When he was lying in a near stupor, his head beside hers, his body heavy on hers, she said in his ear, “What is this plan you have that you spoke of to Merrik and Laren?”
Cleve said to his father, “I would like to build a farmstead to the south of the loch where there are the hills and the glens and meadows, filled with flowers. I remember the waterfall and the lushness of the trees and bushes. I remember the boulders and the thick moss that covered the earth. The land to the east flattens enough to grow the crops we would need. Perhaps some of your men would like to join me. They would learn loyalty to me, which is something I know you want.”
Varrick said, “Naturally my men will also owe you their loyalty. Igmal already would die for Kiri. She is your image, save for that scar on your face. You have yet to tell me of her mother, Cleve. Did she die birthing the child?”
Cleve only shook his head.
“This place you describe, you spent much of your time there when you were a small boy.”
“I was small when I was left for dead,” Cleve said. He paused and looked toward the fire pit. The sweet smell of mead rose strong in the air. Cayman made it. It was as excellent as Utta’s. He smelled the breakfast porridge, the honey Argana gathered. “After I remembered everything, I believed it was you, my stepfather, who’d tried to kill me. Now I know that can’t be true.”
Varrick stretched out his black-clad legs and looked at the rich leather of his boots, dyed as black as his trousers. He wore theburraat his wide belt. His tunic was the softest wool, the sleeves full-cut. Black, he wore all black. He said finally, “I know who tried to kill you. There were no doubts because there was no other who would have done it. I’d hoped you wouldn’t ask me. I have no wish to cause you further pain.”
“Who was it?”
Varrick looked directly at his son. “I’m sorry. It was your brother, Ethar. He was fourteen at the time. He looked at your eyes and knew that you weren’t his father’s son. He knew you sprang from my seed. He knew you were mine. The girls never realized it. But Ethar did. He hated you from that moment as much as he hated me.”
Cleve rocked back with the pain of it. “Nay,” he said, shaking his head, his voice hoarse and low. “Not Ethar. I worshipped him. He never showed dislike toward me, never.”
“That’s true. He tried to kill you very soon after he realized the truth. I believe he wanted to kill me even more than he wanted to kill you, but he couldn’t do it. He failed with you as well, thank the gods. I’m sorry that you were a slave for fifteen years. I cannot imagine what you did during those long years, what you suffered. I know you must have many scars, Cleve, not just the one that shows on your face, but scars no one else can see. But it’s over now. You’re home again. You’re safe.”
Cleve thought of those long fifteen years, of the different masters and mistresses who’d made his life a living hell, of that one kind old man who’d told him stories and fed him regular meals. The old man had died and he’d been sold then to a man who was a pig. So much had happened. So many years. His father was right. It was behind him. He was home again. His father had said he was safe. He thought of Athol’s attack. He imagined Varrick would deal with Athol. He looked at his father now. He knew the answer even before he asked him, “I’ve been told that Ethar drowned in the loch.”
Varrick stared off into the pale smoky air in the hall. “Aye,” he said finally. “That is what happened.”
Of course Varrick had killed him for what he’d done to his small son. All during those fifteen years Cleve hadn’t questioned who’d tried to kill him. He’d been sure it was Varrick, his stepfather, thus his hatred had had a focus. But now, Ethar was long dead, killed by Varrick. He supposed he should thank his father for avenging him, but he couldn’t find it within him. Ethar, his brother, nay, his half brother. It had been so very long ago. Ethar had been so young. Ah, but he’d been only five years old. Too young for Ethar’s revenge. He cleared his mind. It had been a lifetime ago. He couldn’t even remember his brother’s face.
He looked at his father, so still he sat, his long white hands utterly motionless, fingers splayed on the carved chair posts. Surely then he could trust his father, in everything except where Chessa was concerned. He couldn’t trust any man where Chessa was concerned.
“You’re to have another child,” Varrick said at last.
“Aye,” Cleve said without hesitation.
“She isn’t ill.”
“Not as yet. It’s early days. Kiri’s mother vomited constantly after all the other women said she’d be fine.” He smiled at his father. “Why did Chessa tell you?”
“I’m her father-in-law. Of course she would tell me. I’m pleased that you will give me a grandson.”
He was a liar, but he was as smooth as stones washed over by the waterfall. Cleve said, “I would like to begin today to build my farmstead. Eventually, perhaps Athol could live there.”
“And you and Chessa and your children would move here after I die?”
“That is the way of things,” Cleve said. He looked up and smiled at Chessa, who was walking to him, a cup of mead in her hand. She handed it to him, then placed her hand on his shoulder. He covered her hand with his. He felt the warmth of her, the softness of her flesh. He turned to smile up at her. Let his father see that she was his and only his. He not only wanted her. He not only admired her and found her both humorous and aggravating, he also loved her, and it was nothing like the feelings he’d had for Sarla, Kiri’s mother. He’d believed he’d loved her more than a man could love any other being, but it wasn’t true. Much of what he’d felt for Sarla, he realized now, was anger and pity at how her husband had treated her. And he’d desired her, wanted desperately to protect her, to be her champion, to prove that he was no longer a slave but a man who could take care of his woman. But he was stupid enough to confuse lust with caring, and that’s what he felt for Chessa. Caring. Deep caring. He hadn’t even realized that something so intense, something so profoundly altering, could exist, but it did, and he felt it for her in full measure. He loved her. He loved her more this moment than he had the previous moment. He shook with the realization that this love he felt for her would continue into the future until they were both bones and dust. He knew now what it was she felt for him. He didn’t understand it, for he was just a man, nothing special, just a man who’d been a worthless slave, but yet she’d not seen the hideous scar on his face. She’d always believed him beautiful, and that was the truth of it. He hadn’t understood her, thus he’d believed it a sham. But it wasn’t. These feelings were as real as the high mist that hung over the loch. The caring he had for her, this bone-deep pleasure at her closeness, all of it made him feel warm and filled with hope and energy and the blessedness of being human andknowingwhat she was to him and what he was to her. He smiled at her, what he felt making his golden eye brilliant as the sun. “I will take you to see where we will begin our building.”
“Aye, I’d like that,” Chessa said, leaned down, and kissed his mouth. In front of Varrick. But he knew she’d kissed him because she’d looked into his eyes and seen his soul. She was accepting him into her and her delight was plain for him to see. For his father to see.
26
MERRIK,LAREN, ANDall the Malverne men left two days later, on a bright morning that Chessa now believed would stay bright, the mist biding its time, but not closing in about them until the evening. Eller sniffed the air and grunted. “Aye,” he said. “’Twill serve.”
Chessa and Cleve, Kiri in his arms, waved until the two ships disappeared around a slight bend in the loch. “This is our home now,” Chessa said.
Kiri said, “Papa, let me down. I want to go find Caldon. I haven’t seen her for two days now. She misses me. I told her I wanted to meet her children.”
He merely nodded and set her on the narrow path that led to the wooden dock that stretched out into the loch beside the promontory. “Her imagination rivals Laren’s. Unfortunately, Laren never saw the monster again. Merrik says she will droop like a withered flower for a while.”
“Let’s take Kiri and go back to work,” Chessa said. “I would have our own bed soon.”
