“Why have you and Eadyth been collecting these bones?” Eirik asked, ripping the words out impatiently.
The maid inhaled deeply for courage, then exhaled loudly with resignation. “So she and John can die,” Britta confessed in a voice barely above a whisper.
Eirik’s mouth dropped open, and Wilfrid’s eyes almost popped from his head.
“Die? Die?” Eirik grabbed Britta by the forearms and shook her. “Stop blathering your foolish words. Why are these bones here?”
“I told you,” Britta said through chattering teeth. “The mistress needs to pretend that she and John have been killed by wild wolves, and these bones were going to be the evidence. Oh, Blessed Mary, now Godric will die. And you, too, Lord Eirik.” She threw herself into the arms of a stunned Wilfrid, wailing loudly about poisons and drownings and human heads.
When Britta settled down a bit, they all sat on a nearby bench. Eirik forced Britta to disclose everything. After her lengthy, incredible story, Eirik stood abruptly, rigid with rage. “She thought to fool me with cow bones and pig eyeballs?” he asked incredulously. “Does she think my vision is that poor, my brain that dull?”
“Oh, nay, master, we were going to mangle them a bit. Once we crushed the bones a few times with a hammer, you would not be able to tell…” Her words trailed off when she heard his quick intake of breath. He gave her a sidelong look of utter disbelief.
“Britta, how could you?” Wilfrid sputtered out. “I trusted you. I asked you to be my wife. How could you?”
She began to wail again.
“And where was she going?” Eirik asked icily, spacing his words evenly.
“Normandy.”
Eirik clenched his jaw.
“My lady’s missive to her agent—the one with her orders for supplies—also had instructions for booking passage for her and John.”
“And how did she intend to live?”
“Bees,” Britta offered weakly. “She was taking a small hive with her to start a new colony.”
Eirik rolled his eyes heavenward. “One last thing. Where is the poison Steven gave her to use on me?”
Britta looked uncertain. “’Twas hidden above the door jamb in your bedchamber, out of the children’s reach, but the mistress may have thrown it away by now. Oh, master, you never thought that she would actually use it on you, did you?”
“Nay. I am thinking of using it on her, though.” He turned to Wilfrid and said, “I expect you to punish Britta for her part in this foolhardy plot. As I will handle my own faithless lady.”
Wilfrid nodded, and Eirik turned, heading back toward the keep and his willful, deceitful, lackbrain wife. At that moment, he could have killed her without any compunction whatsoever.
Eadyth was not the only one with a talent for making lists. He began to make a list in his mind of all the ways he could torture her before doing the final deed. Mayhap he would start by rubbing her face in the bloody animal parts. Or make her swallow a pig eye or two.
Luckily, Eadyth was hidden behind a screen in his bedchamber when Eirik entered. He reached above the door jamb and retrieved the vial of poison. Then he locked the door behind him. Quickly, he dumped the vial’s contents into a chamber pot, then rinsed it out and filled it with water.
He noticed the still-wrapped linen parcel on the floor and felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for Eadyth when he realized that she must have thought it was Godric’s head. But her pain was naught when weighed against the kind of pain he would have felt on learning of her and John’s deaths. How could she?
Eadyth practically jumped out of her skin when she emerged from behind the screen, fully clothed, and saw him leaning against the door, waiting for her.
“You came back,” she said hopefully, reaching out toward him with open arms.
He sidestepped her embrace. “I am leaving with Sigurd and Tykir,” he told her evenly, barely holding in check the angry words he wanted to hurl at her. “At last, we have Gravely within our grasp. I hope to inform you afore this day ends that the demon is finally dead.”
“Oh, nay, you cannot go after Steven now.”
“And why not?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
The hand she pressed to her lips shook, and she moved jerkily. The woman was clearly overwrought. She finally choked out, “Please. If you ever cared for me, do not go today.”
“Why?”
“Because…because I have had a dream portending misfortune.” She could not look him in the eye as she spoke.
Liar!
“And I am feeling unwell.” Her eyes looked everywhere but at him.
