Lord of Raven's Peak

by Catherine Coulter

  Hallad tried to coax his small son away from Cleve, but Taby remained stubbornly silent. He would say nothing nor would he leave Cleve.

  “He will awaken, I know he will,” Laren said to Sarla, who was so pale Laren feared for her health. “Go sleep now, and I will stay with him.”

  “Nay, ’tis you who are exhausted. You also carry a child and I do not. You go rest now, Laren, I will stay with Cleve.”

  Laren looked into Sarla’s shadowed eyes and slowly nodded. She gently shook Taby’s shoulder. “Come, little sweeting, we will go to our own beds now. If you like, you can sleep with Merrik and me.”

  Taby was awake immediately. He didn’t blink or yawn. He looked from his sister to Cleve to Sarla.

  He shook his head. “No, Laren, I wish to stay here, with Cleve.”

  She started to pull him off the box bed, but the look in his eyes stayed her hand. “Very well, but remain quiet. He is very ill.”

  “I know.” The child curled up against Cleve, his small palm over Cleve’s heart.

  “Sarla will become ill,” Hallad said. “She is too pale and there are shadows beneath her eyes. She is very quiet, even withdrawn. None of it is her fault. I do not understand why she is so struck with this man’s accident. Speak to her, Laren.”

  “Father, I believe she and Cleve were becoming close even before Merrik and and I went to Normandy.”

  Hallad just stared at her. Slowly, he raised a cup of ale to his mouth and drank deep.

  “I could be wrong, for when we returned they seemed somehow distant. I don’t know. He is a good man, Father, and he was there with me in Kiev. He tried to save me at the risk of his own life.”

  “This man is naught but a slave, or at least he used to be. Sarla is so wondrous kind she feels pity for him, nothing more, just as she would for any of the people here at Malverne. Perhaps if he recovers he will come back to Normandy with us.”

  She cocked her head to one side in question. “Us?”

  “Of course I mean Taby and me,” he said, but Laren didn’t trust that tone of voice she’d heard men use before. It was false in its sincerity, gentle in its sarcasm. Ah, yes, his voice was smug, that was it.

  “Laren!”

  She turned to see her husband striding toward her. In his hand was a rock. When he thrust it at her, she saw the dried blood on it. “Cleve didn’t fall by accident. Someone struck his head with this rock and shoved him over the edge. Here is the proof of it.”

  “Just as Deglin struck Erik,” Laren said and shivered. “I don’t like this, Merrik. It means there is another at work here, since Deglin is dead.”

  “Nor do I like it. I had to know if Cleve had simply lost his footing. I searched and searched, Oleg and Roran with me. Roran found the rock thrown behind a bush halfway down the path. But this time, the man who struck down Cleve wanted us to believe that it was an accident.”

  For the first time in many days, Laren ran from the longhouse and vomited. As Merrik held her head, stroking back her hair from her forehead, she knew it wasn’t from the babe in her womb. No, it was from fear. She was very afraid.

  Taby had changed, utterly. He was no longer happy and carefree. Now he was silent, sullen, wary of anyone who spoke to him. He even avoided Merrik. He looked drawn and thin. In just a day, he had lost the glow of health from his small face. He refused to leave Cleve. Finally, Merrik pulled the boy into his arms and hauled him out of the small sleeping chamber. He carried the kicking little boy out of the longhouse. He didn’t say a word until they were well beyond the palisade wall. He eased Taby down, then held him down as he sat beside him on a huge smooth boulder. “When I was your age,” he said easily, “I would come here and think. If my father had cuffed me for some wrongdoing or I had hurt someone, or I was just uncertain about anything, I would come here to think and to ponder. It is a good place, Taby.” He said nothing more, merely held Taby’s hand so he couldn’t run away.

  “Your father is distressed because you avoid him,” Merrik said at last, not looking at the child, but speaking calmly as he gazed out over the fjord. “He believed you dead for two very long years. Then he found you again and now you avoid him. It is very strange and he does not understand.

