Season of the Sun Read Free Page A

am easily bruised.”
    He frowned at that and his fingers quickly becamegentle as sunlight on her upper arms and as warm as the middle-summer sun, though it was still early spring.
    He continued to stare down at her, his look thoughtful and intent. “You will tell me what it is that gives you enjoyment. I’m accounted a man who does well with a woman. I am not selfish in the giving of pleasure. And you would be my wife. I should like to please you, to give you the delight of my body and yours. It would be your right to be pleased by me, your husband.”
    His words were quiet and deep and confident. She continued looking up at him, so absorbed by him that she didn’t consider turning away. She said in a small, soft voice, without hesitation, “I don’t know what pleases me.”
    His face changed with the smile that suddenly appeared, and pleasure radiated from him. “Ah, that is good. We shall learn together, then. I will try not to disappoint you.” He paused then, and he looked at his long fingers that were even now lightly kneading her upper arms. “I wanted to see you closely. You are as fair as I had thought. Your flesh is very white. I’ve been watching you now for two days.”
    â€œMy skin is very fair. More so than yours.”
    â€œAye, ’tis because you’re Irish. Am I not right?”
    She nodded and he saw the pain flash in her eyes and wondered at it.
    â€œBoth your mother and father were Irish? Are they both dead, even your mother?” At her slow nod, he said, “When did she die?”
    â€œThree years ago. Her name was Mara. Olav, my stepfather, met her in Limerick and wedded her when I was only eight years old. My father had died but a year before, and living was not easy for her, a woman alone with a child. We came here.”
    â€œThe little girl I saw you with yesterday, she is Olav’s child?”
    Her chin went up and he was pleased at this unconscious arrogance in her, but it also puzzled him. What had he said to put her on guard? “Aye,” she said finally, “Lotti is my little sister. Who her father is matters not to me.”
    â€œThen Olav is her father.”
    â€œAye, but I love her and she is mine.”
    â€œNay, she is your stepfather’s.”
    Zarabeth simply shrugged and looked away from him. He guessed she wished to say more about the little girl, but his firmness had directed her away from it, and she said only, “It matters not what opinion you hold. I must go now. To find a new pail. I cannot dally.”
    â€œI will give you one.” Even as she began to shake her head, he added, his voice calm and low, “From this moment forward, my every opinion will count in your life. My every act will touch you, for you will belong to me. You will heed my words and consider them your guidance. Forget it not, Zarabeth. Now, shall I accompany you to your house? To meet your stepfather? Does he ask a large brideprice?”
    It was her turn to place her hand on his forearm. She’d gone from amused outrage at his presumptuousness to something like a numb acceptance that scared her to death. Was she losing her wits entirely? She didn’t know this man who’d accosted her but minutes before. “Magnus, please, you move swiftly, much too swiftly. I don’t know you. You must understand.” She stopped, realizing she was wringing her hands. She was so startled by her action that she was silent for many moments. He too remained silent, waiting for her to finish speaking. She drew a deep breath and continued in her usual calm way, “If you wish it, I will meet you on the morrow, here, if youlike. We can talk, speak of your life in Norway, of other things too. I must come to know you better. It is all I can agree to now. Can you accept that?”
    â€œYou will come to know me well when you are my wife.” He saw that she would still argue with him. He looked impatient,