“I don’t deserve an explanation! Why, you—”
With a jerk, Eirik jumped up from the bed and began to pace back and forth. He must maintain his distance from this sorry wench. Her nearness disconcerted him, the sweet mole near her luscious lips tantalized him, the smell of her lavender-scented soap drew him closer and closer.
“I am still angry with you, Eadyth.” Despite a part of my body that has forgotten why.
“Well, I am still angry with you, too.”
“Oh?” Would you like to sit on my lap and “control” me again, Eadyth?
“You imprisoned me.”
“With good reason.” Perhaps that tongue that wags at me so could be put to better use. How about…
“I can think of no good reason for imprisoning a wife, especially after…well, you know.”
He barely stifled a grin. I can. She noticed his grin, and her face suddenly flushed. Apparently, her imagination was painting the same erotic mind pictures as his. Then his mood changed as he remembered what she had done. He decided to put a stop to her harsh recriminations.
“Steven is planning to kidnap you as ransom for his son,” he announced bluntly. “And what he plans for your entertainment whilst under his ‘care’ does not bear repeating.”
Eadyth gasped. “How do you know?”
“He was overheard boasting during his cattle-slaughtering spree.”
As the implications of Eirik’s words began to seep into Eadyth’s dulled senses, she stiffened, then pulled her hands from his grasp and shoved her palms against his chest. “You thick-headed, dull-witted, lackbrained…oh, there are no words to describe you! You chose to imprison me rather than talk to me sensibly?”
When Eirik did not move or respond to her taunts, she raised a hand to slap him, but he caught both wrists and held her firm.
“You were ‘imprisoned,’ if you could call it that, for your own protection.”
“Argh! How dare you lock me up like a timid, wooly-brained maid rather than tell me the truth?”
“I knew you would not obey my orders to stay inside the keep. And your leaving for Hawks’ Lair, at the least provocation, just proves me right.”
“The least provocation! I would hardly call infidelity ‘the least provocation.’”
He shrugged, and was pleased to see her face turn almost purple with rage at his seeming lack of concern.
“How would you react if your wife…if I…went off to be with another man? And locked you in a bedchamber to await my every whim?”
He did not even try to stifle his grin then. “Now, that poses some interesting possibilities.”
His thumbs were tracing sensual circles on the soft inner skin of Eadyth’s wrists as they talked. He felt the traitorous increase in her pulse under his fingertips as he spoke. And the flush that swept her face now was undoubtedly caused by his proximity, not her continued anger. He pulled her closer, against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She tried to turn her expressive face away from him, but he cupped her chin in one hand and turned her back to him.
“You cannot continue to make decisions for me,” she protested weakly. “I am not a child. Nor an untrustworthy wife.”
“You cannot continue to ignore every decision I make,” he countered, “as if I have no ability to run my own estates, or care for those under my shield.”
They glared at each other.
“You will have to be punished.”
She raised her chin haughtily. “I will not display myself for your pleasure in that wispy veil again.”
He grinned. “That was not a punishment.”
“It was to me. You have already made me a laughingstock with the servants. Will you lock me in this bedchamber again?”
“Not unless I am in here with you,” he said with velvet promise. He considered the possibilities of such a shared confinement and felt an immediate thickening in his loins. “In truth, that is not a bad idea,” he conceded silkily. “See, Eadyth, I do listen to your advice sometimes.”
“I did not recommend our being locked together in a bedchamber,” she asserted indignantly.
He laughed softly. “But, you must admit, it has definite possibilities. Hmmm. I will have to think on it more.”
“I have to tend my bees, and see what havoc Bertha has wreaked in the kitchen in my absence, and—”
“I did not mean just yet, Eadyth. Tsk, tsk. Do not be overanxious. I know you seek a means to relieve that itch you have developed, but—”
“Overanxious? You are vile to say that of me! And what itch?”
He grinned widely from ear to ear.
