Season of the Sun (26 page)

“I care not, come along! He will kill me as well as you if he catches us.”

Ingunn grabbed the leather belt and shoved the sword back into its scabbard. Then she stared at it as if it were a snake to bite her. Zarabeth grabbed it and wrapped the belt around her waist and cinched it. It hung low on her hips, but it held there.

She had no shoes, but it didn't matter. She ran, Ingunn at her side. They were deep in the forest before they halted, each holding her side.

“A moment,” Zarabeth said. “A moment, Ingunn.”

Zarabeth leaned against a tree, the pain sharp in her side, air ripping painfully through her throat, and she felt light-headed. Her stomach cramped from hunger. She raised her head to see Ingunn on her knees, her head lowered.

“Why did you save me?”

Ingunn sucked in great gulps of air.

Zarabeth waited. She could hear her own breathing, sharp in her ears, and Ingunn's as well, both harsh and ugly in the stillness of the forest.

“Why, Ingunn?”

“I came to realize that he had changed. I had refused to believe my father when he told me of the things Orm had done. You see, I thought I
knew
him, and I loved him.” She shrugged. “Whenever I met him he made me believe in him, even though I began to guess that something had happened to him. I don't know what it was. But he used to be so . . . happy and gentle in his ways, at least toward women. He changed, Zarabeth.” She rose then and looked back the way they had come.

“He will come after us any moment now. To kill me. To kill you as well, after he has raped you. If you want to live, we must hurry now.”

Zarabeth staggered forward. It was dark now, finally, and they were running across a narrow strip of swampland that gave into another thin forest of pines, then stopped at the edge of the viksfjord.

“Faster,” Ingunn said from behind her. “He will find us, by all the gods, I know it.”

“Nay, we will beat him.” She prayed as she ran, prayed to her Christian God, to each of the Viking gods in turn. The pain in her side was unbearable, but she merely ran hunched over, holding herself, her breathing hoarse, her throat burning.

They stumbled in the boggy ground, falling several times, helping each other up, only to run and stumble again.

When they heard the horses coming they both slammed to the ground, uncaring of the mud and wet. Zarabeth's hands were filled with swamp mud. Her face was pressed into the wet earth. She thought of the last time she'd lain on the ground, waiting helplessly for Orm to come capture her. And he had come, and he would come again. The sword was heavy, dragging down at her side. She wasn't helpless this time.

The horses were coming closer. There was no long grass in this boggy swamp to hide them, only short marshy reeds, and Zarabeth knew that at any moment Orm would see them.

“I won't wait this time, damn him!” She jumped to her feet, pulling the sword free from its scabbard as she tried to keep her balance in the muddy earth.

“Zarabeth! You fool, lie down, quickly!”

“Nay! He won't take me back again. Not this time! This time I will fight him.”

Magnus was keeping Thorgell to a steady pace. He didn't want to kill his prized animal. The moon was bright overhead, the meadow was narrow and long. They were close, he could feel it. Suddenly he saw an apparition rise from the floor of the meadow. He felt
a tremor of sheer terror choke in his throat. The vision, or whatever it was, was waving a sword like a demented thing. It was a woman—demon or flesh?

The stallion didn't falter even though his fist tightened on the reins. He heard Eines cursing, heard Ragnar's breath draw in sharply, heard the other men muttering.

“What is it?”

Then he recognized his wife, her flying hair, streaking down her back, thick and tangled. She was wearing a man's tunic and a wide loose belt that hung low on her hips.

She was challenging him, sword raised above her head, legs apart, her body ready.

Zarabeth brought the sword down in front of her and held it there with both hands. She waited, her heart pounding, beyond fear. It wasn't Orm. It was Magnus. A sob caught in her throat. She dropped the sword and began running toward him, the filthy swamp mud sucking at her feet, all the pain in her body forgotten.

“By all the gods!” Ragnar yelled, and kicked his horse's sides. “I'll kill it!”

“Nay, Ragnar! 'Tis my wife!” Magnus kicked Thorgell into a gallop. He rode to her, leaned down, and scooped her up with one arm. He was laughing, deep and freely, and he was holding her tightly against him and her arms were around his neck.

He pulled Thorgell to a halt. He looked at his wife, filthy, smiling, her eyes bright with relief. “You would have held me off with your sword? Right there in the middle of a swamp?”

“Aye. I was very angry, you see.”

“I see,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her. “You are also very filthy.”

“Magnus,” she said into his mouth, and tightened her hold around his neck. He grunted and pulled her
across his lap. Thorgell pranced to the side, not liking her weight or the swamp smell of her.

“Ingunn is out there hiding.”

