“Erin!” he greeted her, grinning. “She who is Irish I seek to feast my eyes upon above any other.”
Some of her nervousness faded away as she smiled in return. She had never thought she could enjoy a flirtation with a Viking, yet she did. He offered her a friendship that was both respectful of her as his brother’s wife and sweetly flattering to her well-bruised ego.
“I doubt, Viking brother,” she murmured, “that you have much need to seek to conquer with force, for surely you win surrender with your agile tongue and winning smile.”
Eric laughed, his eyes assessing her warmly. “Ah, my Irish lass, I think a man needs not a facile tongue to toast your beauty.”
“But surely quick wit and charm are advantageous,” Erin started but Olaf’s voice cut into her conversation dryly. Her tremors began again as she turned her eyes to his blue stare.
“I have been looking for you, my lady wife.” She could not tell from his cross-arm stance, nor from his cool voice, if he suspected her of defying his edict. As he so often did, he seemed to challenge with his words, drawing her into a trap.
“I have been busy about, my lord,” she murmured, sweeping past him.
He caught her arm, halting her. For a moment the riveting blue of his Nordic eyes seemed to impale her; then he smiled at Eric. “You will pardon us, brother. A messenger from her father awaits my lady.”
“You are pardoned,” Eric said cordially. Erin decided there was a bit of the devil to Eric as he caught her free hand and bent low over it to brush it lightly with his lips. “I look forward to the evening, sister. I will enjoy the company of a beautiful woman at my side.”
Olaf grunted impatiently and pulled her away. They walked in silence to Olaf’s war chamber, but Erin was trembling again, a touch of exaltation mingling with her fear. Was it possible that Olaf might be jealous on her behalf? The longing left her as she began to wonder if he knew that she had disobeyed his edict.
Gregory and Brice already awaited them, along with a small man wearing the colors of her father’s troops. Olaf nodded to the three within the room and moved to the window, leaning against the wall and staring out to the courtyard. The messenger glanced his way nervously, cleared his throat, and began to speak. “Aed Finnlaith, Ard-Righ of the Irish, decrees that his son, Brice, and his nephew, Gregory of Clonntairth, return to Tara upon the morrow. Priests have been assembled to offer masses for the soul of Leith mac Aed, and it is fitting that his family should attend.” The messenger again cleared his throat, glancing at Olaf’s back. “Aed Finnlaith, Ard-Righ of Ireland, also requests that his daughter, Erin, wife and queen of the king of Dubhlain, should attend these masses. He asks that his ally, his son by marriage, Olaf of Norway and Dubhlain, attend Tara at his leisure, and join with the yearly Fais, the article of government, to be—”
The messenger droned on, but Erin no longer heard him. Home! Her mother—how she longed to see her mother. And Aed! It had seemed an eternity since she had seen her father. Their parting had been so bitter. She wanted to see him so badly, to crawl into his arms, to feel his love, to allow his wisdom to soothe her. Home. A place to regain her strength, to find peace and refuge.… She came back to the present as she heard Olaf speaking. “I am afraid that my wife and I cannot leave Dubhlain now. I have been fighting wars too much of my time; there is much urgent within the city that requires my attention. I will, however, endeavor to arrive for the Fais, and I would have you convey my appreciation to the Ard-Righ for his invitation to join with the Irish lords.”
Erin felt as if she had received a blow, a knife twisting within her stomach. He wasn’t going to allow her to go.
“Olaf,” Gregory said in her behalf with a quiet dignity, “Aed asks that his family come together to pray for a brother lost. Brice and I would take it upon ourselves to guard well your wife—”
“Olaf …” Erin winced as she realized the voice that pleaded was her own. But she had spoken and she had to continue. “I would dearly love to see my father.”