Puzzled, Eadyth stared at Eirik’s smile, which did not reach his angry eyes. Then her lips parted with astonishment and her face turned hot with understanding. “Oh…never mind. I see you are just teasing me about punishment.”
“Nay, I am not. You will pay, and pay well, according to my terms, Eadyth. But I need your help with Emma first. Once I lock the door on this bedchamber—and I have decided that poses many opportunities for your ‘punishment’—I do not want to be disturbed for days, not even by my needful daughter.”
For days! A delicious tingle swept over Eadyth. What could two people do for days? But then his other words seeped in. “What is wrong with Emma?” she asked.
He proceeded to tell her of the six-year-old’s muteness since the fire that had taken her mother’s life three years before. “Her memory is coming back, no doubt prompted by the fever at the orphanage and the burning of tainted clothing and bed linens. She has even started to speak some words. But she screams and cries out at all hours of the day and night.”
Eadyth forgot about her own troubles then and Eirik’s continued anger toward her. “Tell me how I can help.”
When Eirik was done, she nodded and moved toward the door with him. Just before they went to Emma, he turned to Eadyth and said, “You and I have much unfinished business betwixt us, wife. Do not think I will forget what you have done. I have a long, long memory, and your tally sheet grows day by day.”
Chapter Sixteen
That afternoon, Eirik returned from the exercise field with his men. Sweaty and exhausted from the physical punishment, as well as the mental anguish of the past days over both Emma and Eadyth, not to mention the lack of news from the Witan, Eirik proceeded slowly up the steps.
He stopped at the open doorway of his bedchamber, stunned at the domestic tableau. Eadyth was sitting on his bed with her back propped against the headboard. One arm was wrapped around Emma and the other around John. Larise and Godric sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, facing his wife. And the mangy dog, Prince, lay spread-eagled on the floor, gazing up at Eadyth adoringly.
The children were listening raptly to a tale Eadyth was telling about his grandfather Harald Fairhair, once king of all Norway. “And Harald fell madly in love with Gyda, the daughter of the king of Hordaland. But Gyda refused to marry him unless he conquered all of Norway, a feat no man had ever accomplished afore.”
“And my grandfather Thork was Harald’s son?” Larise asked in awe.
“Yea, one of many, many sons. Some say he had twenty-six sons, and as many daughters.”
Emma tugged on Eadyth’s sleeve. “More,” she prodded, urging Eadyth to continue the story. And Eirik realized there was yet another word his mute daughter had spoken, without thinking. He saw the light in Eadyth’s eyes and knew she recognized the progress, too. Eadyth gave Emma a quick squeeze and continued.
“And Harald loved the fair Gyda so much that he pledged never to cut his hair or wash his body ’til he ruled all Norway and gained Gyda for his wife. So for years he roamed on his exploits, growing hairier and dirtier. Some called him Harald Mop-Hair then.”
“He must have smelled like a bloody pig,” John chortled.
“John! Watch your foul tongue.”
“Can I forsake bathing and cutting my hair for years and years and years?”
“Nay, you may not.”
“Tell us more,” Larise pleaded. She and Emma were clearly enthralled.
Eirik shook his head in wonder. How could Eadyth have known it would please his daughters to hear of their family, especially when they had never had any family life to speak of? And where had his wife learned these stories of brave deeds and romantic entanglements involving one of his ancestors?
“And Tykir told me that your great-grandfather never cut his hair ’til the beautiful princess agreed to marry him,” she exclaimed, finishing her tale with a flourish. “And that is how he got the name Harald Fair-Hair.”
My brother! I should have known Tykir would weave a fanciful saga about our bloodthirsty grandfather. Eadyth neglects to mention how many wives and mistresses Harald mounted to beget so many babes. Babes who grew into vicious men who killed each other to gain the throne.
But Eirik did not break the mood for the children, or Eadyth. Instead, he leaned against the door frame, enchanted by this new side of his shrewish wife.
