“It matters not,” she said, and shrugged. “I knew you would force me. I also knew that you could not really touch me, only my body. I expect that my body would react thus to any man’s touch.”
He had told her not to press him, but she had. She waited, watching the pulse in his throat, saw the tight lock he had on his jaw. His eyes were cold now as he stared down at her, and he seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally he merely took her hand and pulled her with him. He shortened his step to match hers. Neither said another word until they reached the palisade.
All was silent in the longhouse as he led her to his chamber. He still said nothing, just motioned her to remove her clothing. She turned away from him, refusing to let herself care, and slipped out of her clothes and under the wool blanket. He continued silent, merely stripped and came into the bed beside her. He drew her into his arms, ignoring how she stiffened against him. Magnus awoke toward morning and reached for her. She wasn’t there. He was instantly awake. He roared out of bed, paused to gain control of himself, then walked quietly to the children’s small chamber. She was there, sleeping soundly, Lotti wrapped against her.
He awoke her with hesitation, but quietly, so as not to awaken the children, and led her back to his bed. He jerked off the linen shift, but didn’t stop to look at her. He wanted her too badly, both his anger and his desire blending together. He wanted to punish her and he wanted her to yell again when she reached the pleasure he granted her.
He began kissing her and didn’t stop even when he came inside her and she moaned into his mouth, whether from the pain of his entry or from pleasure, he didn’t know. Nor did he care at the moment. He rode her hard and quickly took his release. The chamber was dark as a cave, and for that he was thankful. He was afraid that if he saw her face he would hate himself. He knew he would see the emptiness in her eyes, the desolation that ground him down. And he knew, deep down he knew that her moan was from pain. He’d been rough, not preparing her.
He pulled away from her, and without a word, without pause, he came down on her and parted her legs to fit himself between them, and stroked her with his mouth. She fought him, outraged and frightened and disbelieving. But he wouldn’t stop. When he felt the tension building in her, he loosened his hold. He smiled, for she no longer fought him. He tasted her and probed her with his tongue and caressed her with his mouth, and he could feel the building tension in her, and when the first cry broke from her mouth, he put his fingers over her and let her scream against them, muting the noise, giving her the freedom to yell her release.
He had won.
She was crying when he held her close to him to sleep. “You are mine now,” he said over and over as he stroked his hands up and down her back.
He took her to the bathhouse, where tubs were always full of hot water and the small room was filled with rising steam and so hot the sweat poured off. It was just past dawn and the sky was pink and pale gray with the coming of day. He said nothing, merely motioned for her to enter. He sat on a long wooden bench, leaned back at his ease with his arms folded over his chest, and told her to remove all her clothes.
It would never end, she thought, staring down at him. Slowly she shook her head.
“I have seen you naked. Why do you hesitate?”
She waved her hands around her. “There is light here and it shames me.”
“As you will,” he said, “but it matters not.” He rose quickly, jerked off her linen shift. She realized he enjoyed her refusal and her struggles. She stopped fighting. She owned only one other shift. When she escaped him, she could not go naked.
When she was naked and sweating, he sat her down on a wooden bench and stepped away from her. He quickly stripped off his tunic, which was all he had put on when he’d pulled her from his bed. She looked at him, standing there before her, strong and tall and so finely made. It hurt her to look at him.
“Come here and bathe yourself. You smell of sex and of sweat.” He gave her soap and a soft cloth. She scrubbed herself and it felt wonderful. “Straighten now and look at me.” Before she understood what he would do, he had doused her with a bucket of cold water. She yelled with the shock. She wanted to hit him, but he was dousing himself with another bucket of cold water, shuddering and cursing, thoroughly enjoying it.
“Now, come here and sit down and feel the steam envelop you. Then we will have more cold water. It is the Vikings’ way. The Saxons stink from the day they’re born. We do not.”
