Eirik arched his eyebrows in disbelief. “Words fine enough for a poet, my brother. Have you been traveling with that warrior-skald Egil Skallagrimmson again?”
Tykir shook his head and laughed.
“Why, then, do I find it hard to believe that the man known for bedding the most beautiful women in every land is suddenly a connoisseur of inner worth?”
“Nay,” Tykir said, laughing, “you misread me. I did not say beauty was unimportant, just that ofttimes a man is, shall we say, blind to the beauty shining in his face.”
“You speak in riddles, Tykir. Mayhap you have had too much mead to drink. I am not blind.”
Tykir choked and sprayed Eirik with a shower of mead.
Brushing the wetness off his chest, Eirik shot him a look of disgust. “And speaking of beautiful women, Tykir, stay away from Britta. She is Wilfrid’s leman.”
They laughed together companionably, then stood as Eadyth approached, clasping on each side the hands of her son John and Eirik’s daughter Larise.
Larise’s blue eyes adored her father with childish worship. He felt guilty at his long neglect of his oldest child and was happy that Earl Orm had brought her home this morn—for good. Despite all his annoyance, he owed the earl much for his fine care of his daughter these many years.
His eyes turned to John. The seven-year-old boy was thin, like his mother, and would probably be as tall as he himself one day. In truth, Eadyth had been right. The boy’s black hair and pale blue eyes matched his perfectly.
He should hate this son of his worst enemy, but somehow Eirik could not blame the boy for his father’s sins. He held out a hand toward John, and the boy huddled closer to his mother’s knees, turning frightened, questioning eyes up to her. She nodded gravely and shoved him gently forward.
Eirik put an arm comfortingly around John’s shoulder and pulled Eadyth to his other side, and tucked her, as well, under his other arm.
Eirik motioned Tykir and Larise to stand on either side of John and Eadyth. Then they all turned to face the great hall, waiting for the silence of his retainers and guests.
When absolute quiet prevailed, Eirik said in a clear, authoritative voice that resounded across the length of the hall, “My friends and loyal supporters, I give you my wife, Eadyth of Ravenshire.” He leaned down and kissed her cool lips in homage before she could jerk back in surprise. The crowd did not seem to notice her instinctive reaction. It cheered, raising goblets in a toast to the newly wedded couple.
Then Eirik raised an arm for silence and introduced his brother Tykir, who received a grudging welcome. After all, Tykir had fought mightily against some of these very men the past few years.
His daughter Larise’s turn came next. Eirik smiled as she preened like a peacock at the cheers of approval.
When silence prevailed again, Eirik waited for several long moments before lifting John by the waist and setting him on the table in front of him. With one hand on John’s head and the other arm again holding fast the rigid shoulders of his new wife, Eirik announced, “My friends, I give you my true son, John of Hawks’ Lair and Ravenshire. ’Tis with the deepest pleasure I am now able to claim the paternity I have been unable to recognize these many years.”
A stunned silence greeted his words, then a low murmuring of surprise rippled through the crowd as understanding began to seep into their drink-muddled heads. Finally, Tykir overcame his amazement and raised his goblet, shouting, “To my nephew John, and my brother Eirik. May he be blessed with the family he has harvested thus far, and with the seeds he will plant in the fertile furrows of this new marriage.” He winked at the pike-stiff Eadyth.
The assembly did react then and joined vocally in the toast with cheers and shouts of good wishes.
Eirik chuckled as he felt Eadyth cringe at his side, knowing full well she objected to his brother’s words about seeds being planted in her fields.
Eirik squeezed her shoulder, just to see how she would react. He was not surprised when she jabbed him in the side with an elbow and hissed, “Mayhap I could put a few bees in your brother’s braies. Fertile furrows, indeed!”
Eirik grinned.
“I had a docile wife at one time, Eadyth. ’Twas not a pleasant experience,” he confided in a soft voice, leaning near her ear, liking the way the wispy fabric of her head-rail felt against his lips, feeling a sudden urge to taste her mouth again. “’Twill be interesting to test your feisty nature in the marriage bed.”