  “However, I believe I do understand, for you are closer to me than to anyone else. I have thought about this. You saw who hit Cleve with the rock. You saw who shoved him over the side of the cliff. This is why you refuse to leave Cleve, because you fear the man will come again and try to kill him. You are a brave boy, Taby. I love you deeply and I want to help you. But you must tell me the truth for I cannot begin to guess who this man is. Do you also realize that it could be the same man who killed Erik? That Deglin was innocent of his murder?”

  “It wasn’t a man.”

  Merrik jerked at the small voice, thin and liquid with fear and dread.

  Merrik waited. He could do nothing more.

  “She said she would kill Laren if I said anything. She said Laren was a fool and didn’t deserve to be mistress here at Malverne. She said life had not dealt fairly with her, not until my father came. She said that was why she had to act. She said after she killed Laren, she would kill you. I couldn’t say anything, Merrik, I couldn’t.”

  It was so very clear then, so very clear. Merrik said quietly, “Sarla.”

  Taby shuddered and pressed against Merrik’s side. “She will kill Laren. She will kill Cleve, for he is helpless, Merrik. He is helpless; he has not regained his wits. I must go back to him. You will take care of Laren.”

  “Aye, I will, and I will take care of Cleve as well. Come, Taby. We will return now.”

  “I am afraid, Merrik.”

  Merrik smiled down at him. “For once, I am not afraid.”

  He told Taby to remain with his father. “Aye, you have done the right thing. Now it is my turn. Stay here, Taby. Soon Laren and I will come to you.”

  He heard Laren’s jubilant voice as he neared Cleve’s small sleeping chamber. “He is awake, Sarla! Thank the gods, Cleve is finally awake. Now we can learn what happened.”

  Merrik slowly drew back the thin bearskin pelt from the doorway. He saw Laren leaning over Cleve, a smile on her face. He saw Sarla standing behind her and now she was lifting a heavy oil lamp from the floor.

  “Do not even think to do it, Sarla,” he said very quietly. “Put the lamp down.”

  Sarla whirled around to face him. “No,” she said. “No, Merrik, you misunderstand.”

  Laren turned. “Cleve is going to be all right, Merrik. Come and speak to him. Now we will learn what happened.”

  “I know what happened, Laren. But not all of it. Sarla will tell us all of it, will you not, sister-in-law?”

  Laren straightened very slowly. She studied Sarla’s pale face, her dulled eyes. But Sarla shook her head, saying again, “You do not understand, Merrik. It is not what you believe. Cleve, ah, it was an accident, I swear it.”

  Laren said slowly, incredulously, “You, Sarla? You struck Cleve?”

  Sarla said nothing, just shook her head.

  “But why? I don’t understand. He loved you. I saw it in his eyes before we left to journey to Normandy. And you were coming to care for him as well, were you not?” Laren stopped. She looked wildly at Merrik as she whispered, “Erik? She killed Erik as well?”

  “Aye, she did. I suppose she killed him because he was betraying her yet again, this time with you. I suppose she killed him, too, because she wanted Cleve.”

  “I saved Laren from dishonor. Surely you will acquit me, for I saved her.”

  “That was a consequence, surely,” Merrik said, “but do not make yourself into a heroine, Sarla, for the truth does not fit itself to you. Why did you try to kill Cleve?”

  His voice was low, filled with pain. “Tell him, Sarla. Tell him the truth or I will.”

  “Oh, Cleve, you are back again.” Laren whirled about to hover over him, protecting him now, Merrik saw, for she was standing between him and Sarla.

  “Be qui
et, you fool! You are a liar, say nothing!”

  Cleve said quietly, “Move away from me, Laren. She will not strike me again. Merrik, she carries my child in her womb, and, aye, we were to wed upon your return. Only you brought Hallad back with you. He looked at gentle, kind Sarla and wanted her. Sarla wanted to wed with him then, for he is rich and powerful. She would have power and jewels and slaves. What am I? Nothing at all, at least to her now. Thus she had to convince Hallad that it was his child she carries. I told her I wouldn’t betray her, I swore to her that I loved her, but I would not give up my son to another man, a son he would believe was his. She struck me down.” He’d never taken his beautiful eyes off Sarla. “You have lost your beauty, Sarla. It is odd but true. Your beauty was in your sweetness, your gentleness, but now you are showing to the world what you were on the inside for a long time. I remember when you claimed before all that you had killed Erik, but no one believed you, did they? They all believed that you were protecting Laren, protecting me.”