She sat there silent, her flesh heating in the small room, the steam rising above her head. When Magnus lay beside her on the long bench and put his head on her lap, she tried to move away, but the bench was narrow and he held her still, his arms now wrapping around her hips. He turned his face inward and began kissing her belly. When he pulled back and let his tongue touch her, she heaved him off her. He was laughing, actually laughing. He pulled her against him. Their bodies were slick with sweat and he pulled her close, then lifted her.
He sat on the bench with her and widened her thighs until she was pressed against him. He lifted her again and guided himself into her.
“Magnus!”
“Hold still. Ah, there. Now, move, do as you please.” He folded his arms around her back and held her tightly. When she didn’t move, he smiled, realizing she didn’t know what to do. He clutched her buttocks in his large hands and lifted her nearly off him, then eased her back down his length again.
She gasped and locked her hands around his neck. He leaned closer and kissed her even as he worked her. He felt her excitement build, and because he himself was nearing his release, he quickly eased his fingers over her and felt her tighten and jerk against him.
Her body exploded into pleasure, and he kissed her hard, shoving into her until he could go no further, and he let himself go, heaving and gasping in the steaming hot air. He held her head against his shoulder and gently rubbed his hands up and down her back.
Her hair was wet and thick on her back, and he lifted it to stroke her better. His fingers touched the slave collar and left it, scorched.
He eased her off him then and silently handed her the soap and wet cloth. She stood before him for a moment, utterly naked, her body flushed and weak and soft, and she hated herself and him and she was helpless against him. He saw it and accepted it and told himself he was pleased. He remained quiet, sitting on the bench, watching her bathe him from her body.
There was a small antechamber in the bathhouse. Someone had brought clean clothes for them. She closed her eyes. Someone had come in and seen them naked, perhaps seen him taking her and making her scream. Her fingers were clumsy on the fastenings of her gown.
He leaned down and picked up a clean dry cloth and wrapped it around her hair. He forced her face up with his fingers beneath her chin. She was scrubbed clean. He kissed her then and led her outside. The sun was bright overhead and the morning air cool. There were servants about, and slaves going through the gates in the palisade out into the fields. Why didn’t they simply leave? she wondered. She would have, in an instant. Magnus halted her, pulling her toward him. He kissed her again, long and deep, in front of all his people.
“There,” he said with deliberation. “Now there will be no more questions.”
When Zarabeth came back into the longhouse, her hair was a damp mass down her back but she was gloriously clean and her face was shining. She tasted Magnus on her lips. She felt sore inside her body. She saw Lotti sitting with four other children next to Eldrid, Magnus’ aunt. She was seated in front of the large loom weaving thread into cloth. She was as large as her sister, Helgi, Magnus’ mother, but there were hard edges to her that softened only when the children came to her. She hadn’t yet spoken a word to Zarabeth.
But Ingunn was free with her speech. “Magnus has finally finished with you, I see. I am surprised you can still walk. Did you have that many men in York?”
“Who knows?” Zarabeth said to Ingunn, and nodded to Cyra, who stood behind her, a distaff in her hands, h
olding it like a weapon.
“He always liked to have Cyra in the bathhouse. You do not bring him new amusements.” Ingunn waited, but got no reaction at all from the woman. “I have already set your tasks. Get to work now.”
Zarabeth only nodded. She cared not what she did—churning the butter or mixing the grain flour with water in a large wooden trough to make the bread dough. Her arms ached from kneading the dough. In York she’d never made so much bread at one time, nor had she ever in her life seen such a huge butter urn. Yet, basically, they were familiar tasks and she escaped while she worked. She thought of escape. She closed her eyes as she kneaded the dough, and he came into her mind. Magnus had touched her, no matter how hard she had tried to keep him from her. He had touched her, the deepest part of her, again and again. It wasn’t just the pleasure he had brought to her, though that had made her lose herself in those precious moments, lose herself into a beginning she had not before known could be. She looked down to see that the dough was properly mixed. She supposed that it was; she had never seen so much of it. It took her another hour to shape all the dough into small loaves and ease them onto the long-handled paddles. She laid them carefully over the hot ashes of the fire. Sweat covered her forehead. Her arms quivered from fatigue. She thought fondly of the bathhouse and the dousing with cold water Magnus had given her. Then she thought of him taking Cyra there and doing the same things to her.