Discovering that he enjoyed teasing this new wife of his, he was greatly pleased at her gasp of indignation. She was too sanctimonious by far.
In truth, the bedding might not be so bad, Eirik told himself silently, especially since he would not have to look at Eadyth’s dour face or bony body in the dark of their bedchamber. If only he could put a gag in her mouth to halt her grating voice.
Her violet eyes flashed fiery sparks as if she divined his thoughts, and her chin jutted out angrily.
Eirik chuckled. Lord, he loved a good battle.
Actually, Eadyth was not truly upset over Tykir’s lewd toast or Eirik’s teasing ways.
When her new husband had acknowledged her son as his own in front of all the honored guests, Eirik had touched a spot deeply hidden in Eadyth’s long-frozen emotions. She would be forever thankful, and, in her present mood, would forgive him much—even a little light amusement at her expense.
She forced herself to lay a hand on Eirik’s arm when they sat back down at the table. In an emotion-choked voice, she told him, “Eirik, I thank you for your words regarding John. ’Twas more than I expected.”
Eirik looked pointedly at her hand, then raised an eyebrow in question. “Grateful, are you? Just how grateful?”
“Not that appreciative, you lusty lout.” Though she tried to frown, she could not prevent a small laugh from bubbling from her lips at his persistent teasing.
“Oh? And how do you know my meaning? Mayhap I was referring to an increase in your dowry—a few more coins, an extra ell of silk.” He chuckled aloud and added, “Or more bees.”
Eadyth shook her head disapprovingly. “Methinks your brother does not know you as well as he thinks.”
“How so?” He smiled easily.
Eadyth cringed inwardly at the tugging attraction she felt toward Eirik. She had thought herself immune to a man’s charm after her experience with Steven. And certainly she would not have expected herself to be drawn to a man as crude as the one she would now call husband.
Husband, she groaned silently. Oh, Lord.
She was having trouble even recalling the drift of their conversation. Oh, yes, now she remembered. “When I told your brother that he was just as frivolous as you, he told me I misspoke, that you have ever been the serious brother. To hear him tell it, you do not have a light-hearted bone in your body. But I know better. From the first we met, you have been teasing and making jest of me.”
Eirik grinned. “Tykir speaks true. I have been accused of being too somber. Mayhap you bring out the lighter side in me,” he offered silkily.
“Mayhap you play a pointless game if you hope to flatter me with sweet words. Save them for some lackwit maid.”
Eirik smiled in a maddening fashion, as if he knew females well, and she was just like all the rest.
“And what would soften your hard shell, my wife?” he asked in a low, seductive voice, reaching forward to blow against the wispy edges of her head-rail, seemingly fascinated with the fluttery fabric.
Eadyth steeled herself not to pull away in fright at the sweet smell of his breath, a mixture of the honeyed mead which she had brought from Hawks’ Lair and his own distinctive scent.
“A precious jewel? Would that tempt you?” Eirik went on, completely aware, no doubt, of his effect on her heightened senses. “Or fine silken robes? New tapestries to brighten the walls?” When she failed to react favorably to any of his suggestions, Eirik thought for a moment, then brightened. “How about a book of beekeeping notes from a Frankish monk? I seem
to remember such in Athelstan’s collection which he bequeathed to King Edmund.”
At the rush of pleasure that must have shown on her face, Eirik threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, wife, will you really be so easy to please?”
“In truth, I am very easy to please. You could never give me more than you have this eve in claiming John as your son. And I am grateful.”
She saw that Eirik was watching her closely, squinting slightly in the dim light, but she did not cower this time, and continued, “I promise in return for your favor that I will be the best wife possible. I will make this keep into a home again. I will bring order to your staff. I will help you prosper with my beekeeping trade. I will care for your children as if they were my own. I will—”
Eirik covered her hand with his own much larger one, and Eadyth’s eyes grew wide with alarm. She darted a quick look around the hall, but no one noticed his intimate touch.