Liar! “Are you worried that I would be unequal in a contest with Steven of Gravely?”
“Nay.”
Liar!
“Do you think he may have captured Godric and that my precipitous actions may jeopardize the boy’s life?”
She gasped, and her eyes widened with fright at his words, which must seem glaringly insightful to her. “Of course not, though you know how devious Steven can be, and, if he has Godric, he might use the boy in any way he can…” Her words trailed off as she realized that she was rambling and that he was staring at her with icy contempt. “Eirik, I beg of you, stay at Ravenshire today. There will be other days to go after Steven.”
“Give me good reason to stay.”
“Because I love you.”
Eadyth’s words cut Eirik deeply because he now knew she was a master of falsehood. If she lied about one thing, she would lie about another. He hardened himself against her entreaties. “Love and lies never go hand in hand, Eadyth.”
Her shoulders slumped with defeat.
“Why are you trembling, Eadyth?”
She stiffened and clenched her fists, forcing her body to stop shaking. The woman’s will was formidable. And her courage, too, he had to admit.
Eirik stepped forward a pace and nudged the vial in the rushes, where he had placed it moments before. “What is this?” he asked, picking up the container with mock puzzlement.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning deathly pale. “Give that to me. It must have fallen…” She looked quiltily up at the door jamb.
Eirik held it close to his face, sniffing. “What an odd odor!”
“Give it to me,” she demanded in a near hysterical voice, coming closer.
He held it out of her reach and tilted his head questioningly.
“’Tis a headache potion the village herbal woman gave me. I told you I have been unwell.”
Liar! He widened his eyes with forced delight. “Wonderful! I have a fearsome headache.” Then, before she could react, he unstoppered the vial and downed its contents in one long swallow.
She screamed then. “Oh, no! Oh, no! ’Twas poison, my dearling! Quickly, try to vomit it up!”
“You wished to poison me?” he asked, blinking his eyes with deliberate hurt at his deceitful wife.
“Nay, ’twas Gravely.” She tried to stick her fingers in his mouth to make him throw up the potion, and he bit her, hard.
Pushing her aside roughly, he stumbled over to the bed and plopped down onto his back. With an exaggerated sigh, he closed his eyes, moaning, “My loving wife, I will miss you sorely,” and, with all the drama he could muster, pretended to die.
He could have sworn he heard Abdul snicker.
But Eadyth would not give up. She threw herself over his body, trying desperately to lift him up. Then she attempted once again to pry his mouth open and stick her fingers down his throat and bring up the fatal contents of his stomach. The whole time she was weeping and telling him how sorry she was and that she loved him dearly.
He gritted his teeth, faking the death stiffening of muscles. When she was unable to stick her fingers into his mouth, she began slapping his face back and forth, trying to awaken him from the dead. She even took both his ears in her hands and shook his head mightily, up and down off the mattress. His ears were ringing from her shrieking, as well as the head pounding on the mattress. Hell’s flames, he really wa
s developing a headache now.
A loud knocking commenced at the door, and he could hear Tykir and Wilfrid and Sigurd shouting with concern. Apparently, they had heard Eadyth scream. Hell, the pigeons in Jorvik had probably heard her caterwauling.
Eadyth just ignored them all, keening like a banshee as she tried straddling his body and breathing her own air into his mouth. When she pinched his nose shut with the fingers of one hand, placed her mouth over his, trying to breathe air into his lungs, and bounced her rump up and down on his chest to restart his heart, he decided he had suffered more than enough. If he did not stop the wench, she would truly kill him.
Gasping for breath, he shoved her from his chest and rolled off the bed. “Save your ministrations, Eadyth. I want them not.”
She gaped at him. “You are not dead.”
“How observant of you!” He called out to the men still shouting outside the door, “All is well. I will be with you in a moment.” He heard them walking away, grumbling.
Eadyth shook her head, much like a wet dog, as if to clear her senses. When comprehension dawned, she lunged for him and began to pummel his chest. “You beast! How could you play such a cruel joke on me?”