He stared at her coolly. “We will discuss it no more at present.” His eyes lit on Gregory and Brice, and new shivers raced along Erin’s spine as she saw the reflective gaze. Olaf knew. He knew that her brother and cousin had hurried her back to the city, but he said nothing, except to dismiss the messenger. He stalked past them to the door, then turned. “The evening awaits us. Erin?” He inclined politely, coolly.
She forced herself to swallow the disappointment that had risen sickly within her and nodded. She did not glance at Brice or Gregory, but hurried from the chamber and out to the great hall where she silently took her place at the table. She could not look at Olaf for the tears stinging her eyes as he sat to her left. Vikings and Irish filed to their places with surprising gaiety and curious good humor, but Erin noted little of what took place. Dear God, how she wanted to go home, to her mother, to Tara, to the ancient place of beauty and pride, invincibly, irrefutably Irish.
She was drawn from her thoughts as Eric, who had indeed chosen the seat to her right, bent his head low to hers. “It is interesting, is it not, my lady, to stare about this hall. Men have become friends here. We were born to tear apart one another’s throats, heedless that we may be men of like concerns. Yet today I spent hours with your brother discussing the merits of careful horse-breeding; he an Irishman, I a Norwegian. We seem to have much in common, Brice mac Aed and I. Yet were he not your brother, and I Olaf’s, it is likely we would have met not across the shoulders of a horse, but within an axe’s length of one another.”
“It is interesting, Eric, and always good, when men are not seeking to destroy each other,” she replied, smiling ruefully at his sharp wisdom.
“It is a pity that those who create the peace cannot find it,” Eric said, his eyes touching hers with empathy. He bent even closer. “Yet think of this, Erin of Tara: the wisest men can oft be the blindest of fools for they rule by integrity, yet not from the heart.”
Erin glanced at him curiously, wondering that he so freely offered her so much.
He smiled slowly, his blue-gray eyes twinkling mischievously. “But then again, perhaps the brother of a Wolf is the only one who would dare to twist his tail and force him to feel his heart.”
He winked at her, raising a brow past her to his brother’s chair, then suddenly returned to his food. Erin lowered her head and covertly followed Eric’s glance toward Olaf.
His granite features were darkened by a brooding scowl, his brows furrowed in frowning contemplation. She smiled secretively, then pursed her lips. Was Eric indeed managing to twist the Wolf’s tail? Could it be jealousy he felt as he watched her talk and smile easily with his own kin?
Her smile faded as Olaf dipped his head to hers and spoke softly. “Tread carefully tonight, Irish, for you have sought to take me for a fool one time too many. I am well aware that you flagrantly disobeyed me, equally aware that your cousin and brother all but tripped over themselves in an attempt to save you from my wrath.”
Erin’s throat constricted and she made no further attempt to pick at her food. She sat back in her chair, and she turned toward him and pleaded quietly, “I beg that you do not hold my brother and Gregory responsible for my actions—”
Olaf leaned back and watched her assessively, his blue gaze still brooding and yet alert, again, as if he baited a trap, or watched carefully for reaction. “I hold nothing against the two, for they are brave and stalwart lads, fine, loyal warriors both. They are your kin; it is natural that they blindly seek to protect you.”
Erin attempted to calmly sip from the silver chalice she shared with Olaf. “Perhaps it is not blind loyalty, my lord, but simple trust.”
“Trust, Irish?” he queried politely. “My back was turned today, and instantly you defied me. But no matter. You but solved a dilemma for me. I would, perhaps, have allowed you to visit your father in the company of those two. Today you but sealed my reply for me.”
The knife wound of his words struck deeply and seemed to twist. She si
pped at the chalice, but her fingers trembled and the mead sloshed dangerously close to the rim. She set the chalice down and knotted her fingers together in her lap, thinking to speak coldly before the tears hovering dangerously became futile sobs.
“That is your final word then,” she said coldly.
She did not see the pulse that ticked rapidly against his throat. “It should be,” he replied, his voice curt and yet disturbingly husky. “But perhaps, Irish, it will depend upon the Strength of your desire to see your family.”
