Season of the Sun by Catherine Coulter

if she weds with him,” his father said, hisbrow furrowed in his discontent. “We will see. Nothing is settled yet. Nothing.”
    Zarabeth held her peace. She wanted to see Magnus. She continued her work quietly, then bathed Lotti and tucked her into a thick wool blanket in the box bed. Olav and Keith were drinking steadily. She placed more ale beside her stepfather, then very quietly took her woolen cloak from a peg and pulled it around her shoulders. “I’m going for a short walk,” she said, and left before either man realized she was gone.

5
    Z arabeth knew it was dangerous to be out alone at night, despite the relative peace York had known for the past few years. There were still villains, beggars, outlaws, any number of ruffians who could sneak into the city at night and prey on the people. Thus she was careful to keep to the shadows of the houses. She walked very quickly, her step nearly soundless. There was a sliver of a moon overhead and the air was heavy with rain that would come before morning. All was shadows and silence. She could hear her own heart but she didn’t slow, just kept walking.
    She was warm enough wearing her wool cloak. She clutched it to her, remembering her mother telling her that the cloak had belonged to her mother and had been dyed with the finest saffron produced in all of Ireland.
    When Zarabeth had left Olav’s house on Coppergate, her feet, if not her conscious mind, had known exactly where she was going. Now she accepted what her feet had easily known. She kept her eyes straight ahead, toward the quay on the River Ouse. The earthen fortifications came into view, thick and tall and sturdy, then the snug harbor. There were many vessels along Monk’s Pier, tied with stout rope to thick wooden poles that ran the length of the quay. Most of them were Viking trading ships. Her eyesscanned along them. So many of them, and they looked alike.
    She stopped then, and nearly laughed aloud. She had come to find Magnus, yet she didn’t know if he was here. She didn’t even know the name of his vessel. She was appalled at herself. She had met a man and lost her wits as a result. She was a prize fool, and it was disconcerting, because normally she was thoughtful and slow to act either in joy or in anger. But she had simply walked out of her house, walked down Coppergate to Hungate, and directly right to the harbor. Well, she’d done it now, and if there were any outlaws lurking about, she deserved for them to see her. Still, she didn’t turn back.
    She paused, drew a deep breath, and proceeded to examine each of the vessels. There were at least a dozen, all the great square masts furled, all quiet, all the sailors asleep, the only sound the slap of water against the side of the boats. She hadn’t realized it was quite so late. She walked very quietly, from vessel to vessel, the soft leather soles of her shoes nearly silent on the wooden-planked dock. She felt fear now, admitted it to herself. By all the saints, she was a fool. What to do? Then she saw a vessel that was larger than its neighbors, with elegant lines and a look of brutal magnificence. It flew Odin’s Raven, carved in black, upon its bow. It was a beautiful vessel and she knew deep down, without question, that it belonged to Magnus.
    She smiled then, slowly, threw back her head, and shouted, “Magnus! Magnus Haraldsson!”
    There was utter silence, then the low rumbling of men talking.
    â€œMagnus! Magnus Haraldsson!”
    She heard a deep laugh. She saw a score of men’s heads coming into view over the gunwales, sailors all, weapons in their hands, and then they were leapinglightly off their vessels onto the quay, looking toward her, mouths agape, talking about her, pointing. She heard a blessedly familiar voice say, “Nay, all of you remain here. There is no danger. ’Tis my lady who calls to me. Any of you make a move toward her and I’ll slit your