped around his feet, standing there yawning and looking around. He saw Merrik and smiled, a big sleepy smile, and made Merrik feel like a king, not just a simple duke. He went down to his haunches and opened his arms. “Taby, come,” he called out.

The child ran to him, wrapping his arms around his neck. Merrik nuzzled the child's cheek, breathed in his child's sweet scent. He'd known him for such a short time and now he would lose him again.

Laren said to Sarla, “Once we return Taby to Uncle Rollo, Merrik won't see him except when we pay them visits. It will hurt him deeply. It hurts him now just to think of being parted from him.”

“Aye, but you will have your own children.”

Laren stilled. Then she smiled hugely. “I hadn't thought of that.”

Sarla grinned at her. “Perhaps it's time you gave it full consideration. Oh goodness, here comes Letta. Now
that you will be mistress of Malverne, you have nothing to worry about. Do you wish to enjoy yourself, Laren?”

“I just wish the girl would keep her mouth closed. She hasn't much sense, Sarla.”

“She is jealous, very jealous of you. She wanted Merrik and Malverne. She believed both in her grasp.”

Laren said nothing. She had been cooking and there was a stain on the front of her overtunic. Her face was heated from the fire pit and her hair was wet on her forehead with sweat. Letta's very ample bosom, she saw, was heaving.

Laren saw Sarla turn away to attend to the woman Thyre's little boy, who had crawled too close to the fire pit. She took the child in her arms and hugged him, softly singing to him. Laren knew she would stay close, in case. In case of what? Letta sticking a knife in her heart?

“So,” Letta said, coming to stand in front of Laren. “You have won. You have blinded Merrik to the truth, mayhap given him a potion to dull and confuse his mind.”

“Nay. All his dullness and confusion are his very own. I have done naught.”

“Now you insult him. But you are careful to be certain he is not close to hear you laugh at him.”

“You have no humor, Letta. You should consider finding some.”

“You are a whore. My father is furious. He wanted to buy you from Merrik.”

“Now that is humorous. Listen, your father can take Deglin with him. I doubt he wishes to stay here.”

“Deglin is a whining pig. I don't want him. All he will do is complain. He hates you more than I do.”

“You can clout him, Letta. Under your tender care he will improve. There is no reason to hate me.”

“Ha! You have Merrik. Once he knew that you were Duke Rollo's niece, he had to have you.”

“No, he asked me to wed with me before I told him who I was.”

“That's a lie. All know that it is your family that has turned him from thoughts of revenge for your murdering his brother to marriage and a more mighty alliance than with the Thoragassons. I no longer want him. He has no honor. He turns from his obligations too easily. He is not a man to trust or to follow.”

“You will be quiet, Letta. I will allow no such words to be spoken about Merrik.”

“It is true! He is an oath breaker and there is no more vile a thing.”

“I could have held my temper had you only insulted me. But you spew your venom on Merrik and that I will not tolerate. He never agreed to marry you. He would never break his oath.” Very calmly, Laren set her hands around Letta's neck and shook her. “No more. Your father has accepted Merrik's decision. You will as well and you will keep you mouth shut. Do you understand me, Letta?”

She felt his strong hands close over her wrists, gently tugging her fingers away from Letta's throat. She didn't let go.

“You defend me well,” Merrik said close to her ear. “Release her. She must oversee preparations for their departure on the morrow.”

But Laren felt rage still boiling in her and she said to Letta, “You will never speak of Merrik again, do you hear me? I will kill you if you dare to insult him thus.”

Letta very slowly nodded, her own fury momentarily tamped down because of her aching throat. Laren saw Merrik's face, saw the stern set of his mouth. But she also saw the near laughter in his eyes. She wanted to
kill both him and this miserable slut with her too strong fingers.

“Nod your head again, damn you, for I won't release you until you do.” Laren shook her again for good measure.

Letta nodded again, her eyes dark with anger. Slowly Laren eased the pressure of her fingers. There would be marks on Letta's white neck, she saw with satisfaction.

