She gave him a brilliant wet smile. “Do you remember a young girl named Eze, daughter of Hormuze, the greatest sorcerer of all time?”
Rorik stared down at her, looking closely at her, studying her. The last time he’d seen Eze she’d been only ten years old, a serious child who’d shown no fear of him or of his men. He’d used her to free his wife, Mirana, from Hormuze. Now she was grown and by some miracle she’d been thrown onto Hawkfell Island. He said slowly, “By all the gods, this storm will go down in memory.”
“You are a beautiful man, my lord, but still you are not as beautiful as my papa.”
Rorik threw back his head and laughed deeply and nearly choked on the water that swept into his mouth. “And just how is your beautiful papa?” Hormuze had disguised himself as an old graybeard, looking every bit as old as the king of Ireland. He’d killed Sitric and taken his place. He’d wanted Mirana simply because she’d looked so much like his long-dead wife, Naphta. But he’d had to settle for Sira, Rorik’s cousin. He’d made his own prophecy come true—that Hormuze the magician had wrought magic to make the old king young again. It was now a favorite tale in many countries. All believed it, for the young Sitric was proof.
“He has four sons and he still loves Sira, more’s the pity.”
“Four sons? By Thor’s toes, he doesn’t rest, does he?”
“She’s pregnant again.”
“Ah, so she’s still a witch?”
“She’s more than a witch, she’s—”
But Ragnor refused to go quietly. “Don’t listen to her, damn you! She’s lying. She’s naught but my wife, naught but a slut, naught—”
“What is going on here?” Rorik said, looking down at the lovely woman before him.
“I will tell you,” Ragnor said, shoving Chessa behind him. “And then you will obey my orders. I am Ragnor of York and you are nothing but the peasant who clings to this pile of rocks and mud.”
Rorik said to the man Kerek, “Who is this fool to say that my island is a pile of rocks?”
“His mind is disordered,” Kerek said. “Come,” he said to Ragnor, “I will assist you to Lord Rorik’s longhouse. Your wits are disordered from the storm and the mead.”
“I won’t leave her alone with him. He just might try to steal her, he might try to rape her. He’s a Viking and a warrior. He’s up to no good, he’s—”
Rorik shoved his fist into Ragnor’s jaw. The man collapsed where he stood. He said to Kerek, “I wonder why no one’s murdered him yet. Take him to the longhouse. Follow my line of men up the path. When he awakens, mayhap he’ll come to understand the way of things.”
Chessa said, shaking her head, “I doubt he’s capable.”
Mirana rose and wiped her hands on a linen cloth. “He will be all right. Utta and I straightened Torric’s leg and bound it between two thin slabs of timber. Entti gave him very strong mead to drink. Old Alna cackled over him, said he was a lovely lad, and that made him smile even though she drooled on him a bit. He will sleep for many hours now.”
“Thank you,” Chessa said. “Where is this Old Alna?”
“Over there by the fire pit, picking her two remaining teeth,” Mirana said. “Just look at you, Eze, all grown up, and so beautiful. I hadn’t thought to ever see you again, truth be told. Aye, and you’ve grown up very well.”
“I would say she’s more than beautiful.”
Chessa laughed up at Lord Rorik, who’d come to stand beside his wife. “You say that, my lord, because I look so very much like her. My papa was right about that. I am sorry he took you, Mirana, and all because you looked like my mother. I vow I would have rather had you for a stepmother than that miserable Sira. Come, Lord Rorik, tell the truth. It is because I look like Mirana that you think me comely.”
“You think me so lacking in clear sight? You’re very little like Mirana. Her hair is a rather dull black, not all shiny like yours, and her eyes are the color of the mainland salt marsh grass, all sort of a wet green, while yours, Eze—”
“Why do you call her that name?” It was Ragnor and he wasn’t drunk now. He was stroking his hand over his jaw as he strode up to Rorik as if he were lord, his chin thrust out, looking like naught but a sullen boy in a man’s body. “It’s an ugly name. It sounds foreign. Why did you call her that name?”
Chessa said quickly, “It’s a nickname from my childhood. You see, Ragnor, Lord Rorik met me when I was very young. He will soon come to call me Chessa, a name very popular amongst the Irish Dalriada.”
“Chessa,” Rorik said. “It’s a lovely name. Lovelier than that ugly name of my wife’s—Mirana. It sounds like some sort of fish in the North Sea. Perhaps she isn’t too aged for me to give her another name.”
Mirana poked her elbow in her husband’s ribs. “He plays dangerous games, does my lord,” she said. “But so long as he wears the blue shirts I sew for him that perfectly match the blue of his eyes and he doesn’t gain flesh, I will not fling him into the sea, at least I won’t fling him in during this storm. He isn’t a strong swimmer and I would doubtless have to leap in after him to save him.”
“I don’t understand what any of you are talking about. This woman is insulting this man and he insults her back and you’re all laughing and it’s stupid. Listen to me, Chessa, none of this matters, not that they knew you when you had this foolish Eze name, nothing. You’re going to marry me and you won’t tell this man any of your lies.”
“I thought you said she was your wife and a slut and—”
“Hold your tongue,” Ragnor said, and immediately shut his mouth when he felt a large calloused hand close over his shoulder.
