He told her about Sarla then, how he’d believed he’d loved her, how she’d betrayed him, but he’d forced her to remain at Malverne until Kiri was born. “I remember how she cursed me as she was birthing Kiri.”
“Why?”
“It hurts, Chessa.”
“Are you certain? Sira said it was nothing. She said she grunted a few times and another boy came out of her body.”
Cleve winced at the hopefulness in her voice. What did he, a man, know about birthing babes? He said, kissing her ear, “Why don’t you ask Argana about it?”
“Did it take a long time for Kiri to be born?”
He started to lie then knew it wasn’t fair. “A very long time,” he said, “but I know that it is different with every woman.”
“And many women die.”
“You won’t and I forbid you to speak of it. I’ll be with you and it will be fine.”
“My father never went near to Sira when she was birthing each of the boys.”
“Merrik was with Laren with both boys. Is there some sort of rule in Ireland that a husband must leave?”
“I didn’t think that men wanted to be close to their wives whilst they were birthing a babe. My father always left the palace and went hunting.”
“I won’t go hunting.”
She kissed his chest. “I remember that Sira wouldn’t let my father near her when her time grew near because she was fat and ugly, I heard her say to one of her women. Of course she’d never say anything to me. The truth is I never thought she was ugly even when her belly was huge.”
He caressed her flanks, then slid his hand between them to her belly. “I won’t leave you,” he said. “I won’t ever leave you.”
“You swear it?”
“Even if you look like Laren’s pet pig, Ravnold, I’ll stay close. I’ll even try to hold you every night. At least I’ll come as close to you as possible.”
She bit his chin, then came down over him.
He said, puzzled, “I don’t understand, Chessa. You’re pregnant. My seed took hold inside you. You mean we must continue to do this?”
She leaned down and bit his chin again. “This is for me, not for a babe,” she said as he came high and deep into her.
“It is a messenger from King Sitric,” Igmal said. “He claims he knows you, Chessa.”
Chessa wiped her hands on a woolen cloth, straightened her tunic, pulled off the linen kerchief from around her hair and came outside the farmstead. There was Brodan, her half brother, behind him two dozen soldiers, her father’s bodyguard, Cullic, at their fore.
She yelled his name and ran into his arms. “Ah, Brodan,” she said between kisses, “you’re here! I thought never to see you again, oh my, you’re here. How much you’ve grown. How did you find us? Oh, you’re quite a young man now, so very big. Your eyes are dark, just like father’s. The girls must adore you, Brodan.” Since he was only eight years old, this didn’t please him, and Chessa quickly called out, “Cleve, come here and meet your new brother, Brodan.”
He had grown over the past nearly six months, she thought. He would become a handsome man. She thought of Athol and said a prayer to every god she knew that Brodan wouldn’t grow crooked as Athol had. She watched him stare up at Cleve, eyeing him as another grown man would, for strengths and weaknesses, something their father had taught him. “I remember you,” Brodan said. “You were the emissary from Duke Rollo. When your messenger from Hawkfell Island came to Dublin and told my father of your marriage to Chessa, he cursed and ranted and kicked furniture and yelled at everyone who came near him for three days. He even yelled at mother. She didn’t understand that. It confused her. Then he smiled again. I remember his telling mother that you were a good man and that Chessa thought you nearly perfect, especially your face. He said she never saw the scar and thus she must love you very much. He is content now, not happy, but content.”
“I am relieved,” Cleve said, gripping the young boy’s shoulder. “I didn’t want your father to come here and slit my throat.”
“My father said Chessa would slit your throat if you ever deserved it.”
“She would,” Cleve said, nodding.
“Father let you come to Scotland,” Chessa said, marveling, for Brodan was only a young boy, after all, and such a journey was always fraught with danger.
“I wanted to see Iona where Saint Columba lived and preached. Did you know that Kenneth moved his remains from Iona many years ago to near Scone?”
“Aye,” Igmal said. “My grandfather told me that after Kenneth united the Scots and Picts together, he wanted to prove that the Scots were the better ones and he moved his capital from Argyll to Scone in Perth. He took poor Saint Columba’s bones away from Iona and moved the Stone of Destiny from Dunadd to Scone. My grandfather hated the little man for that, said that he’d gotten the Pictish throne through the female line and everyone knew that was madness.”