“
I
WON
'
T BE
your guardian, but I will be your brother, just as Laren is your sister. Surely that binds us just as close or even closer.”

Taby looked from Laren back to Merrik. “Why do you sound sad, then?”

Merrik wanted to smile, but he couldn't find it inside him to do so. “There will be changes, Taby. You know you are something of a prince, don't you?”

The child nodded his head slowly. Suddenly he looked scared. “I don't have to be, Merrik. I can just be me and your little brother.”

“Sometimes,” Merrik said very slowly, “there are circumstances that we cannot change. You are a prince, Taby, actually you could become the heir to the duke of Normandy, the illustrious Rollo. Do you remember him? No? Well, you will probably recognize him when you see him again. If you don't recognize him, it won't matter, for you will come to love him and respect him. Laren tells me that he spent hours with you before you and she were taken away.”

“I don't like this man Rollo.”

“Taby, one day you will be a man and a very important man at that, even if you don't become the duke of Normandy. When that day comes, why, I will bow down
before you and kiss your hand. If you are not pleased with me, you can make me eat with the pigs. What do you think of that?”

“I know you, Merrik. You love me but you wouldn't ever want to bow down to me or anyone.”

Merrik ran his fingers through Taby's hair, a rich, thick thatch of deep reddish brown. He was a beautiful child. He would be a handsome man. He felt pain deep and deeper still. Still, it was right that the child take his place, that he become the man he was meant to be. After all, Merrik thought, he had the sister. He said, “It won't be for a while yet. First your sister will wed with me and then I will go see your uncle Rollo. Perhaps I will also meet your cousin, William Longsword. Laren tells me she trusts him and that he is honorable. How old is he, Laren?”

“William is only twenty-two, nay, now he is twenty-five, about your age, Merrik.”

“And he has been wedded for five years?”

“Aye. Heirs are important.”

Taby said, scuffing the toe of his leather shoe in the hard-packed earthen floor, “I don't remember him, Laren. I don't remember this Rollo either. I don't want you to go to him, Merrik. If he doesn't like you will he stick his sword in your stomach?”

“I trust not. Why would he when I will come to tell him our boy is alive and well?”

Taby was silent then. He looked at Laren and smiled. “Do you love Merrik, Laren? As much as you love me?”

“Oh yes, Taby.” She never hesitated, not for an instant, nor did she look at Merrik.

“All right,” Taby said and pulled out of Merrik's arms. He didn't look back, merely ran to where Kenna and several other boys were playing with feather-stuffed leather balls and making figures out of strings.

“Do you really, Laren?”

She still didn't look at him. “It is what I told Taby.”

“Will you tell me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It will give you power over me.”

He smiled. “I already have sufficient power over you. I have no need of more.”

“You bray like a goat, Merrik, and you grin shamelessly whilst you do it. I will help Sarla. We will be wedded this afternoon, forget you not.”

“Goats don't bray, only asses. Is that what you believe me to be, Laren?”

“Nay, you are a man, Merrik.”

“Then why are you holding your hand over your mouth? To keep your laughter behind your teeth? Don't answer me more, woman. Think about tonight, for then I will take you again. I have missed holding you at night, Laren.”

“It is right and proper that you miss me. It is also right and proper that you not practice on Caylis or Megot. I want you to lie in the bed and think about me. Only me.”

“I cannot even think of Caylis or Megot?” He laughed. He looked at her, then laughed harder. Then he left the longhouse, shaking his head.

 

The ceremony was brief and in the Viking tradition. All the men stood beside and behind Merrik, the women beside and behind Laren. All wore their finest clothing and jewelry, the women in vivid linen gowns of scarlet, made from oak gall, bright blue, made from woad dyeing, and Laren's own gown, a beautiful saffron linen made from the bulbs of autumn crocus and presented to her by the women of Malverne. Two freewomen of
Malverne knew how to dye wool and linen to perfection and provided all the colored cloth required. Laren had never seen such beautiful colors, even at the court of her uncle Rollo. She wore a woven crown of white daisies. Her hair seemed even redder under the early afternoon sun, shining like a sunset curling nearly to her shoulders.

