Season of the Sun (Viking Era 1)

Zarabeth knew it was dangerous to be out alone at night, despite the relative peace York had known for the past few years. There were still villains, beggars, outlaws, any number of ruffians who could sneak into the city at night and prey on the people. Thus she was careful to keep to the shadows of the houses. She walked very quickly, her step nearly soundless. There was a sliver of a moon overhead and the air was heavy with rain that would come before morning. All was shadows and silence. She could hear her own heart but she didn’t slow, just kept walking.

She was warm enough wearing her wool cloak. She clutched it to her, remembering her mother telling her that the cloak had belonged to her mother and had been dyed with the finest saffron produced in all of Ireland.

When Zarabeth had left Olav’s house on Coppergate, her feet, if not her conscious mind, had known exactly where she was going. Now she accepted what her feet had easily known. She kept her eyes straight ahead, toward the quay on the River Ouse. The earthen fortifications came into view, thick and tall and sturdy, then the snug harbor. There were many vessels along Monk’s Pier, tied with stout rope to thick wooden poles that ran the length of the quay. Most of them were Viking trading ships. Her eyes scanned along them. So many of them, and they looked alike.

She stopped then, and nearly laughed aloud. She had come to find Magnus, yet she didn’t know if he was here. She didn’t even know the name of his vessel. She was appalled at herself. She had met a man and lost her wits as a result. She was a prize fool, and it was disconcerting, because normally she was thoughtful and slow to act either in joy or in anger. But she had simply walked out of her house, walked down Coppergate to Hungate, and directly right to the harbor. Well, she’d done it now, and if there were any outlaws lurking about, she deserved for them to see her. Still, she didn’t turn back.

She paused, drew a deep breath, and proceeded to examine each of the vessels. There were at least a dozen, all the great square masts furled, all quiet, all the sailors asleep, the only sound the slap of water against the side of the boats. She hadn’t realized it was quite so late. She walked very quietly, from vessel to vessel, the soft leather soles of her shoes nearly silent on the wooden-planked dock. She felt fear now, admitted it to herself. By all the saints, she was a fool. What to do? Then she saw a vessel that was larger than its neighbors, with elegant lines and a look of brutal magnificence. It flew Odin’s Raven, carved in black, upon its bow. It was a beautiful vessel and she knew deep down, without question, that it belonged to Magnus.

She smiled then, slowly, threw back her head, and shouted, “Magnus! Magnus Haraldsson!”

There was utter silence, then the low rumbling of men talking.

“Magnus! Magnus Haraldsson!”

She heard a deep laugh. She saw a score of men’s heads coming into view over the gunwales, sailors all, weapons in their hands, and then they were leaping lightly off their vessels onto the quay, looking toward her, mouths agape, talking about her, pointing. She heard a blessedly familiar voice say, “Nay, all of you remain here. There is no danger. ’Tis my lady who calls to me. Any of you make a move toward her and I’ll slit your fool’s throat. If any other man makes a move toward us, come to my aid and we’ll slit his throat together.”

It was Magnus, and he was striding toward her, his cloak billowing in the heavy air behind him, his head bare. He looked invulnerable and as brutally beautiful as his vessel, and she felt her flesh become warm and her breathing quicken. He was a powerful beast, this man, and she knew in that moment that she would have him and none other. Two days of knowing him was a lifetime. She forced herself to stand quiet, waiting for him to come to her.

Magnus stopped not a foot from her. He said nothing, merely stared down at her, no expression on his face. “I thought I heard a woman’s raucous voice shrieking for me, shrill as the caw of a rook. Did you hear anyone like that, Zarabeth?” He looked over her head and to his right and left. “Nay, I see her not. No one is swimming in the water, neither a mermaid nor a sea dragon, and there are naught but hairy sailors yon. All of them were dreaming dreams of plunder and fat casks of silver, no doubt, until her voice came to slice through their dreams, and mine. Ah, behind you. There she is, and she looks the termagant, foul-tempered and sour-mouthed. How very ugly she is—”

Zarabeth whipped around and saw no one. Magnus began to chuckle. She felt his hand fall lightly on her shoulder.

