“Nay!” she cried out. “How could you even ask? John is the only good, pure thing to come of that hateful…liaison.” Eadyth tried to bank her anger at Eirik’s insulting question. When she was finally able to speak below a shout, she added, “You have a very low opinion of women, my lord. I wonder why.”
He stared at her thoughtfully for several long moments, rubbing that infernal mustache. His bemused expression finally faded as he seemed to make a decision. “Wait here,” he ordered as he stood and approached the door. “I must get something.”
When he returned a short time later, he carried a small, linen-wrapped bundle which he placed on the table. Then he sat down in the chair next to her and drew her dowry document from his tunic. He motioned her to pull her chair closer to the table.
“Afore I call Wilfrid to witness our signatures, I would set my own conditions to our betrothal agreement, my lady.”
Startled, Eadyth stared at him questioningly. “You intend to wed me?”
Eirik’s lips spread over a rueful grin, as if he himself could not believe that he was about to act so foolishly.
“Yea, God help me, I do.”
At first, Eadyth’s mind failed to register the significance of Eirik’s words. Mixed feelings warred within her—relief that John would be protected by the marriage vows, countered by her desperation over the hateful bonds. She did not loathe men, only their lusty ways, and yet she felt herself drawn by Eirik’s handsome masculinity.
“Why?”
Eirik threw back his head and laughed. “’Tis an odd question for a bride to ask.”
“I am not the usual bride, and you well know it. ’Tis obvious you find the prospect of marrying me distasteful. Did my dower tempt you? Did you decide you could use it to restore Ravenshire?”
Eirik blinked with surprise, then burst out laughing again. “Mayhap I am more like Steven. Mayhap I lust after your lush body.” He wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.
Eadyth felt a hated blush creep up her neck and across her cheeks, and she snorted with disgust at his making sport at her expense. He was too frivolous, by far.
“’Tis not my body, lush or not, that will be a part of our betrothal agreement.”
Eirik raised one brow in mocking question, his thick black lashes forming spidery shadows over the oddly pale eyes.
“Oh? Will it not? Hmmm. We shall see.”
Her heart hammering with alarm, Eadyth looked to see what Eirik meant by his cryptic remark, but his head was bent over the document as he scratched out his own conditions on the bottom.
Eadyth closed her eyes wearily.
Am I making an even bigger mistake, casting my lot with the Lord of Ravenshire?
Chapter Three
Eirik’s words about the betrothal agreement finally sank in, and Eadyth bristled. So now she would find out what he really wanted of her.
“Conditions? What is your meaning?” she demanded in a deliberately cronish voice as Eirik painstakingly scratched words at the bottom of her document.
She was pleased to see him wince at the abrasiveness of her cackling voice, even as he ignored her question and kept writing. He held the sheet some distance away from him as he wrote, squinting occasionally.
Eadyth’s brow furrowed in puzzlement at his odd motion. Then a soft smile touched her lips as, suddenly enlightened, she realized that he must have difficulty seeing things close up, just as her own father had.
So this was why he mistook her frowns for wrinkles and could not tell ashes from a gray complexion. Now she understood why the color of her hair and the deliberate stoop of her shoulders had fooled him so easily.
She almost laughed aloud with glee. This slight deception was not something she had planned originally, but any device that forestalled the distasteful touch of a lusty man would be more than welcome.
Eirik did not notice her quickly suppressed smile, so hard was he concentrating on his writing. Finally he expelled a long breath of satisfaction and leaned back in the chair, pushing the betrothal agreement toward her. The expectant gleam in his eyes warned her that she would not like the conditions he had set.
Eadyth carefully averted her face, knowing Eirik was watching closely as she read. His eyesight could not be too dim. After all, it did not lessen his abilities as a seasoned knight, if his reputation rang true. She had to remind herself to bend her shoulders slightly, as well, and occasionally she peered up at him through the open fingers of a hand coyly fanned over her lower face, as if his overwhelming masculinity turned her shy. Hah! She would have much to confess in this deceit when next she saw Father Benedict.
