Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03]

by The Tarnished Lady

  When Eirik’s tongue plunged deep, then withdrew slowly, then entered once again, Eadyth’s knees buckled, and Eirik released his hand from her chin, using both hands to hold her upright. He smiled against her lips, then pushed her back slightly. With his forehead pressed to hers, he waited for several long moments, eyes closed, breathing raspily. When he finally seemed to have calmed down, he moved away from her with a soft laugh, but not before brushing his fingertips across her cheek in a regretful caress.

  “Ah, wife, I think we may be more suited than either of us ever thought.”

  The only sound in the room was the sputtering of a torch, which finally went out for lack of oil, throwing the room into even more shadows.

  “You are right, Eadyth,” Eirik continued in a low voice, “’tis not the time for a hasty coupling. Be forewarned, though—on my return I intend to resume that kiss where we left off.”

  Now that Eadyth’s roiling passions had settled slightly, she felt vulnerable, standing alone in the middle of the room, facing Eirik’s back. He stood near a small table, pouring a goblet of ale, which he downed in one long gulp before turning back to her. His eyes still blazed with passion, and the hard ridge between his thighs bespoke a raging arousal.

  “Nay,” Eadyth protested, remembering to add a shrill tone to her voice, “you are wrong. ’Tis just a contract atween us. Naught more. Do not expect lustful zest from me as a bed partner. ’Tis not my nature.”

  “How do you explain what just happened?” he asked with an eyebrow arched in amusement.

  “I was merely surprised,” she said weakly.

  “Hah! Remind me to spring a few more surprises on you in the future, and you may burn me to a crisp with your inner heat.”

  “Oh, you are crude.”

  “Yea.”

  “I am not wanton,” she cried.

  “I never thought so. Why would you think responding to a husband’s kiss is wanton?”

  “’Twas not as you think. It will not happen again, that I promise you.”

  “Oh?” Eirik said lazily, moving slowly, deliberately, toward her. “Shall we test the waters once again and see if you can bring them to a boil?”

  Eadyth jumped back with a shriek of alarm and moved quickly toward the door.

  “Yea, little beekeeper, best you buzz off now and send my squire to help me dress. Otherwise, I fear I will not be able to resist the temptation of your honey.”

  “Argh!” Eadyth exclaimed in frustrated rage. Slamming the door after her, she almost ran into Tykir, who was leaning against the corridor wall, examining his fingernails with nonchalance.

  “What is wrong with your lips, my good sister?” Tykir asked with exaggerated concern. “’Twould seem they have been bruised somehow. Mayhap you ran into a wall.”

  Eadyth shoved him aside in a most unladylike manner, muttering, “Loathsome louts. The whole lot of you are naught but loathsome louts. Probably descended from a line of louts. Runs in the blood, no doubt. Lout blood.”

  She was not amused by his laughter, which followed her down the stairwell, nor the words he called after her: “Imagine the fierce sons he will breed on you, all fine, loathsome louts.”

  A short time later, Eadyth stood in the torch-lit bailey amid the shifting horses, bidding Godspeed to her new husband. It was not the way she had envisioned her wedding night, but perhaps it was for the best, she decided. A reprieve. Their separation would give her time to prepare herself, and him, for the inevitable disclosure of her deception.

  In truth, Eadyth was amazed, and alarmed, that what had started as a harmless ruse had escalated to such frightening proportions.

  And the man before her now did frighten her.

  This was not the laughing, playful Eirik she had observed thus far. Sitting astride his massive destrier, her husband was a formidable knight. Long-sleeved, flexible mail encased most of his massive body, a chain-mesh hood hanging loosely at his neck. A pale blue, sleeveless tunic of fine Yorkshire wool hung down to his knees, accenting the translucent beauty of his eyes, apparent even in the shadowy courtyard.

  Pushing the noseguard of his helmet up so he could better speak, he leaned down toward Wilfrid, no doubt giving him last-minute instructions. When he finished, Eirik motioned his squire to hand him his heavy sword and the shield with the raven crest. Adjusting them with ease, Eirik then turned and noticed Eadyth.

