He shook his head. “What did you give me?”
She shrugged, her hand now stroking over his throat. “Ah, a bit of sweet basil, some barley water, hemlock—”
He sucked in his breath, and she added easily, “Just a bit on the end of my finger. Scarce enough to kill a fly, but not a man like you, Merrik. Other things whose names you don’t know. Ah, and a dollop of honey to make it taste good.”
“I feel no pain now,” he said, and was surprised.
“Good,” she said and leaned over him. She kissed him, her mouth soft, her breath sweet and warm. He felt her tongue gently pressing against his closed mouth, and he allowed her entrance. He responded to her, knowing there was no choice really.
The man had said that Rollo had wanted him dead.
He brought up his good arm and pulled her closer. Her breasts were full and very soft against his chest.
Why would Rollo want him dead? Surely the man lied. Aye, he lied, and Merrik was back to having nothing, and thus he continued kissing Helga, letting her do as she wished with him. When her hand smoothed down his belly to touch him, he stayed her hand. “Nay, my wife. I know not where she is. She is Rollo’s niece. I am her husband and one of Rollo’s heirs. Is it true that William Longsword is a paltry young man?”
“I have always believed so, but then I also believed that Laren and Taby were dead. I have been wrong about many things. If William has his father’s wretched longevity, why then, he won’t die until the next century.”
She kissed him again, her tongue warm and searching in his mouth.
When she finally raised her head, he said, “You must leave me now, Helga. There will be another time.”
She smiled at him, kissed him lightly once more, and rose to stand beside the box bed. “You will be fine, Lord Merrik. Whoever tried to kill you wasn’t good enough.”
Suddenly he saw coldness in her eyes where there had been such heat but a moment before. The coldness was stark and hard and real, but gone so quickly he wasn’t certain that he hadn’t imagined it. He said nothing.
She smiled again, and left him, saying over her shoulder, “It is very late. I will come back to you tomorrow.”
It was near to dawn when Weland came to their sleeping chamber. Merrik was awake, thinking, Laren asleep, pressed against his bare shoulder. He felt very little pain and blessed Helga for her medicinal skills if for nothing else.
“My lord,” Weland said quietly.
“Aye, what is it? Rollo is all right?”
“It is Fromm, Helga’s husband. He is dead.”
23
IT WAS JUSTpast dawn. Rollo was still in his huge bed, piled high with reindeer furs from Norway, golden fox furs from the Danelaw, and thick white miniver from the Bulgar. Otta stood back, watching Rollo shake his head, yawn deeply, then turn his dark eyes on his face. Weland said then, “Fromm was afoot in Rouen with some of his drunken friends. I’m sorry, sire, but he’s dead. There was a fight—”
“There are always fights,” Rollo said, rubbing at the swelled joints of his fingers. Even at this early hour he knew it would rain, for the air was heavy and thick, making his joints swell, and he was already suffering from it, the moment he awoke, he suffered. By all the gods, he hated the betrayal of his body, but then again, he was still strong, he still had all his teeth and all his wits. What was a bit of pain in his joints?
He sighed, then thought, so, that bully Fromm is dead. He was much younger than I yet he is dead and I’m not. Will anyone care? Certainly not Helga. He’d made a mistake with Fromm, he’d acknowledged to himself long ago. The man had been a miserable son-in-law, giving nothing, preening and strutting about because he was now kin to the great Rollo of Normandy. He’d not even given Helga any children, but perhaps that wasn’t his fault. Rollo said to Otta, his voice emotionless, “Fights over women, over honor, over nothing worth anything. Why would Fromm die in this one? Did he not attack men smaller than he? If he didn’t, he was more careless than usual.”
“Nay, sire, there were many men smaller than Fromm, but none of them were hurt. Nonetheless, somehow, he was killed, stabbed through the throat, he was. We will bury him tomorrow if you wish it. I recommend it. We don’t want his spirit to hover here. His would be a malignant ghost.”
Rollo gave his minister an ironic grin. “You forget that you are now a Christian, Otta?”
Otta actually paled, his hands went to his belly, and Rollo laughed. “Aye, we’re all Christians, but we’ll pray that damned Christian God understands our heathen ways for a while longer. Aye, we’ll bury Fromm on the morrow. I wish Weland to question all these small men who were in the fight and managed to come out of it unscathed.”
He paused when Merrik and Laren came into his sleeping chamber.
“Sire,” Merrik said. “We came quickly. Weland told us about Fromm’s death.”
Rollo stared at Merrik’s arm, bound in soft white linen. “I find it odd. Do you not find it odd, Otta? Both Merrik and Fromm were attacked. You were the lucky one, Merrik.”
“Nay, he is simply a better fighter, uncle.”
“You are his wife and women are a fickle lot. Naturally you would believe so, at least now, at the beginning.”