Startled by his reply, Erin glanced his way too quickly, her eyes giving away the hope he had raised within her. “What do you mean?” she could not prevent from asking hoarsely.
Maddeningly, he did not reply right away. His eyes were riveted toward the center of the hall where the entertainment was beginning. Erin followed his gaze, clenching her teeth with agony and resentment.
Olaf was watching a uniquely beautiful woman who danced. Her skin was a honey color, her eyes as black as the night and almond shaped. She wore silk trousers that concealed little, and she performed to music unlike any Erin had ever heard before. She danced with a rhythm that offered but one promise: that of seduction.
“He turned her down, Erin of Tara.” She turned quickly to catch Eric’s gentle eyes upon her. “A man only denies such pleasure when he feels he holds a superior treasure.”
Eric smiled and returned to conversation with the Norseman on his right before she could reply. Erin stared at her untouched food, then back to the dancer. There seemed little reason for her to remain longer within the hall. Olaf would not, most likely, notice her departure.
Yet before she could move, she felt his hand or her arm, and found that once more his eyes burned their ice fire into hers.
“Where do you seek to run to now, Irish?” he demanded softly.
“I do not run,” she told him with quiet dignity. “I am but tired, and anxious to find rest within my chamber.”
He watched her, slowly releasing her. “Then go to your chamber, my wife, but await me. We have things to discuss.”
To Erin’s horror, she felt a tremor of heat sweep through her with his mere words. How horrible it was to resent a man with such warranted anger and yet long for him so that it made her melt with weakness.
“It appears to me,” she said with applaudable disdain, “that you but enjoy to taunt. There is naught to discuss.”
He smiled. “Ah, but, Irish, what has it always been between us? Barter and contract. Mayhap you will discover that you wish to barter again.”
“You are mistaken,” she murmured a bit breathlessly. “I did not barter, but was bartered.”
“Perhaps, Irish, we shall see. Go to our chamber—but await me, for I will be along soon.”
Erin barely heard Eric’s wishes for a pleasant night. She hurried from the table with her heart pulsing a dangerous beat and her breath coming in shortened gasps. She rushed up the stairway and through her door, closing it quickly to lean weakly against. God help her, but what was this new taunt of his? She trembled, she felt afire. How was she to resist him? She must resist him and yet she could not bear it were he to seek out the exotic dancer or another. Fool, she chastised herself, for she knew not where he had slept since he had left her bed.
“What do I do?” she whispered aloud, for holding herself away from him was the only power she had, the only dignity she could retain when he continued to hold her captive as traitor.
A small sob escaped her. If she could only go home, she would not have to know if he sought another. She could find new strength, and ease the pain that cried from within, betraying self, betraying resolve. Seeing him, she ached for him with a searing, shivering agony. How long before the love she couldn’t kill with anger and the passions that were constantly a tempest between them broke down the slender barriers of her control and left her truly at the mercy of the Wolf?
CHAPTER
21
The moon was a slender but bright crescent in the sky as Erin stared at it. The stars were a glittering array of splendor against the ink black of the sky. The air that passed through the open window was cold, yet Erin could not bring herself to close it, and so she shivered in her thin linen shift. It made little difference. The tension that riddled through her was far greater than the cold. She didn’t think it possible to be more nervous, and still she trembled slightly when she heard the door open and then close, a new wave of jittery sensation sweeping through her.
She did not turn, but waited, aware that he leaned against the door he had so purposely closed, aware that he watched her. She swallowed sharply, wondering afresh what game he played, for if he had decided he wanted her again, he knew he had but to take her. Her thoughts traveled treacherously along that course. She had to maintain her stand against him, and yet she prayed that he would reach out and demand until she succumbed, for then she would have him again and her pride could be retained.
“I must applaud you, wife,” he stated finally in a soft drawl. “It appears you have captured my brother’s heart. Eric is most impressed.”
Erin shrugged, keeping her back to him. “I find Eric to be courteous and pleasant.”
