Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03]

by The Tarnished Lady

  The three men nodded gravely.

  “And is his brother Edred—that misbegotten cur—responsible?”

  “No doubt,” Robert opined, “though it cannot be proven, of course.” He shook his head woefully. “Our king could live one sennight or a hundred. No one knows for sure, except our Good Lord, but many say Edmund is doomed to a short life, the way the attacks have been increasing.”

  Eirik had heard as much but was still greatly saddened at the prospect of losing such a good man. As young as he was, Edmund tried earnestly to follow in the footsteps of his brother Athelstan, the warrior-scholar, the first “King of All Britain.”

  “Already the vultures await Edmund’s death to divide the kingdom,” Robert went on, “and a devious lot they are, led by the likes of Steven of Gravely.”

  Eirik’s back straightened at the mention of his hated enemy, but he said nothing.

  “Even as he fights off his assassins, Edmund worries over the new influx of Norsemen from Ireland,” Robert added, running his widespread fingers anxiously through his hair.

  “And ’tis the very vipers who inhabit your hall that cause him so much distress,” Oswald accused.

  Eirik bristled. “Do you question my loyalty to my liege lord?” he asked hotly.

  “Nay,” Oswald said, backing down, red-faced at his hasty words. “But ’tis jarring to see the very men who would devour our king sitting about your hall in companionship.”

  “Oh, do not call it companionship. More like…what shall I call it?…let us say a fishing expedition.”

  “And you the whale?” Oswald asked with a chortle.

  They all laughed, and Oswald’s tense posture eased as he commented, “I wonder what other sea creatures they will snare as they troll the troubled waters of Northumbria.”

  “No doubt there will be many,” Eirik admitted. “We all know Anlaf itches to regain the Norse kingship of Northumbria. And many there are who would follow him to shrug off the Saxon yoke.”

  “And the wily Wulfstan backs him, I wager,” the cleric added from the corner where he had been sitting, quietly nursing his goblet of mead.

  “Yea, he does,” Eirik admitted. “Long has he supported the Norse cause from his pulpit in Jorvik, but even more so in his clandestine meetings throughout the shires.”

  “And Orm?” Oswald asked warily, knowing Earl Orm and Eirik shared a Norse heritage. “Does he join in their cause or will he play both sides of the coin, as usual, waiting to see which way the winds will blow?”

  Eirik weighed his words carefully before answering. “I know that Orm, and Wulfstan, as well, prefer my uncle Eric Bloodaxe to Anlaf. Eric flatters the Norse nobility in Northumbria, tantalizing them with the prospect of an independent Northumbria under a king of royal blood. So, yea, I think ’twould be accurate to say that Orm and Wulfstan support a Norse infiltration, whether from Dublin or the Orkneys.”

  “The Orkneys—’tis where Eric Bloodaxe has been gathering forces since your other uncle, Haakon, expelled him from Norway, is it not?” Oswald asked.

  “Yea, and a bloodthirsty bastard Eric is. Even so, many see promise in him.”

  “Will you come with us tonight? Will you answer your king’s summons?” Oswald finally asked.

  “I still do not understand. What does the king think I can do to avert the Norse threat? Troops already gather throughout Northumbria, day by day, even from across the seas, just waiting for the king’s death afore springing into action.”

  “’Tis because you are both Saxon and Viking that the king thinks you may intervene. Even though he has Malcolm’s pledge of loyalty, he mistrusts him mightily. Edmund would have you go to Malcolm and try to divine his true feelings, find out if he plans betrayal once again. In truth, the king wishes to avert fighting, and, with Malcolm behind him, that is still a possibility. If Malcolm reneges on his oath, a bloodbath will surely follow.”

  Eirik saw the logic in their words but still he resisted being the emissary.

  “Come back with us tonight and give Edmund a chance to plead his case,” Oswald urged. “Let him explain the details to you.”

  The cleric stood then and walked wearily over to Eirik’s side where he handed him a leather-wrapped article. “Edmund sends you this gift,” the priest said softly. “He said you would know how much he needs your help when you see it.”