And inside his chest Eirik felt his heart expand and shift, and a yearning so intense it was almost painful rippled through his body. He had never had a home, even as a child. Always, he and Tykir were guests in the homes of others while his father pursued his Jomsviking duties and tried to protect them from their vengeful uncles.
Oh, to have a wife and children to care for! Who cared for him in return! What a wonder that would be!
A war of emotions raged within him. He did not crave wealth, and, in truth, had plenty. He did not covet vast lands and titles, just security and peace on his own small plot. How could he have plodded through these 31 years without realizing that the warm scene he saw in front of him right now was what he had been searching for all his life? Tears misted his eyes, and he started to turn away before he was discovered.
But John saw him and called out, “Father.”
His heart lurched at the boy’s easy acceptance of him, and Eirik was forced to hold out his arms when John rushed with a flying leap into his embrace, wrapping his skinny legs around Eirik’s waist and his arms around his neck. Emma and Larise jumped off the bed, as well, and ran over, twining their arms around his legs. Godric, the orphan boy, stood to the side shyly, holding back Prince who was yipping and yapping, tail wagging like a fan.
His throat constricted, and at first he could not speak.
“Are you gonna teach us how to have a spitting contest now, Father? Huh? Huh?” John prodded. “You promised.”
He remembered, with a chuckle, his playful boast days ago that, when he was a boy John’s age, he could spit the straightest stream from the castle tower to the motte.
“Oh, John, you and your spitting!” Larise exclaimed condescendingly. His oldest daughter loved to lord it over John, though she was only one year older than he. “Father is going to show me how to dance.”
Eadyth quirked her eyebrows in question. “Dance?” she mouthed silently.
He had no opportunity to answer her as the children demanded his attention. Soon he was laughing heartily as their youthful mirth blended around him in a warm cocoon.
“Larise does not believe you can pick up a piece of straw with your toes,” John informed him, casting a scornful look down his nose at Larise. He looked a lot like Eadyth just then. Haughtiness, no doubt, ran in their blood, Eirik decided.
He glanced up and caught the amused eyes of his willful wife, who was moving off the bed, shaking her head at his foolishness. Their eyes connected and held. And, for a moment, he forgot that he was supposed to be angry with her for running off to Hawks’ Lair. He just wanted to shoo the children from the chamber and lay his wife upon their bed. The fragile thread that held them in thrall grew taut with tension, then changed shape and grew stronger, pulling and binding them in a strange, new, compelling way.
“Or else we could have a pissing contest,” John offered.
And Eirik’s dulled senses jarred back to life.
“John!” Eadyth cried out. “How could you?”
Larise and Emma and Godric giggled.
“That is not proper language to use in front of ladies,” Eirik said sternly, fighting to control his twitching lips.
John hung his head shamefacedly.
Abdul decided to contribute his wisdom then by shrieking, “Pissing. Awk. Pissing. Awk. Pissing. Awk.” And Eirik realized, to his chagrin, that the word would no doubt be a permanent addition to the barmy bird’s coarse vocabulary.
“’Twould not be a fair contest anyway,” Larise informed Emma authoritatively, in a sisterly fashion, “because boys have their barrel taps outside the body. Gives an unfair advantage.”
Eirik looked at his daughter, then Eadyth, with stunned amazement.
Then they all burst out laughing.
A sennight later, Eadyth sat with Eirik at the high table, following the midday meal. “Thank you for your help with Emma these past days,” he said, placing a hand over hers. “I see more improvement every day.” He glanced at his daughter, who nestled in his lap, half asleep.
Eadyth looked down with alarm at Eirik’s hand which lay casually over hers. His mere touch set her pulse racing, despite her continuing anger over the visit he had made to his mistress Asa. She tried to ignore the warm yearnings which grew stronger and hotter, day by day, especially considering the fact that they had not shared a bed since the night Eadyth had seduced her wretch of a husband.