“Do you understand the words, my lady?”
“Yea, I can read well enough.” She continued to scan his words, then protested, “’Tis not necessary for you to provide a foster-lean for me. My father is dead.”
“A husband is expected to pay the father of the bride for past nurture. In his absence, I give you his due.”
Eadyth lifted her chin proudly, defiantly, and scratched that provision from the document. “Claiming paternity for my son is foster-lean enough for me.”
Eirik shrugged.
“And I do not crave any portion of your property as the morgen-gifu. My morning gift will be your promise of protection. You have already told me your estates will go to your brother.”
Eirik looked her directly in the eyes. “And if we have a son, or sons? What then?”
Eadyth felt her face flush. She wanted to remind him of the nature of this marriage, but could not find the words. Sons! “Have you mistaken my proposal of marriage for something other than a business arrangement?”
“A business arrangement! Never have I met a woman like you afore. Never!” he exclaimed, shaking his head from side to side with disbelief. He waved her protests aside with one hand and said, “Let it stand for now. With the dangers my brother Tykir faces daily, I will no doubt outlive him anyway.”
Then she read his last conditions and alarm swept over her like a heat flash. “I cannot accept what you ask of me.”
“Oh, what do you find objectionable?” he drawled, extending his long legs languorously, crossing them at the ankles. The worn fabric of his tight braies pulled taut on his thighs, and Eadyth stared, open-mouthed, for a lengthy moment at their well-formed contours. His surcoat had fallen back, exposing the wide chest of the same blue tunic he had worn yestereve. A few silky black hairs escaped the parted neck opening, but not her notice.
The edges of Eirik’s firm lips tilted slightly in a knowing smile, and Eadyth’s mouth snapped shut. She could have kicked herself at her betraying perusal. Willing her rapid pulse back to normal, she grumbled, “Must you flaunt your body so? You may think you can charm the very snout off a pig, but I am not one of your lackwit mistresses to swoon at your feet.”
Eirik just grinned infuriatingly. “Methought we were speaking of conditions here. Betrothal conditions.” He looked down at his thighs, then back at her, goading her silently to react to his taunt.
Eadyth cleared her throat irritably and pointed to the words he had scrawled at the bottom of her document. “Yea, I wouldst speak of your conditions. Firstly, I prefer to live at Hawks’ Lair. I see no reason to move myself and John here to Ravenshire.”
Eirik arched an eyebrow in question. “Have you no seneschal to serve in your absence?”
“Yea, I do. Gerald of Brimley, but—”
“Is he trustworthy?”
“Yea, but he only serves in my stead. I am needed, if for no other reason than to oversee my beekeeping.”
“Move the bloody bees here.”
Eadyth smiled condescendingly at his ignorance. “Bees are not like people. They do not just pick up their belongings and move from keep to keep.”
Eirik stared at her intently, and Eadyth squirmed under his scrutiny. She wished he would stop stroking the silken hairs of his mustache. It was disconcerting.
“Then leave the bees there. But you, my lady,” he concluded flatly, pointing a fi
nger in her face, “will live here with your son or there will be no marriage.”
“Why would you care where I live? ’Tis no love match atween us.”
“For certain,” he said drolly, casting a look of amused disdain her way.
Lord, she would like to smack the silly smirk off his disgustingly handsome face. “Methought you would value the freedom of my absence from Ravenshire.”
“What makes you think I would be less free with you here?”
Eadyth stiffened with indignation and pulled her head-rail forward to hide her emotion. Then she asserted, jutting her chin out proudly, “I could not abide having your lemans in the same keep as I.”
Eirik’s translucent eyes widened with surprise. Then he smiled with irritating mockery.
“My lady, you offend me. I have told you afore, and will not repeat it again. I am an honorable man. I would not disgrace a wife so.”
Casting a sidelong glance of skepticism at him, she asked, “Are you saying you would never take a mistress?”
