Season of the Sun

by Catherine Coulter

  “Aye, if she weds with him,” his father said, his brow furrowed in his discontent. “We will see. Nothing is settled yet. Nothing.”

  Zarabeth held her peace. She wanted to see Magnus. She continued her work quietly, then bathed Lotti and tucked her into a thick wool blanket in the box bed. Olav and Keith were drinking steadily. She placed more ale beside her stepfather, then very quietly took her woolen cloak from a peg and pulled it around her shoulders. “I’m going for a short walk,” she said, and left before either man realized she was gone.

  5

  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.”

  Zarabeth chuckled. “I should have cursed you also. Walrus hunting! ’Twas not well done of you.”

  “I was but twelve years old, Zarabeth.”

  “Aye, but were you so beautiful even then, Magnus?”

  “When you birth my sons, perhaps one of them will be in my image, and then you will know.”

  Zarabeth was silent. He continued to do this to her, to speak so bluntly that it robbed her of her wits.

  “What bothers you, sweeting?”

  “You and the effect you have on me. It’s strange and it confuses me and makes me stupid.”

  He stroked his fingertips over her jaw. “I would make you happy, not stupid.”

  “Would you bear with both?”

  “I will manage to bear with all you ever show me.” He leaned down to quickly kiss her. He didn’t try to part her lips, just kissed her warmly and lightly.

  “I’m afraid,” she said, looking up at him, at his mouth, damp from their touching, firm and gentle. “You come from a land I’ve only heard about, a land where all the people are strangers to me, a land where the weather is harsh during the winter and there is little sun for many months.”

  Magnus had considered taking her on board the Sea Wind, but he quickly changed his mind. It wasn’t at all chilly here in the open, and she felt safe here, with him, a man she’d known for only two days, the man she would marry. He smiled at her and sought to reassure her. “They will be strangers only until you smile at them and tell them hello. My kin will love you, as will Harald Fairhair himself, our king. He comes from the Vestfold, you know, though at present he has no royal residence there. But he is a cousin to my father, and thus of my kin, and he will come to visit and he will approve of you, you will see.”

  “I have heard of Harald Fairhair. I have heard he is ruthless and he seeks to subdue no matter the cost. It is said he rarely shows mercy.”

  “Aye, and he is greedy and wants more and then more after that.” Magnus shrugged. “He wants every chieftain, every earl in Norway, to bend to his will and obey his every dictum. He is a man and he is a Viking. There is no limit to his appetites, and his power grows by the year, and he falters not, though he is near my father in age. He has conquered an entire country and brought it to heel. He searches for more, as do most men of my country.” He grinned then, shaking his head. “The men in my country—if they feel at all crowded by their neighbors or persecuted by their king, then they simply leave to find new lands. We all cherish our freedom and we allow no one to curtail it.”

  “And does he wish to have your lands and those of your father? Will you wish someday to leave your home?”

  “Not as yet, but it would not surprise me to have him levy taxes on us that would break our backs. Then, of course, we would have to fight him, king or no. Distant kin or no. Or we would leave.”

  She saw that he was perfectly serious. He would enjoy the fighting, she guessed, and he would be as brutal as he had to be and feel no regret. Nor would he flinch at the thought of leaving his home bound for a distant land. He would always do what had to be done. It pleased her, this certain knowledge of him.

  “It’s also true that during five months of the winter there is little sun and snow covers the ground. We will spend much time in the longhouse, but you won’t fret with inactivity. Skalds visit in the winter months and sing songs to amuse everyone. They tell sagas that have been handed down for hundreds of years, and invent new ones to make the master of the farmstead feel like a king with all their flattery. We play games and dance and drink until our heads pound. And when you are not in my bed, or playing, or dancing, you will be sewing, spinning, cooking, directing all the house jarls and the thralls. Do you know how to make butter, Zarabeth? And buttermilk?”

  “Butter?” she repeated, bemused yet again with the sudden shift in his talk.

  “Aye. I remember my mother lifting and dropping and shaking the churn—such a size it was, but then again, my mother is a woman of great strength—until she had separated out all the yellow butterfat. Ah, but the buttermilk that’s left is sweet and wondrous to drink. Children always fight for the first mug fresh from the churn.”

