The men jerked to a stop. Olav, panting from his exertion, came around the corner and ran into the back of one of the men.
“Kill him! You cowards, kill the Viking!”
“You, Olav, be quiet or I will cut out your cursed tongue. Zarabeth came to visit me this evening. Beyond foolish, I agree, so I am bringing her to your house. She is unharmed and I suggest that you treat her well and scold her not, for she will soon be my wife, and any chiding will come from me, her husband. Handle her gently or I will make you very sorry.”
Olav knew his friends wouldn’t attack the Viking. They were all merchants and craftsmen. They knew how to fight, and would die in the fighting if they had to, but they weren’t warriors and they would have no chance against this man. He knew that even six of his friends would not try to kill this one man. It would be suicide. He contented himself with the thought that he would beat her when he got her home. He looked at Zarabeth and smiled.
It was as if the Viking read his mind.
“Nay, Olav the Vain, do not what you are thinking. I am a man of my word, an honorable man, and you may trust what I say. You won’t harm her, else I will do more than make you very sorry. I will kill you.”
There was nothing for it. Olav felt raw hatred churn in his gut, making his belly cramp. “Come,” he said shortly to Zarabeth. “You have caused enough worry, girl.”
“I know. I am sorry, Olav.”
“As for your idiot stepsister, she is writhing about on the floor and trying to cry. It sickens me to watch her and to hear her mewling sounds. Get thee home and see to her before I take her from the city and leave her in the Bentik Mountains, as I should have already done.”
Magnus saw Zarabeth stiffen straight as the handle on his battleax. There was more going on here than she had told him. He didn’t understand Olav’s venom about his own small daughter. Magnus lightly touched Zarabeth’s arm. “Go, sweeting. I will see you on the morrow, by the well at the square.”
“Aye. Thank you,” she said. She quickly picked up her skirts and walked to her stepfather.
6
Olav fingered his beard as he looked at Zarabeth. He felt now, thank the saints, in full control of himself and of the situation. He felt good knowing he was in charge again, that it was his word, and his alone, that would determine what would happen now. That barbarian merchant Viking was on his vessel, safe from Olav’s wrath, and his bitch of a stepdaughter was here, alone with him, at his mercy, at his command. Ah, but he would make her pay for her near-defection. He looked at her in the dim light of the bear-oil lamp. It was very late now, and they were home at last, in the living area, and she knew now that her little sister wasn’t here. He enjoyed the fear and confusion on her face. He more than enjoyed it; he relished it.
“You will do exactly as I tell you, Zarabeth,” he said at last. She was standing before him now, staring at him.
“Where is Lotti?” Zarabeth asked for the third time, her voice shaking now, her desperation nearer the surface. “What have you done with her? You said she was upset that I wasn’t here. You lied to me! Where is she, Olav? What have you done with her?”
“I won’t tell you, my girl. At least, not until you have made your promise to me, not until you have sworn to rid me and yourself of this Viking bastard.”
Zarabeth shook her head at him. “You told me you wished me to know my own mind. You told me you would abide by my decision. Where is Lotti?”
Olav waved his hand, clearing away her questions. “Fret not, Zarabeth. Your idiot sister is safe, at least at the moment. You won’t see her again until you’ve done exactly as I tell you.”
“I want to marry Magnus Haraldsson. I will go back to Norway with him and I will take Lotti with me.”
“Nay, you won’t. You will remain here with me, safe in York. Perhaps, if I wish it, I will wed you, for I hold not any of your blood. No one would object, not even King Guthrum. Ha! He himself has three concubines, and one is rumored to be his niece. Nay, he won’t object.”
He saw the look of revulsion on her face then and lost control. He jumped from his chair and slapped her so hard her head snapped back and she was flung to her side onto the rush-covered floor. He stood over her, hands on his hips. “No more will you act impetuous, Zarabeth. No more will you treat me like a toothless elderly uncle or like a despised old man to be tolerated and nothing more! No more, do you understand me? Nod your head, damn you, else I’ll have that idiot sister of yours killed this very night!”
“I understand.”
“Good. I wanted to wait, truly I did. I had hoped that in the next three days you would have come to realize that you didn’t want to be allied to a savage, to that filthy Norse trader, but you left my house! Alone and unprotected, and you went to the harbor, to him! That you could be so stupid appalls me. Did you let him have your maidenhead? Did you part your legs for him?” His voice was shaking, and he stopped, breathing deeply. “Well, it matters not. You won’t have him, Zarabeth, not ever, and there’s an end to it.”
She tried to think clearly, but she was terrified for Lotti, and she felt a growing pounding in her head from the blow he’d given her. Lotti. He must have turned her over to Keith. Her blood curdled. Keith and his wife, Toki, had Lotti, there was little doubt. They felt nothing but contempt for the child and scorned her. She felt fear, thick and raw, fill her, slow her thinking, make her react sluggishly.
She had to get back to Magnus. He would get Lotti back. He would know what to do. “Magnus,” she said very quietly, but Olav heard her.
“Don’t think it, girl. I will kill her the moment you go back to that bastard Viking. Now I will tel
l you more truths, Zarabeth. Lotti is not of my flesh, did you know that? No, that whore mother of yours, my dear wife, Mara, slept with another man, the same fool man she ran away with, but she left you, choosing herself and her bastard get over you, her only legitimate child. But the whore died and the little bastard is an idiot—”
“She isn’t! She was perfect until you struck her that night when you brought her home! And all because she was crying for her mother, you struck her, so hard that she was unconscious for two days! You are the bastard, rotten to your black soul, and you don’t deserve to—”
“—and she will also die if you don’t do exactly what I tell you to do.”
Zarabeth raised her eyes to Olav’s face. “I wish I had a dagger. I would kill you.”