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But Magnus didn’t want to leave Zarabeth. The next evening Ragnar drank more than was wise and said loudly, “We become weak and fitful as women here! We waste the long hours of summer when we could be making ourselves rich and richer yet. What say you, Magnus? A quick raid to the south, at the mouth of the Seine. We sail in and take what we want from those rich villages on the coast. We’ll be home before September comes and be richer than we are now.”
Magnus didn’t respond. He was thinking back to his dream. He hadn’t told any of his men about it, not even Horkel or Tostig, but it preyed on him endlessly.
“Aye,” said Hakon. “Or we could go trading to Birka. We have many soapstone bowls of fine quality.”
Ragnar drank more. He got no response from Magnus and it enraged him. He walked to where Zarabeth was sitting with three other women, shelling peas. “Aye, tell him to go, mistress, for ’tis because of you that he stays. Perhaps he fears you will flee him. He can bring you back gold and silver and Rollo can melt it down and give you all the jewels you could desire. Isn’t that what you want? By Odin, answer me! We all know that you give him nothing!”
Zarabeth raised weary eyes to the man who still disliked her simply because she’d bested him so long ago. “I want nothing, Ragnar.”
“You certainly don’t want Magnus. Aye, I hear his cry of release, for I am still awake here, thinking, but I hear nothing from you, mistress, not a sound, not even the slightest moan, and before . . . ah, before, when he first took you, we all heard your cries, those mewling sounds you made to draw him in. All a lie, for you are cold and a murderess and you felt naught for him. You used him, used me, and I trusted you, fool that I was, as did he.”
Suddenly Magnus was there and he was gripping Ragnar’s shoulder, gripping tighter and tighter until the man cried out at the fierce pain.
“You dare,” Magnus said, pulling Ragnar to within inches of his face. “She is my wife and you insult her as if she were a common slave.”
“She is a murderess and was a common slave until she enslaved you!”
Magnus struck him, and Ragnar went down like a stone.
The other men were on their feet in an instant, crowding around, speaking all at the same time. Magnus stood over Ragnar and thought as he rubbed his knuckles: You were my friend, despite your hot blood and your quick rages, but now . . . He shook his head. Now there was naught but strife. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing.
Aunt Eldrid said in a sour voice from behind them, “I would that all of you seek your beds! ’Tis unsavory in its lateness. You disturb me, all of you drunken louts!”
He took her, quickly this time, silently, for he was upset by Ragnar’s words, and savagery still pounded thick in his blood. When he had finished, he pulled away from her. He ignored the harsh pull of her flesh, knowing he had hurt her again, but not wanting to recognize the pain or that he had caused it.
Zarabeth lay there feeling the wet of his seed on her thighs, feeling the soreness deep inside her, thinking of the anger and violence between Magnus and Ragnar. She knew they were friends. She didn’t want them to be enemies, not because of her. She said, “I was told that you were never here in the summer months, that you were off trading and did not return until the early fall. I will not run away if that is why you remain now, Magnus, I swear it to you.”
“I know you would not, Zarabeth. After all, where would you go? Back to York? Back to Keith and Toki? Perhaps to be taken and executed for your crime? No, I am certain you wouldn’t leave Malek. I am a fool, but my foolishness does know some boundaries.”
“No, I wouldn’t leave. But, Magnus, I will be all right if you choose to go trading.”
He felt his belly churn in anger and frustration, and it spilled over into his voice, despite his efforts. “Cease the show of virtue and nobility, Zarabeth, for it is a lie that will gain you nothing. You want me to leave so that you will not have to endure my touching you!”
When she didn’t respond, Magnus turned quickly, coming over her, grabbing her arms, and pulling her upright. “Isn’t it the truth? Admit it, Zarabeth, admit that you loathe and despise me. You would probably kill me if you could but have a chance to escape with your life.”
He shook her again, and her head snapped back. “Answer me, Zarabeth!”
“I have never killed anyone in my life!”
He heard fury in her voice and it goaded him further, this anger of hers, for it gave him purchase for his own anger, unlike her show of emptiness that left him floundering and weak and gentled until he was no longer a man.
“Ah, haven’t you? You did not murder Olav? You did not sneak poison into his food from the day you wedded him? Tell me true, Zarabeth, did you kill him because the thought of him taking you sickened you? And he would have had the right, for he was your husband. Or did you kill him for his worldly goods?”
“I didn’t hurt him! I cared for him even when he was vilely ill! It was Toki, by my Christian God, I swear it to you! She poisoned him. She and Keith came by everything that was Olav’s, not I.”
He released her and pushed her back. He was on his knees beside her, his hands on his thighs.
“So there is still some passion in you if one prods you enough.”
She lay there staring up at him, her mind sick with her anger and with herself. “You did that on purpose?”
He shrugged. “I know not, nor does it matter now.”
“Leave, then, Magnus. You have it right. I do not want you to touch me. It sickens me.”
He wanted to strike her. It was powerful, the feeling of violence in him. Instead, he flattened his hand over her belly. “I wonder if a babe grows inside you yet.” She pulled at his wrist, trying to dislodge his hand. He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his swelled member.
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