Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03]

by The Tarnished Lady

He laughed scornfully. “That part of a man’s body cares not whether a woman is beautiful or ugly as a mole. Nor does it trouble itself whether she oozes treachery like a running sore.”

  Eadyth snapped her mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge his hurtful words. She straightened to begin working on his chest, taking care to keep her face averted. The room was dim, and he kept swiping at his half-closed eyes in misery, but she could not be too careful.

  Even so, it was hard to still her hammering heart, which was unnerved by the lazy seductiveness of his stance. She found herself responding to his enticing nearness, despite her long history of disdain for the male touch, despite his cruel accusations, despite all that she sensed was dangerous to the self-control she so valued.

  Forcing a shrill tone into her voice, she hunched her shoulders a bit and asked, “Why do you keep accusing me of treachery? I have done naught to cause your distrust.”

  He shot her a withering look but said nothing.

  Moving through the wiry hairs that encircled his flat male nipples, she removed the last of the stingers there, then knelt to search out the stingers on his flat stomach. It was not a position she relished. Totally embarrassed, she studiously maintained a space between them and avoided looking down.

  “Can you not don some small clothes?”

  “Why?”

  “’Tis immodest of you to…to flaunt your body thus.”

  He laughed mockingly. “’Tis naught you have not seen afore with your lover. Or is Steven’s cock so different?”

  Eadyth blanched at his vulgarity. Then shock quickly yielded to anger. She lifted her fisted hand and prepared to punch him in his stomach, but Eirik grabbed her wrist and held it in a painful grasp.

  “Do not even think of striking me. In my present mood, I would not hesitate to hit you back.”

  “Your mother should have soaped your mouth as a child. You have a filthy tongue.”

  “I had no mother.”

  “Were you born under a rock?”

  He twisted her wrist tighter and scrutinized her coldly, as if contemplating whether to break the bone or not. Finally, he dropped her hand with a snort of disgust.

  Tears smarted her eyes, and she blinked to hold them back as she rubbed her sore wrist. “Why are you being so hateful? I have done naught to hurt you.”

  “You think not? Well, think again. The one thing I demanded of you afore signing the betrothal agreement was fidelity. Hah! The ink is barely dry, and you have spread your thighs for another. And our marriage not yet consummated!”

  Eadyth stiffened and tilted her head questioningly. “You think I have lain with another man?”

  “Yea, I do.”

  “Who?”

  “The bloody bastard—Steven. Who else?”

  “Are you daft? You know how I hate him.”

  “Nay, I realize now that I know naught of your true self. But know this, my lady wife, you will pay tenfold for your treachery, and I do not just refer to the bee stings.”

  Eirik’s ludicrous accusation cut Eadyth deeply, and the hurt soon turned to blood-boiling anger. She spun around and proceeded to walk toward the door, needing to be by herself to understand the charges he leveled against her. Perhaps Girta could explain. But Eirik grabbed her by the forearm and hauled her back.

  “Finish the work you started.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “You can do your neck and face yourself with the aid of a mirror.” She pointed to the framed piece of polished metal on his wall.

  “Nay. You will tend my bites—all of them. After all, ’tis you who caused them.”

  Eadyth opened her mouth to protest her innocence, then forced herself to remain silent. Until she understood what had happened in her absence, what prompted Eirik’s ridiculous belief that she had taken a lover, her protests would be meaningless.

  His eyes blazed blue fire at her, all-devouring in their intensity.

  “Sit down again,” she ordered icily. “And close your eyes.” She did not want him looking at her face this close up.

  Only a few stings remained on the sensitive skin of his neck, and those she easily removed. She was becoming quite adept at flicking her fingernail in just the right spot to pop out the stingers. Then she moved up to his face, which he lifted for her ministrations.

  The crinkles of humor that had formerly webbed his eyes and lips had somehow turned into marks of cruelty. Eirik’s long lashes lay like silky black fans against the shadowed underside of his eyes. He must not have slept much last night—no doubt, plotting ways to torture her on her return, she thought ruefully.

