Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [125]
“What story did you tell everyone?”
“Don’t try to distract me, Merrik. You got yourself attacked, didn’t you? You had a plan, I knew it from the way you were acting—all nonchalant, laughing overmuch, looking at me as if touching me would make me vomit. I won’t have it, Merrik. I told them a story about a high lord of Egypt who sold his wife into slavery to an Arab trader from the Bulgar. He had a dozen other wives, you see, so one wouldn’t be much of a loss to him, and he needed the silver she would bring him. Now, I will ask Helga to give you a potion so that you won’t sicken. Perhaps she has something for the pain as well.”
He just stared at her, his expression bemused, saying nothing as she walked from the chamber.
He awoke to see Helga sitting beside him. She was staring at him, her eyes hot. He wanted to tell her that she was the last woman on earth he would willingly touch, but caught himself in time. He tried to smile at her, an effort he hoped she appreciated.
“You are awake,” she said, and touched her fingertips to his face, caressing his cheek, his jaw. “I have looked at your arm. It is clean. I have made a potion for you. Here, let me help you.”
He drank slowly until all the potion was gone. It tasted sweet, and that surprised him.
“In a few moments you will feel no more pain.”
“Where is Laren?”
“The poor child is with Rollo. He can’t seem to let her out of his sight, the silly old man. You will rule shortly, Lord Merrik, doubt it not. Is there more pain?”
He shook his head. “What did you give me?”
She shrugged, her hand now stroking over his throat. “Ah, a bit of sweet basil, some barley water, hemlock—”
He sucked in his breath, and she added easily, “Just a bit on the end of my finger. Scarce enough to kill a fly, but not a man like you, Merrik. Other things whose names you don’t know. Ah, and a dollop of honey to make it taste good.”
“I feel no pain now,” he said, and was surprised.
“Good,” she said and leaned over him. She kissed him, her mouth soft, her breath sweet and warm. He felt her tongue gently pressing against his closed mouth, and he allowed her entrance. He responded to her, knowing there was no choice really.
The man had said that Rollo had wanted him dead.
He brought up his good arm and pulled her closer. Her breasts were full and very soft against his chest.
Why would Rollo want him dead? Surely the man lied. Aye, he lied, and Merrik was back to having nothing, and thus he continued kissing Helga, letting her do as she wished with him. When her hand smoothed down his belly to touch him, he stayed her hand. “Nay, my wife. I know not where she is. She is Rollo’s niece. I am her husband and one of Rollo’s heirs. Is it true that William Longsword is a paltry young man?”
“I have always believed so, but then I also believed that Laren and Taby were dead. I have been wrong about many things. If William has his father’s wretched longevity, why then, he won’t die until the next century.”
She kissed him again, her tongue warm and searching in his mouth.
When she finally raised her head, he said, “You must leave me now, Helga. There will be another time.”
She smiled at him, kissed him lightly once more, and rose to stand beside the box bed. “You will be fine, Lord Merrik. Whoever tried to kill you wasn’t good enough.”
Suddenly he saw coldness in her eyes where there had been such heat but a moment before. The coldness was stark and hard and real, but gone so quickly he wasn’t certain that he hadn’t imagined it. He said nothing.
She smiled again, and left him, saying over her shoulder, “It is very late. I will come back to you tomorrow.”
It was near to dawn when Weland came to their sleeping chamber. Merrik was awake, thinking, Laren asleep, pressed against his bare shoulder. He felt very little pain and blessed Helga for her medicinal skills if for nothing else.
“My lord,” Weland said quietly.
“Aye, what is it? Rollo is all right?”
“It is Fromm, Helga’s husband. He is dead.”
23
IT WAS JUST past dawn.