“I refuse to become like Sira, who breeds one child after another. It is all she does. It is all she is. No, she is also a witch and mean-spirited and—”
“We are not speaking of Sira,” the king said, and she saw now that he was losing patience and sought another path to convince him.
She placed her hand in his, as she’d done when she was a small child, and he, her protector, her father, the only being in the world, as far as she was concerned. “Papa, please don’t send me away. I will try to be kinder to Sira. I won’t take the boys to the river to throw the nets for theglaileyfish. I will try to soften my words.”
Sitric laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “You make vows you cannot keep, my sweeting. Nay, now listen to me, Chessa. You are a woman grown, ’tis time for you to wed, time for you to leave me. William is a fine man, Cleve assured me of that. I questioned him closely. William will treat you honorably.”
And that, Chessa thought now, shoving her hair out of her eyes, was that. This was very probably her last day of freedom. Even now her servant was packing her huge wooden trunk with soft linen undershifts, wool gowns dyed soft reddish brown from the madder plant. Ah, and the linen gown of brilliant gold, dyed from a lichen that grew close to the Affern Swamp. Her father had given her a special wool gown of pure scarlet, dyed with the rare orchid lichen from many miles to the south, stitched with intricate embroidered designs. She had a woolen gown to match each of the gowns. She had elaborate brooches to wear on the shoulder, dainty earrings of the purest silver, gold, and ivory. She had gold neck chains and a chain of colored beads presented to her by one of her father’s ministers. She was a princess and she would go to this William looking like a princess.
That made her smile. Her feet were bare and dirty, her hair hanging down over her forehead, smudges of muddy water on her cheeks. Her hands were as dirty as her feet and her back hurt from bending over to net the fish. Her brown gown was tucked up, leaving her legs bare to her knees.
If this William could but see her now perhaps he would turn on his royal heels and run the other way.
She thought of Cleve and wondered if he would be in Rouen. She’d thought about him a lot, truth be told, for the past month. She still hadn’t found out who had tried to have him killed. That was odd, for what could he have done to earn such enmity?
She rubbed the small of her back and looked back toward the town. It was all wooden buildings, many of them connected by wooden walkways since it rained so often here and the paths became muddy holes very quickly. The fortifications were also of wooden poles, thick and sturdy, strongly bound together, with walkways along the ramparts. Dublin was a trading center that was gaining fame by the year, and that meant more enemies wanted to seize it and rule in her father’s place. There were always Irish raids by local chieftains, unwilling to accept Viking rule.
She sighed, knowing she must return to the palace, knowing that her father was having a special banquet for her, this last evening of her life in Dublin. She imagined how delighted Sira would be to see the back of her, though she knew that Sira had argued and shrieked at King Sitric not to go through with the marriage. All Chessa could think was that Sira didn’t want Chessa to be above her in rank. But she wouldn’t be, would she?
She picked up her skirts and made her way through the thick water reeds. The wind picked up. The thick willow trees that overhung the river Liffey swayed and whispered in the still air. It would rain soon. Even now the clouds were rolling in from the Irish Sea. Aye, it would be a grand storm, and it would be upon them soon now.
She picked up her skirts higher and began to run. She dropped her sandals, leaned down to grab them up, and heard something behind her. She whirled about to see a man standing there, tall and muscled and smiling.
She calmed herself. “Who are you?”
“My name is Kerek. You are Princess Chessa?”
“Why do you wish to know?” She stared at the huge man, his thick red hair threaded with white.
“Aye, you are she.” He took a step toward her, still smiling, and she tried to duck around him. He grabbed her arm, whirled her about, pulled her against him.
She’d left her knife in her chamber.
She forced herself to ease against him. His hold on her loosened. She raised her foot and kicked him hard in the shin. He yelped and she threw the knotted net ofglaileyfish in his face. He released her and she was running faster than she ever had in her life. He was on her in an instant, nearly pulling her arm from its socket as he yanked her about.
She raised her leg to strike him in the groin, but he was faster. He cursed her, then, calmly, he raised his fist and sent it squarely into her jaw, grabbing her arms even as she went flying backwards.
Chessa fell against him.
Kerek picked her up and threw her over his massive shoulder. When she awoke some minutes later and reared up, he merely brought her down in front of him and said, “Will you lie quietly or shall I knock you out again?”
She felt dizzy and sick. She didn’t want him to hit her again. She merely nodded.
He slung her over his shoulder again. She closed her eyes, wondering who this man was and what he wanted. Her father had told her so very many times that she wasn’t to wander outside the palace fortifications alone. It was dangerous. She’d never paid him any attention.
He’d been right and she was a fool. She looked at the ground, knowing that the man was carrying her toward the harbor where all the trading ships docked. The market was near. There were always people there. Someone would help her.
He wove through a good dozen traders hawking fish, shoes, soapstone bowls. She reared up and screamed at the top of her lungs, “I am Chessa, daughter of King Sitric. Help me!”
The man hit her hips hard, laughing as he did so. “Aye, my sweeting, you’re a princess, a beautiful princess. Everyone is looking at you, admiring your Royal Highness’s beauty. Ah, your gown is beyond fine, isn’t it? The dirt on your face ennobles you right enough.”
“Help me! I’m Princess Chessa, help me!”
But the people were just staring at her, some of them pointing, some of them laughing now.
“Aye, she’s a muddy little lark,” said a woman who was examining a jeweler’s silver armlet.
“Those dirty little bare feet of hers are as royal as the hairs in my husband’s nose,” another woman shouted, this one rubbing her large hands on a trout that was still wriggling.
