“It is time to retire. Come.”
She nodded, set aside the fine soft blue woolen material, and rose. She followed him to his chamber, not pausing until she was in the room itself. She remembered then his kiss of the morning and stilled.
The room was cast in the dim light of the summer half-night.
“Zarabeth? Come to me now.”
She didn’t want to. She wanted no reminders that she was flesh and blood, that feelings coursed through her, that she had felt deep passion at one time, a time when she had been whole, a time when she had wanted all of him, all of those unknown emotions. She wanted to live, that was true, she wanted to continue, and to feel life, but this losing of oneself in another . . . no, she didn’t want him to touch her and come inside her.
“Zarabeth, I will not tell you again.”
She knew there was no choice. She took off her gown but left on her shift. It came nearly to her knees.
She lay on her back, staring up into the darkness. Magnus said nothing, merely propped himself on his elbow and leaned over her. “I would take you now, Zarabeth. It is time. We have need of each other. Let me give you comfort and pleasure.”
She didn’t move. She felt Magnus’ mouth touch first her cheek and then her mouth. He was gentle, his tongue lightly probing against her closed lips.
Magnus realized very quickly that she had locked herself away from him. It infuriated him even as he understood it. He kissed her harder, forcing her now, furious that she would be cold as a stone when he was so hot, his mouth burning, his member throbbing with need against her thigh. Why was she doing this to him? He was her husband.
He touched her breast lightly, with just his fingertips, and was further enraged because she still wore her shift. He wanted to rip it off her, but he didn’t.
He was surprised at the calm of his voice when he said, “Take off the shift, Zarabeth. There is never to be anything between us at night.”
When she didn
’t immediately obey him, he forced her upright and began to work the shift up over her hips. She yielded to him then, and soon he had pulled the shift over her head and tossed it to the floor. “Now,” he said.
She lay on her back, cold and alone, nurturing the emptiness inside her, focusing on it. She was fully aware of his warm hands on her body, of his mouth touching her breast. When his fingers found her and began a gentle rhythm, she felt a burgeoning awareness in that emptiness, a beckoning in the deepest part of her, and she tried to jerk away from him. These feelings weren’t right, she didn’t deserve them.
He held her down, his fingers splayed on her belly. “I know there is passion inside you, for I have tasted it and felt it and taken it into me. Why do you punish me with your coldness? Why do you punish yourself?”
“I cannot,” she whispered against his shoulder, her fisted hands against his chest. “Please, no, Magnus, please.”
He gave an animal growl and came over her, pressing her legs apart and settling himself between them. He kissed her again, teasing her, using all his skill to make her respond, but she was locked against him. He hated it and he hated her in that moment, and with a growl of fury he reared back, lifted her hips in his hands, and came into her. She wasn’t ready for him and he felt her pain and the stretching of her woman’s flesh. But he didn’t stop until he touched her womb. He looked down at her and saw in the dim light that her eyes were tightly closed. “Damn you,” he said, “open your eyes!” He began to move. Soon her flesh eased and dampened and he knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. She was so cold and still beneath him, so very apart from him. His body pulsed with an anger that grew and grew, and with it, his endless need for her, a need that he now accepted. Though he wanted to curse her and dominate her and force her to accept him with a passion to match his own, he knew this time he had failed.
He concentrated on his own passion, on the swollen need, and on the release when it came. He arched his back and cried out, and in that instant he forgot all but this moment of pleasure, this instant of sheer feeling that blotted out the damnable pain. He rolled off her and away onto his back. He said nothing for many moments, not until his heart slowed and he knew he was again in control.
“If you cry, I will surely beat you.”
She had stuffed her fist into her mouth. She turned on her side, away from him.
He knew she was crying, could feel her trembling, but he also knew that she was trying to keep silent, and thus he ignored it. “I will take you every night, Zarabeth, every single night, until you come back to me. I will not accept this. You must allow me to come back to you.”
She felt the wetness of him on her thighs. She nurtured the pain he had inflicted deep inside her, for it gave her more reason to stay within herself, within her own emptiness.
Magnus slept finally. When the dreams came, they were bright and vivid and filled with a fierce sense of truth. He saw his son, he actually saw Egill, and the boy was ragged and dirty, but he was alive. He saw a man strike him and he felt the blow as it landed on the boy’s shoulder. He cried out in rage.
“Magnus, wake up! Wake up, you’ve had a nightmare!”
He was trembling, his flesh damp and cold. He jerked upright. He shook his head to clear the visions away. He whispered, even as he clutched Zarabeth to his chest, “I saw him, I saw Egill, and he is alive, I am certain of it. I saw a man strike him. By God, I saw it, Zarabeth, and it was clear and it was real.”
Zarabeth finally made out his features in the dim light of dawn. A dream, and he believed it true? She had heard of such things. Seers had visions. He was trembling, and she pressed herself more closely against him, giving him what comfort she could, without thought, without decision. She recognized only that he needed her.
Magnus drew a deep breath. He was here, in bed, Zarabeth against him. But the dream had been so solid. He eased away from her and rose. He left the longhouse, naked, and walked to the temple.
He remained there until the sun was bright in the morning sky. There had been no answers and he was left tortured by what he had seen.
Horkel and Cyra married that day and left Malek to return to the small farmstead Magnus had allotted to Horkel in return for his service. Many of Magnus’ men itched to be off trading, for the summer was full upon them and it wasn’t right that they remain here doing the work of the slaves and the women. They wanted to make their fortunes.