Taby stood beside Merrik, his small hand tucked securely in Merrik's. He was scrubbed clean, his face shining, his eyes bright. He was no longer thin. Just to look at him made Laren want to cry and to laugh with the relief and joy of it.

Merrik looked at her and smiled. He took a step toward her. He held out his other hand and she put hers in it. He looked at all his men, then the women and children. He said in a loud clear voice, “There has been much sorrow at Malverne, with the passing of Harald and Tora, and the violent death of Erik, my brother. There has been much change as well. I know it is difficult for you to accept me as the lord of Malverne. I hope that in time you will come to do so easily. Today I take this woman to be my wife. She is the niece of the great Rollo, but her life is here now, with me, with all of you.” He paused a moment, then released Taby's hand and took both of hers.

“Laren, daughter of Hallad and niece of Rollo of Normandy, this day, before our gods, I take you as my wife. I pray to Freya to grant us long life and many children. I pray to Odin All-Father to see that we keep honor and good faith between us. I defend you with my strength and my sword. All that I own is now yours as well. I will be your husband in all seasons and I will be with you until breath leaves my body.”

Laren had spent several hours preparing what she would say. She hadn't told anyone that she was a
Christian, for Rollo had agreed to accept the faith when he had made the treaty with King Charles, and that included all his family with him. She realized clearly now that Taby would be raised a Christian and she would become a Viking woman in all ways.

So she had thought of what a Viking woman would say. Oddly enough when she was spinning a tale, she knew no fear, only excitement, but now she was nervous, her mouth dry. She was afraid she would shame him, for although she knew the names of most of the Viking gods, she wasn't certain which ones were most important at a wedding. She looked up at him and realized that he knew of her fear, even though he couldn't know its cause. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. Still, she was silent. He said quietly, “Vow that you will send me to the pig byre if I dare look at another woman.”

She laughed, a pure rich sound. She said then, “I vow to hold you close to me, Merrik, lord of Malverne. I vow to defend you with voice and deed, and to cleave to you on days of darkness as well as on days of joy. This I promise before all our people and before our gods.”

“You did well,” he said, pulling her to him. “Once I got your tongue to move again. Now you must kiss me.”

He lifted her to her tiptoes and kissed her mouth. She heard the men and women cheering, even heard Taby's voice calling out. She felt his warmth and his strength and wondered what would happen to them.

He released her, but held her a moment longer, simply looking down at her. Then he called out, “Let us go to the feasting now.”

A dozen long tables had been set outside, each one holding platters of boar steaks, baked cod and herring smothered in cloudberries, and salmon in boiled maple leaves, stacked loaves of rye bread and flatbread, pots
of cabbage, peas, sliced apples, roasted onions. There were barrels of mead and barley beer, even dark rich red wine from the Rhineland. The women had done well, more than well, really, and Sarla stood there smiling at her, knowing that she was overcome with it all.

Laren, who had held steady and strong for two years, looked at all the men and women around her, at the magnificent tables of food, and finally at her new husband. She lowered her head and sobbed into her hands.

Merrik chuckled as he pulled her tightly against him. “Aye, 'tis too much, isn't it? Our people are good. This is now your home and this is your welcome.”

She hiccuped and raised her head and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Merrik turned to shouts of “Let us drink to the bride and groom!”

“Hear, hear!”

 

It was nearly sunset. The wedding feast, begun hours before, had long since lost its respectable and inspiring beginnings. It was still joyous though, Laren thought, too joyous, as she watched Merrik and Oleg break up another fight. He'd told her to eat and drink lightly; it was their duty to watch all their people drink themselves into a stupor, and when they fought instead, it was their duty to keep the men from killing each other in their drunkenness. Vikings, he remarked, liked their celebrations boisterous.