Well, it was probably the husbandly sort of gesture expected at a wedding feast. But, Sweet Mother, the feel of his battle-callused palm was not repulsive to Eadyth. Far from it. Instead, an odd racing stirred her blood and fluttered in her chest.
Was this how she had felt with Steven, in the beginning? She tried hard to recall. No, these feelings were too strong, too primordial. Nothing like the sweet yearnings of the heart she had experienced with the Lord of Gravely before discovering his real nature.
She tried to pull her hand away, but Eirik chuckled and held her fast, turning her hand so it was palm to palm with his, fingers entwined. Only his thumb drew back, drawing tiny circles of sweet, sweet pleasure on the tender scar at her wrist.
A small smile played at the edges of Eirik’s lips as he gazed at her, and the flutters in her chest increased and moved to the tips of her breasts. Involuntarily, she looked down, then quickly away. She knew he could not see the hardened peaks through the thick fabric of her gown, but, even so, her face warmed with an embarrassed blush.
Eadyth slanted a look his way, and her face burned even hotter. Eirik was grinning like a cat with a bowl of spilled milk. He knew exactly what effect he had on her, no doubt from long years of practice on dimwitted females. Like her.
“Argh!” Eadyth growled aloud and tried harder to pull from his grasp, but Eirik just laughed and pulled her even closer, tucking her arm at his side.
“Why do you try to deny your passionate nature, Eadyth?” Eirik asked in a husky whisper. “And do not speak to me of your age again as if it mattered in the bed sport. ’Tis obvious to me that hot coals glow under your cool skin just waiting for the right tinder.”
“Tinder? Tinder? Best you keep your tinder in your braies, you lusty lout. And halt your wicked words. I have told you afore that I want none of your seductive words.”
“Why? Are you fearful of what you might feel?”
“Nay! I feel naught, and you are wrong to expect otherwise of me. Oh, Eirik, please, do not try to make this marriage into anything other than what it is—a contract.”
“And do you not think it would be wise to make the best of our…contract? Just a moment ago, you spoke of being the best wife possible. Did you mean in all ways except the true sense?”
Eadyth bristled. He was right. She had just promised to be the best wife possible, and now she argued with him again. Calming herself, she explained patiently, “I do not love you. You do not love me. We will never love each other.”
“Who spoke of love? I want naught of that brain-letting emotion. But the nights get cold in these parts and—”
“Oh, you are a brute to tease me so. Bring your leman here if you must, but leave me be.”
Eirik did not look pleased at her easy acquiescence to his mistress. Once again, she tried to pull from his hold, but to no avail. Instead, with his left hand, Eirik reached forward and touched the mole above her lip with the tip of his index finger. He smiled as if satisfied that the mark was still there. Then he traced the edges of her lips from one corner to the divot in the center where he stopped momentarily and sighed with pleasure, ever so softly, before moving his finger to the other corner and along the rim of the bottom lip.
“It would give me great pleasure, wife, to do the same with the tip of my tongue,” he whispered.
Eadyth’s breasts swelled and ached, and an odd fullness lodged in the secret place at the joining of her thighs. Her lips parted involuntarily.
No one had ever said such a thing to her.
“I am old and uncomely,” she protested weakly.
Eirik shrugged dismissively. “I had a woman twice my age in Frankland onct.” He laughed appreciatively at the memory. “Rather, she had me—for a full sennight. I will ne’er forget that experience as long as I live. I cannot remember thinking then that her age made much difference to the marvelous things she could do in a bed. And on the floor. And on a horse.”
Eirik looked at her, and his lips twitched with amusement. “Close your mouth, Eadyth.”
Her jaw snapped shut with a click. “On a horse?” she choked out. “You jest.”
Eirik smiled disarmingly.
Oh, what a nice smile! Eadyth thought. So dangerously nice.
“Wouldst like to try it sometime?” he suggested in a whisper.
“Nay! You are loath some, speaking of such…perversions to a lady.”
“To my wife,” he corrected with a grin, not the least bit apologetic.
“Did I hear someone mention making love atop a horse?” Tykir interjected behind them with a gloating smile.
