Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03]
Page 38
“Eadyth?” Eirik asked as he moved closer.
“Eirik!” Eadyth and Asa both said at the same time as they stood, Eadyth towering over Asa’s much shorter figure. He had always thought Asa was the most beautiful woman in the world. He realized now how wrong he had been. Eadyth, his wife, was much more beautiful. Gloriously beautiful. And she was his.
And I love her.
He smiled warmly toward Eadyth, expecting her to smile back. Instead, she looked with pain-stricken eyes from him to Asa. Her violet eyes turned luminously angry. “Oh…oh…,” she sputtered and shoved him aside, running through the hall and out the door.
“Wha-at?” he asked Asa.
Asa just shook her head, as if he were the most dull-headed fool in the world.
Eirik spun on his heels and hurried after his wife, but she had already disappeared in the crowded street. He got his horse and rode toward her agent’s house. By the time he maneuvered through the bothersome crowd, his mood had turned sour. He entered the agent’s house without knocking.
A startled lady looked up—presumably Bertrand’s wife—and Eirik asked rudely, “Where the hell is Eadyth?”
“And you are…?” the buxom woman asked, approaching with a raised copper ladle.
“Her husband.”
“Oh. The loathsome lout.”
Eirik grimaced at the woman’s words.
She lowered her weapon and jerked her head toward the stairs leading to an upper level. He thought he heard her say, “Mayhap now the maid will stop her constant weeping.”
Eirik found Eadyth in one of the guest bedchambers, packing her belongings in a leather bag. “Good tidings, wife,” he said in a silky voice, as if he had just returned from the exercise fields at Ravenshire a sennight ago, before all their angry words and separation, before Steven’s death. He pulled the door shut behind him and turned the lock so they would not be disturbed. Then he leaned lazily against the wall, watching her closely.
She looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes and gave him a condemning, condescending look—the kind Eadyth excelled in, the kind she flashed at doltish servants and lackbrain husbands. Lord, he loved the woman.
“Are we going home?” he asked, looking pointedly at her traveling bag.
“I do not know where you are going, but I am returning to Ravenshire.”
“Then we will travel together, I suppose.”
“I do not need your company.”
“But I need yours,” he said softly.
Her eyes shot up at that. “Since when?”
“Since the day you barged into my keep, kicked my dog and started managing my life.”
“I never kicked your dog,” she protested. “’Twas a soft nudge.” Then his other words sunk in, and her face colored. “What about Asa?”
“What about her?”
“Do not play games with me, Eirik. You went to her house.”
“And…?”
“Eirik, I told you the first time we met that you could have your mistresses as long as you did not bring them to Ravenshire. Well…well, if that is what you want…”
“Eadyth…Eadyth…Eadyth,” he said softly, shaking his head. “If you ever say again that you do not care if I have a mistress, I think I may just—”
“I never said I did not care,” she declared vehemently. “’Tis because I care and want you to be happy that I will not play the shrewish wife.”
He raised his brows mockingly. “Really? I do not know if I like that idea. I have grown rather fond of…shrewish tongues.”
She made a clucking sound, so like her usual self. He wanted to squeeze her with sheer joy. “Eadyth, I have not been with Asa since before our betrothal.”
She stilled suddenly, and he noticed the trembling of her hands as she laid aside her packing to study him. “Why are you here, Eirik?”
“Why did you come to Jorvik?” he countered.
Her eyelashes fluttered downward and she said, barely above a whisper, “To convince you to come home.”
“Well, convince me.”
She glanced up at him sideways, trying to guess his mood. “Will you come home?” she asked, lifting her haughty chin to the ceiling, as if anticipating a negative answer.
He pretended to ponder her question and moved away from the door toward her. He picked her traveling bag up off the bed and laid it on the floor, then sat down wearily on the mattress. He drew her down beside him.
Eadyth wanted to shake an answer from her husband, and she wanted to remain pridefully silent. More than anything, she wanted to save her marriage. “Eirik, I have made mistakes,” she choked out, “but I think I could change.”
Eirik grinned disbelievingly at her. And Eadyth’s heart flipped over. Blessed Lord, he was a handsome man.
“I need to be able to trust you, Eadyth. I cannot abide lies. I just cannot.”
“I know, and I am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You always do.” Fine lines webbed his eyes and the edges of his mouth. He looked exhausted and heart weary, and Eadyth cried inwardly that she had caused him so much pain.
