Chapter 15
“AYE, POOR SLAVE, you killed him and now you’ll die. I shall try not to smile when the last breath leaves your miserable body. I will go away by myself and laugh and know pleasure that you are gone forever. I won’t fear your ghost, for they will bury you so deep that even your evil will die.”
Laren stared up at Letta’s face, barely discernible in the dim light of Merrik’s sleeping chamber.
She’d been sound asleep, deep in a frightening darkness that held her unmoving and terrified.
And now Letta’s voice, low and vicious and filled with glee.
Still it was better than that nothingness, those obscure shadows that would have sucked away her life.
“Aye, now you’ll pay, you miserable whore, you’ll pay. You’re only a slave. Erik had a right to take you. And you killed him and now Merrik will kill you, it’s his duty as Erik’s brother.”
“I didn’t kill Erik.”
“Liar. No one else was seen on the path. Just you and Erik. No one else. You’re naught but a slave. No one believes your denials. Even now the men are discussing what to do with you, and let me tell you, whore, Merrik holds himself silent. He isn’t taking your side.”
“I didn’t kill Erik,” she said again, listening to the hollow ring of her own voice, knowing that no one would believe her, no one at all.
“Aye, you’ve slept for a very long time.
Sarla thought it would be best for you, the stupid cow.
She didn’t want the men killing you if you had dared to come to Erik’s burial, ah, and they would have, they would have.
She wanted you left alone, silent and asleep, to protect you, but it won’t matter, because you’ll be dead, as dead as Erik whom you killed. ”
“Is Sarla all right?”
Letta smiled then. “Aye, she is fine. She has lost a man who occasionally punished her for her insolence, but much more than that, she has lost Malverne, though she doesn’t realize it yet.
Now it belongs to Merrik, no one else, least of all that stupid cow, who is as barren as a fifty-year-old grandmother.
There are only Erik’s bastards, none of them legitimate because Erik was a young man and thus thought himself immortal and didn’t even make Kenna legitimate.
It was a pity, but not for me, not for Merrik, who now owns everything, as far as the eye can see.
“Aye, Malverne is Merrik’s now. When we wed, I will be mistress here and both you and Sarla will be gone, I will see to it.”
“Merrik would never make Sarla leave Malverne.”
“He will want to make me happy. I will be his wife and thus he will do what I wish him to.”
“What are you doing in here, Letta?”
It was Merrik silhouetted in the opening, his hand shoving aside the bearskin covering.
“I was just seeing if she was awake now, my lord,” Letta said in a softly sweet voice. “Sarla sent me to rouse her. It is odd that Erik’s widow would think so highly of the slave who murdered her husband.”
Letta straightened, then walked slowly to Merrik.
She stood in front of him, gazing up at him, and touched her fingertips to his forearm.
“I am so very sorry, Merrik. First your parents and now this slave killed your brother. I do understand, my lord, for I lost my older sister only two years ago when I was already grown. ’Tis a miserable thing. ”
“Go to your father, Letta.”
She smiled up at him, patted his arm again, and left.
Merrik strode to the box bed and stared down at her. “At least there are no new bruises or burns or lash marks on you this time.”
She merely shook her head. He hadn’t seen her breast, thank the gods for that. Erik had hurt her in his frenzy, bruising her badly.
“It is over,” he said. “My brother is surely gone from us now.” He pictured his brother carried down from the steep path, he himself looking down at his bloodied head as he carried his shoulders, saw the women cleaning him and garbing him in his finery.
His body wasn’t brought into the longhouse, for all feared that a ghost would come and do them ill.
Thus he was carried to the burial grounds and placed gently, feet first, into the deep hole dug beside his father’s grave.
His sword, his axe, and his favorite knife were buried with him, as were his favorite armlets and clothing.
There was more shock than sorrow, the pain would come later.
He wondered how much Erik had changed since their parents had died.
Had he turned most of his people against him with his arrogance, his conceit?
Had he made an enemy who would have crushed his head with a rock?
It seemed unlikely. Sarla’s face showed only shock, no sorrow, no relief, nothing, though it was difficult to tell since one cheek was nearly purple from the blow Erik had dealt her.
He himself had led the prayers to the gods—to Odin All-Father, to Thor Redbeard, to Loki the Spirit of Evil, extolling Erik’s bravery in battle, his honor, and to Saeter the underworld god, pledging his own word that Erik didn’t belong there and so Saeter would gain nothing in this death.
