“The wise man advised the caliph to set aside five hours to peel the petals of the lotus flower. For the first hour, there was to be absolutely no touching. Both the man and woman were to remove their clothing and just talk. They could share a glass of wine, mayhap, to relax, and the man could tell the woman what he was going to do. Of course, the woman could tell the man what she would do, as well, but if she was shy, mayhap she would just discuss what she liked having done to her. And if she was really timid, perchance she would just nod when he hit on something particularly tantalizing.”
“Oh, you truly are beyond belief, Eirik, telling me such ridiculous tales. I think ’tis beyond time you went to visit your mistress in Jorvik. Mayhap Asa could cure you of your lecherous delusions.”
Eirik stiffened. He did not like the idea of Eadyth dismissing him so easily. And, oddly, he did not like the way Eadyth accepted his mistress. ’Twas unnatural.
“I do not want to make love with Asa right now. Actually, I am thinking more these days of you in my bed.”
Eadyth was stunned speechless. In fact, he was stunned himself at his disclosing so much of his secret inclination. But he took advantage of Eadyth’s momentary silence and hurried on with his imaginary tale before she regained her shrewish tongue.
“During the second hour, they would only kiss, but then there are many kinds of kisses, as you undoubtedly know. Involving all parts of the body.”
Eadyth gasped with indignation and stood as if to leave his abominable presence. “You…you—”
He pushed her back in her chair and continued, “By then, of course, she would have already had one of her…uh, peaks, and then—”
“Peaks?” Eadyth sputtered.
Now Eirik was at a loss for words. His naive wife, even though she had lain with a man and birthed a child, did not know what it meant for a woman to climb the mountain of sexual arousal and explode with erotic pleasure. He searched carefully for the right words before saying, “You are no doubt aware that a man becomes mindless with pleasure during the bed sport when the coupling comes to a, well, a peak. The same can be true for a woman.”
“Mindless! And that is a pleasure to be sought? I do not think so.”
Eirik grinned, rushing to finish before she throttled him, or something worse. “During the third hour, they caress each other’s bodies, learning all the secret places that heighten sensations. The woman would, of course, peak another time. Or two.” Are you listening, Eadyth? Or just trying to catch flies with your open mouth. God’s Breath, I can think of a better occupation for those luscious lips.
She finally regained her senses and snorted with disbelief. But she did not rise from her chair. Apparently, his story had caught her interest.
“During the fourth hour,” he went on blithely, “she must lie perfectly still while the man explores her breasts and the womanly folds between her legs.”
“Oh, you are a horrid, horrid man,” Eadyth cried, her face flaming bright red. “How could you say such perverted things to me, a lady?”
“Not a lady. My wife,” he corrected, “and ’tis not perverted, what goes on atween a husband and wife. Nay, do not leave ’til I have finished.”
She stood, glaring down her condescending nose at him. Well, he would finally bring her haughty chin down a notch or two. “During the fifth hour, the man would finally bury himself in her welcoming sheath, and she would no doubt peak and shudder into mindlessness another few times.”
Eadyth was scowling mightily, obviously no longer believing his tale. At that moment, her face had turned so purple with rage and crinkled with frown lines that he could almost believe she was as old and ugly as she pretended.
“And just how many times would the man be ‘shuddering’ and ‘peaking’ during all this excessive bed play?”
“Oh, ten or twelve times,” he lied with a straight face.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Eirik was amazed that his usually bright wife did not recognize the absurdity of his exaggeration. Best you be careful, man, he chided himself, or she will expect more of you than you can deliver.
Eadyth was staring at him, open-mouthed with astonishment.
“So now you know the story of the caliph and the five-petaled lotus,” he concluded with a flourish.
Forcing her composure back to its usual iron self-control, Eadyth mumbled something about loathsome louts as she picked up the soiled garments again and sailed indignantly toward the door.
“So will you make me a five-hour candle?” he called out to her rigid back.
“When hell freezes over and angels wear ice skates,” she replied frostily, never bothering to turn. She slammed the door loudly behind her.