His voice deepened and all humor fell away. “You are impulsive, Zarabeth. It is a dangerous quality, but I shan’t chide you for it this time, though it angers me that you would come to me alone. Come here and let me look at you.”

She smiled then and turned to find him there, just in front of her, and she leaned forward against his chest and lifted her face to his. She said, “I wanted to see you. It’s been too long without the sight of your face.”

His hands came up to clasp her upper arms. “Was it, now? So you came here to the quay alone, with no protection, and bellowed out my name? What if another man had come in answer to your call?”

She had no intention of dwelling on that possibility, saying simply, “I knew it was your vessel. It is the most splendid one docked here. It looks like you, Magnus, lean and powerful and savage. I took little risk.”

“Your reasoning astounds me and pleases me alike. But do you really see me as being savage?”

“Nay, I meant brutal. It sounds odd, but ’tis true. Your vessel appears brutal in its beauty, as do you, its owner, its master.”

“All right, I promised not to chide you, and I won’t, for you have made me feel a man above other men. Just know, Zarabeth, any brutality in my nature will never be visited upon you. If you ever annoy me, why, then, I’ll simply kiss you.” And he did, swooping down, his cloak billowing around the both of them, pulling her up against his chest. His mouth was warm and firm, and when she didn’t part her lips to him, he gently eased his tongue along her lower lip, caressing her, nipping her, until she understood what he wanted and opened her mouth just a bit. It was wondrous, feeling his tongue touch hers, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. His large hands were holding her tightly against him. She felt his thighs against hers, felt the hardness of him against her belly.

“Magnus,” she said into his mouth, and she felt him shudder. She wondered at this seeming power she held over him, but only for a moment, for he suddenly swept his hands over her buttocks and lifted her, pressing her hard against him. She stiffened at his assault and he instantly released her, sliding her down the front of his body, slowly, ever so slowly, until her feet once again touched the dock.

He raised his head and looked down at her. “You’re breathing hard, sweeting. That pleases me. And you’re right. All my men and all the other men in every vessel along this quay are likely watching us behind the gunwales. Their dreams are no longer of plunder but of beautiful females beguiling them and seducing them. I will announce tomorrow that you are mine, and that will be the end to their sniggering and gossip.”

She lowered her eyes. “That is kind of you, Magnus. Actually, I have come to become better acquainted with you. I told Olav that I would give him my decision in three days. He cares about me, you see, and doesn’t want me to be overly impetuous.” She paused; then, to his surprise and fascination, she giggled. “He fears your manliness sways me unduly, though he didn’t say that precisely. I should have told him he was quite right.” She was serious again. “I wanted to see you, Ma

gnus, to see if you truly were the man who was in my mind all the day long.”

“And am I, Zarabeth?”

She smiled at his off-kilter pronunciation of her name as she stepped back, still held in the loose circle of his arms, and looked up at him. The moonlight was scant but she could see his features perfectly. She studied him, cocking her head to one side in serious contemplation.

He held himself perfectly still, not moving, not changing expression, just waiting for her to complete her study.

“You are as you should be, and to me that is all that is perfect.” She lightly touched her fingertips to the small notch in his chin. “This is clever.”

He raised a thick dark blond brow. “ ’Twas not of my doing, though if it pleases you, I will claim full knowledge and the planning of it. One girl told me once that Odin had rejected me, pressing his thumb into my chin to show the world his repugnance.”

“This girl who told you that—did you hurt her to make her speak so evilly?”

“Actually, it is so.” His voice lightened as he spoke his memories. “She had seduced me, this older girl who was then yet younger than you are now, and I was but an innocent lad of twelve summers when she first took me inside her and I learned the pleasures of a woman’s body. Then I discovered that year I preferred hunting walrus to covering her. She cursed me, ranting that my cleft was the sign of Odin’s displeasure.”