by Jill Hughey
“Thank you, Ingrid,” Rochelle said. “You have been most kind.”
“Ah, yes, Ingrid,” Drogo sneered. Ingrid flinched. “This foolish servant did not even tell us you had gone. She carried breakfast to your room, followed a few hours later by lunch. She even knocked and pretended to wait for your permission to enter. How much did you pay her to keep your secret?”
“Ingrid knew nothing of my plan,” Rochelle answered evenly. “Though I will indeed reward her silence now that I know of it.”
Ingrid dashed away, glancing worriedly at Drogo over her shoulder.
David spoke, “You discovered my wife was missing when you went to fetch her for dinner?”
“I did.”
“She tells me you asked her to serve at your table.” David said.
“Yes.”
“Were you planning to let them rape her here, where you eat?” he asked personably.
“Now see here,” Drogo said, beginning to rise.
David shoved the enormous table toward him, pinning him in his chair. “Answer me!” he shouted. Rochelle watched her husband carefully, wondering if this was the moment she would see him come unwound.
Drogo curled his hands around the edge of the table, letting his fingers drum on it. “It would not have come to that, son,” he cajoled. “I wanted to frighten her a little. Teach her some lessons. That is what you sent her here for, was it not?”
“I did not send her here at all,” David said harshly. “Tell me, exactly how were you planning to stop a dozen men from doing as they pleased once you finished dangling her in front of them?”
“They do as I say.”
“Their absence indicates otherwise. Those men have no loyalty to you. They drink your ale and rut with your serving women. Take those two things away and you would have been sitting here alone long before now.”
Drogo smiled nonchalantly. “So? You cleared my hall with a mean look. You have proven you are stronger than your papa. I suppose you can kill a man at will, as I used to do. Should I be impressed?”
“I do not know. When was the last time you killed someone?”
The smile faded from Drogo’s face. “A long time ago.”
David rose and leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Yes, I think I was about three years old, which is why I do not remember her. How did it feel to beat your own wife to death?”
“I did not beat her to death,” Drogo protested, the first hint of emotion touching his voice.
“Pardon me. You damaged her until she bled to death, dying with your unborn child still inside her.”
Drogo tried to rise again. David gave the table another shove.
The older man leaned back with a sigh. “What are you going to do? Avenge her?”
David sat back down to rest his elbows on the table. “I have not decided.”
“Do you think it will take you long? To decide, I mean?”
David shrugged. “You seem to have nothing but time.”
“That is true.” They sat for a few minutes. The silence would have seemed congenial to anyone who happened into the room. A man and his son, seated at the family table for a friendly conversation, except for the blade coated in drying blood. David fingered the pommel, itching to use it again.
“You are very much like your mother,” Drogo offered. “The brown eyes. The deep thinking. I used to wonder what she thought about all the time.”
“How to protect her children, perhaps,” David said sharply. “And herself.”
“Yes, she did coddle you boys.”
“Apparently not enough, considering you crippled one of us.”
Drogo nodded in apparent agreement. “Doeg’s arm. That was a mistake.”
“You ruined his childhood and you are doing your damnedest to ruin his adulthood.”
Drogo laughed harshly. “If he ever becomes a man, I might be able to ruin his adulthood.”
“As of yesterday, I think he is on his way.”
“Indeed he might be if he finally found the balls to tell someone about his precious arm and his mother.”
David curled his lip at his father’s nonchalance. “Let him have Calx, Father. You obviously do not want it.”
“If you kill me, then he will inherit it.”
David studied him for a moment. “Rochelle,” he said quietly. She startled. She’d again been mesmerized by the quiet tones of their conversation, in such stark contrast to the horrific topics they covered. She looked to her husband now, mystified by what he could possibly want from her. “What say you? Does he deserve to die?”
Drogo laughed harshly. “You defer to your wife?”
“My wife is a wise advisor. She has never led me astray, although there have been times I have not heeded her words, or been too proud to ask for her help. We have both paid for that. She recognized, for example, what Doeg has become, almost from the first day she met him. Am I right, sweetling?”
Drogo groaned. “Just kill me now if I am going to have to listen to a son of mine use love words on his wife.”
Rochelle could not suppress a smirk. Her father-in-law was disturbed, unkind, even evil, but his wit was sharp.
David asked again, “My beautiful, precious, darling love, what do you think I should do about my father?”
Rochelle studied her husband. The rage was still there, carefully contained. He wanted to lash out at something. Clearly, the execution of his own father was not a valid choice. He would trade a lifetime of guilt, for what gain? She moved her gaze to Drogo who, while trying to look complacent, still had an air of eagerness about him. He watched David with paternal pride, enjoying the potential violence even if he might soon be the target of it. He craved brutality like most people craved the spring sun after a frozen winter. His season of savagery had ended with the maiming of his son and murder of his wife, yet he yearned to be awash in cruelty.
She took a deep breath, unwilling to feed his desire any more than she would guide her husband to patricide. “I would not have you kill your sire because of my treatment here, though perhaps he deserves to die for his past sins.” Drogo’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table as Rochelle continued. “In any case, I do not think it is your place to perform this service to your family. It is Doeg’s.”