  With the same abrupt hand motion he had made toward his squire, Eirik called her forward. Eadyth thought about resisting such a peremptory command, but, instead, lifted her chin haughtily in a manner she knew irritated him and stepped to the side of the restlessly shifting horse. The stupid beast did not intimidate her, despite its size. Animals she could control. It was human beasts that caused her trepidation, at times. Like the scowling one before her now. She would surely have difficulty manipulating him.

  Eirik raised an eyebrow at her feisty stance, but chose to ignore her insolence. Instead, he instructed her, “Wilfrid has authority to hire more hesirs to protect the keep. ’Twould be wise for you to stay inside the walls in my absence. Treachery abounds, and those who would harm me may attempt to work through you.”

  She nodded grudgingly.

  “Also, keep a tight rein on Larise. Hold her to your side at all times. And John, as well. Keep in mind that Steven will not give up easily.”

  Now, that danger Eadyth could understand.

  The snorting of horses precluded further conversation as King Edmund’s men moved their destriers closer to Eirik, impatient to be gone. Hastily, Eirik concluded, “Need I remind you to stay within the keep to avoid further contact with Gravely?”

  She shook her head, and Eirik gave her several more last-minute instructions. When he completed his directions and appeared about to lean down to kiss her in farewell, Eadyth hissed in a low undertone, “Do not dare think of embracing me in public. I will not abide it.”

  Truth be told, Eadyth did not want a repeat of the mind-shattering kiss that had taken place in his bedchamber a short time before. She needed time to get her confused emotions under firm control.

  But her husband obviously did not care for commands from a new wife. He tilted his head and challenged, “Do you say me nay already, wife? I think not.”

  Before she had a chance to blink, he lifted her by the shoulders, set her on his lap atop the horse and kissed her deeply, much more intimately than he had, no doubt, originally intended before her reckless defiance.

  It was not a pleasant kiss, like the earlier one. His chain mail dug into her chest. His gauntleted hands bruised the sensitive skin of her shoulders. And his lips pressed hard and brutal against her teeth, drawing blood.

  Eirik obviously meant the kiss to show his retainers and honored guests that he was lord and master. And to teach her not to challenge him again—in public or private.

  Eadyth seethed.

  When he set her down on the ground as quickly as he had picked her up, Eadyth rubbed the back of her hand angrily across her mouth.

  “Have you naught to say, wife?”

  “When a pig grunts, do you feel the need to oink?”

  Eirik snapped his noseguard down with a resounding click, hiding half his face, but not before she saw a matching fury in his eyes.

  “You will regret those hasty words, my lady. ’Twill be my pleasure when I return to teach you respect for your wedded husband.”

  Without another word, he rode off with the king’s men and his small group of retainers.

  The contest of wills had begun.

  Chapter Seven

  To her regret, Tykir prepared to leave the next day. Eadyth did not know how she would have survived the remainder of the wedding feast if it had not been for Tykir’s help. Once Eirik had gone, most of the hostile guests had snubbed Eadyth openly, but not when Tykir had stood, glaring, at her side. Some had gone to bedchambers which had been prepared for them earlier, others had departed hastily, no doubt brewing their deceitful plots.

  Eirik’s behav
ior at their leave-taking still infuriated Eadyth, but her anger was tempered a bit when Tykir leaned down from his horse and handed her a linen-wrapped parcel.

  “That had best not be the bloody shoe Eirik keeps trying to foist on me,” she remarked shrewishly.

  Tykir grinned. “Nay, my brother is saving that for another occasion. Eirik intended to give you this morgen-gifu this morn, after your wedding night…in appreciation of your pleasing him mightily in the bed sport, I wager.” He moved his eyebrows comically. “But methinks you need softening up now, afore his return, lest there be no coupling at all.”

