Season of the Sun Read Free

said nothing of the sort. I don’t know you. I have never seen you before in my life until but minutes ago. You made me lose my pail. Now, what is this all about?”
    â€œI am a farmer merchant. I have come to York totrade, as I do several times a year. I saw you two days ago and I’ve been watching you. I have decided you will do nicely as my wife. You will suit me. You will bring me pleasure and bear my children and you will warm my hearth and prepare my meals and sew my tunics.”
    Zarabeth, once charmed by his brazenness, was off-put by his arrogance, a commodity of which he had aplenty. She was no longer amused by him, for she realized at last that he was utterly serious. And a serious Northman, she’d heard all her life, wasn’t to be trifled with. But it made no sense. It sounded as if he needed a slave, after the list he’d made of his expectations of her. She felt a tingling of alarm, for his eyes had narrowed and he no longer had the look of a man of easy nature and ready laugh. Still, she wouldn’t back down, she wouldn’t show her ill-ease with him.
    â€œAnd that’s all you have to say, Magnus Haraldsson? You believe I would suit you? You make it sound like I would be your drudge. No, no, let me finish. Too, I might be an awful creature for all you know of me, a shrew of loud and vicious tongue perhaps. As for you, perhaps you beat women? Perhaps you don’t bathe and smell sour as the rotted innards of a weasel? Perhaps—”
    â€œThat is quite enough, Zarabeth.” He paused a moment, as if the sound of her name surprised him. Then he grasped her upper arms in his large hands. She froze, then forced herself to relax. They were standing in the middle of the Coppergate square and there were dozens of people she knew around them, some of them even now staring toward her at this moment. She needn’t worry. She smiled at him again, but it was a nervous, uncertain smile, and he recognized it.
    â€œI don’t mean to frighten you, but when I make up my mind it is done. I bathe often, as is the custom inmy country, and I don’t smell sour. Sniff me now if you will. I have all my teeth and I don’t carry fat on my belly. Men cannot fight to their best ability if they carry fat on their bodies. I never will. I don’t beat women.” He paused, frowning, then shrugged. “I do have a slave, Cyra, who much enjoys a belt on her thighs and buttocks, but I give it to her sparingly, for I do not wish to spoil her.”
    Zarabeth could but stare at him, all else forgotten. “You have a slave who likes you to beat her? In those . . . places? That is absurd! I do not believe you. Why?”
    Magnus shrugged again. “It is as I said. She is a woman of strong and ardent passions, and the pain on her buttocks adds to her pleasure when I finally take her.” His eyes narrowed on her stunned face. “Why would you disbelieve me? I speak the truth, Zarabeth. You will soon learn that I don’t lie.”
    â€œI don’t disbelieve you, but perhaps you should temper this extreme truth of yours with judicious omission. The thought of anyone striking me in those places . . . well, it isn’t at all to my liking.”
    â€œThen I won’t. If you don’t wish it, I shan’t ever strike you, even if you eventually say you want it.”
    â€œI don’t desire it,” she said, fascinated anew by him despite herself. “I won’t ever want that.” He was looking down at her, and the look in those blue eyes of his had changed, shifting subtly, and she knew with a knowledge she hadn’t realized was already within her that he was thinking of her without her clothing on. “Would you please release me now, Magnus?”
    â€œNo. I like the feel of your flesh beneath my fingers. You are warm and soft and I can smell your woman’s scent.”
    â€œThen will you at least ease your hold? I