North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  His fingers gently forced her chin upward. He placed a chaste kiss on each cheek and she sighed, opening her eyes. “I do not want to have to find out if I am strong enough to do what is right, instead of what I desire.” She searched his face, looking for any sign of disappointment or resignation. Even anger would have been a relief, letting her know that he heard and understood. He brushed away a tear with his thumb and pressed his lips against hers.

  “Leave these here while you bathe, you can dress and prepare yourself later so that the guard will have time to go to the village.” She frowned, tears threatening again. He wouldn’t listen. “You are stronger than any other I have ever met,” he whispered against her lips. He kissed her again, this time with more passion. Her breath was coming fast by the time he broke off. One large hand rubbed circles across her back, soothing her, while the other thrust into her hair, cradling her head and tilting her mouth to allow him access. “What is right and what you desire are not always at odds. You have asked me to defend this ground, to make it my own. Have faith that I will do so...none will threaten my home. Or my Lady.” He pressed one more kiss to her mouth and stepped back, picking up her cloak and holding it out for her. “Your bath awaits, Julia.” The way he savored her name made her head swim, and she followed him without further protest.

  Eric barred the bathhouse door, leaving his men guarding the courtyard, as soon as he had completed an inspection. The English knight had become a rat he was eager to step on, constantly squeezing through any crack in his defense to get to Julia. The bath was secure, so he waited in the vestibule, listening to Julia undress, and thinking.

  She was impressed by the gifts, he was sure of that. The sheer expense would have impressed most women, but Julia was worth more than most women. She was better accustomed to fine things, and had a strong sense of duty that would not be swayed by trinkets. He frowned to himself, even if her duty was misguided. Her responsibility did not extend to marrying one of the Duke’s men - it didn’t have to. Eric was more than capable of defending the island against enemies either military or political. He had taken her spirit and taste into account when he chose her gifts.

  He stored his dolgildi, and a few chests, in the chapel until a place was made ready at the keep. Jens relaxed on a bench and Abjorn stood at the door while he opened the chests and considered their contents. He had spent many years fighting for others, and he had been paid well. Cloth, spices, coin, jewels, even weapons filled the ten box chests and equal number of panel chests lined up before him. Two were heavily carved and filled entirely with silks - payment for a bloody six-month contract in Byzantium. Wool, velvet, and linen were all dyed in rare, rich colors. An exorbitant amount of spices - pepper, ginger, cinnamon, even saffron - were stored next to a cask of Sicilian wine. He weighed his options carefully.

  He would have three opportunities to gift Julia - frieri, forlovelse, and ekteskap - and he had to make the most of them. The first would be a gift of courtship: frieri. The very poor often brought bread as a symbolic and important part of their lives. Eric’s grandfather had been a well-off fisherman who owned three boats. He had presented his second wife with linen for a new kirtle. Hardrada lavished Elsiv of Kiev with a heavy gold circlet and bracers, worked in relief and studded with pearls and a large ruby. His own gift needed to display his wealth, not just to Julia, but to the whole island. He needed them to see that he did not come to her empty-handed, but that he would add to the security and prosperity of Aurelius. However, he did not think Julia would be awed by jewelry alone. She was far more practical, and too unique to be given something made for another. He did not have the luxury of a goldsmith who could craft something worthy of her in a timely fashion.

  “Is there a skilled seamstress on the island?” He asked aloud. Jens nodded,

  “Aye, Eleanor she is called. She has a farm to the north of the marsh, along the woods. He husband died at Hastings. There are others in the village that do piece work, but she takes in all the Lady’s garments, and Aelfreic’s before.” The old man paused and selected a large silver coin from an open chest to flip along his knuckles. “Do you think to give her garments? Wouldn’t most women prefer jewels?”

  “She is not most women.”

  “Aye, but if you want to declare yourself to the island, a shiny trinket can be worn everyday. Her ladyship seems to change clothes often enough that it would be a good while before every islander had seen your gift.” Eric frowned.

  “Yule,” grunted Abjorn. “The whole island gathers at the fort for a meal. Lady Julia lights the Yule fire and greets every man, woman, and child. Everyone bathes beforehand and dresses in their cleanest, finest clothes,” Jens turned to stare at the bigger man with a grin. Abjorn shrugged. “Ell has spoken of it several times.”

  “Perhaps you should speak to the seamstress as well,” Jens said slyly. Eric tuned out their discussion and made his selection, placing what he needed in a smaller, empty trunk with a leather coin pouch. He would still have to select the betrothal, forlovesle, and marriage, ekteskap, gifts. He would do that after he saw how she responded to the first boon.

  “Jens,” he said, securing the trunk and hefting it on one shoulder easily, “Have the men move the rest up to the fort. Amund will see that it is locked in the armory.”

  “Mine as well,” said Abjorn. They nodded to one another and Abjorn stayed at his side as he made his way to the farm of Eleanor. Eric used that opportunity to speak to Abjorn about Mary Ellery, and the verbal lashing he had received from Julia when the chandler told her Lady that Abjorn was married.