Magnus called his sister's name. She rose and stood silently under the moonlight.

“Ragnar, take her up with you.”

“We must hurry,” Zarabeth said, panic flaring suddenly. “Orm must be conscious by now. He will be coming after us.”

“Good.”

She heard the pleasure in his voice, the anticipation. There was nothing for it. He was a man and a warrior and he wanted his enemy.

She said as calmly as an old campaigner, “There are six of you. There are only three of them. They have one woman who is a slave.”

Magnus wanted to find Orm immediately. He wanted to kill him slowly and he wanted to do it himself.

She smiled at him, her fingertips touching his mouth. “Thank you for coming after me. I would like you to catch him, Magnus. He is like a dangerous animal. He must be stopped.”

“I am worried for you.”

“I have his sword. I am a dangerous woman. Let us go.”

He kissed her again, squeezed her against him until she squeaked, and click-clicked Thorgell forward. He shouted for his men to follow.

They rode back from across the meadow, slowing down to get through the dense pine forest.

“So close,” Magnus said against Zarabeth's temple. “I feared he would be gone with you. He has a vessel near, does he not?”

“Aye. I don't know why he waited. He veered inland, then came back north to the viksfjord. Perhaps he wanted you to come. Perhaps he wanted to face you and fight you.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“He did not rape me. He would have, but Ingunn struck him down. I tied him with his cross-garters and then we ran.”

He hugged her. “You did well, as did my sister.”

When they neared the camp, they rode single file. Then Magnus called for a halt. They dismounted and he bade Zarabeth wait there with the horses. She watched him silently make his way to the edge of the trees.

She felt sick to her stomach. Ingunn came to stand beside her.

There was a shout. “He's gone! The bastard is gone! The miserable coward.”

The women looked at each other, then ran forward.

Eines was on his knees examining the fire and the ground around it. “I don't think he tried to catch the mistress at all, Magnus. I think he came back here—see, his prints show that he isn't steady on his feet—I think he simply decided it was too dangerous and they all left.”

All but one. They found the woman slave naked and dead beside a tree, strangled.

It was then that Ragnar found a series of rough finger drawings made in the sand on the far side of the fire. There was a small boy with a rope around his neck and he was being led by a man. The man was smiling and holding pieces of gold in his free hand.

“Egill,” Magnus said. “It is my son. Somehow he managed to capture Egill.”

“Your dream,” Zarabeth said, her hand on his forearm.

“Aye, he's a slave, but he's alive. By Thor, where did Orm take him?”

Ingunn came forward and went to her knees to study the drawings. “He said nothing to me about
capturing Egill, nothing at all.” There was shock in her voice.

“But we know where Egill is,” Zarabeth said with a smile. “He's in the Danelaw.”

I
t was just past dawn, the sky a soft pink with folds of pale gray. The air was cool and still; the creatures in the forest were silent. Zarabeth lay against Magnus, her head on his shoulder. She listened to his even breathing, her palm flat on his chest, against his heart. In a day and a half they would be back at Malek. Back to her home.

She burrowed closer and his arm tightened about her back, an unconscious gesture to keep her safe and close.

He had come after her. He had wasted no time, given no thought to the possibility that she could have fled from him or even leapt to her death off a cliff into the viksfjord. She came up to her elbow then and looked at his face. There was a slight smile on his lips, she was certain of it, and without thought she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. She kissed him again, then once more.

He opened his eyes slowly, even though she knew he'd come instantly awake at her touch, for that was how he was.

“It's early, Zarabeth. I have need of rest. You have worn me to the bone chasing you to the edge of the earth. However, I don't wish to discourage you. You may kiss me again.”

She did, saying between the light, nipping kisses, “You came after me.”

He went still and she stopped kissing him and looked down into his face as he said somberly, “Did you believe for one instant that I would not?”

“No, not for an instant. I don't think Ingunn doubted it either. She was always trying to get Orm to hurry, but he didn't. He is quite mad.”

“Aye, perhaps now, but when we were boys . . .” His voice trailed off and he said abruptly, “Your stomach is making so much noise I cannot go back to sleep.”

“I have been hungry since Orm captured me.”

He frowned then. “Why have you not said anything?”

“I did not think of it until just a moment ago. No, Magnus, don't move yet. I won't starve until the sun hits its zenith, I promise you.” She sighed. “Ah, 'tis good to be clean again even though the viksfjord water nearly froze my eyebrows from my face.” She kissed him again, remembering the bathing both of them had done in the viksfjord the evening before.

“When I have returned you to Malek and Ingunn to my father's farmstead, I will take my men and sail to the Danelaw.”

