“I need my clothes.”
“You look like a witch, and your smell sickens me.”
She merely nodded. “Very well, then, clothes and a bath and a comb for my hair.”
“No.”
She found nothing strange at his show of perversity. She’d lived too long with Olav. Again she nodded, saying nothing more.
Actually Magnus had already had her clothing fetched from Olav’s house, over Toki’s loud and shrill objections. She had wanted to sell the clothing. The vicious bitch would die, so who cared what would happen to her clothing? But Horkel, a man of few words and frightening aspect, had merely taken Zarabeth’s things without heeding the shrieking woman. In fact, he had smiled as he’d left Olav’s house, Toki running behind him, yelling her head off.
“Come. We will go to my vessel now.”
She turned to walk with him from the presence of King Guthrum. She saw Old Arnulf standing there, displeasure weighing heavy on his face. Toki and Keith hung back, Toki looking furious and Keith looking, strangely, somehow relieved. And Zarabeth knew why. She wished she could place her hands around Toki’s throat; she wanted to kill her, for it was she who was the murderess. No, there was no justice. Zarabeth didn’t believe that Toki would ever be punished for her deed. As for being eaten with remorse, she doubted Toki had ever had a twinge of remorse in her life. She had won, but still she was furious because Zarabeth wasn’t to die. At least by King Guthrum’s order.
Zarabeth waited until they were outside the palace compound before saying, “Magnus, please, I will explain everything to you. But first we must fetch Lotti. She is frightened of Toki and she will hurt her, I know it. Please, we must get her.”
Magnus felt equal portions of rage and pain, and all because of this damned woman who stood disheveled and dirty in front of him, still so proud, so certain of her ability to charm him that she gave him no real notice. He said, his voice as cold as the viksfjord in winter, “No. The child stays here with her brother. I do not wish to have her on the journey home.”
Zarabeth reeled back from his words. She’d never believed Magnus to be cruel; it hadn’t occurred to her that he would refuse her in this, no matter what he felt about her. By the saints, what a fool she was. If ever she’d thought that he could be so quick to hurt a defenseless child, she wouldn’t have come to care for him so quickly. She felt that pain, not elusive now, but full and deep, grind inside her. She wanted to scream at him that it was all a lie, that she loved him, but she knew that now, at this moment, he was set against her.
But she had to get Lotti. She shivered at the thought of the child with Toki for even another hour, let alone another day. But she was now Magnus’ slave. Hisslave.A creature with no rights, no choices, no freedom. She would have to figure out something. She had to. She would not leave Lotti here at Toki’s mercy.
She walked in silence now beside Magnus, trying to gather the proper words together to speak to him. She had to explain, to make him believe her. It was a goodly distance to the quay, but neither spoke. She was tired, so weary she was trembling, unable to find words to beg him to stop, just for a moment. She realized she was hungry, for she had been given nothing to eat since the previous evening. It was hot, the sun brutal on her head, and she felt herself becoming light-headed. She tried to shake it away, to keep control of herself and her body. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not to Magnus, never to Magnus. She would die first.
Magnus was fully aware that she was slowing beside him, but he didn’t shorten his step. He saw her weave, then get control of herself again, and against his will he admired her. He quashed it. He saw her swipe her hand over her forehead and rub her eyes. He said nothing. He knew that if he did, he would want to strike her, and a blow from him could kill her. He didn’t want her dead.
He remained silent. When she fell behind, he stopped and turned to face her. “Quicken your step. I have matters to see to and have not the time to waste in coddling you.”
The sun shone so brightly in her eyes that for a moment he blurred before her, his hair glistening nearly white in the shimmering heat. She raised her hand, then dropped it. She was so very thirsty. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. Slowly she shook her head and forced one foot in front of the other. One more step, she told herself, just one more step, and then perhaps another.
She smelled the water, the sharp salty smell, and the odor of fish. So very close now to theSea Wind.She would make it; she wouldn’t shame herself in front of him. And she would find the words to convince him of her innocence, soon, soon now.
It was the stone in her path that did her in. She didn’t see it. She stumbled and went down to her knees, flinging out her hands at the last minute to protect herself. She felt the pain sear through her, felt the tearing of the pebbles and dirt into her palms. She remained as she was, on her hands and knees, her head lowered, her hair straggling to the ground on either side of her face.
“Get up.”
She thought about it, hard, and told herself to rise. But her body didn’t obey her.
“Get up, else I’ll tether you and drag you.”
She raised her head then, and her eyes were on line with his boots. She looked upward. He was bare-legged, his tunic coming to his knees, belted at his waist. A long knife hung from the belt. His forearms were bare save for a thick gold arm bracelet. Then she saw his face, saw the emotionless coldness, and felt herself shrink inside.
“Get up,” he said again, impatient now, and she forced herself back onto her knees, drew her breath, and tried to rise. There were people gathering around them, people who knew her, and they were murmuring words she could hear:
“Aye, ’tis a slave she is now, but what she deserves is to have her bowels cut out.”
“Nay, ’tis our sweet Zarabeth, and she couldn’t have killed Olav.”
“A sweeting she was when she was small... but now she is a woman grown, and greedy and evil, ah...”
It was suddenly too much. Zarabeth looked around at the faces of men and women she’d known since her mother had wedded Olav and brought her to York. She saw anger and contempt; she saw uncertainty and pity. She looked up at Magnus’ face and saw nothing but coldness. Then she saw nothing. She fell sideways, unconscious.
He felt his heart lurch. Quickly he leaned down and drew her up into his arms. She felt lifeless, her head lolling backward, her hair wrapped around his arm and in thick tangles to the ground.
He said not a word to any of the people, but strode to theSea Wind.He crossed the narrow gangplank.
Horkel greeted him. “This is the woman?”