Well, at least he had forestalled her confession. For the time being. But he knew he could not put her off forever.
So what could he do next to prevent her from telling all her secrets before Sigurd returned? And, of course, prickle her infuriating, so-sure-of-herself pride, at the same time?
Eirik smiled at a particularly delicious idea.
Chapter Twelve
Eirik was driving her mad.
“I have to talk to you,” Eadyth insisted as she crawled into his bed that night. She desperately wanted to confess her foolish masquerade. In fact, hour by hour, she was becoming increasingly fearful of her fate if she did not.
But concentration came hard when her husband’s nude body lay only a hairsbreadth from hers, and he showed absolutely no interest in consummating their wedding vows. If he yawned, open-mouthed and loudly, one more time, she might just shove their marriage agreement down his throat.
“Eirik, stop that rude yawning and look at me.”
“Yawning is rude? I did not know that. See, you are good for me, Eadyth. You teach me so many significant things.”
Eadyth slanted a suspicious look at him. Was he mocking her? “Eirik! Stop changing the subject. I want to tell you something important.”
“Nay, ’tis too hot to talk. I can scarce breathe with all these bed linens.” He looked pointedly at the one covering her naked body. “And every time you have ‘something important’ to tell me, it involves more work. You make my blood boil when you nag at me, and ’tis already too stifling in here.”
“Mayhap ’tis all these candles you have lit.” She looked about the bedchamber where a dozen candles burned wastefully at his insistence. Eirik claimed a sudden need for light in the event he needed to use the chamber pot during the night.
“In any event, I was not going to nag.” Eadyth studiously tried to avert her eyes from his naked body as she continued talking. “I just…”
She failed.
Her words trailed off as she inadvertently glanced at him in the midst of her reply, and, oh, Lord, he lay with his arms folded behind his head, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and that part of him standing straight up in the air like a steel-firm pike.
She gasped and forced her eyes upward toward his face.
“Eadyth, you always nag.”
Thankfully, Eirik did not seem to have noticed her perusal or subsequent embarrassment. He stared back at her blithely, his blue eyes distastefully scanning the bed linen she had pulled up to her chin.
“It feels like an oven in here,” he grumbled again.
“What do you want me to do about it?” she snapped and immediately regretted her impulsive question.
“Get rid of the bed linens. All of them.”
Eadyth gulped.
Eirik slid downward and rolled back and forth, trying to get comfortable. Once, he flung an arm out, accidentally brushing her left breast through the coarse linen. When she turned her back on him, his knee nudged her buttocks, ever so briefly.
She stiffened. However, she soon relaxed, realizing that his touch must have been accidental. He had told her often enough how her form and face and mannerisms repelled him. In fact, the only part of her body that seemed to hold any attraction for the insufferable man was the mole above her lip. Blessed Saint Bridget! The man
was perverted. If he mentioned one more time what he’d like to do to her mole with his tongue, she just might strangle him.
And yet he failed to consummate their wedding vows. Hmmm.
Suddenly, Eadyth realized that she had allowed the man to divert her attention once again from the matter at hand—her confession. She sat up abruptly in the bed, barely catching the bed linen from its quick descent to her breasts.
Eirik’s eyes widened and almost popped from his head. ’Twould seem he could see well enough for some things!
“Eirik, I insist on telling you something important. Stop fidgeting and listen—”
“Mayhap we should consummate our marriage,” he interrupted smoothly. “Now.”
“Now?” she squeaked out. Lord, the man did run hot and cold from one moment to the next.
“Yea. If you would just do a few things to help, I might be able to rise to the occasion,” he offered solicitously. Eadyth could swear she saw a grin twitching at the edge of his firm lips, but the movement stopped before she had a chance to study him more closely.
“Seems to me your dough has more than leavened,” she remarked dryly, remembering too well how it had looked just moments ago. She waved a hand in the direction of his man part, but refused to look at it again. “A limp lily you are not.”
