Season of the Sun (Viking Era 1)

She pressed her face into the pillow. “You do not want me, you keep me in your bed only because you don’t wish it known that you are cruel.”

“By Thor’s hammer, that is great nonsense that comes from your mouth. I want you in my bed now so that you will heal.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shook his head, knowing Ingunn had somehow convinced her that he no longer wanted her. He said only, “Nay, sweeting, all will be well soon. Believe me.”

She turned to look at him again. Her face looked quiet and still as a statue’s. “You will sell me, then?”

“Why do you believe I would sell you?”

“You won’t sell me and keep Lotti here, will you? You wouldn’t, would you, Magnus, no matter how much you hated me?”

He rose then, saying nothing more now, for she had managed, finally, to anger him. How could she believe he would do such a thing? He stood over her, his legs slightly spread, his arms at his sides, his hands fisted. “Who would buy you? Look at you—naught but a whining female who grows thin and loses her charms before she has even learned to use them on a man. The only reason a man would buy you would be the promise of what you would bring to his bed. You have willingness, Zarabeth, but little else as yet. Nay, I must keep you until you become skilled with your mouth and your hands, until you have learned to hold me inside you and drive me to madness with soft words and gentle caressing.”

“I have no willingness, ’tis just that my body has no way to judge what you are! Nor will I become skilled, Magnus, I won’t let you do that to me again.”

“We will see. Hush now with your angry words. You must needs rest.”

There was nothing more to say. She felt drained, empty of spirit and fight. She closed her eyes, pressing her face again into the pillow.

“My mother sent the cream for your back. It is of her own making. She used it on me and my brothers as far back as I can remember. It soothes and warms and leaches away the pain.”

“How did your mother know her cream was needed?”

He was stymied, but only for a moment. “Why, we had no more, and it was just luck that brought one of her house slaves with another supply. Though, of course, I did hesitate to waste it on a slave.”

“Wipe it off, then, I care not. I never asked for it or for anything else.”

“No, you didn’t, did you?” He leaned down suddenly and pulled the cover from her hips to her ankles. She cried out and tried to rear up. He held her down with his hand flat on her waist. “I want to look at you. I cannot take you now, ’twould be cruel and I would not much enjoy it for you would moan and groan and complain I was killing you.”

Magnus knew he had to stop this. She had wounded his pride, but he was hurting her, and she had no recourse. He was become as vicious as Ingunn. He looked at her white buttocks, smooth and round, and he could feel them in his hands, and those long legs of hers, nicely shaped and sleek with muscle, and he could see her on her back, and he was deep inside her and her legs were wrapped around his flanks, drawing him deeper, and he was moaning and he never wanted to leave her, never, never . . .

He drew the blanket to her waist again. His hands were shaking. “I want you to rest now, Zarabeth. You will remain here until I tell you to rise. I will have one of the girls bring you food, and then you will sleep.”

“I am not hungry.”

He paused at the doorway. “As I said, you grow thin, and a man doesn’t want to grind himself against a woman’s bones. You will eat or I will force food down your skinny throat.”

When Anna, the eleven-year-old niece of Rollo, the blacksmith, brought food to her, she found Zarabeth deeply asleep. She returned to Magnus.

“I did not wake her, Magnus.”

“It is all right, Anna. Take the tray to Lotti and make certain she eats enough. If you wish to speak to her, you must remember to—”

“I know. I must look directly at her so she can see me speaking.”

Magnus grinned and ruffled the girl’s nearly white-blond hair. “You have a wise tongue, Anna.”

The evening passed slowly. As much as he fought it, Magnus went several times to his chamber to see that Zarabeth was all right. She was sleeping soundly each time, but still he worried. Everyone noted his trips to and fro. He returned to hear the men discussing the killings on the Ingolfsson farmstead, a small property some two days to the south by boat. The Ingolfsson daughters had been raped, the younger boys killed outright. Haftor Ingolfsson had been gone hunting for winter stores with most of his men. He had returned to find carnage, his animals slaughtered, his slaves captured. There was outrage at what the outlaws had done, and word of the disaster had passed quickly. It was too bold, too daring. It was unexpected and frightening; no man liked the sound of it. No Viking would stand for it.

There would be a special meeting of the thing held in three days in Kaupang to determine the men responsible by the proof presented, and what was to be done.

Later in the evening, Magnus was sitting in his master’s chair with its beautifully carved seat posts, thinking about what a mess his life had become, when he suddenly heard a child bellow, “Papa! Papa!”

He looked up to see Lotti running toward him, her thin arms outstretched, fear on her face, and again she shouted, clear as could be, “Papa! Papa!”