“Cruel? Cruel?” he lashed out with savage anger, taking her wrists in both his hands and holding her away from his body. “I will tell you what is cruel. Having no faith whatsoever in a husband and his ability to protect you. Lying whenever ’tis convenient for you. Planning to fake your own death and that of your son. Leaving the man you claim to love, mayhap for a year, perchance forever. Not caring about the grief you leave in the wake of your thoughtless maneuverings. That is what is cruel, my lady bitch.” He released her hands and shoved her away with disgust.
Eirik knows. The message finally seeped into Eadyth’s muddled brain. Oh, Lord, will he ever forgive me now?
“I am going after Gravely. We know where he is now. Finally. And, yea, my deceitful wife, I think I am capable of the task, despite your lack of faith.”
“Eirik, I never doubted your abilities—”
He raised a palm to halt her words. “Naught you could say now will ever erase your actions. Do not seek to excuse them. And do not blame Britta for confessing your lackbrain plot. ’Twas unfair of you to involve her.”
Eadyth nodded, wringing her hands with concern. “I worry about your safety, Eirik. Everything I did was out of concern for you and Godric.”
“I want naught from you now, Eadyth. Not your concern. Nor your affections.” He stepped up to her and poked a finger in her face. “You are not to step from this room ’til I return or you receive word that Steven of Gravely is no longer a threat. Do I need to tie you to the bed? Or post a guard at the door?”
She shook her head as tears of hopelessness streamed down her face.
“I love you,” she whispered to his departing back.
“I do not care,” he said flatly, without turning around.
Eirik refused to think about Eadyth and the pain of her betrayal as he rode toward Gravely’s hiding place. He needed to focus his attention on the task at hand. Tykir and Sigurd accompanied him, along with three dozen armed men, all on horseback.
When they approached the abandoned manor from a circuitous back route, Eirik motioned the men to divide into four and cover all sides of the keep, which appeared to be heavily guarded. He would try to enter, alone, from the rear while Sigurd created a diversion near the main gate in front.
He tied his horse to a tree some distance away and crept stealthily to the back wall. It was not as heavily manned as the front since there was no rear entrance, just solid stone. He waited until the guard passed on his patrol and figured he had only a few moments. Tossing a loop of rope up, he tried to catch it on one of the crenellations. It took three tries before it caught.
He heard shouting and the clang of metal off in the distance and knew his men were trying to breach the front entrance. Quickly, he pulled the rope taut and carefully walked himself up the back wall. He smiled, despite the gravity of his situation. Wall climbing had been a feat he and Tykir had practiced innumerable times as youngsters under their grandfather’s watchful eye at Ravenshire. It was a game they had soon mastered. Pray God the talent would carry him today.
He climbed over the top and found himself immediately in peril. Two of Gravely’s guards approached from different directions on the parapet, snarling obscenities. Pulling out his sword, Eirik immediately dispatched the one with a thrust to his huge stomach. The other was a more even match, and Eirik only managed a few nicks at his forearms and thighs. When Eirik backed up from one particularly harsh assault, he tripped over the leg of the fallen soldier and was soon backed up against the wall of the walkway.
Pressing a sword against Eirik’s throat so that it drew blood, the burly soldier growled, “Who are you? Do you come from Ravenshire?”
Eirik refused to answer and felt the blade press tighter. “Prepare to meet your maker then,” the guard threatened.
Eirik said a silent prayer for his immortal soul, figuring his death was at hand, but then he stiffened with determination when he realized that Gravely would escape once again. With renewed strength born of the need for revenge, he kicked the soldier’s vitals. At the soldier’s momentary gasp of surprise, Eirik shot both arms up and out against the massive chest. In seconds, the guard lay below Eirik, face up, with Eirik’s sword through his chest, spilling his life’s blood. Eirik pulled his blade out with distaste and wiped it hurriedly on the man’s tunic.
He turned and almost jumped out of his skin.
Tykir stood leaning against the parapet, smiling widely. “Well, ’tis glad I am that I did not have to rescue you.”
