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He wanted to dive again, but he knew that when Zarabeth regained consciousness she would leap over the side, and he would lose her too.
He fretted, feeling more helpless than he’d ever felt in his life, then hauled Zarabeth into his arms. She was cold, her body limp, her beautiful red hair matted and tangled across her face. He smoothed the hair back and cupped her face between her hands, saying, “They’re trying, Zarabeth, they’re trying. Ah, by Odin, I’m sorry, so very sorry.” He raised his head then at a shout from one of the men. They’d found Lotti!
He felt excitement and hope; then it died. Tostig had brought up a log.
He knew that Lotti was dead. He even accepted it. Too much time had passed. He knew it, but he found he simply couldn’t accept it. The child had died trying to save him. She’d called him Papa and she’d jumped into the water because she thought he was drowning.
He couldn’t bear it. He lowered his head against Zarabeth’s forehead and cried.
Time lost meaning. He saw the men either swim to shore or climb into the boat. He saw Horkel take the oars. It seemed but a moment later that the boat was once again firmly tied to the Malek dock. Magnus carried Zarabeth up the narrow path that led to the palisade. The men were trailing behind, silent and grim, colder now even with the hot sun beating down on them, for they had lost.
Zarabeth stirred against his shoulder. He hugged her tighter to him, thinking she would struggle when she realized he was holding her. But she didn’t struggle. He knew she was awake, but she didn’t move.
“I’m sorry I struck you,” he said, his eyes on the trail.
Her voice was a thin thread of sound. “Lotti?”
His throat was clogged with tears. He could only shake his head.
She tried to lurch out of his hold. She twisted and fought him until he stopped and set her down, holding her upper arms in his hands. He shook her. “Stop it! We could do no more. Do you understand me, Zarabeth? We could do no more!”
“No! You’re lying! Please, Magnus, please! Let me go. I must find her or she’ll be hurt, hurt . . .”
She was crying, tears streaming down her face, and she was twisting and flailing at him, until once again he struck her jaw and she fell forward against him.
“You had to do it, Magnus,” Horkel said. “Do you want me to carry her now?”
Magnus merely shook his head and lifted her once again in his arms.
“You did all you could. All of us did. Once we realized what had happened, all of us were in the water searching for her. She died quickly, Magnus. With little pain. You must remember that.”
He nodded. Tears thickened in his throat, and he kept his eyes on the trail in front of him.
He had never imagined such pain as this. It was inside him, deep and clawing and unremitting, and he knew that nothing could magically halt it. He remembered when he had been but ten years old and his little sister had died. But her death had not brought him anything like this pain.
He heard Horkel say gently beside him, “You knew, deep down you knew, Magnus, that the child couldn’t have survived. By Thor, man, she couldn’t hear!”
“What, then, Horkel? Better she die now than in two years? Three years?”
“I’m only saying that it was inevitable and no one’s fault, not yours, not Zarabeth’s. Not Egill’s either.”
Magnus knew Horkel was right, but it didn’t ease a whit of the deadening pain.
There was an eager audience awaiting them inside the palisade, for everyone knew that something of import had happened. Even Ingunn was silent, wondering, waiting, and hopeful that the woman was dead. After all, Magnus was carrying her, and she was limp, her head lolling on his arm, and she was wet, so very wet, and deathly pale.
But the woman wasn’t dead, and Ingunn felt impotent rage flow through her. The woman stirred. Ingunn stepped forward, blocking her brother’s path, suddenly hopeful that Magnus had finally realized the worthlessness of the woman. She had dumped all the milk, hadn’t she? And just for that little witless sister of hers.
“What happened to her? Did you strike her because of her insolence and disobedience?”
Magnus looked through his sister.
“What happened?”
“Be still, woman,” Ragnar said. “The little girl drowned trying to save Magnus.”
Ingunn’s breath hissed through her teeth. One of them was dead, not the one she could have wished had drowned, but still . . . She shrugged. “ ’Tis of no matter. The child could not have survived. ’Tis a wonder she lived so long. She could not hear. She—”
Magnus turned then, looking at his sister. Horkel had said nearly the same thing, but, by Thor, not with Ingunn’s meanness and pleasure. His sister’s words cut deep and raw. “You will be quiet, Ingunn. You will say nothing more, do you understand me?”
