“They swim in long, narrow ribbons near the shore in the river Liffey,” she said, leaning toward him. Her eyes were a deeper green than they’d been the day before, a deeper green than the ribbon in her hair. He expected her eyes to hold mystery—the hint of secrets to tempt men beyond endurance. But her eyes were as clear as the pools of water after a gentle afternoon rain. Cleve reminded himself that no woman was guileless, not a single one of them, save Laren. But if this princess was so frank, why didn’t she see him clearly? Why didn’t she at least flinch when she looked at his face? “I take my brothers there. Brodan caught theglaileywe’re eating.”
“Chessa, I told you that I don’t want you taking the boys anywhere outside the palace grounds. You can’t protect them. They’re all-important, not for your silly pleasure. You’re a princess, a lady, not a slut of a fishwife. Stay away from the princes.”
“I will do just as I please, Sira.”
The queen with the exquisite silver hair half rose from her seat. “I won’t have you speaking back to me, Chessa.”
“Now, Sira,” the king said, “the boys love their sister. The babe is making you tired, I know. Cleve, would you like some plover eggs? Chessa tells me they’re baked inside a barley mixture.”
“What? You’re going to bear yet another child? Isn’t four enough?”
“It will be another male child,” Sira said, her hands lightly rubbing over her still-flat belly. “A man can’t have too many male children. They are worth something, unlike girls, who have little value.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” the king said as he slid a spoon full of peas into his mouth. “I told you, Sira, that Duke Rollo of Normandy wants Chessa to wed his son and heir. I would say it makes her of infinite value.”
“What are you talking about, Papa? You want me to marry someone who lives in Normandy? That’s a world away. Those people are Vikings, they’re—”
“She isn’t worthy,” Sira said. “It’s ridiculous, as I told you. Nay, you must wed one of our boys to the French princess. The power is there, not in the Norman duchy with that old man, Rollo. He is an old man, nearly dead. His son won’t withstand the French. He will be defeated and killed and what will you have? A daughter without any help at all to you. Nay, my lord, ’tis Brodan who must marry into the French house. Let Chessa marry Ragnor of York. Truly, my lord, she isn’t worthy of this.”
“And you are worthy?” Chessa’s face had become markedly red. “As for the Danelaw, the Saxons will soon defeat the Vikings and there will be no more Danish rule. Ah, but that’s what you want, isn’t it, Sira? You want me to be in York and perhaps left in a ditch after the Saxons take the capital. Aye, you’d like that. But just look at you. You’re not a princess yourself, you’re just an accident, you’re naught but a—”
“That’s quite enough,” Sitric said easily. “Sira, would you care for some wine? The merchant Daleeah arrived from Spain just this afternoon. It’s a heady brew and as sweet as your mouth.”
Cleve saw that the queen was furious, but wise enough to hold her tongue in front of her husband, and even, perhaps, in front of him, though he couldn’t imagine why she would care about what he thought of her. As for Chessa, she was staring blankly down at her serving ofglaileyfish and eggs. All knew that the Danelaw was growing weaker by the year, the inroads made by the Saxons drawing closer and closer. It was a matter of time and the Vikings would lose their hold and their rule. He wondered if this prince of the Danelaw, this Ragnor, would ever even rule.
Warfare was more open tonight. The queen and Chessa scrapped back and forth, but there wasn’t much heat in Chessa’s insults. Cleve wondered what Chessa thought about her probable marriage to William Longsword. It would doubtless be to her liking. What woman wouldn’t prefer wealth? He didn’t care. By Freya’s grace, he wanted only to lead his life, raise his daughter, and find a willing female once in a while to ease his body. Surely it wasn’t too much for a man to wish.
The next morning the king summoned Cleve to his throne room. No one else was there. Nothing new in that. Whenever he’d spoken to Cleve, he’d dismissed his ministers, even the servants, all save his bodyguard, Cullic. When Cleve had remarked upon it the first day of his arrival he’d said that servants could serve two masters and he had no intention of granting them that opportunity.
“I give my consent,” he said as soon as Cleve entered. “You may leave today and inform Duke Rollo of my decision. I will send Chessa to Rouen when he so desires the marriage to take place.”
Cleve bowed low. “As you will, sire.”
“Cleve.”
“Aye?”
“You did well. You’re an intelligent man. I believe you are a man to trust. If you tire of Rollo, I would offer you service here.”
Cleve thanked Sitric and turned to leave.
“You were wise to keep away from my daughter. She seems to regard you differently. It is unexpected. I want this marriage. I foresee that Duke Rollo has begun a dynasty that will only grow in power and in conquered land.”
“Perhaps you are right about Rollo. His will is strong.” Cleve paused but a moment, flicked a speck of dirt from his sleeve and added, “I have no reason to wish your daughter’s company.” He left the king’s presence, neither saying more.
Malverne farmstead
One month later
“Papa.”
“Aye, sweeting,” he said, lifting Kiri up above his head, then lowering her and holding her close.”
“You were gone far too long. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either. I had to travel from Dublin back to Rouen before I could come home to Malverne. But I told you how many days it would be. I am home three days early.”
“That’s true,” she said, and frowned. “Sometimes I think you add days just to try to fool me. Did all go well?”