She delighted in the flush that swept across his face and the way he squirmed in his seat. He refused to answer, just watched her closely with arms folded across his massive chest, stroking his infernal mustache the whole time.
“I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, Eirik. I have not asked you to give up your women.”
“Women! Oh, Eadyth, you do credit me with more endowments—and endurance—than I truly have,” Eirik remarked, shaking his head incredulously. “Where do you get these ideas of the many women I have?”
“’Tis said you fornicate like a rutting stag.” Oh, sweet mother, did I really say that?
Eirik inhaled sharply at the words she had blurted out without thinking, and his jaw tensed with outrage.
“You heard such said of me?”
“Well, not quite those exact words.”
“Then be more specific,” he demanded. “Who would insult me so? ’Twas Steven of Gravely, I warrant, the damned rumormonger.”
“Nay, ’twas not Steven,” she informed him, wishing once again that she could learn to curb her foolish tongue. Hastily, she added, “Actually, I think the words I heard in the marketplace were more like, ‘The Raven cannot pass a pretty maid without sampling her honey, and the women buzz with satisfaction at his pricking.’”
She shrugged her shoulders dismissively.
Eirik’s eyes almost popped from his head and his mouth went slack-jawed at her frank words. Then he exploded with laughter.
“Oh, Eadyth! The things you do say!” he finally choked out. “Ne’er have I met a woman with your blunt tongue. ’Tis too bad you…ah, well, a man cannot have everything.”
Eadyth somehow knew he was about to bemoan her age and ugliness. A small part of Eadyth shriveled inside at his unspoken words. The low estimation of this devilishly handsome oaf should not matter to her, but it cut nonetheless.
A thrum of alarm swept over Eadyth at her weakening resistance. What was happening to her usual good sense? Sitting up straighter, she vowed to maintain better control over her oddly churning emotions.
Forcing a bland expression to her face, refusing to show how the implied insult hurt, Eadyth persisted, “I still would know why you insist I stay here.”
“I wish to bring my daughters home. Remember? You promised to care for them.”
With relief, Eadyth nodded at his explanation, understanding now why he wanted her to live at Ravenshire.
“Well, perchance I could bring some of the bees here. Leastwise, ’tis what I promised in the dower agreement. Let us compromise, though. I will spend half my time here and half at Hawks’ Lair, taking the girls with me so that you are free to…travel or…or…whatever ’tis you do.” She refused to mention his other women again and open herself up for further ridicule.
Eirik grinned at her tiptoeing over the issue of his mistresses. “You will stay at Ravenshire,” he stated implacably, “and occasionally travel back to Hawks’ Lair, at my sufferance.”
Eadyth assessed him over the table, weighing her options. “I agree, on condition I may keep all proceeds of my beekeeping in a separate household account in my name.”
Eirik nodded stiffly.
“And you understand that Hawks’ Lair is to be held in your guardianship only ’til John reaches his majority.”
He nodded once again, piercing her with a withering glare. “I have no desire to take your piddling coins, nor your son’s inheritance. But there is one other condition which I demand, on which there will be no compromising—ever.”
His eyes were like shards of blue ice, glittering with some fierce emotion as he spoke. He clenched his fists so tightly that the knuckles whitened, and a pulse beat rapidly, disarmingly, as the base of his exposed neck.
For a moment, his suppressed rage frightened Eadyth, and she wondered once again if this marriage to the Lord of Ravenshire was such a good idea, after all. Truly, she did not know this man. He could be as bad, or worse, than John’s father. Was it too late to cry off?
With lightning swiftness, Eirik grabbed her chin tightly and forced her to look into the bottomless pools of his eyes.
“Understand me well, lady. There will be no contact betwixt you and Steven of Gravely.”
Eadyth gasped, but before she could speak, he went on in a controlled voice, “If ever I find you have so much as looked at him with yearning, or touched his putrid body, I swear afore the Holy Grail I will kill you both with my bare hands.”