When she had finished, Ingunn was waiting with more duties for her. She sent her to the barley field with instructions to speak to Haki, who would tell her what to do. She went. The day was warm, but after the dim light of the longhouse and the close air, it felt wonderful to be outside. Haki was a bent old man with beautiful white teeth. He smiled when she came to him, and told her to go down the barley rows and pull out any weeds she saw and to wave her arms at any birds who dared to swoop down. She merely nodded and did as she was bidden. Her task was easy and mindless. Her stomach growled and she realized she had eaten nothing that day, for Magnus had dragged her to the bathhouse very early. She hoped there would be a meal soon. Heat poured down on her and through her. She was sweating freely and her back began to hurt from bending and straightening so many times. There were other slaves between the rows doing what she was doing. They were laughing and jesting with each other. She supposed she would become used to the work in time.
Time passed and the sun was in the western sky now. She was so hungry she felt faint with it. And thirsty, but Haki said nothing.
She wondered where Magnus was. She hadn’t seen him since he had left her at the entrance to the longhouse that morning.
Finally Haki called to her to leave and return to the longhouse, for he had heard her stomach rumble. She tried to smile at him but could not quite manage it. When she came into the dim coolness of the longhouse, she immediately searched out Lotti. The little girl was listening intently to something Eldrid was saying. She noted the older woman was speaking slowly, pronouncing her words with great care, and she smiled. At least Lotti was not to be treated as she was. It took her another moment to realize that Eldrid was teaching Lotti about weaving. Other little girls were there, all listening. None of the male children were in the longhouse. She supposed they were with the men, learning woodworking, learning to fight, learning to make weapons.
She picked up a wooden bowl and scooped some hot porridge from the huge kettle suspended by a chain from a ceiling beam.
“I have not told you to eat,” Ingunn said from behind her.
Zarabeth turned slowly to face Magnus’ sister, and said calmly, “I have been working in the barley field. I have had nothing to eat since last night.” She turned away from Ingunn. In the next instant the wooden bowl was slapped from her hold and she cried out when the hot porridge spattered on her hands and arms.
“Careless slut! Pick up the bowl and place it on the counter. I will have you beating the flax now, if you have the skill for it, and if you do not, you will remain at it until you have gained some!”
Zarabeth forced herself to take deep breaths to regain her calm. She wanted to murder Ingunn, and that would never do, but she could not let this continue. For whatever reason, the woman hated her. She said then, her voice low and calm, “I am hungry, Ingunn. I will beat your flax into threads when I have finished eating. No, I have not done it often, for in York there were others to do it. Now that I have explained, you will please leave me alone until I have eaten. You will wait with your orders until then.”
Zarabeth bent down and picked up her wooden bowl. She heard a strange hissing sound behind her. She whirled about but wasn’t quick enough. Ingunn brought the leather-thonged whip down across her shoulders. She felt pain sear through her and gasped. She flung out her arms to grab the whip, but Ingunn was faster. She stepped back and struck again, so hard this time that Zarabeth fell against a huge cheese barrel and tripped. She was on her hands and knees now and the whip struck her full on the back, and she felt the wool of her gown split wide. She tried to fling herself on Ingunn, but the leather thongs struck her again, wrapping around her sides, the pain burning through her so that she gasped with it. It had to stop, but it didn’t. Again and again the whip struck. She had to get up; she had to stop it. She shuddered with the effort to rise, and fell again to her knees.