Laren ate a piece of goat cheese. It was tart, even sour, and she quickly drank down some warm ale. She felt a lurch of dizziness and grinned down at her empty cup. She felt wonderful. She looked toward Merrik who'd pulled Roran off Eller, the small man whose clothes she'd worn on their way home. Home, she thought, looking around. She heard Merrik laugh, saw
him lift Roran into the air and toss him toward Old Firren, who just ducked and watched him fall into a mess of meat bones.

He was a beautiful man, she thought. A good man. She watched him walk to a group of children whose leader was Kenna. He was stumbling about, aping his elders, and the children were laughing and trying to guess which man it was he was pretending to be.

She laughed when Sarla poured her another glass of ale.

“Merrik said I should remain sober, that it was very nearly a law, for we were responsible to see that no one got a broken head.”

“I will be vigilant for you,” Sarla said.

“And I as well,” said Cleve, who stood behind Sarla.

For a moment, Laren saw them as one. She shook her head, but still, they were so close to each other that they seemed to merge. She said slowly, “When will you wed?”

She watched them start, then stare at each other, consternation on their faces, at least she thought it was consternation. She drank a bit more ale. “Cleve saved me. He is a fine man.”

“I know,” Sarla said. “Please, Laren, you mustn't speak of it. Erik is still too close, he still preys too much on my mind and on Cleve's. Someone killed him. It wasn't you nor was it Cleve or me. But it was someone and that person is here, close to us. I'm afraid.”

Cleve took her arm and gently squeezed it. “Hush, Sarla, it is Laren's wedding day. We will find out who killed Erik and then we will be free. At least none believe it to be Laren, not with her royal birth. Hush now, sweeting, hush.”

But who did kill Erik? Laren sipped at her ale and stared at the men and women who were shouting at each other, telling jests that had no meaning, not now,
after hours of drinking, kissing and caressing each other, all in all, oblivious of the world around them. She looked at Ileria, the weaver, so drunk she was just staring into a plate of stewed fish, just staring, saying nothing, doing nothing. And there were Caylis and Megot, both with two of Erik's men. The men were young and comely, as were most Vikings, their faces flushed with too much mead.

She felt warm breath in her ear. “I thought I told you that it was your duty to keep your wits together.”

She turned her head, found herself an inch from his face, and grinned. “I fear I have drunk too much ale, Merrik.”

“Am I to bed a drunken wife?”

“Oh dear, I better stop,” she said, tipped up the cup and downed the rest of the ale.

Merrik laughed at her and called out, “Behold your influence. My bride of four hours can barely hold herself straight. What am I to do?”

Oleg shouted, “Have her tell us a story! 'Twill sober her wits!”

“Aye, a tale, a tale!”

“Well, Laren, are you able?”

“A story,” she said, as if marveling that such a thing could possibly exist. “Aye, a story.” She stood then, stepped onto the bench, then up onto the wooden table. “Attend me,” she shouted. “A story you want, a story you will have!”

There was cheering mixed with an equal measure of laughter.

“She'll fall and break her leg!”

“Better than her tongue. I want stories from her, many more stories!”

Laren stamped her foot and nearly slid off the table
on a piece of oatcake. Merrik was there to steady her, clasping her by her knees to hold her steady. “Go ahead, I've got you now,” he said.

She tried for some dignity, failed, and said on a giggle, “I will tell you about Fromm and Cardle, two men who became the husbands of sisters in a royal family, Helga and Ferlain. Fromm was a bully and vicious, Cardle was a man who lived for learning, a man not really of this world. Helga saw immediately that her groom, Fromm, would be easily led by her, even though he was mean and petty. She told Ferlain to measure the strength of her groom, Cardle, and so Ferlain did and discovered there wasn't all that much strength there to measure. Then they met in the tower of the king's fortress and compared what they'd learned. They decided that through their husbands, they would be able to take over the kingdom. Unfortunately they first had to rid themselves of the king's heir, but he was grown and was away from the city. Ah, but there was their little half brother named Ninian and he was next in line after the king's son. Surely they could begin by ridding themselves of Ninian.