  Eirik’s shoulders sagged wearily when he recognized the crucifix inside. Ever the collector of relics, King Athelstan had cherished this one more than any other since it contained the eyelashes of his favorite saint, St. Cuthbert. He had bequeathed it to Edmund on his death. In giving it to Eirik, Edmund was telling Eirik of his high regard. But, more, Eirik knew Edmund would not part with this precious remembrance of his brother unless he felt his life or his kingdom depended on it.

  In that moment, Eirik accepted that he had to obey his overlord’s wishes. Even if it meant abandoning his new wife to celebrate their wedding feast alone.

  God’s Bones! he thought ruefully, smiling to himself, if the wench was shrewish before, she would be furious now. Mayhap he would ask his brother Tykir to break the news of his departure to her. Nay, he decided immediately, it was not a task he would push on any other.

  He stood abruptly. “Please rest and help yourselves to more mead. By your leave, I go to prepare myself for our journey.”

  Outside the room, he told Wilfrid, “Send my squire to help me prepare for my departure. And tell Sigurd and Gunner they will accompany me with six other hesirs of their choice.”

  “And Lady Eadyth? What shall I tell her?”

  Eirik rolled his eyes. “Tell her to come to my bedchamber.”

  Eadyth was decidedly uncomfortable in the great hall once Eirik had left. Oh, she knew that with the wedding she should now consider herself the Lady of Ravenshire, but the fine guests made it more than obvious that they did not regard her as such.

  Eirik’s knights and housecarls showed no disrespect. In fact, some appeared ready to jump to her defense if the noble guests offended her further. Apparently, Eirik had given orders after the disastrous betrothal feast that his retainers must treat her with the respect deserving of his lady wife.

  His high-born visitors suffered under no such obligation. As she moved among them, replenishing their goblets of mead, attempting light conversation, Eadyth was shown too clearly that her scandalous past would never escape her.

  “Lady Eadyth, will you be attending court now that you are wed?” Aldgyth, daughter of Earl Orm, asked snidely, looking at the other gentle ladies who sat next to her, snickering behind coy fingers. Her father was off to the side, talking animatedly with Anlaf and Archbishop Wulfstan, along with the knights who husbanded the visiting noblewomen.

  Eadyth shrugged. “I have no particular inclination to participate in King Edmund’s court, though ’tis said the scholars and artisans he gathers there from afar are very interesting.”

  One lady commented, “Yea, ’tis said you are fair bookish for a woman.” The remark was not made in a kindly fashion, and several of the women giggled as if they shared a private jest.

  “But, Lady Eadyth,” Aldgyth continued, “are there not other reasons for attending court, aside from improving the mind? Such as…” She flicked her dainty hand airily as her words trailed off.

  “Such as what?” Eadyth asked suspiciously in an icy voice.

  “Oh, let us say…the renewal of old acquaintances.”

  Eadyth realized that Aldgyth was referring to the father of her child and rumors of her scandalous liaison with some unnamed nobleman. Would it never be forgotten? Or forgiven? Apparently, Eirik’s claims of paternity did not convince everyone.

  “Aldgyth, let us be perfectly candid with each other,” Eadyth said with forced patience, much like a mother speaking to a dull-headed child. “I had the misfortune many years ago to succumb to the charms of a handsome man.” Well, that was not entirely a falsehood. The fact that the man in question had been Steven, not Eirik, need not be me
ntioned. “My foolish heart led to the birth of my son John, whom I love dearly. Now, you may choose to believe that I pine for another man, but I had hoped my marriage today would put those stories to rest. Apparently, my heart is still foolish in some ways, though, because it did not take into account the mean-spiritedness of some people.”

  Her eyes swept the ladies to let them know she referred to each of them in her condemnation. Aldgyth’s face turned bright red and her chin lifted arrogantly as if she cared not how Eadyth regarded her, but the other ladies had the grace to drop their faces in shame. One even murmured softly, “My apologies, Lady Eadyth,” as she swept by them and stepped off the dais.

  Wilfrid approached her, worry creasing his handsome face. “Lady Eadyth, my lord asks that you come to his chamber immediately. He must speak to you. I will stay to entertain your guests.”

  Uneasily, she hastened up the enclosed stairway and through the torch-lit corridor to the bedchamber she knew to be her husband’s. Eadyth sensed that his summons was related to King Edmund’s representatives, and that it boded ill for her.