She said nothing for several moments. She was still propped up on her elbow, over him, and she leaned down again and kissed him once more. He came up to kiss her back this time, but she pressed him down. “I am trying to think,” she said. “You mustn't distract me.”

“That is nice for a man to hear. You are certain that now I could distract you?”

She looked worried and he felt a leap of anger at her. She had come running to him the evening before, hurling herself upon him, trusting him completely. But now she was behind that wall of hers, that cursed barrier that he had sworn to breach. But he held his tongue. She had bathed with him, seeming to enjoy
it, but had fallen asleep before he could show her how much he had missed her. And now she had kissed him, willingly, so many times he couldn't believe it, and she was lying easily against him. He saw her look over to where Ingunn lay wrapped in a blanket, sleeping soundly, her white-blond hair spread about her head.

“Ingunn saved me, she truly did.”

“I don't wish to speak of my sister. How is your throat?”

“Do I still sound like a frog?”

“You sound like a wet cloth slapping at an open wound.”

“That is a disgusting image, Magnus. Was your first wife silly?”

“Silly? Dalla?” He looked at her, his eyebrow cocked upward.

“Your parents arranged for you to wed with her? Was she silly?”

He shook his head. “Orm told you these things?”

“Aye.”

“The truth was that Orm wanted her himself, but her parents believed me to be the better man for her.”

“Was she silly?”

He laughed then and pulled her down against him, squeezing her. “Aye, she was silly and she laughed as openly and freely as a child and she loved to dance in the moonlight, even when the ground was covered knee-deep with snow.”

She was silent, trying to picture such a creature. She said on a sigh, “I do not remember the last time I laughed openly.”

He couldn't either.

“I have never danced in the snow.”

“Mayhap you could also be silly every now and then—occasionally giggle and poke your fingers in my ribs.”

“Aye, mayhap.”

“Either kiss me again or let me sleep, Zarabeth.”

“If I kiss you, will you force me?”

Anger roiled inside him. “You have already kissed me more times than I can count. But they weren't really a woman's deep kisses. Kiss me again, as a woman ought, and you will see.”

She leaned down and pressed her mouth lightly to his. Her lips were dry and firm. He lay very quietly, not returning her kiss, letting her take what she wanted, letting her invade him, then withdraw, only to return again when she found no aggression in him. His sex swelled and throbbed but he didn't move. When would she realize that she belonged with him? When would she stop fighting herself and him?

She raised her head and stared down at him. Her look was brooding. Finally she said slowly, “I had forgotten the taste of you.” He thought he would spill his seed at her words, just simple words, yet they shook him to his very core. She kissed him again, then shimmied down to press against his side and lay her cheek back on his shoulder.

“The next time you kiss me, Zarabeth, I will kiss you back and I will caress you and come inside you.”

He felt her tremble at his words. “Mayhap in the future you will feel silly and laugh when we are making love. It doesn't have to be such a devoutly serious business.”

She didn't know, and such a notion seemed strange to her. It seemed a very serious business.

The men were stirring. Magnus gave her another squeeze, then eased away from her. He rose and stretched, naked and lean and powerful in the soft morning light. He looked down at her and was pleased to see the candid interest in her eyes. She was staring at him quite openly. “I will fetch you one of my tunics to wear.”

He smiled when she strapped Orm's wide leather belt around her hips, but he said nothing. He guessed wearing the sword made her feel she was in control. The sword banged against her leg whenever she took a step. Her legs were long and bare, as were her feet. He watched her try to untangle her hair with her fingers. He could have told her that she looked wild and beautiful, as savage as a warrior goddess. Then she rubbed her bottom and the image was swiftly gone. He laughed. He made certain she ate her fill before they left camp.

The day was hot, the sky clear. They rode near to the shore, the trees to their left, for there was no tracking to be done now and it was a quicker way back to Malek by this route. Magnus carried Zarabeth in front of him. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and dozed. She felt safe; she felt at peace. It was a strange feeling and she was loath to let it go. She fell deeply asleep with the scent of him in her nostrils, the gentle sway of the stallion beneath her, his arms holding her steady.

Ragnar's stallion came even with Thorgell. Magnus turned to see his sister regarding him solemnly. She said, “I want to know what you will tell our father.”

“Mother already came to Malek, frantic to know if anyone had seen you. Now all know that you escaped our father's farmstead to meet him, Ingunn. What would you have me say? All know that you sacrificed your honor to him.”

“I saved your wife's life.”

“You did, but not because you care one whit about her, so do not pretend that you do. You hated to see Orm take another woman. You feared that he would want her and not you. Isn't that right?”

Ingunn was silent, but Ragnar said, “You speak harshly, Magnus.”

