Season of the Sun (Viking Era 1)

Ingunn was furious at the woman’s insolence. Her hands trembled. “All you do is look at that foolish little girl! You will work, slave, else I will have you whipped!”

At that moment Egill, angry because Lotti had taken the thrown ball not intended for her, bellowed and threw himself upon the child. Lotti, not hearing him, had no warning, and Egill knocked her flat.

Zarabeth cried out and ran to the children. She lifted Egill and threw him off Lotti. When she turned the child over, she blinked in mute surprise. Lotti was grinning and pointing at Egill.

She shouted in her slurred yet perfectly recognizable way, “Egill! Fun!”

To Zarabeth’s further astonishment, Lotti scrambled to her feet, shouting again, “Egill!” at the top of her lungs, and hurled herself at the boy. They went down together, arms and legs tangling, buffeting each other.

The children watched just for a brief moment; then they paired off and four different fights began.

Magnus, through sheer strength, pressed Jon’s sword beside his face. “Do you cry ‘Enough,’ little brother?”

“Aye, but only until next time, Magnus!”

The men laughed and sheathed their swords. Then Magnus looked up to see all their audience turned away. And he saw the children wrestling, fighting, yelling, and his first thought was of Lotti. He felt a coldness in his belly. “Quickly!” he called to Jon, and ran toward the children.

To his surprise, there was Lotti, sitting astride Egill, her small hands fisted in his hair, yanking and laughing and bouncing up and down on him. As for his son, Egill was pulling at the little girl, trying to jerk her off him, but Lotti’s legs were strong and she wasn’t ready to give up her advantage. Magnus realized quickly that the boy was doing his b

est not to hurt her, and it pleased him. He saw soon enough that Egill was also trying not to laugh.

Magnus saw Zarabeth lean over and grasp Lotti beneath the arms and lift her. Zarabeth was laughing and kissing the child’s dirty face. The sound was sweet and magical and it lighted up her face. He swallowed, turning away. It was the first time she had laughed since . . . No, he wouldn’t remember that. It had all been a lie, all of it.

He wanted her. He bided his time all during the long day. He went hunting with his men, taking Egill with them. He watched her throughout the evening, working and serving, and always, she watched Lotti. He wanted to tell her that every adult in the house was aware of every child, but he didn’t. She wouldn’t believe him. The hours passed, and still he watched her. He had dismissed Cyra, had finally told Ingunn that Zarabeth had worked enough. He saw that his sister wasn’t pleased at his interference, but she nodded, saying nothing. Still, he waited. He watched her pick up Lotti and carry her off to bed.

He waited another half-hour. Horkel began a song of Magnus’ father, the hero in a sea battle of some twenty winters past, and how he had captured twenty slaves and several casks of gold and silver.

At last, when others were yawning, Magnus rose and bade his good-nights. It took him not long to realize that Zarabeth wasn’t in the longhouse. He went to the slave hut. She wasn’t there. He found her speaking to one of his guards who sat at his post atop the northern palisade. Magnus felt rage and jealousy flow through him until he realized with pain at his own weakness that the man was Hollvard, an old man, wizened, toothless, and with frailty in his muscles.

He walked quietly to them and stopped.

“Aye, mistress,” Hollvard was saying in his slow precise way, “there be outlaws in the mountains, and so many places for them to hide. Aye, even a man with six other men must take care. ’Tis not always easy, this time or this land.”

“Zarabeth,” Magnus said, and placed his hand on her shoulder. He felt her stiffen, but she made no sound.

“Magnus, I was telling the mistress of our lands and customs.”

“Aye, I heard you.” He gave her a bitter look. “You were telling her it would be stupid for her to try to escape from Malek?”

“Nay, she didn’t ask me about that. I was merely telling her of the dangers here.”

“She asked you for a reason, Hollvard, doubt it not.”

Hollvard shook his head, uncertain of his master’s mood. Magnus said to Zarabeth, “Come now, ’tis time to go to bed.” She looked up at him for the first time, raising her face for him to see her clearly, and he saw the fear there, the defiance, and it made his belly twist. He said, his voice steady and calm, “Do not look at me that way. Come.”

And he took her hand, nodded good night to Hollvard, and led her toward the longhouse. The night was warm, touched with a sliver of moonlight.

He stopped and pulled her very slowly, very gently, to him. “Look at me, Zarabeth.”

She looked up and he studied her features. Gently he touched his fingertip to her lips, to her jaw, up the bridge of her nose. He smoothed his fingertip over her brows. Then he leaned down and kissed her. Her lips were cold and set tightly together. He fancied he could taste her fear, but he refused to acknowledge it.

He only smiled. “Nay, sweeting. Part your lips for me. You did once, remember?”

He wasn’t expecting it, and thus when she wrenched away from him, striking him with her fists, he didn’t react quickly enough. She was running from him toward the gates in the palisade.

He started to yell at her, then thought better of it. He could just hear the men telling of how the female slave escaped him and he was calling after her like a fool.

He covered the ground quickly but she had managed to lift the wooden shaft and fling open the gates. She was through them before he could reach her. Hollvard was staring blank-faced after her. He’d done nothing to stop her. Magnus saw her ahead. She wasn’t running down the path to the water, she had turned and was running toward the narrow paths through the barley field. He realized she wanted to make the pine forest. Then she could hide from him.