Season of the Sun (Viking Era 1)

27

The morning was bright; the North Sea waters were calm and smooth. The thick wadmal sail flattened, then puffed out with a loud snap in the erratic westerly breeze. Zarabeth brushed her hair from her face and shaded he

r eyes against the glare and the slick droplets of salt water. She fancied she could see York in the far distance, but as they drew nearer, it was in truth a cloud bank, gray and billowing thick and deep, stretching across the horizon. The Sea Wind moved smoothly forward, closer and closer to York, trailed by seabirds hopeful for food scraps.

A gull swooped down onto the railing, ruffled its feathers, and squawked loudly, but Zarabeth paid it no attention. She was seeing Ragnar standing at the head of all Malek’s people, their line stretching from the long wooden dock up the winding narrow trail to the gates of the palisade itself. She could nearly smell the raw new lumber, sweet and moist, in the morning air. All Malek’s people were waving at them, shouting advice and good wishes. Ragnar stood silent, nearly whole again, his left arm still in a loose sling, having accepted the protection of Malek in Magnus’ absence. It was Eldrid who would oversee the work in the longhouse, though she’d carped and complained that she was too old, too weak, for such responsibility, to which Magnus had said, “Nonsense, Aunt. You are wise and just. Rule my home and be in readiness for our return.”

They were going to find Egill and Lotti, alive and healthy, Zarabeth was certain of it. As for her stubborn, overly protective husband, Magnus would accustom himself to her presence. He would stop scowling at her and ignoring her. He had agreed, finally, to her accompanying him, for in the end she’d given him no choice.

She had looked him straight in the eye on that final evening before he had announced departure and sworn that she would leave Malek in his absence and find her way to York on her own.

He’d ranted and cursed and thrown two wooden bowls, stomped around the palisade grounds, even threatened to lock her up. Finally he’d tried to enlist his mother’s help, for she’d been visiting during those last days, but she, to his utter astonishment, had taken Zarabeth’s side. “It is her right,” Helgi had said, lightly stroking her callused palm over her son’s cheek. “Understand, my son. Lotti is her sister and she must see the child and touch her and bring her home herself. It wouldn’t be right for you to deny her this. She is a Viking woman now, Magnus.”

He’d been left with nothing to say, though angry words and commands and threats had choked in his throat, and finally he’d bellowed, “But she’s with child!” to which both women merely frowned at him with tolerant scorn.

Now they had nearly reached their journey’s end. Only another half-day, she’d heard Tostig say. Perhaps a day, depending on the wind and its constancy. Zarabeth felt Magnus beside her; then after a brief moment his arms went around her and he pulled her back against his chest.

“Soon,” he said, and hugged her more tightly against him. “Are you feeling well?”

“I feel wonderful.”

“I’ve decided to stop ignoring you. It does no good except to make me lonely and gain me condemning looks from the men. I’m tired of pretending you’re not with me, Zarabeth. It does me no good, after all.”

She turned and smiled at him. “Nay, it doesn’t, and I’m glad you want to see me again. I’ve missed you, husband, missed the touch of your fingers on my lips, and, aye, the fullness of you inside me.”

Magnus leaned down and lightly kissed her mouth. When he straightened, he studied her face intently. “Listen to me, Zarabeth. Despite all we think we know, despite all we want and expect, we cannot be certain if either Egill or Lotti is alive. Orm could have lied. He is a master when it comes to amusing himself at another’s expense. Aye, tormenting others ranks very high with him. We must be prepared to face whatever comes, but we will face it together.”

“They’re alive.”

“Even with the dream, I know it would be foolish of me to claim it for a fact.”

“They’re alive.”

He merely hugged her again, but said nothing more. He was nearly as certain as she was that Egill and Lotti lived, but he feared to say the words, feared somehow that fate would turn against him were he to pretend to that knowledge.

Ingunn stood before Egill in the corner of the garden, uncertain what to do. The king’s mistress, his niece Cecilia, had shrugged and left them alone. “I do not understand you,” Ingunn said, so irritated with him that she wanted to strike him. “I have come here to save you, and you refuse to leave this pathetic little girl!”

“Where is Orm Ottarsson? Does he know you are here? Does he know what you’re about?”

Ingunn eyed her nephew. The boy had changed. His voice sounded just like Magnus’—sharp and imperious, as if he were used to giving orders and she, as a woman, was to obey them. She was angry. She was saving him—by Thor, she’d sold her most valued brooch to get the coin—and yet he was acting like she wasn’t to be trusted, and she was of his flesh! “It isn’t important,” she said. “You will come with me now and I will see that you go home to Malek.”

“It is important,” Egill said. “Orm Ottarsson stole both Lotti and me. We were barely alive. I feared Lotti would die at any moment, for there was so much water in her chest and she couldn’t stop vomiting it up. But he didn’t care, not until he realized how he could use us. He brought us here to York and used us as a bribe to the king for the farmland he wanted. He was pleased with what he had done. If you bring me back to him, he will be very angry.”

“Nay, he won’t. Besides, you won’t see him.”

“He hates my father. I heard him talking about how he would see my father pay for all his pride and his arrogance, that he would make him regret that he had married my mother. He bragged how he would steal Zarabeth as well, and use her as he wished. He boasted he could plant a babe in her womb and then he would return her to my father. He hates all of us except for you. I don’t understand that.”

“What Orm feels for your father has nothing to do with me. He loves me. I am soon to be his wife. There’s nothing more for you to understand. Come now, we must leave. I have a vessel waiting for you.”

Egill planted his legs wide apart, his fists on his hips. He smiled at his aunt. “I have already told you, I won’t go anywhere without Lotti. Buy her as well and we will both leave here.”

“That cursed idiot child! She is naught but a pathetic scrap, a worthless slave. You didn’t like her, you never liked her! She stole your father’s affections. She can’t do anything save make those awful mewling noises. You will come with me now, Egill. Forget her.”

She grabbed his arm, but the boy merely stared at her, not moving. She shook him, but he held his place. He’d gotten stronger. He was no longer a little boy. Her breath hissed out when she saw the scorn in his eyes, his father’s eyes, and they were cold and unforgiving.

“You betrayed my father, didn’t you? You probably betrayed Zarabeth as well. You tormented her and abused her with that whip, and she had never done anything to hurt you. Is she here? Did Orm capture her as he vowed to do?”

Ingunn stepped away from him. “No, you stupid boy! That bitch is safe as can be at Malek. Malek is now hers! She is wedded to your father! How do you like that—she is now your mother! By all the gods, she won!” Ingunn rubbed her palm over her forehead. “I was a witless fool to come here, risking my own life to save you. You ungrateful whelp, if he knew I was here, he would kill me!”