“Bloody Hell, Tykir, what are doing here? You are supposed to be with Sigurd.”
“Do you think I could let you climb a wall without me? I was ever the winner in that contest.”
Eirik shook his head hopelessly at his brother’s teasing, knowing the ill-timed humor masked a deep concern for his welfare. Eirik would have done the same for Tykir.
A short time later, dozens of Gravely’s men lay dead or dying in the bailey, inside the hall and in the corridors, but there was no sign of the demon lord himself.
When Eirik entered one room after another, searching, he finally found Godric, tied in a remote chamber. After he released him, the weeping boy clung to him in fright, unable to speak. Other than being terrified, the child did not appear to be injured. Mayhap Eadyth had been right when she told Britta that Steven would not harm the young boy.
Holding him on his lap, Eirik asked softly, “Do you know where Gravely has gone?”
Godric’s little body began to shiver violently and he clung to Eirik even tighter, but his eyes shifted involuntarily to a drape-covered alcove on the far side of the room. With seeming calmness, Eirik signaled to Tykir with his eyes and handed him the boy. “Best you find Godric some food before we take him home. No doubt, John and the other children will treat him like a conquering hero.” He pushed them both toward the door and pulled his sword from its scabbard and a dagger from his belt.
When he flicked the drape aside, Gravely jumped out at him brandishing a battle axe. His blue eyes were wide and crazed. Froth dribbled from the edges of his mouth.
“At last!” Steven screamed, and having the advantage of surprise, swung the axe over his head toward Eirik’s face. Eirik swerved, but not before the blade swiped a chunk of flesh out of his shoulder almost to the bone. With a curse, Eirik ignored the pain and parried his opponent’s next thrust, managing to wound Steven in the upper abdomen.
Despite the illness which had racked Steven’s once fine body, he was still a strong warrior capable of holding his own against Eirik’s expert skill, at least in the beginning. Back and forth, they parried and thrust. Steven dropped the axe and picked up a sword with nary a blink. But then the ravages of his illness began to take their toll, and Gravely’s endurance faltered. He grew careless and clumsy.
And Eirik lost the ta
ste for the kill. Oh, he would destroy his evil enemy. He had to, if for no other reason than to stop his senseless assaults on any who crossed his path. But the man was clearly insane. His eyes were unnaturally wide and glazed with a berserk lust for blood. His mouth hung slack and trembling, like that of an aged man. Mayhap he had always been mad, but hid it under a calm exterior.
How can I feel pity for this man who has hurt me so?
Because you know he must have suffered greatly to have reached this sorry state, he answered himself.
With a mighty thrust, Eirik shoved him against the wall and held his sword horizontally against Steven’s throat. “’Tis over, Gravely,” he snarled. “Finally, your evil will end.”
Steven cackled madly. “Yea, but will you be able to live with my death, brother?”
A cold chill ran over Eirik. The room rang with an ominous silence. He should have known that, even facing death, Steven would find a way to leave destruction in his wake.
“Eirik, do not listen to him,” Tykir called out from behind him. “Just kill the bastard.”
Gravely laughed again, not even trying to break free any longer. “Have you never thought on the resemblance betwixt us, Eirik? Black hair. Blue eyes. Same height. You share my blood, brother. And you know it.”
“It cannot be so,” Eirik said, shaking his head in denial.
“Your father planted his seed in my mother the one time she was able to escape her husband, the notorious Earl of Gravely, the man most people thought was my true father. She returned to Gravely when she learned she was breeding.”
Eirik shook his head from side to side, denying Steven’s claims. He still held the sword blade against his enemy’s throat.
Steven continued with his incredible story. “My ‘father’ never wanted me, and after my mother and then he died, I was left at age ten in the care of the most evil man in all Britain—Jerome, the Gravely castellan. And my brother Elwinus barely out of swaddling cloths. Oh, Lord,” he moaned, and his eyes rolled back in his head at some memory so painful even he could not bear to think on it.
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