  Eadyth snorted with disgust at his continual reference to the marriage bed, but then she gasped with delight when she opened the package and saw the priceless beekeeping book Eirik had mentioned earlier. He must have sent to King Edmund for it. She realized, too, that the king must truly regard her husband as a friend to part with such a precious book from the renowned collection bequeathed him by his half-brother Athelstan. No wonder he called upon Eirik in his time of need.

  She raised tear-filled eyes to his brother and said in a choked voice, “He could not have chosen better. In truth, I cannot remember anyone ever taking such care to choose a gift for me.”

  “Remember that, my sister, afore you snap his head off on his return,” he advised, with a wink.

  Tykir left then for his ship in Jorvik, gateway to all the world’s busy trade routes—Ireland, the Shetlands, Rhineland, the Baltics and farther. His solitary departure saddened her greatly for she knew not when she would see her new brother again. Picturing the busy market town, she wondered if Tykir would go to some exotic land, or back to his Uncle Haakon in the Norse lands, as his brother had insisted.

  “’Tis odd,” Girta said at her side, “that you readily accept Tykir as brother but cannot abide the idea of Eirik as husband.”

  “Humph!” Eadyth grumbled, walking back into the keep with her companion. “’Tis because I always yearned for a brother, but I detest the need for a husband. Especially a loathsome lout like Eirik.”

  “’Twas not always so.”

  Eadyth shot her a reprimanding look.

  But Girta ignored her and plodded along. “’Tis time you lightened up your countenance, girl,” Girta called back over her shoulder. “In truth, you are becoming as sour as the crone you pretend to be. Start looking at the fate God hands you as a gift, instead of a bane.”

  “Gift? You call Eirik of Ravenshire a gift?”

  “Mayhap,” Girta replied, her gray eyes twinkling merrily.

  Eadyth made a clucking sound of disgust. “For shame, Girta! You fall into the same trap as all the other feckless women, succumbing to a man’s silky tongue and roguish looks.”

  Girta smiled knowingly, as if Eadyth, too, fell in that category.

  “Is the Lord Eirik truly my father?” John asked later that day. He sat on a stool watching her put candles into wooden containers to be carried to her agent in Jorvik.

  “Yea, he is,” Eadyth lied unashamedly.

  John’s little face brightened. “He talked to me afore he left yestereve. He said I must needs take care of you, and he told me I could call him Father.”

  “Does that make you happy, dearling?”

  Her son did not hesitate before nodding his head vigorously.

  Eadyth was surprised and immensely pleased that Eirik had taken the time to speak with his new “son” in private. But her pleasure was short-lived.

  “All the other boys at Hawks’ Lair have fathers to teach them how to wield a sword, or snare a rabbit, or piss, or—”

  “John!”

  “Well, ’tis true. Lord Eirik…I mean, Father…showed me how to piss last night so I do not wet my braies. ’Twas just afore he rode off, out by the stables.”

  Eadyth’s mouth dropped open in consternation.

  “Men are different from women, you know, Mother,” he informed her as if imparting some superior knowledge. “They have to shake their wicks after pissing. I did not know the proper method ’til Lord Eir…Father showed me. And did you know Uncle Tykir can whistle and piss at the same time?”

  Eadyth barely stifled a grin.

  “Do you think Father will teach me how to curse when he returns?”

  “Certainly not! And I hope you will not be using such coarse words again in my presence.”

  “What words?” John asked innocently. “Piss or wick?”

  “Both,” Eadyth choked out. “And if you repeat them again, I swear I will soap your mouth.”

  “Will you do the same to Father? He says both words. And he knows a goodly number of curses. You should have heard the one he said when Master Wilfrid congratulated him on the wedding. And—”

  “Enough!”

  The next day Eadyth set to work. She gathered all the servants together, both free and thrall. Since her departure three sennights ago, their numbers had increased dramatically, no doubt due to the spreading word of the master’s return and betrothal. In the castle ledger, which Wilfrid handed over to her, she listed all their names and particular talents so she could more efficiently assign them duties.