  When she knocked, then entered Eirik’s large chamber, she had to blink her eyes several times in the dimness. The few candles and smoking torches in wall brackets barely lit the large room, and no fire was laid in the hearth on this warm May night.

  When her vision cleared, Eadyth stepped back with a gasp.

  Eirik stood barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only his tight-fitting braies slung low at the waist. His broad shoulders and well-shaped chest, covered with silky black hair, tapered to a narrow waist and hips. The flat brown nipples in the midst of the finely molded muscles drew her attention, and Eadyth felt an odd pulling in her breasts.

  Raised in a keep of fighting men, she had seen many men in various stages of nudity. But her new husband was a rare fine specimen, Eadyth had to admit.

  Oh, Lord.

  She forced herself to concentrate on other things. Eirik was talking to his brother while a squire laid out a padded undertunic, a hauberk of flexible chain mail with an attached coif and matching mail chausses, cross-gartered leather boots, his helmet and shield with the embossed raven, and all the other trimmings of a warrior.

  Before she had a chance to ask the significance of the battle gear, someone said, “Kiss me, dearling.”

  “What?” she choked out, looking questioningly at Eirik near the darkened alcove. He had just turned, noticing her arrival.

  “Show me your legs.”

  “What did you say?” Eadyth asked him stonily, humiliated that he would request such a thing of her, especially in front of his squire and his brother. His true nature would come out now, it seemed.

  “Kiss me, dearling.”

  “Kiss yourself, you bloody fool,” Eadyth exclaimed, her face flaming hotly with embarrassment. Was he drunk? she wondered. His voice sounded oddly hoarse.

  Eirik and Tykir burst out laughing as some sort of realization seemed to pass between them. She shifted impatiently from foot to foot, unamused by their laughter.

  When Eirik finally plopped down on the bed and Tykir wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, Eadyth noticed a large gilded cage behind them containing a huge bird of many bright colors.

  “Oh,” she said with pleasure, moving closer. She had seen such exotic birds from the East in the marketplace of Jorvik, but never up close.

  “Wicked wench!” the bird shrieked. “Would ye like to see me arse?”

  Eadyth jumped back with a gasp at the vulgar words. She turned to the two brothers. “Whose coarse-tongued animal is this?”

  “Yours,” Tykir said with a laugh, patting her on the shoulder. “’Tis my wedding gift to you.”

  “Mine?” Eadyth asked hesitantly, not sure she was pleased with the gift, and reluctant to accept it. “What would I do with such a foul-mouthed bird? Did you teach it to speak?”

  “Wicked wench!” the bird opined in what almost seemed a dry tone of human voice. It had a particular talent for mimicking the voices it heard, especially Eirik’s.

  She looked at the bird suspiciously. Surely, the feathered lump had no intelligence.

  Tykir laughed. “The men on my ship passed the hours during a recent trading voyage teaching Abdul such words. Do not blame me. Leastways, I am sure you can persuade him to more genteel language. Do you accept my gift, sister?”

  Eadyth eyed the bird warily, not so sure the animal could be refined. Abdul lifted its beak and stared back at her arrogantly. When she finally softened and nodded her head, the bird said roguishly, “Show me your legs.”

  Eadyth had to laugh then.

  “Do I not at least deserve a sisterly kiss for my gift?” Tykir asked with mock shyness.

  “Yea,” Eadyth agreed, moving closer. “’Tis a fine gift—a most unusual one, to be sure, but one I think I will grow to enjoy.”

  Before she had a chance to react, Tykir lifted her by the waist so she was at eye level and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then he hugged her so hard she could barely breathe.

  “Enough,” Eirik said finally, pulling his wife from Tykir’s arms forcefully. “Go play your games elsewhere.”

  When Tykir grinned mischievously at his brother, Eirik told him to take the squire with him. “I wish to speak with my lady wife. Alone.”

  The instant the door closed, she turned to her husband, being careful to stay in the shadows, out of his range of vision. “What is the meaning of this?” She waved her hand to indicate all the battle raiment laid out for him.

  “King Edmund summons me to his side.”

  Eadyth frowned. “This night?”

  “Yea. He sends me on an important mission. ’Twould seem I cannot delay.”

