“Yes,” she said, and sighed. She couldn’t control him and it occurred to her that he beguiled her so simply because he held the reins of control, firmly, and he wouldn’t release them. If he ever did, it would be because he wished to.
It was unbearably exciting to her, his strength, his gentleness, the combination of the two that made him unique, that made him Magnus.
“There is something I would ask you, Magnus.” She paused, but he merely continue smiling down at her, waiting. She fretted with the fine silver brooch that held his cloak together at his right shoulder. “Your thrall, Cyra—will you continue . . . that is, will you—?”
“Ah, yes, Cyra who enjoys my hands on her, blending pain and pleasure together—”
“You needn’t speak
quite so frankly about that! Will you continue with her once I am your wife?”
He looked taken aback. “Certainly not. Do you believe me like those black Arabs in Miklagard? Those men who measure their importance by the number of women they are able to keep for themselves?”
“I don’t know. There are those here in York—aye, King Guthrum even—who have several concubines and they are also married.”
He shook his head. “You will fill my days and my nights. I want no other woman. Now, do you want to know what we will be doing in exactly four nights from tonight? No, you will listen, Zarabeth—” He broke off at the sound of a man’s voice, coming from down the quay, then cursed.
“Magnus!”
“I do believe it’s one of my men,” Magnus said, and put her away from him, his voice tinged with impatience. “Aye, ’tis Eirik and he’s a bit the worse from your York ale, if I mistake it not. The fool, ’tis not safe for a man alone, no matter how many friends he has close by.”
Eirik was short, young, built like a Northumbrian bull, his hair nearly white it was so blond. He came to a stop in front of Magnus, and gave him an owlish stare.
“She is the stepdaughter of Olav the Vain, is she not? There are men out searching for her. Olav the Vain is yelling that she is missing, likely kidnapped by you, he is claiming, because you refused to pay the brideprice. He is shrieking like a madman. He has six men with him, all paltry and worth naught in a fight, but still . . . I thought she would be with you, so I came to tell you, Magnus.”
“I’ll return her,” Magnus said. “Get you some sleep now, Eirik. You’ve done well and I am in your debt.”
He turned to Zarabeth. There was humor in his eyes. “I like him not, this stepfather of yours, but I do grant that he could be concerned for your safety.”
“I’ll leave now. You needn’t come back with me. Olav is mayhap foolish now, for he has drunk much ale. I do not want him or you hurt.”
“Zarabeth, you are now under my protection. The moment I saw you, you were under my care. You will walk nowhere alone, ever again. You will attend me fully when there is something I wish you to do, or more likely, when there is something I wish you to cease doing. Do you understand?”
She frowned, stiffening at his tone, hard and commanding. But he was right in this one instance. “Very well, then. I am sorry if I disturbed you, Magnus.”
“Silly wench,” he said, and took her hand in his. He saw that four of his men followed a short distance behind, but held his tongue, and nodded his approval. ’Twas safer thus.
He shortened his step to match hers. “I would have preferred to have carried you to my small cabin, stripped off that gown of yours, and taken you to my bed. It isn’t truly a cabin, though, just a covered space on the deck of the Sea Wind.” He sighed deeply. “But that must wait until we’re wedded. Then, Zarabeth, I will keep you in my bed until we are both too exhausted to do naught but sleep.”
She looked up at him and grinned, her heart light and bounding in her breast. “Ah, but who will be master of your vessel whilst you are in your bed?”
“I will appoint all my men masters so they will have other duties to occupy them besides listening to our lovemaking.”
“I believe I will exhaust you before you exhaust me, my lord.”
“Do you think so, sweeting? Even though you have no knowledge of what it is we will do?” At her bemused silence, he laughed and lightly chucked his knuckles against her chin. “ ’Tis a contest that will draw me into a frenzy, a contest we will both cherish once you have learned the rules.”
Zarabeth was still smiling when she heard her stepfather shouting at the top of his lungs in the distance, “There he is! There’s that marauding Viking, and he’s got my stepdaughter! Kill him! Kill him!”
“He is a very foolish man,” Magnus said calmly. “Very foolish.”
“What will you do?” She turned and saw Magnus’ four men closing behind them, their battle swords drawn. Three of them held both a sword and a battleax. They looked ferocious, their faces hard and cold, and utterly without fear. Magnus did not draw his sword from its scabbard. He waited, his arms crossed negligently over his chest.
“I will see what he plans,” was all he said. “Don’t move, Zarabeth. Stay to my right so that I may see you and know you’re safe.”
She had no choice but to wait as six men, all friends of her stepfather’s, came running toward them, swords in their hands, screaming curses.
Then suddenly Magnus stepped forward and raised both his arms over his head. “Halt!”