  A much-changed Bertha would continue to rule over the kitchens with the aid of numerous scullery maids, kitchen boys and servers. Britta and two young thralls took over care of the bedchambers. Theodric, another longtime servant of Ravenshire, would rule the great hall with his underlings. Others were assigned to the laundry, dairy, buttery, brew house, poultry coops, stables, livestock, smithy and kitchen gardens.

  Godric, the orphan child, would be her personal errand boy, not to mention a companion to her son John, who had already acclimated himself to his new home, and his new “sister” Larise. In fact, the three of them had quickly become fast friends, screeching with glee as they dashed through the keep, around the vast bailey and in the orchard with Prince barking happily at their heels. Because of the threat from Steven, they were heavily guarded at all times and never permitted beyond the inner castle walls or kitchen gardens.

  The mood throughout the castle and surrounding keep seemed to lighten and expand under the influence of the children. Bertha grumbled, “The bloody buggers will no doubt curdle my fresh cream with their endless shrieking.” But even she could not help but smile as the trio scampered through her kitchen, coming to a skidding halt as they stopped to swipe manchet bread or a slice of cheese, then resumed their squealing excursion.

  Eadyth had to ban them from her bedchamber when they teased Abdul until his squawking could be heard all the way to the bailey. And yet, the foolish bird actually seemed down-spirited when the children were not about.

  Eirik’s retainers cursed the youngsters when they approached the exercise yards, but were seen on one occasion teaching them how to shoot an arrow straight and true into a moving target. In a way, Eadyth thought, the carefree children represented hope and rebirth for Ravenshire, which many had considered doomed to abandonment.

  By the end of the week, the castle was clean and running efficiently. Eadyth would have liked to launch many castle projects, but could not until she knew more about Eirik’s financial situation. Having little to work with—no bright tapestries or fine furniture—she had to settle for clean.

  Still, she envisioned a solar built next to the second-floor bedchambers for a family sitting area. And the timber chapel at the edge of the bailey, little more than a hovel, must be rebuilt. All the beds needed new linens and hangings. The now rustless battle weapons hanging from the walls had been polished to a fine sheen, but the few tapestries and banners which lined the walls drooped threadbare with age and neglect. The kitchen sorely lacked utensils—knives, spoons, ladles, even cauldrons. Apparently much had been pilfered over the years of Eirik’s absence. And fabric must be purchased to sew new clothing for the servants, as well as for Eirik and his retainers.

  When she had done all she could inside, Eadyth rode outside the keep with Wilfrid. It was not as pleasant an experience as it could have been, since she had to continue her disgui
se—hunching her shoulders, maneuvering her head-rail, screeching her voice, cackling occasionally. She maintained her tiresome facade around all the servants, as well.

  She saw an odd expression on Wilfrid’s face occasionally when he did not think she noticed. It would not do for her husband’s retainers to discover her duplicity before she had a chance to end this foolish masquerade on Eirik’s return.

  As they rode the vast estate, handing out seed to the free cotters who had begun to return, they discussed hopes for a bountiful spring crop of oats and barley.

  “The farmland is rich,” Wilfrid commented. “I followed your suggestion for plowing in narrow strips of three sections—the first for the spring sowing taking place now, the next for the fall crop of winter wheat, and the third to lie fallow for one year.”

  “And you will allow the few cattle left at Ravenshire to graze the fallow fields and the stubble after harvesting the spring crops?”

  “Yea, my lady. You have reminded me three times now.”

  Eadyth smiled at Wilfrid’s mild rebuke. “I do have a tendency to nag betimes.”

  Wilfrid rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “The cotters’ huts are in deplorable condition,” Eadyth complained as they left the fields and traveled through the village.

  Wilfrid shrugged. “The castle defenses and the planting come first.”

  Eadyth started to protest, then closed her lips. As before, she did not know if Eirik had the funds to undertake such renovations.

  Eadyth was particularly saddened to see that the estate once known for its fine Yorkshire wool was now devoid of any sheep. “Do you think Eirik would object to our starting a new fold of sheep?” she asked tentatively. At Wilfrid’s look of exasperation over all her plans, Eadyth added, “Of course, ’twould be a small fold at first.”