  “Of course, you must go if you are needed.”

  Eirik frowned, obviously displeased by her easy acceptance of a separation on their wedding night.

  “Will Tykir go with you?”

  Eirik made a rude sound. “Not bloody likely. King Edmund would just as soon lop off his head as welcome him to his court.”

  “Then he will stay at Ravenshire?”

  “Nay, I want him to return to Norway immediately. Anlaf and Orm and Wulfstan brew much trouble here, not to mention my uncle Eric Bloodaxe. The instant King Edmund dies—and it could be any day if his assassins persist—fighting is sure to erupt. I have urged Tykir to stay out of the battle this time.”

  “And you?” Eadyth asked, strangely concerned that Eirik might be placing himself in danger, as well. “Will you be able to stay out of the fray?”

  “I doubt it,” he admitted wearily.

  “Is that why the king summons you?”

  Eirik’s face deliberately closed into a blank expression, betraying nothing. Eadyth realized then, sadly, that he did not trust her wholly.

  “I do not wish to speak more on Edmund’s plans. I have too many other things to tell you.”

  He went on to explain that he would take only a few men with him. “Wilfrid will stay to defend the keep in case of danger. Also, I have begun reconstruction of the castle walls. Let the stoneworker you brought from Hawks’ Lair continue with that work. He will know how to proceed.”

  She nodded, listening carefully to all his instructions about the everyday running of the keep.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I cannot be sure. I hope no more than six sennights.”

  Eadyth nodded. “Mayhap, if the opportunity arises, you may get Edmund’s approval on our marriage, plant the seeds of your paternity for my son.”

  “I had thought the same, and if the Witan is in session I will put the formal petition afore them. But I suggest you start referring to John as our son if you want people to believe the tale.”

  Eadyth thought of telling him that the noble ladies belowstairs did not believe his claim of paternity one whit, but decided he had enough to worry about now.

  Eirik moved to the bed and picked up his akerton, the padded undertunic which would protect him from the chafing of the metal coi
ls of his armor. She moved closer and offered, “Can I help you?”

  Eirik looked at her thoughtfully, holding the garment in midair, as if he had just realized something.

  “The marriage has not been consummated, Eadyth, and those who feast below must know that. It could be a danger.”

  Eadyth could not stop the flush of embarrassment that heated her neck and moved up her face.

  Eirik laid his tunic back on the bed and moved closer. “We could do it quickly now.”

  “What?” Eadyth cried in a voice shrill with alarm. She needed time to prepare herself for that ordeal.

  Eirik laid a hand on her arm and pulled her forcefully into his embrace. Eadyth twisted futilely, trying to escape his iron clasp and his close scrutiny. It was dark in this section of the room, but she could take no chances.

  “Nay, I wouldst wait, my lord, ’til we have more time. The danger is not truly so great, in my opinion. I have been in your room alone for so long now that some, no doubt, believe the deed is already done.”

  Eirik regarded her with amusement before putting a palm to her chin, holding her face in place. His other arm wrapped around her waist. With a jerk, he pulled her forward into the cradle of his outspread thighs, and Eadyth inhaled sharply at the first touch of his manhood against the apex of her womanhood, at the caress of his bare chest against the thin silk fabric over her breasts.

  Eirik chuckled softly and took advantage of her gasp of surprise, lowering his mouth to hers, using the tip of his tongue to do that intimate thing to which he had alluded earlier. First, he brushed the wet tip against her mole, than traced the edges of her parted lips with deliberate, lazy languor, sighing with seemingly exquisite pleasure.

  Eadyth forgot to hunch her shoulders. She forgot to flinch at his touch. She forgot to scowl. She forgot to protest in a shrewish, cronelike voice.

  In truth, Eadyth forgot everything except the sweet, sweet sensation of warm, firm lips moving over hers, shaping her lips to his satisfaction. When his mouth finally closed over hers in a mind-consuming kiss, Eadyth could not stop herself from arching against him. He sucked the very breath from her, but Eadyth could not care. She parted her lips wider, wanting more. Eirik groaned against her lips, then tested the new territory of her mouth with his tongue. Eadyth welcomed his entrance, unfamiliar with such tongue kissing, but liking it ever so much.