“Ah, so you noticed. But, as you can see, the bread has fallen again. Look for yourself.”
Not even if my life depended upon it! Eadyth lifted her chin and looked, instead, toward the opposite wall, her face flushing as she tried to wipe the mental picture from her mind.
He made an odd chuckling sound. “Of course, if you tried some…things…we might be able to get it to rise again.”
“Things? What things?” she asked suspiciously, turning onto her back to look at him.
“Well, I knew this man once—”
“Not that bloody caliph again!”
“Eadyth! Your language! Tsk tsk. Nay, ’twas another man, not the caliph. A silk merchant from Micklegaard, methinks it was,” he said, waving a hand airily. “This man’s dough had a ‘leavening’ problem, as well. No doubt because his wife’s face looked like the back end of a mule.” He gazed at Eadyth with soulful compassion.
Eadyth cringed inwardly at her husband’s appraisal of her physical attributes…or lack of them.
“But his wife did try hard, I give her that,” he went on. “He said she ofttimes would stand on her head at the foot of the bed to entice him. Nude, of course. With her long hair hanging down to cover her homely face. The man said it always worked. And, of course, they had ten children. I do not suppose—”
“Never!” Eadyth snapped her gaping mouth shut, rolling over on her side away from the insufferable wretch. Of course, he lied. Women did not do things like that. Eadyth just knew they did not.
Did they?
He infuriated her then by rolling over and ignoring her once again. Not that she wanted Eirik to want her. Really, it was better this way, she told herself.
So why did she feel oddly bereft?
The next morning, she awakened to hear Abdul squawking to high heaven. Eirik was standing before the bird’s cage, fully dressed in black braies and boots and his padded undertunic, obviously preparing to go to the exercise fields with his men. He held out a morsel of bread for the hungry bird.
“Loathsome lout! Awk!” the bird squawked in a voice a lot like Eadyth’s. “Bothersome brute! Witless wretch! Lord Lackwit! Awk!”
Eirik glanced toward her, arching a brow accusingly. “Mayhap you have too much time on your hands, Eadyth.”
“Wouldst ye like to kiss me tail feathers?”
“I did not teach him that,” Eadyth asserted when he raised another mocking brow in question.
“Limp lily. Limp lily. Limp lily.”
Eirik’s eyes narrowed menacingly as the bird repeated Eadyth’s words of the night before.
Eadyth felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.
“Hmmm. Mayhap you need a lesson, my lady wife,” Eirik said in a silky voice and reached into the cage, picking up a long green feather that the bird had molted. He slanted a look at her speculatively as he walked toward the bed, then sat down on the edge, his hip warm against hers, despite the cloth barrier.
Touching the edge of the feather to her mole, he said huskily, “Someday…someday, Eadyth, we are going to do some fascinating things with this feather.”
She stared at him, entranced by the rapid pulse that beat in his neck, the fiery sparkle of sensuality in his pale eyes, the fullness of his marvelous lips. How could the man go from complete lack of interest to flaming passion from one moment to the next? And there was no question in Eadyth’s mind that, at this moment, he wanted her, in the way a man wants a woman. She would warrant he was having no trouble with leavening under his tight braies now.
Holding her eyes, he began brushing the feather over her lips, along her jawline, over her bare shoulder, and, oh, Sweet Mary, over the tips of her still-covered breasts. Through the thin linen, they could both see her nipples peak.
Eirik inhaled sharply.
Eadyth closed her eyes on a soft groan as a new and wondrous pleasure flooded her body.
But her eyes shot open when she felt the feather trace a light line down between her breasts, past her waist, over her belly to the juncture of her thighs. The worn linen offered no protection at all. Her precious self-control crumbling, Eadyth wanted desperately to part her legs and arch into the feathery caress. It took all her determination to stop herself.
Oh, I am becoming a shameless wanton, Eadyth berated herself. And I like it.
