Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [92]
She punched his arm, then immediately began to caress where she had hit him. He grinned down at her.
“Nay, all my time was spent with Taby, for he was my son as surely as he was my brother.”
She wanted to kiss him right now, right here, in the middle of the longhouse, standing near the fire pit, with all his people here, doubtless looking at them, looking, nay, staring, at her, the niece of the mighty Duke Rollo of Normandy. Did they truly believe her?
“Will you continue to be my skald?”
“I brim with new tales, even now, at this very moment, and all of them are about you, my lord, and your splendid body and your beautiful eyes.”
“You once told me that all Vikings looked alike, that we were boring with our fair hair and blue eyes.”
“I was wrong. Your eyes are unique, the blue is softer than the blue of a robin’s wing yet as bright as the sun-drenched sky in mid-morning, as—”
He clapped his hand over her mouth. “Your skald’s mouth is spewing out nonsense.”
He felt her kiss his palm. He drew his hand away, but continued to look at her, wondering for a moment what was in her mind, then he knew, and said, “Stop looking at me that way. Tell me of your father instead.”
“I will also tell of your noble heart.”
“I will retch if you mention such a thing.”
She laughed and shook her head, saying, “It is difficult to tell you of serious things knowing that Letta would rather be gulleting me with a knife than preparing to leave Malverne. Her father is still looking at me as his skald. He doesn’t believe me to be Rollo’s niece. What did he say to you, Merrik, when you told him who I was?”
“He laughed, a great belly laugh, and wiped his eyes, and reminded me I was master of Malverne and had no need to weave tales so unbelievable.”
“Does he believe you now?”
“He must. Am I not to wed you in two days?”
“I cannot wait for them to be gone from here.”
“Tomorrow. Now, tell me about your father.”
She dipped a wooden spoon into a barrel of mead and poured it into a cup. She handed it to him and watched him drink it down. “You wish me drunk?”
“No, it is just that I would put off the telling. It is painful, you see.”
“It can wait,” he said, and lifted her hand. He studied her fingers, the short blunt nails, the red chafed flesh. A slave’s hands, used to endless hard work, his wife’s hands. In two days. He turned and smiled a welcome at Sarla, who looked hesitant to approach them.
“Come, sister, and tell my betrothed that you will drink mead with us at our wedding feast. She fears Letta will try to gullet her before she leaves.”
“I will drink and dance and sing, Laren. I am pleased. I would have been just as pleased had you not been Rollo’s niece. Now I am not certain how to behave around you.”
Laren said nothing. She merely walked to Sarla and wrapped her arms around her. “You are my sister. You have been kind to me since the moment I arrived here, and I was naught but a slave. This is your home. Please, I am still the same.”
Merrik was pleased. He started to tell her so when he looked up to see Taby, rubbing his eyes, wearing a loose tunic that flapped around his feet, standing there yawning and looking around. He saw Merrik and smiled, a big sleepy smile, and made Merrik feel like a king, not just a simple duke. He went down to his haunches and opened his arms. “Taby, come,” he called out.
The child ran to him, wrapping his arms around his neck. Merrik nuzzled the child’s cheek, breathed in his child’s sweet scent. He’d known him for such a short time and now he would lose him again.
Laren said to Sarla, “Once we return Taby to Uncle Rollo, Merrik won’t see him except when we pay them visits. It will hurt him deeply. It hurts him now just to think of being parted from him.”
“Aye, but you will have your own children.”
Laren stilled. Then she smiled hugely. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Sarla grinned at her. “Perhaps it’s time you gave it full consideration. Oh goodness, here