Season of the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page A

increased traffic swerving past the old Roman fort. York had changed over the years since the Vikings had seized power. Now its size had doubled to thirty thousand souls. There were Christian churches next to Viking factories. There were Viking burial grounds next to Christian ones. There were dark-haired Vikings aplenty now, for Viking men had married the Anglo-Saxon women and bred in staggering numbers. And there was peace now, for the most part, but that could change at any time. With every Viking raid into King Alfred’s Wessex, there was always the chance of retaliation, even on York itself.
    Life, Magnus had discovered, was rarely boring, for it was rarely predictable. Uncertainty always ran high, and Magnus relished it. He frowned then, thinking of Zarabeth, the softness of her upper arms, the smoothness of her cheeks. Uncertainty could mean danger to her, and he didn’t care for that thought. But he was strong-limbed and swift-witted. He would protect herand see to her safety, regardless of what threatened, whether it be man or the elements. He didn’t doubt that she would meet him in the morning. He’d seen her response to him after she’d recovered from her initial surprise. Most women responded that way to him. He was no stranger to shy, pleased smiles and softened expressions. She would come to him and she would suit him, he was sure of it.
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    It was early morning, and Zarabeth was at the well before Magnus. She was cold, for the April morning was chill and damp, a wind rising, heralding a coming storm. She was wrapped in a russet woolen cloak, pinned with a finely made bronze brooch over her left shoulder. Her hair, braided and wrapped around her head, was covered with a hood.
    When she saw Magnus striding toward her as if he owned the square itself and her, she felt something give inside her. She hadn’t dreamed her reaction to him. If anything, she hadn’t remembered the sheer power of him, this natural dominance that came so naturally from him, this effortless smiling appeal. He saw her and his face changed from the intent expression of a man on a mission to one of swift approval. She was pleased he had noticed the way she looked.
    Zarabeth felt strangely suspended as he approached her, slowing now, as if he wanted to look at her for a very long time before he reached her.
    He didn’t draw to a halt as she expected him to. He walked up to her, grasped her chin in his palm, and forced her face up. He kissed her, in full sight of anyone who wished to look.
    Zarabeth had been kissed before, furtive little forays, but nothing like this. And then he said against her mouth, his breath warm and sweet from honey mead, “Open your mouth to me. I want to taste you.”
    She did, without hesitation. His arms went aroundher and he drew her upward, his hands clasping her firmly at the waist. And he didn’t stop kissing her. Deeply, then light nipping bites, followed by soothing licks, and she responded. She didn’t seem to have a choice, and when she did respond, he immediately stopped and straightened. He smiled down at her, that triumphant smile that made her want to laugh and punch him in his lean belly at the same time.
    â€œYou see how good I make you feel?”
    â€œ ’Twas just a simple kiss, nothing more. Any man’s mouth could make me respond thus.”
    He kissed her again, then several more times, each kiss more probing than the preceding one. Once again he didn’t stop until she responded fully to him. His look was filled with such pleasure when he released her this time that she did nothing at all, simply stared up at him, wishing he’d kiss her again. She felt his strong hands roving up and down her back, warm hands and big, hands that would give her endless pleasure, hands that would keep her safe.
    â€œGood morning, Zarabeth,” he said at last. “You were here waiting for me. That pleases me. I like your taste and the softness