  “I make butter,” she said. “But my churn is small and requires no great strength to shake it.”

  His fingers were wrapped about her upper arms. “Life isn’t easy at home, Zarabeth, but I cannot think you would seek to doze away with boredom. I will protect you and love you and give you as many children as Frey blesses us with. I would like to kiss you again, sweeting. Your mouth is soft and draws me from reason itself.”

  Without hesitation, she stood on her tiptoes and pursed her lips, her eyes closing.

  He looked at her lovely face, a face that was already very dear to him. “After I kiss you, I should like to cup your breasts in my hands, like this.” He kissed her, burying her startled cry with his mouth, and his hands opened and he held her breasts in his palms.

  “Magnus,” she said, and pulled back. “Oh, truly, nay, you cannot.”

  “Your breathing is harsh,” he said, and grinned down at her. “Your words make little sense now. Do you like my hands on you? Ah, ’tis but the beginning, sweeting. Think of me suckling at your breast as will our sons and daughters. And when I part your thighs, I’ll come between them and part them wider, and then, Zarabeth, I’ll cover you.”

  She pressed her palm against his mouth. She felt flushed and excited and she knew neither was right, not that she cared overly. “You speak so baldly, I don’t know what to do.”

  “It excites you.”

  “It makes me stupid and fluttery, for I know not how to answer you.”

  “Then do not try. You will learn my ways. I will try to remember to speak thus to you whilst I take you. And you will learn to tell me what pleases you even as I tell you how to hold me and touch me.”

  “Yes,” she said, and sighed. She couldn’t control him and it occurred to her that he beguiled her so simply because he held the reins of control, firmly, and he wouldn’t release them. If he ever did, it would be because he wished to.

  It was unbearably exciting to her, his strength, his gentleness, the combination of the two that made him unique, that made him Magnus.

  “There is something I would ask you, Magnus.” She paused, but he merely continue smiling down at her, waiting. She fretted with the fine silver brooch that held his cloak together at his right shoulder. “Your thrall, Cyra—will you continue . . . that is, will you—?”

  “Ah, yes, Cyra who enjoys my hands on her, blending pain and pleasure together—”

  “You needn’t speak
quite so frankly about that! Will you continue with her once I am your wife?”

  He looked taken aback. “Certainly not. Do you believe me like those black Arabs in Miklagard? Those men who measure their importance by the number of women they are able to keep for themselves?”

  “I don’t know. There are those here in York—aye, King Guthrum even—who have several concubines and they are also married.”

  He shook his head. “You will fill my days and my nights. I want no other woman. Now, do you want to know what we will be doing in exactly four nights from tonight? No, you will listen, Zarabeth—” He broke off at the sound of a man’s voice, coming from down the quay, then cursed.

  “Magnus!”

  “I do believe it’s one of my men,” Magnus said, and put her away from him, his voice tinged with impatience. “Aye, ’tis Eirik and he’s a bit the worse from your York ale, if I mistake it not. The fool, ’tis not safe for a man alone, no matter how many friends he has close by.”

  Eirik was short, young, built like a Northumbrian bull, his hair nearly white it was so blond. He came to a stop in front of Magnus, and gave him an owlish stare.

  “She is the stepdaughter of Olav the Vain, is she not? There are men out searching for her. Olav the Vain is yelling that she is missing, likely kidnapped by you, he is claiming, because you refused to pay the brideprice. He is shrieking like a madman. He has six men with him, all paltry and worth naught in a fight, but still . . . I thought she would be with you, so I came to tell you, Magnus.”

  “I’ll return her,” Magnus said. “Get you some sleep now, Eirik. You’ve done well and I am in your debt.”

  He turned to Zarabeth. There was humor in his eyes. “I like him not, this stepfather of yours, but I do grant that he could be concerned for your safety.”

  “I’ll leave now. You needn’t come back with me. Olav is mayhap foolish now, for he has drunk much ale. I do not want him or you hurt.”

  “Zarabeth, you are now under my protection. The moment I saw you, you were under my care. You will walk nowhere alone, ever again. You will attend me fully when there is something I wish you to do, or more likely, when there is something I wish you to cease doing. Do you understand?”