The intensity of hatred in Eirik’s words momentarily stunned her. Then outrage took over. She stood angrily and sputtered, “How dare you imply I would have aught to do with Steven? I have already told you of his perfidy toward me and his devious plans to take my son John. You insult me by even thinking I could bear his repulsive touch.”
“You loved him once,” he pointed out accusingly.
Eadyth had explained her actions once. She stubbornly refused to do so again.
Eirik’s face remained rigid. “You will not play me false with Steven, my lady. Ever! Swear a holy oath. Assure me of your fidelity.”
Oddly, he did not demand that she shun other men, only Steven. She knew her reasons for hating Steven. What were Eirik’s? She started to ask, but his implacable expression told her that now was not the time. She sat back down, vowing to explore the mystery later.
“I give you my oath as an honest woman: I will never betray my marriage vows…with Steven of Gravely…or any other man.”
The harsh lines in Eirik’s face smoothed a bit, but then he grabbed her wrist and pulled it toward him on the table. She watched, mesmerized, as he laid her hand flat on the hard surface, palm up, and ran a forefinger back and forth lightly over the pale skin of her wrist.
The barest touch of his finger, a whisper of a caress, ignited sweet tingles of sensitivity which ricocheted sensuously up her arm, to her breasts, causing the tips to harden into tiny pebbles of aching need. Eadyth inhaled sharply, alarmed at this new feeling of helpless yearning. She tried to pull away, but Eirik held her hand fast.
His head tilted questioningly and his eyes narrowed as he studied her closely.
“When you are not frowning, you do not look so aged. How old did you say you are?” he asked, without warning, in a suspicious tone of voice.
Eadyth could see the erotic luminosity hazing his eyes and knew the touch affected him as much as it had her. At the same time, he obviously puzzled over his uncharacteristic attraction to an aging woman. Thank the saints for the dimness of the chamber. Before she had a chance to respond or turn her face away from his scrutiny, Eirik suddenly unsheathed a sharp blade hanging from the belt at his waist.
Good Lord! Was he going to kill her just because he felt a momentary lustful impulse for an old crone? She gasped and yanked futilely against his grip. The man had lost his senses.
Before she could guess his next move, he ran the razor-sharp blade across her wrist, then did the same to his own. In shock, Eadyth watched entranced as thin streams
of blood pooled on both their wrists. For a long moment, they both gazed at the twin wounds, the only sounds in the room the even, exaggerated echo of their breathing.
Gently, he pressed his massive hand across hers so the blood mingled and their pulses merged, then looked her directly in the eyes and stated in a firm, husky voice, “Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth.”
Heart hammering, Eadyth stared at him. Sweet Mother of God! He truly was a Viking barbarian. At the same time, she felt an irresistible pull toward him, a melting of her defenses that frightened her to the core.
Seemingly unaware of his devastating effect on her, Eirik adjusted his hand so that their fingers twined together and folded, wrist to wrist. Her tingling wound throbbed and changed character, became almost an erotic rhythm, a sharp counterpoint to her pounding heartbeat.
Oh, my!
“Now you repeat the words,” he demanded raspily, refusing to let her pull her wrist from its savage embrace with his.
In stunned silence, her eyes locked with his. She could not speak.
“Say the words, Eadyth,” Eirik coaxed.
“Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth,” she repeated softly.
Her world tilted askew then as something new and beautiful—and frightening—blossomed inside Eadyth’s chest and unfurled with exquisite, heart-stopping intensity. This was not the usual betrothal ceremony, presided over by church clergy, attended by family and friends, as solemn as the wedding ritual itself. It was better, and its heart-wrenching intimacy shook Eadyth’s long-frozen soul.
“Do you think this is binding?” she finally whispered.
“Yea, ’tis,” he answered softly.
Still holding her arm fast, Eirik pulled a ring from his tunic and slipped it on the third finger of her right hand. “’Tis the first of my arrha gifts for you. You will move it to your left hand after the wedding, symbolizing that you accept your new position of obedience.” He chuckled at his last word.
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