“I do not believe you. You will threaten the child when you think it will bring me to heel.”
Helgi watched the two of them and wondered what would happen. Never had she seen Magnus so lost to control. Of her three sons, he was the one who remained firmly in command of himself in any situation. He prided himself on his mastery of others and of himself. He was always calm, his voice easy and low. Whenever he felt strongly about something, his voice deepened even more, but he never, never bellowed in rage, as he was doing now. Now he was acting like his younger brother, Jon, who yelled and cursed and carped with frustration and irritation and didn’t care if the whole farmstead knew of his feelings. It was a marvel to see this. Obviously Magnus cared deeply for the young woman with the wild nimbus of red hair around her face. He just didn’t realize it yet. Or perhaps he did, and he was fighting it as hard as he was her. Helgi laid her fingers on her son’s arm. “Release her, Magnus. You have never before abused a slave. You should not begin now.”
“Aye, go to your Cyra!”
He smiled down at Zarabeth then, but it was not a smile his mother liked. “No, I shan’t abuse you. And no, I shan’t go to Cyra.” He turned on his heel and went back to his father and brothers, who were singing loudly of King Harald Fairhair and how he had slain the rapacious Gorm of Denmark by strangling him with his long thick hair.
Time passed slowly. Zarabeth was so tired she felt light-headed. Yet there were always more bowls, more plates, more trays, more goblets. An endless stream. She saw from the corner of her eye that the other slaves were gone to their hut. But she was being punished. Many of the men were asleep, their heads on the tables, snoring loudly. The fire was banked, and no more smoke went upward to the hole in the roof. Many guests were stretched out in neat rows, each wrapped in his blanket. Ingunn came over to her, yawning loudly. “You work slowly, slave. You will not close your eyes until you have completed this.”
Zarabeth remembered Magnus’ words.Lotti is under my protection.Very well, then. She would believe him in this. Her little sister wouldn’t pay for anything she did. She smiled at Magnus’ sister and said, “Nay, I think not, Ingunn. I am weary and will seek out my bed now, as all the other slaves have done.”
Ingunn drew in her breath sharply. She hadn’t expected this. Her anger flared. “You dare?”
“Aye, I dare.” Zarabeth shrugged and turned away from the wooden tub filled with dirty dishes.
“I will flay the flesh from your back, you slut!”
Zarabeth saw the flash of unrestrained fury in the woman’s eyes, but she paid her no heed. She walked quickly away, toward the large wooden doors on the longhouse. She shoved them open and went out into the night. But the strange thing was that it still wasn’t night, not like night at home. This was the time of year when night didn’t fall. It was well past midnight, yet the sky was still gray with dim light, as if it were late afternoon and rain was coming at any moment.
It was warm, with a mild breeze blowing up from the viksfjord. In the distance, across the water the mountains were shrouded in magnificent shadow and low clouds. She vaguely remembered the endless dipping and rolling green hills from her home in western Ireland, and that billowing mist that blew off the sea, always warm and always damp. Here it was dry and warm and so beautiful she wanted to weep with the irony of it all. But there was really no irony in it at all.
She lowered her face into her hands and sobbed.
She felt his large hands encircle her arms, felt him draw her back against his chest. The sobs wouldn’t stop. She felt weak and out of control, and she supposed, vaguely, that she was, and she didn’t care.
Slowly Magnus turned her to face him and drew her into his arms. He felt the force of her tears, felt the convulsive shudders go through her body.
“You’re tired,” he said after a long moment. “You are tired, and that is why you are crying.”
She raised her face and looked up at him in the dim light. “Is that what you wish to believe, Magnus?”
He lowered his head then and kissed her. He tasted the salty wetness on her lips. It hurt him deeply, this pain of hers. He brought his hands up her back to hold her still, and his fingers closed around her throat. And stilled at the touch of the slave collar.
He’d had the smithy put it on her. He’d watched as the smithy placed the collar Magnus had selected around her throat. He’d watched her become paler and paler until her face had seemed washed of color. And when the collar was around her neck, he’d watched her eyes become blank and empty.
But it was her fault. She had enraged him, trying to seduce another man. He’d had no choice.
Slowly he pushed her away from him.
He didn’t want to, but he looked down at her. Her cheeks glistened wet and her eyes still brimmed with unshed tears.
“Why did you betray me? Why?” He took a quick step back, away from her, appalled at his weakness, at the anguish in his voice. By Odin, that she could have brought him to this.
Zarabeth watched his face change, watched his eyes grow cold, watched him distance himself from her.
“I didn’t betray you.”
“Liar. Get inside the longhouse. You will sleep now, for there is much that will require your attention on the morrow.”
He turned on his heel and left her, not returning inside, but striding toward the gates of the palisade. She watched him speak to the guards, then pull up the thick wooden shaft that barred the gates.
She turned slowly and walked back into the longhouse. There was no free place for her to sleep on the floor. Men snored loudly, as did some of the women. There were two couples who were caressing each other, but they were too sodden with drink to do much about it. Zarabeth stood irresolute for a moment, then made her way to the small chamber where Lotti and the children were sleeping. She lifted her sister and slipped into the bed. The other children obligingly shoved more closely together. Zarabeth was asleep within moments, Lotti snuggled close to her body.
Magnus believed she had left him. He searched every sleeping body in the large hall. She wasn’t there. He looked in every chamber, his temper and his fear for her growing in equal measure. Finally, when he saw her asleep with the children, he thought he would collapse with the relief he felt. He shook his head at himself and took a blanket outside in the cool of the night. When sleep finally came, there was a woman in his mind, as real as the deep strokes of his heart, and she was taunting him, laughing at him, and when she turned, she had no face. She threw back her head, lifting her hair, and there was an iron collar around her neck.
It was late the following morning before all the men had left to return to their families. Magnus’ brothers and parents remained until after the midday meal before taking their leave.
Zarabeth served them, silent and stiff, dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her gown was wrinkled and soiled from spilled food and her cleaning from the night before. Magnus wondered why she had not garbed herself in fresh clothing, why she hadn’t washed herself in the bathhouse. Her hair was in a thick braid that hung between her shoulder blades. He noticed that every few moments her eyes searched out Lotti, who was playing with the other children. He saw his son watching the little girl, and there was meanness in Egill’s clear blue eyes. He sighed. If only the boy would understand. He cursed softly, then turned to his brother Mattias, who said calmly as he chewed on a piece of warm bread, “You must deal with the woman. This cannot continue.”