“Ragnar, you speak blindly. Look well at her, speak
long with her, and listen to the feeling behind her words before you decide to take her.”

Ingunn's eyes widened. “What do you mean? Take me? What is this, Magnus?”

Magnus stared between Thorgell's ears. “Ragnar wants you for a wife.”

Ingunn seemed to swell up even as she sat there. “I don't want him! He is a lout and a boor and I have seen him fondle any female who chances to walk by him. He is no more faithful than a flea.”

Magnus turned the full force of his anger on her and she drew back from the harshness of his expression, the coldness of his voice. “You are a fine one to accuse another of faithlessness. You who gave yourself to Orm. You want to reproach Ragnar? He is a man, not a maid whose virginity represents the value she places on herself.”

“Did your precious Zarabeth come to you a virgin? She was wedded to an old man and he—”

“Hold your tongue, Ingunn, or I will grant Ragnar full permission to beat you now. We are speaking of you and why you call Ragnar a boor and a lout. Why?”

Ingunn rallied, for she had known Magnus all her life. His anger was swift to come and equally swift to dissipate. He was her brother, after all. “He treats me badly. He has always been rude toward me, always smirking at me.”

“You sound like a sullen spoiled child. You deserve to be treated badly.”

“He won't listen to me. He doesn't care how much I have suffered.”

“He shows wisdom. As for your suffering, you brought any suffering you have endured upon yourself. You twist things, Ingunn, and you refuse to see your own hand in your woes. Your tongue is tangled about itself.”

“Ragnar cares naught for me. He wants only to be allied with our family. He is vain and ambitious.”

“I don't understand how he could care for you, but I shan't doubt his word. I believe he shows a lack of good judgment, but it is his patience to be tested if he takes you, not mine, thank Odin. As for our family, why, I cannot imagine a man who would not wish to be allied with us.”

“I won't have him! Father won't make me take him. He cannot, it is not our way.”

“You will do as you are bidden this time, for you have grievously wounded our family. I will encourage our father to hand you over to Ragnar. I gave you no schooling at all, more fool I, but Ragnar will bring you to submission. He will teach you to temper your damnable tongue.”

Suddenly Ragnar was laughing, and both brother and sister looked at him with expressions so close it made him laugh all the harder. He went on laughing, more loudly, more deeply. Zarabeth stirred, came fully awake.

“What is it, Magnus?”

He frowned at the hoarseness of her voice, but she didn't need any more anger, even though it was directed toward another. He leaned down and kissed her ear. “It is Ragnar. He fancies that he will beat Ingunn until she falls faint with love for him.”

“I cannot truly imagine that happening, Magnus.”

“I won't have him!” Ingunn shrieked.

Ragnar stopped laughing. He released his horse's reins, grabbed Ingunn about the waist, and turned her to face him. “Listen to me, you silly woman. Whom will you have if not me?”

Ingunn slapped him hard. He wasn't expecting the blow and thus wasn't prepared. Both of them nearly fell from his horse's back. He thrashed until he regained his balance. He said nothing, merely stared
at her. Ingunn tried to pull away. Then Ragnar smiled. He lifted her from the saddle and with one quick motion brought her over his thighs. He smacked her buttocks until she was squirming and screaming at him. He was laughing again, and his stallion was dancing wildly to the side. Ragnar paid no heed. With each smack he gave a dictum. “Ingunn, you will not gainsay me. You will obey me. You will sweeten your tongue. You will not flail me with it, but rather kiss me whenever I wish it. You will show me only winsome smiles. No more barbs will fly from your mouth.”

Magnus urged Thorgell forward. Zarabeth buried her face in his tunic. It astounded her how life could rebound in such wide sweeps, from terror to laughter to indignation to insults. Ingunn was still yelling and Ragnar was still smacking her and laughing and telling her what she would do. Magnus was warm against her and she knew that she would come back into life and share in its pain and its laughter. She knew she could not much longer seek only to slip away from life and watch it from afar, remaining untouched and isolated.

They rode in silence for some time, distancing themselves from the others. Occasionally they heard Ingunn's sharp voice and more of Ragnar's laughter, as well as loudly shouted comments from the men.

Magnus drew to a halt beside a small clear lake, loosening Thorgell's reins so his stallion could drink. “Are you thirsty, Zarabeth?”

She was. They dismounted and she came down to her knees at the water's edge, cupped her hands, and scooped up the cold water. It tasted wonderful in her raw throat.

“Better?”

“Aye,” she said, and rose, the sword clanging against her thigh.

Magnus stood looking over the viksfjord. “Egill is alive. I find it strange that I, a man of little
imagination, dreamed he was alive, dreamed that he was also sold into slavery. Orm has much to answer for.”