  Carefully, she held his stubbornly jutting chin in place, unable to ignore the angry twitch beneath her probing fingers. She removed one stinger close to his right eye. It would probably swell shut before nightfall. She brushed back several strands of his long, tousled hair to get at the four bites on his forehead and thought irrelevantly that he needed a haircut. The straight ebony hair hung down to his shoulders in the Saxon style, but was much too long.

  She was almost done. Thank God!

  “You have several bites in your mustache. Mayhap you should shave it off in order to get the stingers out.”

  “Why is your skin so smooth?”

  It took several moments for Eirik’s words to register. She realized then that his eyes—brilliant blue, like glacial ice—were wide open, and that he had been watching her closely. At close range.

  She frowned and hunched her shoulders, but it was too late.

  Eirik gripped her chin tightly in one hand and tilted her face to the light. “Your skin does not have its usual grayish tint today. Nor is it as wrinkled or aged as I had thought it to be.”

  Eadyth could barely control the trembling of her lips under his intent scrutiny. “I have been out in the sun a great deal in your absence. The bronzing of the sun enhances the healthy appearance of all skin for a while, do you not think?”

  He did not look convinced.

  “Besides, good skin runs in my family. ’Tis said my grandmother had nary a wrinkle when she died after fifty-two years.”

  Oh, Lord! Eadyth despaired. This should be the perfect opportunity for her to confess her masquerade, but in view of Eirik’s present mood she feared his reaction. With the marriage not yet consummated, he could easily put her aside. Dare she take a chance with honesty? Nay, she decided to wait just a bit longer until she had cleared up the misunderstanding about Steven.

  She needed to divert his attention. “Well, if you refuse to shave your mustache, at least close your eyes again so I can dig amongst the spiny hairs.”

  Eirik grumbled something, but the words were unintelligible with her left hand clamped over his mouth. Actually, the bristly hairs felt sensuously sleek under her probing fingers, and Eadyth could not help but remember how his mustache had felt during that one erotic, mind-jarring kiss in this very chamber.

  Eirik seemed to have remembered, as well, for when she stepped away, his voice was husky. “Are you done?”

  “Yea, but turn around again. I need to apply something soothing to the wounds to prevent swelling.”

  The servants had carried a tub full of steaming water into the room during her ministrations, as well as the salt and onions she had requested. She poured the entire crock full of salt into the bathwater, then turned to the table where her knife still lay. She sliced a large onion in half and began to rub it over Eirik’s back in a sweeping motion.

  “Aaah! That feels so good.”

  “I thought it would. Now, stand so I can do your legs.”

  As she knelt and worked briskly, Eadyth felt the powerful muscles of Eirik’s legs stiffen suddenly.

  “What is that ungodly smell?”

  “Onion.”

  With a curse, he reached down and pulled her to her feet. At first, he just stared incredulously at the white half-globe in her hand, then to the onion-induced tears which had begun to stream down her face.

  “God’s Bones! Do you truly dare to cover my body wit
h smelly onion juice? ’Tis a jest you play whilst my body is in misery?”

  “Nay, everyone knows that onion juice is the best thing to reduce the swelling of bee stings.”

  “Well, everyone can go to bloody hell.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him to the tub. He handed her a cloth and a bar of hard soap, ordering, “You will wash every drop of it off my skin or I will stuff onions down your throat ’til the juice comes out your ears.”

  He sank into the hot water, then immediately shot up, standing upright. “Ouch! That burns like hellfire. What is in the water?”

  “Salt.”

  Stepping out of the tub, he grabbed her by the forearms and lifted her off the floor so that they eyed each other, nose to nose.

  “You would rub salt in my wounds, as well? Truly, woman, you have passed the bounds of brashness and have now entered the arena of stupidity.”

  He shook her so hard she could not think clearly, then dropped her abruptly to her feet on the floor. She stared dumbly at him, his handsome face twisted into an ugly mask of fury.

  “How would you like it if I rubbed your body raw with sand, then put you in a tub of salt water?”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “Oh, can I not?”

