Season of the Sun by Catherine Coulter Page A

drunk he can scarce keep upright. Just listen to him laughing at the king’s inane jests! It’s pathetic, and now you will pay, my girl, surely you will pay.”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œHe’ll not give you a brat!”
    â€œI hope not.”
    Toki fell silent, staring at Zarabeth with drunken concentration. “You don’t care,” she said at last, and there was a good deal of bewilderment in her voice.
    Zarabeth tightened her hold on Lotti’s hand. She looked toward Olav and saw that he stumbled from drink. She felt only a mild revulsion, gazing on him.
    â€œAye, when he pukes, you’ll care.”
    Zarabeth sighed. “I’ll probably have to clean it up.”
    Toki gave a malevolent look at Lotti, then took herself back to her equally drunken husband. Zarabeth held herself apart, but no one noticed, for the drink hadn’t yet run out. It was very late before two men approached her, laughing drunkenly, supporting an unconscious Olav between them.
    â€œIt will take a woman’s gentle care to rouse him!”
    â€œAye, mayhap ’tis best to let him lie alone. Either he’ll die or vow to become a monk on the morrow.”
    They carried Olav to the house, Zarabeth and Lotti following behind. The king had spoken gracious words to her, as had the queen, and had commended her to her husband’s generosity and nobility of spirit. She felt tired after the long day, but little else. She motioned the men to place her husband on his box bed, and after they’d left, giving her leering looks, she pulled a coverlet over him and let him be. She prayed he would sleep through the night.
    Olav didn’t sleep through the night. He awoke deep in the middle of the night, still more drunk than sick, realized that he was wedded to Zarabeth, and went in search of her.
    He found her sleeping by Lotti and grabbed her arm, shaking her and nearly yelling, “Why sleep you here? Why are you with her and not with me? ’Tis your duty to sleep with me! I have paid dearly for you. You’re my wife!”
    Zarabeth felt Lotti stiffen beside her. She hadn’t been asleep; she had heard him stumble across the room. She’d prepared herself, and now she said calmly enough, “Go back to your bed, Olav. The women told me that you would be too drunk to take me thisnight. I pray that you won’t be sick, for I have no wish to clean up after you. Go away now.”
    Any thoughts Olav had cherished of bedding Zarabeth faded in that moment. His belly cramped and turned in on itself and he moaned, clutching his arms around himself. Zarabeth heard him stumble through to his outer shop, then out into the night. She didn’t move, merely said very softly to Lotti, “Go back to sleep, little love. He won’t bother us tonight at least.”
    The next morning Keith found his father huddled against the shop front, sleeping like the dead.

8
    O lav’s face was gray. His eyes burned and wept. A line of cold sweat threaded above his upper lip. His jowls hung and his clothes looked now like they belonged to another man, a bigger man, a healthy paunchy man.
    The pain in his belly had increased, and now he could no longer work in his shop. He sat the whole day now in the living area watching Zarabeth go about her work. Occasionally he would moan softly and run from the room, clutching his belly. His friends came by, but they couldn’t drink or eat or jest with him, for he was silent in his pain and withdrawn from their concerns. Thus they left him to go about their own business. Few came around anymore. The women visited Zarabeth, giving her advice, looking sadly toward Olav, and shaking their heads.
    Olav looked at Zarabeth now. It was the middle of the day and she was cooking—likely bland soup for him, curse her. Bland soup and bread soft enough for an old man with no teeth and a liquid gut. Damp tendrils of hair framed her face. She was silent, so very silent,