David nodded. “Do you see how wise she is, Father? How she reasons through things?”
Drogo shrugged. “It has been most refreshing. Now that you have wasted an hour of my life to decide that absolutely nothing will change, may I go to bed?” Drogo said, unimpressed with his reprieve. “Or are you going to keep that table shoved into my chest all night?”
“Things are going to change, Father. Until Doeg claims his inheritance and takes responsibility for this pile of rubbish, I will send visitors here. Often. I do not care if they find you sitting in this chair wearing the same tunic from now until eternity, but I had better receive reports of crops being planted and fat happy peasants.”
Drogo rolled his eyes. “I have an overseer to tend to all that.”
David glanced around the room. “Really? Where? Was he one of those miscreants I ran off?”
“He was ill. He went to Regensburg for medicine a few days ago.”
Rochelle shared a look of doubt with David. “Yes, I am sure he went for medicine,” David said sarcastically. “It does not matter. You are still responsible to manage your estate.”
“Or else?”
“Or I will come back here with my wife who will show you and your overseer how to run your miserable estate from the chair at this end of the table. You will give Atrum Calx the attention it deserves, if you do not want a noblewoman in your hall doing your damned job.”
The aged blue eyes glittered to life. “You have no rights here. Not you or your peerless spouse.”
“I may have no rights, old man, but I have a responsibility to protect Doeg’s interests until he gets his head out of his arse and you get out of the way.”
Drogo slammed his hand down on the table
in frustration. “I will not stand for it,” he shouted.
David shoved the table again. Hard. Drogo actually coughed. “You are right. You will sit for it, just like you have been sitting for God knows how many years. You will resume proper management of your estate or my wife and I will. I do not care if you agree. You owe Doeg at least that much, so that is how it is going to be!”
They stared down the table at one another, young against old, righteous against wrongdoer, son against father.
“I am going to bed,” Drogo finally said, shifting his chair back.
“It is barely dusk.”
“I am an old man. I get tired.” He rose to totter stiffly to the narrow steps, climbing to the lonely middle door that he closed behind him.
Rochelle picked up the mug of wine, now cold. She took a deep drink, not surprised to feel the rim rattle against her teeth. “That was the strangest conversation I have ever witnessed,” she declared when the wine began to warm her stomach
“It is probably the strangest one I have ever had.” David looked at his blade, unsatisfied, then peered around the hall. “I hate this house. I have never been comfortable here. But we have no choice but to stay at least tonight.”
“I do not mind, as long as you are with me,” she said with a soft smile. “What was it like, when you first came here?”
He moved to stir the fire into life. “The estate was respectable, though looking back I now see that neither Father nor Doeg gave it any attention. Father welcomed me. He seemed genuinely happy at my homecoming. Doeg was more reserved. We became friends during the summers when Father was not an influence.” He laughed bitterly. “Or at least, I thought we had become friends.”
Rochelle rose to hug him. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. She rubbed his broad back for a moment, then pulled away to take his hand. “Come.” She led him to the shabby pallet in the little storeroom. She tempted and pushed him in ways she had not imagined before. He trembled against her, then broke, letting the inaction he had accepted where his father and brother were concerned become action within her body. She reveled as he lost control and pulled her hands over her head.
He shouted as he spent, freeing her hands so he could grip her shoulder, pressing her body firmly down as he ground his hips against hers, releasing his seed with small urgent plunges.
He slumped on her, his face nestled against her neck, his panting breaths hot on her skin.
She rubbed her hands down his back, knowing he would need reassurance when he came back to himself. “I love you,” she whispered.
He rolled off her, flinging his arm over his eyes. “Fire and smoke, Rochelle.”
“You have been holding out on me,” she said teasingly.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, worry clouding his voice. He had never lost control like that before.
“I am not made of glass,” she chided as she straddled him. “But no, you did not hurt me. You pleased me a great deal.”
“Men are told that wives prefer gentle treatment,” David said, and she loved him for the cautious tone in his voice.
“This wife prefers to know exactly how you are feeling, and not only in bed.”
“Men do not have feelings,” he said imperiously, but his lips curved in a half smile.
She pulled his arm from his face. “You hold too much in, my lord husband. You may show the world your façade, but it is not enough for me.”
His brow furrowed. “I do not know what you want,” he whispered.
“I want you to get rid of your infernal calm when we are alone together. I do not want to be protected from the anger or hurt you feel. Tell me what is going on in this head of yours.” Her fingers pushed some hair off his forehead to gently trace his scar, waiting patiently for words he struggled to form.
“I am mostly angry with myself. How many times did you spell out the truth for me? I would not listen to you. If I’d believed you or Theo, I cannot even begin to say how different things could have been. You were endangered several times because of my blind allegiance and my brother’s continuing agitations. I could have lost you, you could have lost Alda, or ended up married to one of those barbarians. And to think, Doeg kept questioning your loyalty while stabbing me in the back. I completely failed you by believing in him.”