  Merrik stared at her, a woman he’d grown so very close to, or at least he thought he had, a woman he would have sworn to the very gods themselves was pure and honest and good. He said slowly, “Did you kill Deglin as well?”

  “I will say nothing more,” Sarla said.

  “I always wondered about that,” Merrik continued. “How did Deglin get loose? Why didn’t he try to escape? Where did he find that knife? The blacksmith simply accepted that the knife must have been in his hut, left by one of the men, waiting to be repaired. But it wasn’t. You fetched it and you killed Deglin. You took no chances, Sarla, none at all.”

  Sarla straightened to her full height and said to Merrik, her voice proud and tight, “I wish to return to my parents’ farmstead. I wish to leave very soon. This man is lying. His jealousy of Hallad has twisted him. He is pathetic with his scarred face. How could any woman love such an ugly man, a man who was nothing more than a slave? He is lying, about everything. I spurned him and now he wishes to destroy me. I wish to leave this place.”

  Cleve forced himself up onto his elbows. “You will bear my child, and then you can leave. What say you, Merrik?”

  “It is not your child!” she shrieked at him. “It is Erik’s! If it is a son, he will be the heir to Malverne!”

  Cleve just shook his head. “I am sorry, Sarla, but it is my babe. I will swear that your woman’s flow occurred after Erik’s death.”

  “Liar!”

  “But he isn’t, is he?” Merrik said. He bowed his head and was silent for many moments. When he spoke again, he said, “I am glad you survived, Cleve. I am very sorry for all this.”

  Epilogue

  IT WAS TWO days after the winter solstice. A blizzard raged outside the longhouse. Inside, it was warm, the air thick with smoke, the smell of broiling venison steaks, and the ripening smell of the two goats and two cows. The horses were, thankfully, safe from the storm in the end of the stable, plenty of hay piled in the troughs for them.

  Laren occasionally looked up from her needlework to see Merrik still speaking to the messenger from Rollo. The tunic was nearly done and he would look splendid in it, for the blue was darker this time, but just one shade darker than the beautiful blue of his eyes. It would be the third tunic she’d sewn him of varying shades of blue. Their people were beginning to notice and to hurl jests at him. Merrik just laughed and shook his head.

  The child moved suddenly within her and she jumped and smiled, her hand going automatically to her growing belly.

  Merrik came to her then, dropping to his knees beside her chair. He began to caress her belly. “I saw you jump and then smile. My babe moves?”

  “Aye, your babe moves. Has the messenger told you more of anything?”

  “Cardle is in Britain, at the Wessex king’s court. Rollo decided not to have him killed. He said that after all those years with Ferlain, he deserved to think about his Saxon kings and his Greeks in peace.”

  “That is good.”

  “Also, Cardle sent Rollo a message that he planned to spread tales of Rollo’s greatness throughout Britain. Perhaps this is one reason your uncle decided to let him live. Also, your father has wedded a girl your age. He says that he is getting no younger, therefore his haste in wedding again. She is a daughter from one of the men of King Charles’s court. Aye, you’ve the right of it, I can see it in your eyes. His wife—your stepmother—is already pregnant.” He looked over at Sarla as he spoke. Once she birthed her babe, he would send her back to her parents’ farmstead. He’d said naught of her actions to anyone, nor had Laren or Cleve. If any of them had told what she’d done, doubtless one of Erik’s men would have killed her. As it was, all treated her as they always had, even Cleve. But it was his child he guarded, Sarla knew it, but no one else did. All wondered why they didn’t wed since she was carrying Cleve’s child. All finally came to believe that she didn’t wish it because Cleve, after all, had been a slave. No one, however, was brave enough to ask.

  Laren, unaware of her husband’s thoughts, laughed at the news, she couldn’t help it. “My father,” she said helplessly, and shook her head. “And now he does it again. What is my new stepmother’s name?”

  “Bartha, an ugly name, but the messenger says she is passing fair.”

  “I hope Taby likes her.”