Her skin turned hot everywhere he touched, even through the fabric—over her knees, down her legs, to her ankles. Blood rushed to her ears, and her breath came out in ragged gasps. Her body craved some sinful sustenance she could not understand. Before she realized what he was about, Eirik flipped up the bottom edge of her bed linen, and teased the arches of her feet with the silky feather.
She keened aloud at the pure ecstasy of his torture. Or was it the pure torture of his ecstasy? Her befuddled mind could not distinguish one from the other.
Eirik stood with a grim look of satisfaction on his face as an intense physical awareness crackled between them, like summer lightning. He seemed to hesitate, then turn away from her with reluctance, before walking toward the door.
“You are going to leave me here in this…condition?”
He stopped and turned slowly, flashing a heart-stopping smile at her. Eadyth could see that his emotions raged as much as hers. Softly, he asked, “What condition?”
“By the faith, I do not know, but I warrant that you do. Stop it, I tell you.”
“Stop what?”
Eadyth could tell that her discomfort amused him. “These games you play with me.”
“Games? Nay, wife, ’tis not I who play games.” He tucked the feather into the clasp of his dragon shoulder brooch and patted it. “I will save the feather for another time, Eadyth. I promise we will play the game to completion then.”
“What game?” she cried out after him, but he was already gone.
And her body thrummed with an appetite he had whetted for…feathers.
Yea, the man was driving her mad.
Eadyth was driving him mad.
Eirik forced his body and the bodies of his men to the limit of their endurance on the exercise fields that day, but he could not erase the image of his wife lying in his bed that morn, her body quivering with the need for consummation. A need he shared mightily.
Not only had he been mistaken about his wife’s true appearance. But, apparently, she was not the cold man-hater he had thought her to be, either. Cold? Hah! If she were any hotter, he might burst into flames.
Indeed, Eirik had a problem. He was a healthy man with a man’s healthy appetites. And he had been without a woman since before his betrothal, ten sennights ago. He knew he would not be able to resist her allure one more night in the intimacy of his bedchamber. But he cou
ld not risk impregnating her whilst still unsure of her loyalty.
No, he had to form a barrier between them until Sigurd returned from his spying mission. But how could he do that when he knew he was about to succumb? It was up to Eadyth. He must do something to make his wife turn cold toward him, for a while; something to make her angry enough to halt her unconsciously seductive invitation to bed her. He must make her stone-cold angry.
That should not be too difficult.
Eirik wiped a forearm across his sweaty brow and glanced distractedly to his side where one of his new men, Aaron, was greeting his young wife, a beautiful Moorish woman of tiny stature with slanted eyes and olive skin. With a smile of sudden inspiration, Eirik approached the young couple with a quickly concocted scheme. At first, they protested, skeptical of his unusual proposal, but soon, with the warmth of a few coins crossing palms, they agreed to cooperate.
Eadyth would have a fit, Eirik thought with a grin. He only hoped it would last until Sigurd’s return.
Eadyth dropped her beekeeping veil onto the kitchen bench and brushed the raindrops from her mantle and gown. Thunder cracked loudly outdoors presaging an early-summer storm that promised to be turbulent but brief.
“Have the men returned?” she asked Bertha, who was cracking eggs in a pottery bowl for a sweet custard.
The cook nodded, but her eyes shifted secretively.
“What is amiss?”
“Naught.”
“You are lying. I can tell. Where is Eirik?”
Bertha’s pudgy face turned beet red. “How would I be knowin’?”
“You know everything else.”
“Hah! Find him yerself then.”
“Best you mind your manners, or you will find yourself assigned to scrubbing the garderobes,” Eadyth rebuked Bertha, but not unkindly. She had grown fond of the outspoken cook.
Grabbing a chunk of cheese from the table, she walked away, nibbling thoughtfully. Eadyth decided to search for Eirik. She sensed that she and her husband would be consummating their marriage soon, and she wanted no guilty secrets between them. She determined to tell Eirik about her charade, now, even if she had to tie him down and gag him to do so. She smiled, with an unaccustomed thrum of pleasure in the pit of her stomach, at that oddly tantalizing prospect.
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