Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [80]
The path steepened; it was narrow with deep ruts and strewn rocks on it. Her breath was becoming labored. She hated it, this weakness of her body.
She looked at the top, not too far distant now, and kept looking until she was there, finally, breathing hard, a stitch beginning in her side. But she’d made it.
She straightened and walked to the edge. The view was more magnificent than she’d imagined. The fjord below made many turns, curving inward, then winding sharply outward, the dark blue flowing forever beyond the eye. She gazed at the fir-covered uplands opposite the fjord where no one had touched the land, for it was too steep, too irregular, with sharp faces falling hundreds of feet to the water. She turned now to gaze down at Malverne with all its slightly sloping or flat land given entirely over to farming. The wooden palisade looked like a near perfect circle from her vantage point, with its pointed wooden spikes standing high that would surely gut any enemy who tried to scale them. All the buildings within looked sound and solid, surrounding the large rectangular longhouse. Smoke snaked upward, a thin blue line that disappeared into the sweet air, and she fancied she could smell Sarla’s cooking. Toward the back of the enclosure, she saw the burial site and the temple. She knew Merrik had visited his parents’ graves many times, always returning to the longhouse quiet, his head and shoulders bowed. She knew he grieved deeply for them, but she’d said nothing. What could she say? She couldn’t speak to him of her own parents’ deaths because he would want to know who they were and he would push her and push her. She knew she would tell him soon. He’d been right about her tale being a test. She could trust him; she had to, it was that simple.
She sat down, not too far from the edge of the cliff, and leaned back against a rock. She hoped Sarla was all right. She hoped Letta’s scalp hurt. Then she thought of Merrik and wondered if many lovers had come up here in the past, aye, many, she thought, as her eyes slowly closed.
“I saw you come up here. I waited to see if my brother would come after you but he didn’t. Then I followed you.”
She heard his voice in a half-sleep, far away, a caressing voice, one filled with satisfaction, but still only a voice and it couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t frighten her.
“No one else saw you, or me, come up here. This place is called Raven’s Peak. In recent years there have been fewer attacks by other Vikings, thus it is no longer much used as a lookout point. No, it is a lovers’ place now, and you are here, Laren.”
More than a voice now. There was gloating in it and pleasure, the sort of pleasure a man would find if he caught a woman alone, unawares, a woman he knew was his for the taking. She felt her heart begin to pound.
“I know you are awake, Laren. I thought perhaps you were coming here to meet a man—as I said, it is that sort of place—but you are alone. I am pleased. You turned Merrik away or didn’t he want you in the middle of the day?”
She opened her eyes and stared up at Erik. It was hard to see his face because the sun was directly behind him. If she didn’t know him, she would have believed, briefly, that he was a god, golden and radiant, so very big. Slowly, Laren eased up, scraping her back against the rock. It made her wince, but she said nothing, merely moved up until she was sitting. Then, very slowly, she stood, her hand back against the rock.
“It is late,” she said. “I must return to the fields. Merrik will expect me.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I was told Raven’s Peak offered the most beautiful view of your land. I wanted to see for myself.”
“As I said, many men and women have come here to couple.”
“I came only to look.”
“I came to have you. I won’t wait longer. Perhaps you knew I would follow you if only you managed to get away from Merrik. Is that what you wanted?