  She backed away, stuttering in a rush of words, “You just do not understand…do not touch me…oh, now you got my gown wet…stop it…salt will stop the stings from swelling and prevent them from festering…truly, listen to me…oh, you loathsome lou…”

  She could say no more because Eirik picked her up and dumped her, clothes and all, into the tub, then dunked her head under the water. She came up sputtering, only to hear him say, “Whilst you are in there, wash that vile grease from your hair. It stinks.” Before she could answer, he pushed her head under again and held it there so long her nose began to burn.

  When she finally emerged from the tub, livid, her hair hung limply under her soaking head-rail and her wool gown made a huge puddle on the rush-clad floor. “You…you…you…,” she stammered, unable to come up with the appropriate words to describe his odious self.

  And Eirik just stood there in his naked magnificence, hands on hips, feet planted apart arrogantly, laughing his head off. When his fit of mirth finally passed, he said with dry amusement, “Well, I feel immensely better.”

  “You toad.”

  Still laughing, he threw her a linen cloth to dry herself and motioned her to the stool. Pulling on a pair of braies and a long-sleeved shert, he commented ominously, “Now we will discuss your treachery, and what to do about this ill-suited marriage we find ourselves in.”

  Eirik walked over to the small table near his bed and pulled a piece of crumpled parchment from the drawer. He smoothed it out on the tabletop, then turned and handed it to his wife, never speaking a word. Instead, he walked to the opposite side of the room and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to finish reading the incriminating words. His skin itched like hell, but he refused to scratch or apply her onion juice or salt water. He would wait until later and send Wilfrid to the local herbal woman for an ointment.

  “Well?” he asked finally when she had pondered the letter for an inordinate amount of time. “Have you naught to say for yourself?”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Britta found it under your mattress.”

  She lifted her eyes to him, horror covering her face. He shook his head in disbelief. She looked like a drowned rat with her greasy gray hair hanging in wet clumps under the sodden head-rail, onion-induced tears streaming down her face.

  “Do you realize what this means, Eirik?” she said anxiously. “Steven, or one of his men, has been in this keep.”

  “Tell me something I do not already know,” he remarked sarcastically, “like where the hell you have been the past four days. And with whom.”

  Eadyth waved his question aside as if it were of no importance. “At Hawks’ Lair. You know that already. But what I meant was that we must take better precautions if Steven can enter this keep so easily. He could have taken…oh, my God, he could have taken John.”

  “Yea, he could have. Just as you planned.”

  Eadyth’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. Blessed Lord, the traitorous bitch put on a good act. He could almost believe her innocence. “I never expected a maidenhead, wife, but neither did I expect to be cuckolded so soon after the vows were taken.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked stiffly. “Are you saying that you believe the lies in this letter? Do you imply I have been…involved with the man who tries to take my son from me?”

  “All facts point that way. And I have only your word that he seeks to do you harm,” he said, shrugging, as he walked up to her and removed the letter from her hands. “Hold on, love, just a short while longer till we can be together finally…,” he read in a mimicking voice, then, “Your heart’s husband, Steven.”

  Eadyth stood abruptly, knocking the stool over. Angry pink spots dotted her cheeks as she snarled, “You think I am Steven’s whore?” When he did not answer, Eadyth muttered under her breath, then exclaimed in a shrill, indignant voice, “You bastard! The only true statement in this missive is Steven’s reference to you as the Beast of Ravenshire. Yea, you are a beast to think thus of me.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but Eirik remained untouched. She had played him false with his hated enemy, and that he could not abide.

  “Knowing how evil Steven is, why can you not see this letter for the ploy it is? ’Twas planted to divide us in our intentions to hold his son from him. And he succeeded, thanks to your gullibility, you bloody fool.”

  She turned and stumbled blindly toward the door, as fast as her legs could carry her, hampered by her sodden garment. For a moment, Eirik wondered if he had judged her unfairly, but then he remembered the other, the most important part of the letter.

  “Are you breeding? With Steven’s child…again?”