She heard the women and children all talking, heard Cyra calling for Ingunn to kill the bitch. She heard Eldrid yelling at Ingunn to stop, but she didn’t. She could hear Ingunn’s deep, wild breathing. It only seemed to madden her more. Zarabeth’s gown was shredded now, but she knew if she raised her head, Ingunn would strike her face and her chest. She felt blackness pulling at her and fought against it with all her strength. Then she heard Lotti, the strangled mewling sounds she made when she was distressed. Lotti was close now, and suddenly Zarabeth was screaming, “No, Ingunn, do not touch her! No!”
The beating stopped. Zarabeth raised her head, holding her shredded gown up to cover her breasts. Ingunn had grabbed Lotti and was shaking her hard. Then she was raising the whip to the child.
“No! You touch that child and I will kill you!”
Ingunn laughed. “She’s naught but an idiot, your sister, and you are nothing but a slave!” She lifted the whip. Zarabeth jerked to her feet, only to fall forward.
“No!” she screamed. She realized it was only a whisper.
16
“By Thor’s wounds! What are you doing? Ingunn! Stop it, woman!”
Magnus stood frozen, unable to believe what he was seeing. Ingunn was holding Lotti by the arm and had raised the whip. She was actually going to hit the child. He called her name again, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She was panting, her breasts heaving, and she was focused entirely on the child. Magnus ran to her and grabbed her wrist just before the whip came down upon Lotti’s back, wresting the whip from her hand.
She was white-faced, her eyes nearly black with uncontrolled fury. It shocked him, this viciousness in her. He threw the whip away, grabbed his sister’s upper arms, and shook her hard. “What is the matter with you? Why would you strike a child? And with a whip! Answer me, damn you!”
Ingunn blinked at him, and he shook her again, but before she could answer, he heard Lotti making those raw mewling sounds and quickly turned to the child. She was running toward . . . He saw Zarabeth for the first time. She was on her knees, and was holding her gown up in front of her chest. Her hair was hanging down either side of her face, tangled and sweat-soaked. Her face was utterly without color.
He dropped Ingunn’s arms.
He felt something in him twist and burn. He watched Lotti throw her arms around Zarabeth’s neck, saw Zarabeth’s arms slowly come around the child’s back.
Something was very wrong. He slowed himself. He reached Zarabeth but found that words wouldn’t come to his tongue. He felt pain flow through him, raw and deep, for in that moment she fell to the side, taking Lotti with her, unconscious. He saw her back then, covered with purple welts from Ingunn’s whip, saw splotches of blo
od where the whip had broken her flesh. Tendrils of hair stuck to her back. For a moment he was sickened with the shock of it; then black rage rushed through him like a wild fire. That he had brought her here for this.
He looked up to see his aunt. “Fetch hot water, Eldrid, quickly, and soap and clean cloths.” Without another word, he lifted Zarabeth over his shoulder, careful not to touch her back. It was then that everyone seemed to become aware of him and of what had happened.
Ingunn yelled, “Leave her to the slaves! Let them take her to the slaves’ hut. She is an insolent female, nothing but a slut whom you have already bedded! Why do you care? You brought her here to be a slave and your whore! She will be well enough this night for your rutting. She is nothing, Magnus, nothing!”
Cyra tried to catch his sleeve. “The woman insulted your sister, she yelled at her and called her horrible names and would not do as Ingunn told her to do and—”
Magnus shook her off, knowing that if he touched her, he would likely kill her. He carried Zarabeth into the dark chamber and laid her on her stomach. Slowly he pulled the red strands of hair from the welts on her back. He pulled her shredded gown to her hips. He heard a soft sobbing and turned to see Lotti, her small fist in her mouth, standing in the doorway, afraid to come closer.
“Come here, Lotti, and sit beside her. When she awakens . . .” He realized it would be difficult for her to understand. He left Zarabeth and went to the little girl. He lifted her, hugged her to him, smelling the sweet child-smell of her, then set her beside her sister on the bed.
He took her face between his hands and said slowly and calmly, “Stay beside her and smile at her when she awakens. All right?”
Season of the Sun Page 18