  The splash of water in the frigidarium brought Eric back to the present. His brief smile at Julia’s gasp of shock when she hit the cold water quickly faded into a frown. He moved to the washroom and disrobed, trying to brush off his concerns. She had not agreed to wear it. He had used her own passions to forestall her objections, but she had not actually agreed. He needed her to wear his gift, to display openly and without question that she allowed his courtship. If she wore his gift, the people would be secure in the knowledge that his intentions toward their Lady were honorable. And Dunholm or his men would carry word to London that she had a suitor.

  Eric needed the Duke to know of it. Julia’s fear of being forced to choose a husband from among the Normans was justified, but Eric was certain he could sway things in his favor. He only needed a bit of her cooperation. He entered the cold bath without announcing himself and was gratified by her sharp inhale. She turned to face away from him, but not nearly as quickly as she could have. As soon as he was submerged and facing away from her, she left the water and entered the next room. He allowed her ample time to wash her hair before chasing her through the rest of her bath. He even managed to enter the washroom before she had finished oiling her skin. He was distantly surprised to see that she placed a small amount of the scented oil in her palms and ran her fingers gently through her hair. His memory of the softness of her black locks was explained by this intimate ritual. His interest in her beauty regimen was somewhat clouded by the brief towel that was tied loosely over her breasts and barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

  He had not wrapped a towel around himself, once more doing his best to give her opportunity to grow comfortable with his body. The cool air did little to hinder his interest from growing. It did, however, cause the peaks of her breasts to tighten in a way that made him harden further and draw in a sharp breath. She looked up quickly, prepared to lambast him for barging in.

  Her eyes widened and the words died on her lips. Mouth slightly open, Eric was gratified to see that she was unable to pull her gaze away from him. A small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. He didn’t realize he was growling until he met her gaze. She glanced away quickly, turning her body. Her blush radiated from her cheeks down her neck and onto her chest. He groaned, wondering how far below the towel she had turned pink.

  “I, ah...you,” she cleared her throat and stood quickly. She turned away, and Eric was met with the backs of
her naked legs. Long and lean with muscle, the pale flesh disappeared under the cloth that stretched tight across the generous swell of her bottom. “I did not mean to stare,” she finished breathlessly. When his body responded with another surge of heat to his cock, he considered throwing away his intent to allow her to come to him for anything more intimate than a kiss or embrace. He found himself fisting a hand around a stack of clean towels, prepared to make a place on the floor for them. “I’ll be ready for you - er - I mean, the room will be ready for you.” She paused, “I’ll be finished, in a moment.”

  Eric breathed in deeply, and let a hot breath out through his nose. She was only a few short steps away. She wanted him. He knew she wanted him. She responded to his kisses eagerly, even if she was embarrassed. She said she thought him worthy of her. She shifted her weight and he had to close his eyes against the glorious sight of her towel riding up an inch further. He knew he should leave. He knew he was moments away from ripping that damp cloth off and dragging her to the floor, but he could not make his feet walk away. He could see her lying back on the cool stone, gooseflesh losing the battle against the heat of her own desire. He pictured her, breasts thrust high into the air, back arched, legs spread and begging for his touch.

  He turned to face the shelf of towels, gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Get dressed,” he said tightly. He did not know how he managed to stay still. It was torture listening to her hurried movements as she wrapped her hair in a dry towel and slipped her feet into her stockings and shoes. He gritted his teeth when she made a little noise of discomfort before her towel fell to the floor. She slipped on a simple clean tunic and cloak and then beat a hasty retreat to the vestibule.

  “I’m finished,” she called softly through the curtained doorway. Eric opened his eyes to see he was still holding onto the shelf. He forced his fists to open and found the wood had cracked where he gripped it. He sighed, trying to get himself under control before turning to grab his clothes from the peg where she had hung them. On the floor at his feet was her discarded towel. On the bench was a thin pair of linen braies. Eric snatched them up with a growl and scowled at the curtained doorway. The woman was standing on the other side of a flimsy piece of cloth, without any undergarments.

  Eric had himself under control by the time he walked her back to the keep. At the door to her study he dismissed Alvar and Balric and proceeded her into the room. The guard left at her door assured him that none had entered while they were gone. Eric left the door unbarred at Julia’s request and instructed the guard to let none but her handmaid enter. He made a careful inspection of the rooms anyhow; Dunholm had proved to be adept at slipping in where he wasn’t wanted.

  Julia’s room had been tidied while they were gone. A fire had been lit in the brazier and all of the discarded garments were put away. His gifts were still arranged on the bed. He eyed them once again, wondering if she would wear them. He told her she would but Julia was a woman who made up her own mind. He rolled his shoulders. If she did not come to his way of thinking, he had time before the celebration to convince her.

  Julia eyed Eric with suspicion when he gave her a smile and a nod and disappeared into his own room, shutting the door. His mood had changed too swiftly. At the bath he had been quieter than usual, although he had started with his usual naked parade that had her vacillating between embarrassment, irritation, and an unhealthy desire to stare. Then when he had surprised her in the changing room, she had difficulty focusing on the irritation.

