“I know where Orm bought his land.”
“Where?”
“I will not tell you until you promise you will take me with you.”
“You will not force me into this, Zarabeth. I will simply ask Ingunn.”
Zarabeth lied swiftly and cleanly. “She doesn’t know. Orm told only me.”
“I will ask her anyway. Come, we have a long way to ride yet before we can stop for the night.”
Zarabeth gave a wistful look at the clear blue water. “Another bathing would be nice.”
“Perhaps this evening,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her. “If you are nice to me, perhaps I will bathe you myself this time.”
He kissed her again, then tugged her to Thorgell, who was chewing on the thick water grass.
Their return to Malek in the early afternoon was a joyous occasion. Magnus allowed Ingunn to remain the night. She would be taken, by Ragnar, on the morrow back to her parents’ farmstead. She was silent and sullen and Zarabeth wondered if the woman would ever change, if she would ever forget her own grievances long enough to be pleasant, long enough to let others enjoy themselves.
Zarabeth fell back quickly into a familiar pattern. A bountiful meal was prepared, fresh beer brought out, cold and biting from the nets lowered in the viksfjord. The women served platters of broiled deer and wild boar steaks. There were boiled peas and baked cabbage with onions and potatoes braised in the burning embers. Zarabeth ate with the women, speaking together of domestic matters while Magnus and the men drank beer and discussed their voyage to the Danelaw. They were leaving in three days. There was fitting-up of theSea Windto be done, supplies to be gathered and stowed, and the steering oar had yet to be finished. Zarabeth said nothing more to Magnus. She would go with him to the Danelaw. She simply wasn’t yet certain how she would manage it.
Zarabeth fell asleep curled up on the mistress’s chair, a tunic with needle and thread in her lap. Magnus stood over her, glancing at the material she was sewing. It looked to be a tunic for him, and he was inordinately pleased. The material was soft pale blue linen. Her stitches were small and perfect. He loved her so much at that moment, he wanted to shout with it. He carefully removed the sewing materials from her lap, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to their bedchamber. He didn’t light the lamp. It was dark as a pit, since the single narrow window was covered tightly.
He undressed her and himself.
He wanted to see her but decided lighting the lamp would wake her. He sighed and covered both of them. She was exhausted and he himself was feeling weary. He fell asleep, his member heavy, his thoughts of his wife, seeing her in her man’s tunic, Orm’s sword belt strapped around her hips. “It is now my sword,” she’d informed him when he’d asked her if she wanted him to take it. “I won it fairly and I shall keep it.”
He slept deeply until the voice came, soft and insistent in his ear.
“Do you remember the things you said to me in York, Magnus? You were arrogant and brash and daring and I found you vastly pleasing. You made me laugh and you shocked me and I wanted you so very much. You told me how you treated Cyra and I believed you mad. You said, so very seriously, that you wouldn’t hurt me, even if I wished you to. You were so solemn, as if conferring a great favor on me. I thought you unbelievable and bold and wonderful. I still do.”
“I also promised to please you, Zarabeth, but until now, I haven’t much succeeded.”
“Aye, you did promise, but I do not think it all your fault. You wanted me to come back to life and you could think of no other way to force me to.” She wasn’t in the least surprised that he was awake. “I have done much thinking, Magnus. It is time for me to leave—”
He sucked in his breath, fully awake now, instantly enraged with her. He lurched up, taking her with him. “I will never let you leave—”
“—or it is time for me to be your wife.”
“Ah,” he said, and she was surprised when a deep shudder went through him. He pulled her tight and they were naked and pressed against each other. He kissed her nose, her jaw, her eyes, smoothing her eyebrows with his fingertips, pushing her hair from her face, and saying, “I won’t ever force you again. I could no longer bear it were you to lie beneath me crying, your hands fisted at your sides while I came inside you. I will no longer abide that, Zarabeth.”
“Then I think you should lie on your back and I will come over you.”
She’d surprised him yet again. “Soon. I want to feel all of you against me now.” He moved over her, on his elbows, his back slightly arched, his sex rubbing against her, but not yet entering.
He leaned down to kiss her as he moved over her breasts. This time it was different. She opened to him, rubbing her hands up and down his back, down over his buttocks, and she shivered at the feel of him, the smoothness and warmth of his flesh, the depth and contour of the muscles in his back. She moved her legs, loving the heaviness of his thighs over hers, the crinkling of his hair against her.
He felt her opening, the end of her resistance to him. He lay still on her then, kissing her deeply, his hands fisting in her hair, his sex pushing against her. “Open your legs, Zarabeth,” he said into her mouth. When she eased them apart, he came up on his knees between them and looked down at her.
He cursed, for he wanted to see all of her clearly. He leaned forward and splayed his fingers, his hands covering her breasts, kneading them now, then coming downward to encircle her waist, lower still to rest on her belly, then banding around her to take her buttocks. He lifted her to his mouth. As much as he wanted her, he refused to take any chances that she wouldn’t gain her woman’s pleasure. He brought her to his mouth, and when his warm lips touched her, she cried out. He smiled as he caressed her with his mouth, and when she was thrashing beneath him, panting, he stopped a moment and whispered to her, “I want you to scream for me now, Zarabeth. I want to feel your shuddering, feel your legs stiffen, feel you opening and yielding to me.” He lowered her then and eased his middle finger into her. “I want to feel you convulse around my finger.” He began caressing her again, and his finger was moving deeply inside her, and she screamed, arching upward, her eyes wild and savage.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh, and she screamed again, and at the moment of her scream, other screams and cries came to him... but no, they were within him, those screams, deep inside him, and he wanted her desperately.
Zarabeth quieted but the screams continued, more loudly now, and Magnus heard his name yelled out. He trembled to come into her now, but another yell pierced through him. He shook his head, trying to get a hold on himself, trying to understand.
“Magnus!” It was Tostig’s voice, and he yelled again, this time flinging open the bedchamber door.
“By Thor, Magnus! We’re being attacked!”