He begged them to accept Erik Haraldsson over the rainbow bridge and into heaven, to reward him for all eternity, to bless him in his final journey.
As he’d spoken, he saw his brother’s bloodied head.
He had closed his eyes, words had been beyond him.
So much death, too much death. His parents and now his elder brother.
Had Erik spoken the words over their parents’ bodies?
Had he felt tears burning his eyes as he’d spoken?
Had his voice broken and had he swallowed, trying to continue, to see all the rites and rituals done properly?
Suddenly, Merrik had felt a small hand clutch his.
He’d looked down to see Taby, the child’s face filled with misery because he knew something was wrong with Merrik, he just didn’t understand what it was.
Merrik leaned down and picked up the child, bringing him against his chest. He kissed his warm cheek, felt the child’s thin arms clutch around his throat.
No one had said anything, even Letta, even Olaf Thoragasson.
No one had said anything about Laren to him either, but he knew that all wondered what he would do. He knew that all were speaking of her and her probable guilt. But he was the master of Malverne now. It was his thoughts that counted, his commands that ruled, none other’s.
He looked down at her now. His silence had been long and she’d kept quiet. Her eyes were closed, but her hands were fisted at her sides.
“I didn’t kill him, Merrik. I didn’t. I kicked him in the groin and ran hard until I tripped and knocked myself out. Please, you must believe me.”
“I can see you flat on your back, Erik on top of you, jerking at your gown, wanting to strip you and rape you. I can see you frantic to defend yourself. I can see you picking up a rock and striking his head. I do not blame you for that, Laren. You were a fool to go up to Raven’s Peak by yourself.
And now my brother is dead because his lust pushed him to rape the wrong woman. ”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. All believe you guilty.”
“I didn’t kill him!”
“As a slave you have no rights at all. As a slave, killing a man of Erik’s status, your death would be long and painful. It would be I who would kill you.” He stopped then, staring down at her white face. He rose.
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. But I do know I cannot allow Taby’s sister to die. He would never forgive me.”
Relief that was oddly mixed with pain at his words shot through her. Only Taby’s sister? “Why will you not believe me, Merrik?”
“Why should I? You have told me nothing since I saved your hide in Kiev. Not where you came from, not about your family, nothing. So little you’ve told me, and what I have finally pried out of you has been wrapped in mysteries and puzzles. Why should I believe you now?”
She heard a man’s shout. Merrik said sharply, “Stay here!” He was gone from the chamber in an instant, Laren behind him, holding up her torn gown.
Two of Erik’s men were holding Cleve, a third was beating him. It was Deglin who was shouting for them to kill the miserable slave.
Merrik caught one man’s wrist and jerked him away, throwing him to the ground. He kicked another man from his path.
“Let him go.”
The two men looked at Merrik, but they didn’t know him as well as they’d known his brother.
His voice was low, very controlled. One of them said, even as he bent Cleve’s arm nearly to the breaking point, “He came with her, Merrik. We’ll beat the truth out of him, for surely she told him of killing Erik, surely he knows, perhaps he even helped her. ”
The other man struck Cleve hard with his fist in his belly.
Merrik said nothing more. He grabbed the man, swung him about and sent his fist into his throat.
“Release him or I’ll kill you.”
Erik’s man was uncertain what to do. He saw Oleg running toward them and knew he would take Merrik’s side. He shouted to Erik’s men, “Come! Help me! It is justice!”
Merrik grabbed the man’s throat between his two hands and squeezed.
He stared into the man’s face even as he bent him onto his knees, driving him slowly to the ground.
The man tried to speak, but couldn’t. His eyes clouded and darkened.
He slumped unconscious on the ground. Merrik stood over him.
“Are there others who wish to hurt this man?”
“He’s a slave,” Olaf Thoragasson said, his voice quieter now, for he’d seen Merrik’s anger and his violence.
“Aye, Merrik, naught but a slave. Let the men have their sport. Their master was murdered. This man is nothing, only a slave, and they’re right, he came with her and probably knows the truth. Aye, let them break him. No one cares.”
“I imagine that Cleve cares very much.” He turned to him. “Are you all right?”
“My arm hurts, but he didn’t break it. I thank you, my lord.”
“He’s a slave!” Deglin shouted.