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No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it. It made no sense. And what about Fromm? An accident? Merrik doubted it. There were so many strange currents running here, emotions smothered then let loose, so many things he didn’t know, couldn’t begin to guess. He leaned back in the chair, his arms on the beautifully carved posts, and listened to Otta drone on about a king Merrik would never have a bit of interest in. He was no closer to discovering who had been responsible for Taby’s and Laren’s abduction. His wounded arm began to throb.
He slowly opened the thick narrow door to Helga’s tower room and looked inside. It was a strange chamber, octagonal in shape, strange scents lying strong in the still air. She was standing beside a long bench that held numerous pottery bowls and glass containers. She looked up and smiled at him.
“I have waited for you to come to me.”
“I have been told that you allow no man here in your tower chamber. However, I did not believe you would forbid me to enter.” He paused as she smiled more widely at him. “You looked at Laren and me. I do not like that. Why did you do it?”
She only shrugged, not at all alarmed by his show of male anger. “I never take a man before I know if he is sufficient to fulfill my needs. You are, Merrik Haraldsson, indeed you are.”
“Did you take men before Fromm was killed?”
“Fromm,” she said, and then repeated her dead husband’s name yet again and then a third time. “Fromm. We were wedded for many years. He wanted a child so badly, and I did as well, for I saw my son as Rollo’s heir after William. But my belly never swelled. Rollo and Fromm blamed my potions for it, but that isn’t true. Then, just when I gave up, I became with child. Poor Ferlain had just birthed the fifth of her eight dead babes. The gods know that I feared for my babe as well. He moved strongly within me, my beautiful son, but I held silent, not telling anyone. I was afraid to.”
“What happened?”
“The babe came from my body much too early. I was out collecting herbs and roots in the forest to the north of Rouen when the cramps began. There was so much blood. I never imagined there would be so much blood. I buried the little scrap of a babe there, in the depths of the forest.”
“Why do you tell me this, Helga?”
“I didn’t pay those men to kill you. I have always wanted to tell someone about it.” She looked away from him, staring into the distance, yet there was no distance, for the chamber was close with fall warmth and the smells of the potions held in the pottery bowls and basins. “It was after that I began to make potions that enhanced my beauty, that brought youth back to my flesh. I wish to take you as a lover, Merrik Haraldsson. You are strong, I admire your man’s body. Many men care not about a woman’s pleasure. You do, for I saw what you did to Laren, and she, ah, she didn’t even realize that what you do is different from most men.
She doesn’t appreciate what you give her. I want you. What say you?”
“I cannot think of why I should agree. I am one of Rollo’s heirs. Surely it would be dangerous for me to betray my wife and Rollo’s favored niece by plowing your belly, as soft and white as it may be.”
“On the other hand,” Helga said very quietly as she set down a slender glass goblet on the bench top, “it is possible that I will give you more pleasure than a man dreams of, that I might even be able to tell you who was responsible for Laren’s abduction two years ago.”
Merrik looked at her for a very long time, saying finally, “I can take your white throat between my hands and squeeze until you tell me those who are responsible.”
“Aye, you could,” she said.
He walked slowly toward her. She smiled at him and pulled the high top of her gown away from her neck. “Come,” she said. “Kill me.”
24
“MY LORD MERRIK! Don’t,” Otta yelled from the doorway. “Don’t hurt her!”
Merrik merely smiled down at Helga, then slowly turned to face Rollo’s minister. “You move silently, Otta,” he said easily. “Perhaps you were waiting outside? For a signal? Perhaps you hoped to find me on top of her rather than my hands itching to close about her throat?”
“You mock me, Viking,” Otta said, and came into the room, his pace slow, for he wasn’t a fool, and he knew that a man like Merrik Haraldsson could erupt into violence in an instant of time. “I am not a spy. I did not know you were here with Helga. I merely wished to see her.”
“You see her,” Merrik said, smiling, a cruel smile that made Otta want to leave, and very quickly.
Helga laughed. She smoothed the tunic over her throat again, then said, “Otta, what do you wish? Another potion for Rollo? I cannot make the pain lessen in his joints. I have tried.”
“It isn’t that,” Otta said. “I must speak with you.”
Merrik looked from the woman to the man. “Do you wish to take Fromm’s place? I should consider it carefully were I you, Otta.”
“I consider everything carefully, Lord Merrik. That is why I am Rollo’s minister.”
Merrik merely smiled and left the tower chamber. He walked down the winding wooden steps out into the palace courtyard. There were deep wide gashes in the black earth, filled with muddy water from the heavy rain the day before. There were horses tethered together in a long line, a long trough of hay in front of them. The air was rich with their scent. He nodded to the threescore soldiers who lolled about the compound. They eyed him warily, knowing well who he was, knowing that he could be their master after Rollo’s death. Each wondered if William knew of the Viking’s existence.
Merrik continued on his way, his mind taken with the duke. Laren had told him about Ferlain, how she’d come quietly into the sleeping chamber, scaring her nearly witless, then telling her that it had been Rollo who had had them abducted. He hated them, had wanted Laren’s mother, Nirea . . . It all seemed too fantastic. It made no sense. Ferlain had sounded mad from what Laren had told him. And Helga? If Merrik went to her bed, would she truly tell him who had been responsible for Laren’s abduction? He shook his head, looked up, and saw Weland detach himself from three men who were wrestling on a wide patch of ground covered with thick hay.
He was sweating and smiling, massaging his bare shoulder as he strode toward Merrik. The man was old, it was true, but he looked stronger than the oak sapling at the edge of the courtyard. There was a man on the ground, groaning. Had he been one of Weland’s opponents?
“Ho! My lord Merrik. I have a message for you from Rollo. He visits an old man who owns a farmstead northward on the Seine some five leagues from here. He wishes you and Laren to join him there.”