Eadyth shuddered with humiliation and finally pulled her hand out of Eirik’s grasp.
Eirik just continued to grin.
“Hah! ’Tis too jolting a love ride, to my thinking,” Tykir went on, ignoring her embarrassment. “Now, I had a woman onct on the prow of my ship, in the midst of a storm, and the swell of the waves, up and down, up and down, well, I tell you ’twas remarkable to—”
Enough was enough! Eadyth stood abruptly and glared at them both before stomping off the dais, muttering, “Men! They are lecherous dolts with all their senses lodged betwixt their legs.”
Eirik and Tykir’s laughter followed in her wake, and she thought she heard Eirik say something to Tykir that sounded like, “Mayhap you were right about the swaying.” She looked back and was horrified to see them staring at her hips.
Later, Eadyth was in the kitchen with Girta giving orders for the clean-up of the dinner and replenishing of drinks when she heard a loud commotion in the hall. When she emerged, she saw a number of men wearing the Golden Dragon crest of the House of Wessex on their shields.
Oh, not more guests! Eadyth thought, moving toward the entrance to the hall where they spoke to Eirik with great animation and seriousness. Earl Orm, Archbishop Wulfstan and Anlaf, even Tykir, watched intently from the dais.
“My lord?” Eadyth asked questioningly as she approached her new husband. “Shall I set places at the table for your guests?”
Eirik motioned her closer with a jerk of his hand and introduced her to the three well-dressed men standing at his side. “My lady wife, I would have you meet Earl Robert of Leicester, Earl Oswald of Hereford and Father Aelfhead, one of the chaplains to our good king.”
“Greetings, my lords, and you, as well, Father Aelfhead,” Eadyth murmured, bowing her head courteously. She turned and told Girta and Britta to prepare food and drink for the dozen heavily armed retainers who stood in the background, their weary faces and dust-covered armor bespeaking a long and hasty journey to reach Ravenshire. Why? Eadyth wondered uncomfortably.
The knowing glances exchanged by Eirik and the king’s men told her that they did not wish to speak in her presence. She put her curiosity aside and asked Eirik if she should prepare bedchambers for the highborn guests.
“Nay,” Father Aelfhead interjected quickly, “we must needs return to Gloucester as soon as possible.” He cast a questioning look at Eirik as his bald head jerked nervously back and forth, scanning the assembly. Then he grunted with disgust as he saw
Archbishop Wulfstan standing on the dais, obviously preparing to move toward them.
Noticing the Archbishop’s intent, Eirik told Eadyth, “We will be in the private chamber off the great hall. Tell Wilfrid to make sure we are not disturbed.” When Eadyth nodded without questioning his intent, she saw a look of grudging approval flash over Eirik’s face before he added, “Dost think you could send us some food and drink? Especially the drink.” He turned to the three new guests and said with seeming pride, “My wife brews the best mead in all Northumbria.”
Eadyth was stunned speechless by his words of praise. Before she had a chance to step back, he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers in a feather-light caress, murmuring, “’Tis sorry I am, wife, to abandon you alone to the wedding feast. I know ’tis not the husbandly attention you deserve on this night.”
Amazed, Eadyth stared after him as he led his guests to the private room. Oh, she knew the kiss was just a gesture meant to perpetuate the charade of beloved bridegroom before the staring guests. But she could not help touching her lips in awe with the tips of her fingers, or imagining his taste still lingering.
More than that, she could not stop herself from wondering if the wedding night she had been dreading would be as bad as she had imagined. An odd thrill rushed through her, turning her face hot and her pulse racing as she thought of Eirik’s bedchamber abovestairs and the night to come.
Chapter Six
Eirik and his guests sat around a small table in the private chamber, their empty trenchers put aside and more mead poured into their goblets.
“The king asks that you come immediately,” Oswald said. “Even knowing of your wedding, he believes the situation of such urgency to demand desperate actions.”
“I heard yestereve from a passing wayfarer that another attempt was made on Edmund’s life,” Eirik said, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “Poison, this time.”
Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] Page 9