“Strange, since he is kin to me.”
Erin ignored his comment. “I would have prepared more graciously for your kin had I been aware that he was coming. Indeed, had I been aware he existed.”
“Did you think, madam, that Vikings were truly the spawn of your devil, spewed upon the earth rather than born of mother or father? Surely you must have expected that I did have family.”
“You have never spoken of family.”
“You have never asked.”
Erin shrugged once more, shivering as a ripple in the breeze sent a gust of cold air sweeping inward. They were silent, and Erin felt that the cold but echoed the distance between them. Yet she knew that she had only to turn and meet the steel of his eyes to feel that she was touched by flame.
She didn’t want to turn; didn’t want to meet those eyes that stole into her soul, threatening to rob her of all pride, lay bare all that sought so desperately to remain hidden in her heart.
“Close those shutters!” he suddenly commanded her gruffly. “Do you wish to endanger your health and that of my child?”
Erin closed the latticed shutters, but continued to stare blankly at them. Silence reigned between them once more, so long that she wondered if she would shortly pound the stone walls and shriek aloud like the wailing death ghosts that haunted the forests.
“Turn around, Erin,” he commanded softly at long last.
She did so slowly, lacing her fingers tightly before her and lowering her head slightly to stare at them rather than him.
“I would be curious, Irish, to know why it is that you will not face me.”
Erin raised her eyes to his. “And I would be curious, my lord, to know just what game you play.”
Olaf hiked a brow high in a handsome show of questioning innocence as he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled dryly. “I am afraid you shall have to explain yourself further if you wish a reply.”
“All right,” Erin said coolly, lifting her chin. “What is it that you want, my lord? What is it that we have to discuss?”
“It is not what I want, Erin, but what you want.”
She turned away from him again, staring at the closed shutters. “You will not bait me, Olaf. I do not expect you to give me leave to travel with Gregory and Brice to Tara.”
“Turn around, Erin, and please do not press my patience by making me continually ask you to do so.”
She did so, sighing impatiently.
“Tell me, Irish,” he demanded softly. “Who is it that you grieve? Leith, or the young king of Connaught? Brother or lover?”
“Fennen was never my lover,” Erin replied quietly. “That you well know.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Answer my question, I pray you.”
“I mourn for them both, Olaf,” she replied with quiet dignity. “A
brother loved dearly throughout the years, and a friend who was valiant and caring, a noble young ruler of his province.”
Olaf was silent for a moment and then spoke to her softly. “Of this I will speak to you no more, and tread no more callously upon your feelings, for the pain that you bear is one that I know, and I would not twist a dagger that pierces within a heart.”
He cleared his throat, as if impatient with his own core of emotion. His voice changed abruptly to its more customary deep and politely mocking cynicism. “The question is, Irish, just how dearly do you wish to go?”
She felt a hammering begin in her heart as she realized the strange light in his eyes this evening was one with which she was not familiar. They burned a strange indigo, aloof, but probing with intensity.
“Surely you know,” she replied, inwardly bemoaning the fact that she could make her voice no more than a pained whisper, “that I want desperately to see my father … to see my home.” She silently cleared her throat, but her voice was still husky. “Just as we both know, my lord, that you will deny me.”
He did not reply right away. The heat she had expected tinged her body and cheeks a blushing rose as he traveled her form slowly with his eyes. The linen she wore, she knew, was sheer. In the candlelight her form was certainly a silhouette beneath it.
His eyes returned to hers. “Perhaps not, Irish. That is up to you.”
“You jest.”
“No, I do not. It will depend upon the prize being worth the barter.”
“I do not understand why you taunt me with these words of barter,” Erin cried with a breathless but caustic bite. “Do you ask me to barter my body, and promise that by so doing I may travel to my father’s home? Then I do say, aye, my lord, for it has been my experience to know that you will do as you please whatever my word. You are, as yet, my husband. I have never fought you.”
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