Free Season of the Sun by Catherine Coulter Page B

you.”
    He rose then, with finality, and dusted off his trousers. He said in an emotionless voice, “Then Lotti will be dead by tomorrow morning.” She stared up at him. His cross-garters had come down and were bunched at his ankles; his fine woolen hose were wrinkled and bagging at the knees. He looked disheveled and old. Aye, he looked like an old man, a tired old man who wasn’t getting his way, and wanted a victim to lash out at.
    â€œNay, I won’t tell him that I don’t want him. If you harm Lotti, he will kill you.”
    Olav shrugged and looked at her with lifeless eyes. “It matters not, then, does it? The idiot child will be dead, I will be dead, and you will have your Viking. You will sail to Norway with him, alone, with nothing but the clothes on your back. And you will know that your selfishness meant death to two people who love you.”
    â€œLove! You miserable old liar! You threaten to kill my little sister and you say that you love me? By all the gods, I would that I could kill you right now!”
    She rolled over and came up onto her knees. Her face was flushed with anger, with disbelief, and Olav took a quick step backward, for he saw violence in her eyes.
    Then he smiled at her, and shrugged. “Believe whatyou will. You are a woman and thus your thoughts are beyond a man’s logic. But know this, Zarabeth: the child will be dead by tomorrow at noon if you do not do my bidding. ’Tis up to you, girl. I offer you the child’s life for that miserable Viking’s lust.” He paused a moment, stared at her, and she fancied she could see the pounding of his blood in the pulse in his neck. “Did you let him cover you tonight? Did he take your maidenhead?”
    â€œHush your filth! You are much worse than your son!”
    â€œSo ’tis your lust for your little sister’s life. You’re just like your whore of a mother, aren’t you? You aren’t so much of a loving sister after all. You’re nothing but a fake.”
    â€œ ’Tis enough, Olav. You won’t kill Lotti because you don’t want to die. I know you. I know that all tradesmen here in Coppergate snigger at you behind your back and call you Olav the Vain. You prance and strut about, extolling your brilliance at trading—at cheating the unwary, more’s the truth—and you spend all your gold on finery to adorn your sagging old body! Look at you, garbed like King Guthrum himself! Yet even he, an old man like you, doesn’t glitter like a conceited fool!”
    â€œYou will be quiet, Zarabeth!” He was shaking with fury, the life back in him at full strength at her insults.
    â€œNay, not now, not when I would tell you the truth, you dirty old man! I won’t remain here, wondering if you will try to crawl into my bed and molest me. I won’t pretend to be your loving stepdaughter when I know what it is you’re really thinking. I won’t suffer your hatred for Lotti anymore, your contempt, your neglect. I won’t listen to your lies about my mother. You didn’t deserve her, damn you! Now, you will tell me where you’ve hidden Lotti and I will fetch her and be gone. I never want to see your ugly face again.”
    Olav was silent for many moments. Then he raised his hand in a sort of benediction, and said in a voice that was certain and cold, “The idiot child will die, slowly, and I will know pleasure from the knowledge of it. I swear it on Odin, our All-Father, and I swear it on the Christian God as well.”
    She felt the room pitch sideways. In that instant she believed him. He wasn’t lying. He spoke as calmly as an insane man who would be pushed no further.
    Aye, she believed him. This was the point beyond which he wouldn’t retreat. She knew him. He would have Lotti killed or he would kill her himself. He wouldn’t care. She could see Keith strangling the child with one hand, lifting her and crushing