  She felt her cheeks flush again at the memory. He was still wet from the hot bath. Puddles formed around his bare feet on the stone. Her eyes travelled up the hard muscles of his legs and then stopped, transfixed. She knew what men looked like in a general way; she had seen naked male babies and boys many times. She had even once seen a medical diagram in one of the monastery scrolls, before Simon caught her at it and blackmailed her into doing his arithmetic for a month. Eric did not compare to anything in her experience. Heat had flashed across her body like lightning, tightening her skin and settling low in her belly with a hollow ache. Her mouth felt dry, she had to wet her lips, but still she couldn’t seem to form words.

  He finally turned from her and ordered her to get dressed. Even with his swiftly changing and conflicting mood, she knew what it meant when a man's body stood at attention in that way, but his voice sounded more angry than passionate so she didn’t comply immediately. The towel slung over his shoulder did nothing to disguise the hard muscles of his back. Her eyes were waylaid by the deep dimples she had admired more than once. Exposed as he was, she took in the sight of his muscular buttocks and thighs and had to shake her head to snap herself out of a lust induced daze.

  Julia was brought out of her memory by the sharp knock of her handmaid on the door and a request for entry. Julia responded relieved to have been interrupted and mindful of the heat and moisture that her daydream had inspired from her body.

  “I’m still a bit damp, just a moment and I’ll be ready to dress.” She slipped off her garments and discreetly dried herself while Sarah admired the garments on the bed.

  “My Lady!” she gushed, “These will suit you perfectly! And so rich!” Sarah was her cousin, and dressed better than most of the villagers; even beyond that, she had accompanied Julia to the English court and seen the ladies there. If Sarah was impressed, the garments were truly magnificent. Julia frowned and reconsidered the clothing. There would be no denying that Eric was courting her if she wore that to the Yule festival. Every islander would know within minutes of her arrival that she was considering a new suitor. Dunholm would realize who that was, and he would report to the Duke. Would that be all bad, she wondered. She wanted the Duke to respect her, to take her seriously and consider her as an ally, or at least a very valuable asset. The value of a thing is determined by how much of it there is and how many want it. She had learned that lesson well at Aelfreic’s knee, and it made her island wealthy in trade. In addition, it would make Dunholm burn with anger, which was both a benefit and a detriment. However, if she was not free, in the end, to choose her path, then it would be wrong to give Eric such a sign of her favor. She mentally rolled her eyes, as if returning his kisses and staring at his naked body wasn’t signal enough.

  Still, it was a fine line to walk with the Duke. Impress, but not incite a desire to possess. Intrigue, but not rebuff. Command attention, but not demand it. Control the supply, create the demand, and drive an acceptable price. Perhaps it would be better to have the Duke think she commanded the Norsemen with her coin and her authority, rather than with a marriage contract. She pulled on a robe, her mind decided.

  “Leave those and brush my hair, please.”

  The Yule Tree

  She was nervous when Eric re-entered her chamber to escort her to the celebration. Sarah had taken a great deal of time with her clothes, unsatisfied if she did not feel Julia looked her absolute best. Her hair had been braided back from her face, twisted into a maze, and pinned to the back of her head. Eric did not react when he saw her. She thought she saw his jaw tighten, but he said nothing. He offered her his arm, leaving her cousin to make her own way to the celebration, and pulled her through the dressing room into the study. He was nearly to the door when he finally stopped and turned to her. His golden-brown eyes looked her over from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes peeking out from her skirts.

  Julia felt smothered in uncomfortable silence. So close to him, she was unable to not think of what it might feel like to be even closer. At the same time, she was strung tight with tension, waiting for him to comment on her attire. She was ready to snap when he finally reached out, pulling her head scarf up over her hair and straightening the dragon pin at her collar.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “For what?” She held her breath as he leaned in, waiting for him to kiss her.

  “For seeing reason,” he whispered. He was pressing his lips to hers, using her surprise to delve his tongue
in and sweep the recesses of her mouth before she could process his words.

  One large hand flattened against her lower back and pulled her tight against him. His chest was unyielding and hot even through his clothing. She could do nothing but cling to his shoulders and let the sensations his mouth and hands were provoking wash over her. Too soon it was over, and she was left stunned and breathing hard. His own breath came in hot bursts against her hair, until he stepped back and righted her scarf. He tucked her hand against his forearm and reached for the door.

  “Beautiful and reasonable, a man could not ask for more in a wife.” Julia felt her mouth hang open, but before she could think of anything to say, the door was open and Ulrich was standing before her.

  “My Lady,” he said gruffly. “Vandalsson.” He eyed her clothing and let his gaze rest on her pin for a moment before nodding to Eric. She tried to pull her hand away, but Eric held it securely with ease.

  “Do you mind?” Julia said through clenched teeth. She wouldn’t argue with Eric in front of anyone else, but she didn’t have to be polite either. “I would rather Ulrich escorted me.” She didn’t fail to notice her trusted knight backing silently away, but she kept her gaze locked on Eric. If he thought he could manipulate her, she would show him his error.

  “I would rather he did not,” Eric replied. He started towards the doors, Ulrich behind them, and Julia had to move with him to avoid being dragged. Two young men stood ready to throw back the heavy oak doors and she knew they were staring and listening avidly.