Eirik took her hand in his and traced the betrothal scar at her wrist. Eadyth’s pulse jumped under the tender caress. Then he entwined their fingers so that their two scars met. “Heart of my heart,” he murmured, repeating their betrothal vows. And Eadyth’s heart felt as if it were expanding in her chest. So many feelings unfurled and rippled through her senses. There was no way to express them all.
So, of course, she started to weep.
“What shall we do, Eadyth?” Eirik asked, wiping the tears with the fingertips of his free hand.
“I do not know,” she said on a sob. “What do you want?”
He looked at her levelly. “A wife to love, who would love me in return. A family. A warm home.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then added on a whisper, “You.”
Eadyth’s heart stopped beating for a moment. Then she threw herself at him, knocking him backward onto the bed as she kissed his face and neck and ears and hair, crying the entire time. Her head-rail slipped off and its gold circlet fell to the floor with a metallic clink.
“Oh, Eirik, I promise you will not be sorry. I am going to be the most biddable wife in the world.”
He laughed with disbelief against her neck as he swept his palms up and down her back, from her shoulders to her thighs, over and over.
“’Tis true, and I will never, never lie to you again.”
Eirik held her face above his in the cradle of his two palms. “Eadyth, do not make promises you cannot keep.”
Eadyth could see the pain in his wonderful blue eyes, pain she had caused with her dishonesty, no matter how well-intentioned. “I want to try,” she said.
He nodded in acceptance of her pledge. “’Tis good enough for now.” He pulled her head down to his then and kissed her with all the pent-up passion of the past sennight of their separation. When he finally tore his mouth from hers, panting for breath, he told her in a thick voice full of emotion, “I have missed you, dearling, more than you can ever know.”
“I never want to lose you, Eirik. You must help me, though. I have a tendency to try to take over and manage things, just as you have complained ofttimes. And…why are you grinning?”
“Because there have been a few times when your ‘managing’ has not been too difficult to abide.”
Her eyes widened as she remembered the scandalous way in which she had “managed” a seduction of her husband one night. And she marveled at the changes this man had wrought in her cold life and disposition. Good changes, she decided.
Eirik’s fingers were busy meanwhile with some managing of their own. He undid her belt and lifted her tunic and chemise over her head, stopping here and there to kiss a shoulder, to nip a breast, to touch the tip of his tongue to her mole.
When she was naked, he stood her before him and removed his own clothing, holding her eyes the entire time. “Can you see me in this dim light?” she asked
tentatively, knowing how sensitive he was about his eyesight.
He chuckled softly. “Well enough to see the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. Well enough to see your nipples peak with their own sweet ache. Well enough to see your lips parting in anticipation of my kisses. Well enough to see the dew of—”
She stepped forward and put her fingertips over his lips, stopping his next words. Then she tried to loop her arms around his neck, but he put her away from him with a gentle kiss. “Not so fast. I want to open my wedding gift from Tykir first.”
“Wedding gift? Oh!” she said, blushing hotly when she recognized the purchase Tykir had made for her in the market yesterday. “He told me it was a gift for me.”
Eirik took the silken harem garment out of its wrapping and handed it to Eadyth. It was really only a series of transparent scarves draped together with tiny bells along the edges. “Will you dance for me, Eadyth?” he asked in a suddenly raw voice.
Shyly, Eadyth donned the flimsy costume for her husband, wanting to cover herself with her hands, but stopping herself from doing so when she saw the look of pleasure in Eirik’s eyes as they swept over her.
“I cannot dance. I never learned how,” she confessed. “But I could sit on your lap while you tell me one of your caliph stories.”
Eirik thought that was a splendid idea.
But they only got through the beginning of his story before the floor was littered with silken scarves. When he was buried in her woman folds, she held him close, forestalling the onslaught of spiraling passion which would overtake them soon. She cherished this oneness with her husband, this moment out of time, where only he and she—man and woman, husband and wife—existed.
Eirik seemed to cherish the special moment as well. Bracing himself on his straightened arms, he looked down at her adoringly and declared on a heartfelt whisper, “I love you, Eadyth.”
