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“No, he’s not, you’re right about that, Kiri,” Chessa said. “You keep away from him. He’s a coward and a troublemaker.”
But Kiri didn’t. Luckily, it was Chessa who came upon the two of them. She heard Kiri shout up at Athol, who was sneering down at her, “You lied to me, Athol. My second papa won’t have Varrick’s babe. It’s my first papa’s babe.”
“You’re a stupid little girl,” Athol said. “You don’t know anything. Go away. She isn’t your second papa, she’s nothing but a silly woman, worth little save for breeding.”
“Not until you tell me you lied.”
Athol swore at her. Then when she kicked him in his shin, he leaned down and picked her up. He shook her. “You miserable whelp,” he shouted in her face, spittle spewing out. “You damned miserable whelp. You’re his and you don’t deserve to live, much less to live here and take what is mine.”
Chessa had no idea what he intended, but the look on his face terrified her. There was a complete lack of control there, his eyes dark with rage. She said very quietly, “Let her down, Athol, now.”
“You,” he said, and shook Kiri again. She fisted her small hand and shoved it into his nose. He yowled and threw her down.
Chessa was on him in the next instant, shrieking in his face, cursing him with all the words she’d learned in Dublin from her father’s soldiers. When he raised his hand to her, she sent her knee into his groin. When he was bowed and yelling with pain, she kicked him in the leg and knocked him to the ground. She kicked him in the ribs, then again in the leg and heard the bone snap. Still, she didn’t stop. She was panting hard, her anger making the air around her as red as the Christian’s hell, making the loch look black as midnight.
“Chessa!”
She tried to struggle away from him, to keep kicking Athol, who was cringing at her feet, holding himself in a ball, but Cleve pulled her off. She whirled about, panting, “He was shaking Kiri. Then he threw Kiri on the ground, Cleve. Threw her!”
“Kiri is all right. I taught her how to roll off her shoulder if she ever fell. Stop it, Chessa. Look, Kiri is just fine.”
“Papa, see, I’m not hurt, not like Athol is.”
The red mist fell away from her as she heard the satisfaction in Kiri’s voice. She took a deep breath. “I wonder why I didn’t draw my knife and send it into his black heart,” she said, then shook her head. She stared down at him, raised her foot, then lowered it. “Nay, that’s enough for him.”
“My leg,” Athol said, holding it and rocking back and forth, moaning. “You broke my leg.”
“Aye,” Chessa said. “I heard the bone crack. Hold still and I’ll see to you.”
Athol screamed and tried to scramble away from her.
“You bullying coward, hold still.”
Cleve said, “She won’t kill you now, Athol. Do as she says, else I’ll have to hit your head with a rock so you won’t move while she takes care of you.”
“What is this?” Igmal said as he strode to them, wiping his hands on the leather apron tied around his waist. “Aye, Athol, you forgot her warning, eh? You’re lucky she didn’t kill you.”
Athol groaned. “Don’t let her touch me, Igmal, I order you.”
“Hold your damned tongue in your throat, Athol. She won’t kill you now.”
“My father—”
Cleve leaned down and sent his fist into Athol’s jaw. He fell back, unconscious.
“Papa, can you teach me how to do that?”
“No,” Cleve said and picked up his daughter. “Are you truly all right, sweeting?”
“Aye,” Kiri said. “Igmal, can I come with you now and help you work?”
Igmal grinned, those beautiful white teeth of his glistening in the sun, and took her from Cleve. “Aye, little one, I think I’ll let you play in the tar pot. Your papas will like that, I think.”
In late September, when in Norway the air would have turned frigid in the early afternoon, it was still warm in Scotland, the air soft and sweet from the smells of the heather. Karelia was finished. The wood smelled fresh and new and Chessa loved it. It was small, but there was enough room for three of them and the dozen men and the four families that came there to live. There was a bathing hut, just like the one in Malverne, only smaller, a privy, a barn for the grain, several storage huts, a barn for the cows, goats, and two horses, a blacksmith’s hut, and a small slave compound. Now the men were erecting a palisade some ten feet high that would surround the farmstead.
“It’s ours,” Chessa said with relish as she rubbed her hands together. Argana had given her pots and dishes and spoons and knives. She even gave her a beautiful linen cloth for the long narrow eating table. The first time Cleve lit the fire pit, the first time Chessa pulled the thick piece of wood attached to the roof beams with the serpent’s head at its end, adjusting its thick chains hooked to the iron cooking pot over the pit, she laughed aloud with pleasure. Varrick was there. He frowned at her. Argana laughed as well. Cayman just stood back, watching, saying nothing, just watching. Athol stood on crutches, watching as well, his expression so sullen Cleve wished he could kick him out.
It was that night, their first night at Karelia, the first night in their own box bed with a soft new bearskin, given to them by Ottar, one of Igmal’s men, when Chessa said, “I’m with child.”