“You did not fail me,” she said sternly. “You met each challenge, even those I put in your path.”
“Why did I trust him? Why did I not see what he had become?”
“It is natural to trust your own brother and to see him as you knew him to be in the past.” She smiled down at him, almost pityingly. He was adrift, uncertain. Yet his next words were so revealing, they shook her.
“I have lost my whole family. Not that it was much of a family, mind you, but it was mine.”
She smoothed the lines from his brow. “I do not think Doeg is lost to you. I do not think he is beyond redemption.”
“You, of all people, think he might still have good in him?”
“I do.”
“Hmmph. You may be right, but I will not seek reconciliation with him. He is not welcome in our home. If he comes to me then we will see, but I will not allow him to frighten you or cause discord between us.”
She could not hide her relieved smile. “I have to admit I am glad of that. What of your father?”
David reached for her, bringing her down into his embrace. “He showed no real remorse, not for Doeg or my mother or your treatment. Yet how can I seek punishment for a feeble old man who committed a crime over twenty years past? I will do as I said and no more, for Doeg’s sake. When Doeg returns he will have to take responsibility for this mess. If he needs help with our father or the estate I will do my duty, but that is all.”
She kissed him gently, just a soft brush across his lips to ease his hurt. “I know nothing can replace your own blood family. Do not forget, you have gained a new family with all the people at Alda. You have my mother who dotes on you. And there is Theo, just a day away. He is more than a brother to you.”
“Do not forget the most important part,” he said quietly.
She cocked her head, questioning.
“You. Do you really love me, Rochelle, with the frightening desperation I feel for you? I nearly went mad trying to get here, to get to you. I meant what I said to my father: if I had lost you I would have killed him, and Doeg, and probably myself.”
Her smile was immediate and beautiful, reassuring and gentle. She cradled his face in her hands. “I do so love you. Beyond all reason, I love you. Into all the dark chasms you do not wish for me to see, I love you. Your life is with me now.” They shared a deep kiss before she continued. “I never thought I wanted a husband, but now that we have chosen each other, I never want to lose you.”
She touched him with the tenderness she knew he craved, the shine of her green eyes carrying him beyond the present pain of loss to a place where he could see a future full of love.
EPILOGUE
Winter 834
Rochelle rubbed the swell of her belly absently as the baby turned a flip. David smiled at her across the fire. It had taken her almost two years to become pregnant so she guarded her and the babe’s health carefully. She had never spent so much time sitting in the hall as she had since autumn. She still loved Alda, but it no longer held the largest part of her affection. She had given up long rides on Regret and now avoided even short bumpy rides in the cart. David informed her of the activities on the estate and she worked a few hours a day on the ledgers, laying plans for spring. Next summer would be a challenge, with David gone to the army, his forge just reaching full operation with a talented journeyman swordsmith, and a newborn to love, but she trusted Ardo and Samuel to keep the tenants muddling along with her limited guidance.
She smiled at the thought of Samuel. Ingrid had captured his fancy immediately when she returned to Alda with them from Atrum Calx. It had taken Samuel two years to mature enough to earn Ingrid’s love and the trust of
her son. Ingrid had conceived immediately upon their marriage and would deliver their baby in the next few weeks. Marta had borne two perfect children since her terrible loss in the fall of 831. Rochelle could feel genuine happiness for the other women now that her own child grew beneath her heart.
A knock on the door broke her contented reverie. David crossed the room with that confident gait of his. At the door, a young man bobbed his head in deference as he spoke, finally producing a letter. “I will want to send a reply,” David said curtly, inviting the messenger to the table where Ruthie offered a hot meal to him.
Rochelle struggled to contain her curiosity until David finally came to sit with her. “It is from Doeg,” he said simply as he unfurled the parchment.
Rochelle held her breath. She said nothing, allowing him to read in silence. She had not laid eyes on her hateful brother-in-law since he’d left her and David in the hut in Bavaria. David had seen him every summer, of course, and reported that Doeg was truly reforming himself, having found a mentor in an army friend who was willing to teach him how to run an estate. Doeg had not had much time to be a student. He inherited the burden of Atrum Calx in fall of 832 after Drogo died, ironically having fallen down the steps on a late-night visit to the latrine. David had seen to the estate as promised in the interim, but conditions for the tenants were only slightly improved. Nonetheless, Doeg spurned David’s offer of continued help. David had interpreted that as Doeg’s bid for independence, where Rochelle viewed it as a slap in the face. And so, they did not discuss Doeg very often. Nor had they needed to.
David smiled at the parchment. “Doeg is married.”
“Oh!” Rochelle cried in surprise. “Who is she?”
“No idea,” David replied.
“What do you mean? He did not give you a name or a description or anything?”
“No.”
“He must have known her last summer. He never said anything?”
David laughed. “Rochelle. This is my brother we are talking about. We do not exactly sit around the campfire discussing love interests.”
Rochelle huffed in frustration. “If he did not want to tell you anything, why did he bother to write?”