“I love you, too, Eirik. Nay, do not move yet…oh!” She put her hands on both his buttocks to hold him in place, but closed her eyes for a moment until the spasms of sweet pleasure at their joining place stopped. With a sigh, she then took one of his hands in hers and laid it on her stomach. In an emotion-choked voice she told him, “With all the wedding gifts you and Tykir have given me, I have not yet given you any. Here ’tis, and I hope you will cherish it as much as I value all those you have given me.”
At first, he just gazed at her in confusion. When understanding dawned, he smiled at her with such open love that Eadyth felt blessed by God. Then Eirik showed her with slow, slow strokes, and sweet kisses, and softly spoken words of love how very much he prized her love gift to him.
Much later, Eadyth lay cradled in her husband’s arms, tracing her fingertips across his fine chest hairs, liking ever so much the idea that she had a right to touch him so. Eirik’s gaze and his caresses went continually to her flat belly, as if in amazement that they could have created a child together.
Then, despite the lateness of the hour, they decided to head back to Ravenshire, wanting to be in their own home, with their children. As she prepared to step up onto the wagon seat with Eirik a short time later, their horses tied behind them, and several of Eirik’s guards following after them, Eadyth remarked to her husband, “I was thinking, Eirik, now that I know you have a trading ship, and I have all these products to market, well, I was wondering—”
“You do too much wondering, Eadyth,” he grumbled, whacking her softly on the bottom for emphasis. “I intend to keep you too busy to take on any more ventures.”
She gave him a sidelong look of chagrin when he sat down next to her on the wagon seat. Under her breath, she muttered, “I think I could manage both.”
But Eirik heard her and threw his head back, laughing. “I do not doubt that at all, Eadyth. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her closer. “Yea, we will manage together.”
About the Author
SANDRA HILL is a graduate of Penn State and worked for more than 10 years as a features writer and education editor for publications in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Writing about serious issues taught her the merits of seeking the lighter side of even the darkest stories. She is the wife of a stockbroker and the mother of four sons.
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PRAISE RAVES FOR ROMANTIC TIMES CAREER ACHIEVEMENT AWARD-WINNER SANDRA HILL!
THE TARNISHED LADY
“Filled with engaging humor, poignant emotions, lusty romance and stirring adventure. The Tarnished Lady is a jewel of a read.”
—Affaire de Coeur
HOT AND HEAVY
“Few authors can fuse erotica and drop-dead humor like Hill.”
—Publishers Weekly
THE LOVE POTION
“The very talented Sandra Hill adds to her already impressive list of reading gems with this delightfully funny and sexy tale.”
—RT BOOKreviews
LOVE ME TENDER
“Leave it to Sandra Hill to take this modern fairy tale and make it a wildly sexy and hilarious romp. Her fans will be delighted.”
—RT BOOKreviews
“Sandra Hill has a definite flair for humor.”
—All About Romance
SWEETER SAVAGE LOVE
“A fast-paced, sensual yet tongue-in-cheek story peppered with plenty of dynamite dumb-men jokes and riddles. This funny and uplifting read will brighten any day!”
—RT BOOKreviews
DESPERADO
“Humorous repartee and a high degree of sensuality mix well in Hill's tale of a wisecracking poor boy and the aristocratic woman he loves.”
—RT BOOKreviews
“Laugh-out-loud, put the book down and wipe your eye merriment…. Sandra Hill is the absolute Queen of comedy. No one can write page after page of dialogue, in cadence with the characters and maintain the comedic edge like she can…. A true genius.”
—A Romance Review
Other books by Sandra Hill:
HOT AND HEAVY
WET & WILD
A TALE OF TWO VIKINGS
THE VERY VIRILE VIKING
MY FAIR VIKING
THE BLUE VIKING
TRULY, MADLY VIKING
THE LOVE POTION
BLUE CHRISTMAS (Anthology)
LOVE ME TENDER
THE BEWITCHED VIKING
THE LAST VIKING
SWEETER SAVAGE LOVE
DESPERADO
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS (Anthology)
LOVESCAPE (Anthology)
FRANKLY, MY DEAR…
THE OUTLAW VIKING
THE RELUCTANT VIKING
About the Author
SANDRA HILL is a graduate of Penn State and worked for more than 10 years as a features writer and education editor for publications in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Writing about serious issues taught her the merits of seeking the lighter side of even the darkest stories. She is the wife of a stockbroker and the mother of four sons.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE TARNISHED LADY. Copyright © 1995 by Sandra Hill. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub Edition © May 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-202505-0
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