  She gasped and her back stiffened. Then she turned slowly and her violet eyes flashed icily, remarkably beautiful eyes for an old crone, he thought irrelevantly.

  “Nay, I am not carrying a babe. Not unless you believe me capable of an immaculate conception.”

  Eadyth’s sarcasm irritated him. She had no cause to be affronted. He was the injured party.

  “I will not harbor another of Steven’s bastards,” he informed her. “One is enough.”

  Her cheeks turned even redder, and he noticed her fists bunching at her sides. Then she reached toward the scabbard at her belt, forgetting that her small knife still lay on the far table. He was not so dim-sighted he could not see the speculation in her eyes as she measured the distance, wondering if she had time to get the blade and stab him.

  “Do not even think it, or you will find yourself with a slit throat afore you can blink.”

  Giving up on that alternative, she lifted her chin defiantly, staring him down in silence. If she only knew how ridiculous she looked with her scowling countenance and her wet garments making a puddle in the rushes, he mused.

  “This marriage will not be consummated ’til you get your monthly courses and I know for certain you carry no bad seed.”

  “And when you are proven wrong?” she sneered, disdain giving a sharp edge to her voice.

  “I will decide then whether I want to live with another false wife.”

  “Another?”

  Eirik immediately realized his mistake, but refused to answer her question.

  She scrutinized him haughtily, then repeated her earlier statement. “I am not breeding.”

  He just raised an eyebrow skeptically.

  Her face turned crimson, but she met his eyes head on. “I am bleeding now.”

  That disclosure caught Eirik by surprise. Could he possibly have been wrong? But years of Steven’s treachery had taught him to be ever suspicious. He could not stop himself from doggedly persisting, “How do I know you do not lie?”

  Her lips curled scornfully. “What shall I do, my lord? Lift my robe and show
you the bloody rag?”

  Her contempt disarmed him. That and her demeanor of wounded pride.

  “Yea, that would be a good start.”

  She backed toward the door, eyes wide with fear at his suggestion. “You…you would not ask that of me,” she sputtered in a voice shaking with disbelief.

  “Do not place a wager on it. Come here, Eadyth, and prove your innocence.”

  She gasped and turned quickly, hand on the door, but he moved even quicker and placed his body at the exit, barring her way. She jumped away from him in fright, like a bedraggled cat, and moved back to the center of the room, looking right and left for a weapon, to no avail.

  “Oh, nay, oh, please, do not do this. You have misjudged me. I can expl—”

  Eirik cut off her near hysterical words when he lifted her by the waist and threw her back onto his bed with a loud whooshing sound. He followed close after her, as her arms flailed out, hitting and scratching his already irritated skin.

  Ignoring her enormous, doelike eyes, he straddled her body with his knees, holding her body in place, and locked both her hands over her head in one fist. Despite the fear she tried to hold in check, her chin lifted defiantly like a martyr’s.

  Eirik hesitated. What if she was innocent?

  “Tell me true, wife, have you ever, since we signed the betrothal agreement, deceived me?”

  In the charged silence, Eadyth did not speak for a moment, averting her eyes guiltily. By the time she started to speak tentatively, “There is one small thing…,” it was too late, to his mind. Her hesitation spoke for itself.

  Eirik snorted with disgust and pressed her tighter to the bed with his body.

  “You beast, I will never forgive you for this. Worse, you will never forgive yourself when you discover the truth.”

  “Nay, I will never forgive myself if I do not find out for certain if you have betrayed me.” Eirik, in a misty haze of utter fury, flipped her robe up to her waist, exposing long limbs.

  And the bloody rag between her thighs.

  Eirik looked up and saw the silent tears of humiliation seeping from her closed eyes. A nagging voice inside his head told him to release her, to be satisfied with the evidence he saw, but a berserk rage had overtaken his body. Blood roared in his ears as he passed the breaking point. He had been at the wrong end of Steven’s perfidy for too long to be satisfied with less than the ultimate proof. Even the bloody rag could be a carefully concocted ruse.