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“How savage?” Roran called out.
“They’re so savage they even piss in their longhouses.” She let the men’s laughter warm her, then turned her face to the southern breeze off the longboat’s port side. It was very calm now, the water a deep blue, the whitecaps small and lazy. They sailed just beyond the coast, always keeping land in sight. They would reach the river Seine by nightfall, if the wind held and the rain kept to the north of them.
“The giving of land to Rollo and making it a duchy—it is the poacher turned gamekeeper,” Merrik said, as he picked up his oar and rhythmically pulled on it. The other men soon joined him. “No, this Charles the Third isn’t at all simple. He gave to your uncle what he already occupied. He is a wise man.”
“You make it sound as though my uncle were a naïve child to be led about by the nose.”
Merrik laughed. “Nay, acquit me, Laren, of speaking thusly of the sainted Rollo. He is a man to fear and to respect. Your uncle wanted permanency and he assured it. Aye, he saved himself much trouble and got what he wanted for his people and for his heirs. If you wish to farm and settle, it makes no sense to want to make war on your neighbors. Tell me more about this Otta and Weland.”
“Otta has been at my uncle’s side since Rollo was outlawed from Norway by King Harald. He is younger than my uncle and very smart. Weland, my uncle’s lieutenant, grew up with my uncle. They fought together, wedded at the same time, and their wives died at nearly the same time. They are all very close.”
The men fell to speaking of other matters. Laren sat back beside Old Firren, who held firm to the rudder, letting the afternoon sun warm her face. She slept. When she awoke the sun was no longer on her face. Merrik stood over her, his hand outstretched. “We are coming now to the Seine. We will continue south down the river. We will make camp outside of Rouen. I wish us all to be clean and well garbed when we go to your uncle’s palace.”
Laren thought of the three new gowns Ileria had woven then sewn for her. All of them were of the softest linen, all now neatly rolled in Merrik’s sea chest. Aye, she wanted to face all of them looking the best she could.
They pulled the longboat from the water onto a deserted stretch of narrow beach, bordered by thick beech and maple trees. The evening was warm, insects were flying madly about, the water lapped against the shore. There were no villages close by. All was peaceful.
Merrik turned to Eller. “Keep your nose awake to smell out any trouble.”
“I shall, Merrik, have no worry.”
Merrik was worried, though not about enemies coming upon them unawares. He was worried because he’d allowed Laren to come with him, bowing to her quite logical arguments that her
uncle might just as well dismiss him out of hand rather than listen to him, that he might be enraged by his unlikely tale and have him killed. All the reasons made good sense, but it still didn’t make him like the situation.
He wasn’t worried that Rollo would kill him even though he’d wedded his niece, who had been destined for a dynastic marriage with the king of the Danelaw’s heir. No, he imagined the man would bow to that. He was worried about the traitor who’d had her and Taby abducted. Was it Helga? It seemed possible, and Laren, in her skald’s tale, seemed convinced she was the guilty one. However, Merrik hesitated to believe in the obvious, for in his experience, what appeared obvious in reality proved many times a devious and wrongful path.
He turned onto his side and gathered Laren into his arms. The scent of the warm wolf fur and the feel of her soft flesh against him made him harden instantly. He licked back the tendrils of soft hair and kissed her earlobe. But he didn’t wake her.
He was on the edge of sleep when she screamed. She was frantically struggling against him, her breath coming in short painful gasps, and she was crying, helpless cries that made his guts churn even as he shook her hard.
“Wake up, Laren, come, it’s a bad dream, nothing more.”
She blinked at him, shuddered, and sniveled, trying to still her tears.
“The same dream?”
She nodded.
“You haven’t had the dream for a very long time. It’s about the men who took you and Taby?”
“I can see their faces very clearly, Merrik. Do you think they’re still in Rouen?”
“No, not those same men, but others. Aye, there will be others. By all the gods, I shouldn’t have listened to you. I should have left you safe at Malverne.” He cursed long and fluently.
“I will be safe with you. Doubt it not. I’m sorry I woke you, Merrik.”
“Do not be sorry. You will be safe with me, dammit. If men come after you, I will kill them. Hush now, the night is still upon us.”
She nestled against him, seeking the heat of his body. She whispered against his chest, “Do you miss Taby?”
“Aye, overmuch. It is a sorrow and a joy I will have all my life. Were it not Rollo to hold claim to him, I would keep him with me.”
“You have an excellent eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a sniveling, filthy little boy and yet you wanted him the moment you saw him. You saw what he really was and accepted what you saw immediately, regardless of the other.”