  “Nay, not particularly. Evidently he ignores her. Rollo finds it all vastly amusing. Our Taby grows more by the day and his skills increase by the day as well. Helga is less a witch now than she was. Aye, I see the doubt in your eyes, Laren, but she has wedded with Weland. Evidently he allows her none of her former tricks. What think you of that?”

  “I think you have just made me prick my finger, Merrik. You jest, do you not? You try to outdo me in weaving strange and bizarre tales.”

  “ ’Tis the truth, I swear it to you. Now, sweeting, shall we retire? I am weary of all this commotion and all this smell and all the arguments.”

  “Aye,” she said, giving him a smile that made him instantly hard, “the night is young, Merrik. Have you the strength, do you think, my lord?”

  “We will see. Since my lust for you is nearly as great as my love, then I believe I can please you until you deign to ask me to cease.”

  She very slowly put down the needle and the beautiful soft material. She began to stroke the cloth, not looking at him, merely said in a whisper, “Do you truly love me?”

  He took her chin in his palm and raised her head. He looked at her, silent for a very long time. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. “Aye,” he said against her warm lips, “I love you more than you can imagine. I am your husband. How could you doubt it?”

  “You never told me until now.”

  “I know. It was difficult for me, but I have felt it, Laren, for a very long time.”

  “Taby,” she said. “It has always been Taby you loved.”

  “I will always love him, but he is a child and my brother. He is not the woman who will stand beside me until we are both dust and ashes. You are. I love you as a man loves a woman, as my father loved my mother. I have found you and never will let you forget what you are to me.” He grinned as he kissed her again. “I grow boring with my seriousness. I have nearly made you fall asleep repeating myself. Now I wish to take you to my bed and hold you and come into you and make you a part of me. I wish to hear you tell me you love me. You have said naught of affection for me since that long-ago night. It is important for a man to hear this often from his wife.”

  “Aye,” she said, “it is very important. But like you, I said nothing. These are very powerful things I feel for you, Merrik. It is just that I feared that you didn’t want to hear such things from me.”

  “You were wrong. Tell me again that you love me and let us go to bed.”

  “I love you, Merrik. However . . . ” She paused, then grinned widely up at him. “Not just yet. I really wish to finish your tunic before I come with you.”

  He looked at the tunic folded neatly beside her, lifted it and tossed it to Oleg
. “Take a needle and finish this garment, Oleg. As you can see, it is another blue tunic. My wife knows but one color for me.” Oleg, who was holding Megot in the crook of his arm, stared with horror at the tunic, opened his mouth, could think of nothing to say, and closed it.

  Merrik carried his wife from the huge outer chamber, the sound of his people’s laughter in his ears. He felt the bulge of her belly against his heart, the warmth of her breath against his throat.

  All was well. With any luck, life would continue sweet if the gods weren’t angered, if other Vikings didn’t lust after Malverne, if illness didn’t . . . His thinking stopped. Life was fragile, fraught with chance, but now, at this moment, the sweetness of it was something he would never forget.

  He said to his wife, “When will you finish the tunic? The color pleases me mightily.”

  Author’s Note

  ROLLO, THE FIRST duke of Normandy, was also known as Rolf the Ganger. He was such a large man that he could sit very few horses without his feet dragging the ground. Unfortunately not much is known about him. What we do know is that he and Charles III, the French king, formed an alliance in 911 at the chapel at St. Clair-sur-Epte. Rollo agreed to keep other invading Vikings at bay, thus saving Paris from further sacking, and the payment of Danegeld, a great sum of silver to bribe marauders to stay away. Charles III granted Rollo the vast rich lands that included Rouen and the surrounding countryside, land which the Vikings already occupied and controlled. Rollo lived for seventy years, turning the reins of government to his son, William Longsword, only three years before his death in 930.

  I created a brother, Hallad, his brother’s son, Taby, Hallad’s daughters, Laren, Helga, and Ferlain. I made Taby very important to Rollo, because life then was as fragile as death was final and always nearby, and thus one heir wasn’t ever enough, particularly if a man wanted to create a dynasty, which Rollo did. Indeed, William the Conqueror, who conquered England in 1066, was his direct descendant.

  Rollo, first duke of Normandy (derived from the word Northmen), is buried in Rouen Cathedral. His face carving shows quite a handsome fellow.