Season of the Sun by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online

was supposed to feel, even though the world was a capricious place, filled with life one moment and bloody death the next, be it by outlaws, the accursed raiding Vikings, or by nature in a spate of fury. He also guessed she’d leave him if ever he hurt Lotti. He studiously ignored the child as a result, saying nothing to her that would anger Zarabeth. He said finally, chewing on a piece of soft bread, “What if I were to tell you that Magnus Haraldsson is a renegade and nothing more than a barbarian pirate who preys on the traders who ply the Baltic?”
    Zarabeth looked at him and smiled. Nothing more; she just smiled.
    â€œVery well, so he isn’t a renegade or a pirate.” Olav poured himself more ale into the beautiful clouded-blue Rhenish glass. “But he could be something worse, Zarabeth.” He sipped it slowly, looking at Zarabeth over the rim to gauge her reaction. There was none, nothing save that superior smile of hers. He hadto think, to marshal his arguments. He wouldn’t lose Zarabeth.
    â€œI ask that you make no decision this night or tomorrow. You are not a flighty girl to decide her life in a matter of moments. I ask that you wait, that you spend more time with this man, that you be certain he is what you wish.” He also wanted to demand that she not give her maidenhead to this man, not yet, but he couldn’t find the words.
    Zarabeth simply stared at him. She hadn’t expected him to be so reasonable, so caring toward her. She’d prepared herself to do battle. She felt herself warming despite the fact that she knew it was a stupid thing to do. Still, it didn’t matter now. She would be gone from Olav soon enough. “Thank you, Olav,” she said, “thank you. I shall do it. I will make my final decision by the end of the week.”
    He nodded, content. That gave him three days to determine what to do to stop this marauding bastard from taking her away from him. At that moment Lotti tipped over her wooden cup, filled to the top with goat’s milk. It splattered on Olav’s fine woolen sleeve before he could jerk his arm away. He felt his face redden with anger at the clumsy little idiot, but he managed to hold his tongue.
    Zarabeth patted Lotti’s small hand, then rose. “Let me clean it for you, Olav.” She rubbed his sleeve, but it was likely the milk would stain the fine pale blue wool. He was foolish to wear such finery, she thought as she leaned down, rubbing at the spot, then gently patting it.
    Olav stared at her bowed head, at the rich vivid red of her hair and her smooth white flesh, those long slender fingers of hers. Toward the end there, Mara’s flesh hadn’t been as smooth or as soft as Zarabeth’s. In the candlelight, Zarabeth’s red hair was more muted, a deeper autumn-leaf color, and sorich-looking he wanted to bury his face in it. He breathed in the scent of her.
    The smell of her was enough to make him hard and ready. To have her so close to him, so close he could hear her breathing, nearly undid him. He looked up to see Lotti staring at him, her small face solemn, her eyes wide and frightened.
    The little fool couldn’t understand desire, and he knew that was what she saw on his face. Why was she afraid? He’d never struck her since that time before. Zarabeth nodded her head and straightened.
    â€œThere won’t be a stain,” she said, and she blew on the wet wool. He saw her breasts move and he couldn’t bear it. He would take her, he had to, and soon. As soon as the Viking was gone, he would make things clear to her.
    He looked over at Lotti and suddenly knew exactly what he would do. Even though he had realized for a long time that Lotti was his only power over Zarabeth, he simply hadn’t really admitted it to himself. But now he did, and now he knew that he would use the child, without hesitation. The time for turning back had come and gone.
    There was a knock on the outer