Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [70]
She shivered, not from the chill breeze blowing up from the fjord, but from his words. She was afraid of him, very afraid. And angry as well. Sarla knew what he did, and he didn’t care.
He was very different from Merrik. At least Merrik would never raise his hand to her or to any one of his people. She didn’t doubt that he could be violent and ruthless, that he could kill swiftly with no remorse, that an enemy would know no mercy at his hands, but he wouldn’t inflict pain on someone weaker than he, someone in his care.
She walked slowly back to the longhouse. The huge doors were open and she saw all the men, women, and children inside, heard at least ten different conversations, the laughter, the arguments, saw two men fighting. But she didn’t see Merrik. And she looked for him, she always looked for him, not feeling right until she’d found him. She’d seen little of him the entire day. He’d worked in the fields until it was nearly dark, then gone into the bathing hut with several of his men, laughing, jesting, punching each other. He’d seemed entirely untouched to her eyes, and it hurt her. The previous night had meant nothing to him. What had she expected? She was the one responsible for her own feelings, her own actions, not he.
She hadn’t offered to cook the meal and Sarla hadn’t asked her to. She’d sensed that something was wrong, but she’d said nothing, merely patted Laren’s arm. With all the people here, Laren did help serve the dinner and she worked hard until it was done. Then she’d left the longhouse. Now here she was dithering about, and she hated herself for it. She squared her shoulders and walked inside. No one noticed her, even Taby who was howling with laughter as Kenna taught him some wrestling tricks. Now, she helped herself to some venison, and some cabbage stewed with peas and apples. It was a strange combination, but tasty.
She’d eaten only a few bites when Erik called out, “Come here, girl, for all of us wish another tale.”
Another story. She looked around at all the eager faces. The men seemed as eager as the women, and the children were already beginning to crowd around her, Taby standing beside her, holding her skirt in one of his small fists.
She’d thought of this on and off all day long. Aye, she had a story and she prayed it would show her what to do. She looked at the Thoragassons, and they, too, looked eager, all except for Letta, who looked sullen. Letta was also staring at Merrik, who had called Taby to him and was now lifting him on his legs, tickling him and smiling when he squirmed and giggled. There was deep, very deep anger in Letta’s eyes.
Laren smiled at all of them in turn, including Letta.
13
SHE’D SURVIVED ON her wits for two long years. Aye, her wits, and great doses of sheer luck, and that luck had almost run out by the time she’d met Merrik. She wouldn’t fail now, she couldn’t, it was simply too important. Everything hung in the balance now. She thought of her forty silver pieces, her two armlets, and knew they would make no difference to anything. She motioned the children to sit around her in a circle. She wanted to speak quickly, to get it over with, but she knew it was wise to begin slowly, for it gained everyone’s attention and held them whilst she built her story, like a house. “I will tell you about Rolf the Viking who lived a long time ago here in Norway. He was proud and strong and fearless, a warrior of rare mettle, as are most of the men in Norway. Rolf was young, a man in his prime, and as handsome of mien as he was powerful of body.
“He had two brothers, both strong, both handsome, both ambitious. They were all in their prime, all as handsome of mien as they were powerful of body. Rolf was the eldest and he went araiding for