“Someday, sire, we will hold all of England. Do you not want to be the man to lay the final claim? The man to hold all in the palm of his hand?”
The king laughed as he looked down at his gnarled hands. “Ah, Egill, you bring the wine.”
Aslak said abruptly, “The boy looks familiar. His features touch a chord in my memory.”
Guthrum agreed. “Aye, the boy looks familiar to me as well.” He crooked his finger. “Egill, come here, lad. Have you a father still living?”
Egill didn’t know what to say. The moment had finally come, and he stood stupid and stiff as a rune marker. Did the king hold Orm in high regard? It would seem that he did from what Egill had observed going on between the two men. The king thought he looked familiar. Did he know Magnus Haraldsson? Did he hold him in favor? Would Orm see that he and Lotti were killed if he spoke the truth? Egill looked toward Lotti. By Thor, she was his responsibility, and if she were harmed, he would never forgive himself. He had nearly lost her once. He wouldn’t lose her again, ever. He shook his head even as he said, “Nay, sire, my father is dead.”
King Guthrum had already turned away. Egill’s words had fallen on departed ears. Egill sighed silently, wondering if he were a fool.
Both men drank their wine from finely wrought glass goblets. Guthrum said after a moment, “You take your notion of a surprise attack on Chippenham itself from me, Aslak. Aye, and that pleases me. We did it before and brought them bloody death. Why not again? They’ve had time to replenish all their goods and ready new plunder for us. Let me ponder this.”
“Wait not too long, sire.”
“Nay, I shan’t. Ah, here is Cecilia.”
Aslak grunted even as he stared at her with such ferocious lust that even Egill recognized it for what it was.
Egill looked at Lotti, hopeful that she hadn’t recognized anything. She was smiling at him and he moved toward her. Suddenly, without warning, one of the king’s stewards appeared. Behind him waited a young woman with white-blond hair, a young woman who was Ingunn, his aunt, his father’s sister.
Lotti saw her and made a frightened moan.
27
The morning was bright; the North Sea waters were calm and smooth. The thick wadmal sail flattened, then puffed out with a loud snap in the erratic westerly breeze. Zarabeth brushed her hair from her face and shaded her eyes against the glare and the slick droplets of salt water. She fancied she could see York in the far distance, but as they drew nearer, it was in truth a cloud bank, gray and billowing thick and deep, stretching across the horizon. TheSea Windmoved smoothly forward, closer and closer to York, trailed by seabirds hopeful for food scraps.
A gull swooped down onto the railing, ruffled its feathers, and squawked loudly, but Zarabeth paid it no attention. She was seeing Ragnar standing at the head of all Malek’s people, their line stretching from the long wooden dock up the winding narrow trail to the gates of the palisade itself. She could nearly smell the raw new lumber, sweet and moist, in the morning air. All Malek’s people were waving at them, shouting advice and good wishes. Ragnar stood silent, nearly whole again, his left arm still in a loose sling, having accepted the protection of Malek in Magnus’ absence. It was Eldrid who would oversee the work in the longhouse, though she’d carped and complained that she was too old, too weak, for such responsibility, to which Magnus had said, “Nonsense, Aunt. You are wise and just. Rule my home and be in readiness for our return.”
They were going to find Egill and Lotti, alive and healthy, Zarabeth was certain of it. As for her stubborn, overly protective husband, Magnus would accustom himself to her presence. He would stop scowling at her and ignoring her. He had agreed, finally, to her accompanying him, for in the end she’d given him no choice.
She had looked him straight in the eye on that final evening before he had announced departure and sworn that she would leave Malek in his absence and find her way to York on her own.
He’d ranted and cursed and thrown two wooden bowls, stomped around the palisade grounds, even threatened to lock her up. Finally he’d tried to enlist his mother’s help, for she’d been visiting during those last days, but she, to his utter astonishment, had taken Zarabeth’s side. “It is her right,” Helgi had said, lightly stroking her callused palm over her son’s cheek. “Understand, my son. Lotti is her sister and she must see the child and touch her and bring her home herself. It wouldn’t be right for you to deny her this. She is a Viking woman now, Magnus.”
He’d been left with nothing to say, though angry words and commands and threats had choked in his throat, and finally he’d bellowed, “But she’s with child!” to which both women merely frowned at him with tolerant scorn.
Now they had nearly reached their journey’s end. Only another half-day, she’d heard Tostig say. Perhaps a day, depending on the wind and its constancy. Zarabeth felt Magnus beside her; then after a brief moment his arms went around her and he pulled her back against his chest.
“Soon,” he said, and hugged her more tightly against him. “Are you feeling well?”
“I feel wonderful.”
“I’ve decided to stop ignoring you. It does no good except to make me lonely and gain me condemning looks from the men. I’m tired of pretending you’re not with me, Zarabeth. It does me no good, after all.”
She turned and smiled at him. “Nay, it doesn’t, and I’m glad you want to see me again. I’ve missed you, husband, missed the touch of your fingers on my lips, and, aye, the fullness of you inside me.”
Magnus leaned down and lightly kissed her mouth. When he straightened, he studied her face intently. “Listen to me, Zarabeth. Despite all we think we know, despite all we want and expect, we cannot be certain if either Egill or Lotti is alive. Orm could have lied. He is a master when it comes to amusing himself at another’s expense. Aye, tormenting others ranks very high with him. We must be prepared to face whatever comes, but we will face it together.”
“They’re alive.”
“Even with the dream, I know it would be foolish of me to claim it for a fact.”
“They’re alive.”
He merely hugged her again, but said nothing more. He was nearly as certain as she was that Egill and Lotti lived, but he feared to say the words, feared somehow that fate would turn against him were he to pretend to that knowledge.
Ingunn stood before Egill in the corner of the garden, uncertain what to do. The king’s mistress, his niece Cecilia, had shrugged and left them alone. “I do not understand you,” Ingunn said, so irritated with him that she wanted to strike him. “I have come here to save you, and you refuse to leave this pathetic little girl!”
