He smiled a bit painfully. But it didn’t matter. He had given her pleasure, he had drawn her more inexorably to him, bound her to him, and now she would not be able to so easily deny it.
He leaned down and lightly kissed the soft woman’s flesh. She quivered. “Nay, Zarabeth, I won’t take you now. You must needs have another day to accommodate yourself to me, for I was over enthusiastic my first three times with you. But you will not forget the pleasure I gave you. And when I take you tomorrow, I will give you that same pleasure and you won’t wish to fight me ever again, Zarabeth. Do you understand?”
He saw that her eyes were closed. He saw the tears trickling down her cheeks. He merely leaned down and lightly kissed her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears. “Are those tears of surrender to me, I wonder. I will look later at your back.” He covered her with a blanket and left her.
But he didn’t take her the following day, because her woman’s monthly flow had begun. He knew because he had seen blood on the blanket. He said nothing about it, not wanting to shame her, and he guessed it would, for she was a private woman, unused to sharing with another, particularly with him, a man.
He knew, of course, that she needed cloths, and he saw to it that she had them. But he said nothing. Nor did he touch her in any way. But he watched her to see if she had any pain. If she did have cramping in her belly, she gave no sign of it. If she wondered why he didn’t come near her or drag her to his bed, she gave no hint of it.
He sighed even as he left the longhouse for a long day of hunting. He had yet to hear from his father. Ingunn was more restrained now, at least in his presence. He had decided, though, that he could not trust her, thus he left one of his men there to simply watch over Zarabeth. She worked, but Ingunn did not try to force her to perform men’s tasks, nor did she try to abuse her. As for Cyra, he had decided to give her to Horkel, for his friend fancied her.
Horkel had already had her as well. He had confessed it to Magnus, and to his immense relief, Magnus hadn’t killed him.
Magnus had slapped him on the shoulder.
Soon Ingunn would wed, and Zarabeth would... His thinking came hard against a wall of his own building. Zarabeth was his slave. He’d sworn he wouldn’t make her his wife, not after what she had done to him, to Olav.
He saw a buck in the distance, a shadowy form in the trees, frozen still as a stone, and slowly drew back his bow.
The late-afternoon sun was bright. Zarabeth had finished milking the two cows in the byre near the large storage hut. She held the wooden bar over her shoulders, the two filled pails hanging by chains down some three feet to maintain good balance. They didn’t hurt her back overly, but she could not take more than small steps.
She looked up at the bright sun and beyond to the other side of the viksfjord at the high pine-covered mountains. It was beautiful, this country, beautiful beyond imagination. And so very warm, the air sweet with the fresh milk she carried. She didn’t wish to return immediately to the longhouse, but she knew there was no choice. It wasn’t wise to leave the milk out in the hot sun. It wasn’t wise to inflame Ingunn.
She sighed and turned toward the longhouse. Then she heard a cry. Startled, she whirled about, for the sound was rough and garbled. It was Lotti. She didn’t remove the wooden bar from her shoulders, merely speeded up. She came to the pile of logs used for burning in the longhouse and saw Egill holding Lotti down on the ground, jerking at her braids, pounding her head against the ground, all the while yelling at her. Zarabeth called out and began to run. The wooden bar and the full pails of milk splashed, and without hesitation she shrugged the bar off her shoulders, sending the pails splashing to the ground.
“Egill!” she screamed, running all the faster. “Stop it! Get off her!”
Lotti was kicking up at the boy’s back and twisting wildly beneath him, but he was by far the larger and stronger and Zarabeth was terrified that he would truly hurt her.
“Egill! Stop it!”
He did not seem to hear her. She threw herself at the boy, locking her arms around his chest and lifting upward with all her strength. She heard Lotti’s cries, felt the boy’s resistance, and screamed at him yet again. She was cursing him, pulling and jerking at him, but he was holding on to Lotti’s braids and wouldn’t release them.
Suddenly she felt a man’s hands on her, pulling her aside. She released her hold on the boy and fell sideways. She watched Magnus raise Egill’s face in his palm and simply look at the boy. In the next moment, Egill was standing over Lotti, looking at his feet.
Zarabeth scrambled over to her little sister. “Are you all right, sweeting? Please, Lotti, please!” She frantically felt Lotti’s arms and legs, smoothing her gown, cajoling her to open her eyes.
The little girl’s eyes remained closed and there were dirt and tears on her face.
“You spilled all the milk, you worthless slut! You did it on purpose!”
It was Ingunn.
Suddenly it was simply too much. Much too much. Zarabeth lifted her sister to her shoulder, rose clumsily to her feet, turned on her heel, and simply walked away. She heard Magnus calling to her, but she ignored him. She heard Ingunn yelling, but she ignored her as well.
She kept walking, through the palisade gates, down the steep path that led to the viksfjord.
18
“Zarabeth! Stop!”
She heard him cursing behind her. She paid him no heed. He cursed more loudly now, more foully. She dismissed him and his curses and everything that was a part of him, that was a part of this alien land, a part of these alien people. All her attention was on the narrow steep path in front of her, at the end of which was the boat moored at the small dock. She’d never before rowed a boat, but it simply didn’t matter; she would do it. She had no doubts about that.
“Zarabeth! Where are you going? Halt, now!”
She was running now, stumbling and careening wildly on the path, for his voice was closer, but she kept her balance, kept Lotti firmly against her body, pressing the child’s face against her shoulder. She knew she wouldn’t fall. She looked not at the path but beyond, at the boat. She was nearly there, she was nearly free.
“You’ll fall! You’ll hurt Lotti! Stop!”