She should pull her hand away. She should fight this mounting attraction. For the moment, she did nothing.
“Do you think Emma will ever completely recover?” she asked.
Eirik traced his upper lip distractedly, and Eadyth wished she could do the same. His lips were full and firm, masculine. And Eadyth knew too well how they felt when they moved expertly against hers, shifting, shaping, coaxing…
“What are you thinking?”
“Huh?”
“You asked me if I thought Emma would recover, and I said I see more and more progress everyday. Then I asked what you thought, but your eyes were glazed and you were staring at me oddly.”
Eadyth shook her head to clear her muddled mind. “I am just tired. We both are. Taking turns sleeping with Emma in her bed. Waking every few hours when she screams out in her dreams. Having her cling to one or the other of us every moment of the day. It does take a toll. And, yea, she talks more now, and she seems happy, most times. Still…”
“…still, she continues to cling to us, and the nightmares continue,” Eirik finished for her.
She nodded. “If only we could get her to talk about the fire.”
“I have tried, but every time I mention her mother or the raid which destroyed her village, she puts her hands over her ears and refuses to listen.”
“Just imagine what horrors she must have witnessed, Eirik. Seeing her home, with her mother and grandparents inside, go up in flames. And she so young and unable to help.”
“Well, thank God she was able to hide in the trees ’til the villains left. She will get better, Eadyth, and then we can get back to normal business. And do not forget, my wife,” he added, squeezing her hand and leaning closer to whisper in her ear, “we have unfinished business betwixt us.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she looked at him questioningly.
He winked.
The lout! “Of course, you are talking of Asa and why you felt the need to go to her.”
He laughed. “I am not. I refer to your punishment.”
“Oh, that.” Eadyth waved her free hand, as if that were no longer of any concern.
“Do not think I have forgotten, wife. And do not think you will escape my wrath. I am planning a most sweet torture.”
Eadyth wet her lips nervously and saw his eyes follow the movement of her tongue, hungrily. She could imagine what he meant by “sweet torture.” “Do not think you can hop back and forth between your mistress’s bed and mine. Like a horny toad.”
“Horny toad! Now, that poses some interesting mind pictures. But tell me, dear wife, what
will you do to hold me in your bed?”
She gave him a sidelong look of utter disbelief and tried to pull her hand from his grasp, to no avail.
“Will you ‘attack’ me again?” he teased.
“I did not attack you.”
“You are right. ’Twas seduction.” And he did not look displeased.
She felt her face color with heat, unable to deny his claim, and fought to control the swirling images in her mind of the scandalous things she had done. “It will not happen again, now that I know you left my bed for Asa’s. I would not make love with you now, even if…even if…”
“…even if I stood on my head, bare-arsed naked?” he finished for her, reminding her of his story once again.
“Even then,” she said stubbornly.
An easy smile played at the corners of Eirik’s mouth. “And if I told you that I did not?”
She stared at him, confused. “Did not what?”
“Make love with Asa.”
Eadyth’s heart lurched painfully at Eirik’s putting into words her heart’s torment. “Well, I am glad you brought the subject up, Eirik. I have been thinking that I treated you unfairly.”
“Oh?”
“Before we wed, I told you that I would not mind your mistresses, as long as you were discreet. I should not have changed the rules now. If you really feel the need to—”
“Stick out your tongue,” Eirik demanded sharply.
“Why?” she asked, shifting backward in her seat, away from him.
“So I can pull it from your prattling mouth, you lackwit wench.”
“Well! Here I am being extremely generous with you, and do you appreciate my bigheartedness? Nay. You just—”
“Shut up, Eadyth.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You should.”
“Humph!”
“I told Asa I could not see her anymore. If you would stop wagging your tongue long enough to listen, you would know that.”
Eadyth’s heart leapt in her breast with hope. “Before or after you bedded her?”
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