by Sandra Hill
He slid a bare leg over to Eadyth's side of the bed, nudging her with his big toe. She jerked and almost fell off the bed. He smiled to himself, then exclaimed, "By the Faith, Eadyth! Why are you wearing so many garments?"
"I got a chill," her weak, muffled voice said from beneath, the bed covers now pulled up to her nose.
"Show me yer legs," another muffled voice, a mite more squawkish than Eadyth's, called out from the comer where a dark fabric had been thrown over its cage. Then, "Would ye like to see me arse?"
Eadyth groaned and muttered something about making parrot porridge.
Eirik shook his head in wonder at the comedic turn his somber life had taken of late. Then he grimaced with self-disdain when he remembered that he was the target of the biggest jest of all—his lady wife's grand charade.
"Take the damn shroud off, Eadyth. You will make the bed too hot for me to sleep with your body heat."
She grumbled something under her breath, and Eirik could have sworn he heard Abdul snicker.
"At least, snuff the candle. 'Tis immodest," she demanded shrilly. When he did not immediately do her bidding, she turned in chagrin, no doubt intending to land him a good clout to the head. She inhaled sharply when she saw his nude body reclining indolently alongside her, with hands folded behind his head. Quickly, she turned her face away in embarrassment.
"Ah, well, I can understand a bride's shyness with a new husband," he said in a voice oozing with solicitude before rising to do her bidding. When the room was in total darkness, be returned to the bed, realizing that Eadyth had removed her gown in record time and was naked but already covered once again by the bed linens.
Oh, Eadyth, you are sadly mistaken if you think you can hide from me. You are going to pay for your deceit. In good time. In my own way.
She lay on her side with her back to him, stiff as a cold poker. Slowly, he slid his leg closer to hers, testing her reaction. At just the slightest caress of his furred leg against her smoother calf, she jolted. Eirik felt a jolt, as well, but his was of raw desire shooting up his leg and ricocheting to all the important sensual spots on his body—especially those centered in his aching staff.
Suddenly, he wished he had not snuffed the candle. He would like to better see this new wife of his. And that long, curly hair he had barely glimpsed this afternoon. How would it look spread out against the white bed linens?
Eirik reached blindly toward the vicinity of her pillow but felt no strands of silky hair. Feeling his way closer, he eventually found her head, but the wily witch had braided her hair and wound it into a tight coronet around her head. And even worse, it was, covered with a thick coating of grease. He sniffed his fingers. Lard. So, that is why her silvery-blonde hair appears to be gray with age. Eadyth has gone to much trouble to dupe me. Why?
Suddenly, Eadyth shoved his hands away with a sound of disgust and sat up in the bed, making sure the linens were pulled up, hiding her breasts from his scrutiny. Not that he could see them in the dimness anyway.
"Listen, I do not believe in delaying the inevitable, no matter how distasteful. I have much to do on the morrow. 'Tis time to gather honey from some of my hives. Bertha and I intend to strain it all and put it in containers for market. Let us get this... this bedding over with so that I can get some sleep."
"Huh?"
"Just do... it.
Good Lord! The shrew thinks she can "manage" the coupling betwixt man and wife, as well.
He heard a rustling of cloth and moved closer to see what she was about. By the moonlight coming through the two arrow slits in the near wall, he could see, just barely, that his dutiful wife was lying on her back, arms frozen stiff at her sides, eyes squeezed shut and her legs spread wide like some sacrificial victim. And she was bare-arsed naked!
Despite the lack of sensuality in Eadyth's martyr-like pose, Eirik felt his heartbeat accelerate. His fingertips. yearned to examine all the mysterious places that his wife had been hiding so long. His lips ached to shape her finely defined lips with his kisses. His tongue thirsted for the suckling of her mouth and for the taste of her supple skin, and, oh, Lord, even the nectar between her legs.
And his staff! His rock-hard staff wanted nothing more than to plunge deep into her virgin-like body and be caressed by the inner folds of her femininity.
Eirik inhaled deeply to slow the raging fire that threatened to consume him, then knelt between her legs. The only sounds in the room were his heavy breathing and the occasional flutter of Abdul's wings as he shifted in sleep. Eadyth appeared to have stopped breathing altogether.
Placing his hands on each of her widespread ankles, Eirik slowly brushed his fingertips up her calves, trying to learn the shape and texture of her body by touch alone in the near-darkness.
He had no intention of consummating their marriage tonight, not until he was absolutely certain of her motives in deceiving him. But he could still enjoy teasing her, though he was beginning to suspect that he might not emerge from the night's play unscathed.
When his roaming fingers had examined the curves of her shapely knees and began to move upward on the muscled contours of her thighs, Eadyth made a strangled sound of protest, then clamped a hand over her mouth.
His hands moved higher toward the apex of her thighs. He wished he had left the candle lit so he could see if any moisture glistened there. Not likely! Icicles would be more probable. Next time, he would be prepared. He would fill the chamber with dozens of her precious beeswax candles and be damned with her false modesty.
When his fingertips just barely skimmed the silken hairs, Eadyth whimpered, "Stop it."
"What?" he asked innocently.
"Touching me."
"Why?"
"I do not like being touched."
"Does it make you nervous?"
She made a soft sound of surprise at his question. "Yea... I mean, nay... oh, for the love of God, just get on with it and be done so I can go to sleep."
"I must touch you," he whispered huskily.
"Nay."
"Yea."
She slapped at his exploring fingers, but Eirik just laughed low in his chest, ignoring her protests as his hands moved like butterfly wings up her body. They traced the curve of her slim hips and the womanly indentation of her waist, over her abdomen, then under her breasts where he could feel the wild beating of her heart. For just a moment, he let his hands rest under the firm mounds. When he cupped the small breasts in his hands, testing their weight and shape, Eadyth stiffened even more, seeming to hold her breath. Still cradling her breasts in his palms from the underside, he flicked both tips with the callused pads of his thumbs, bringing her nipples instantly erect.
Although her breasts were not particularly big, the nipples were large and hard as pebbles. He liked that.
She moaned, fists clenched tightly in the bed linens at her side, and tried to buck him off. "Oh, you are vile. Take your perversities and leave me be."
Eirik wanted to know all of her. His fingertips became his eyes, exploring her flat stomach, her armpits, the high arch of her feet, her spidery eyelashes—yea, her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut—her knees, the small of her back. By the time he blew softly in her ear and traced the delicate whorls with the tip of his tongue, Eadyth was tossing her head back and forth, her body rigid with tension.
Eirik discovered a liking for the taste of his wife's skin, even the salt of her perspiration. He licked the smooth skin of her neck which smelled faintly of beeswax and her own woman scent—and fear.
Actually, Eirik had carded this bed sport much farther than he had intended for tonight. If he did not soon put a halt to the love play, he would be unable to stop.
But there was just one thing he wanted—nay, needed—to do. Leaning down, he took her left nipple between his lips and flicked it with his tongue, then suckled it wetly against the roof of his mouth. He held her nipple in his mouth only a moment. It was all he could stand.
But he was almost undone when she sighed and insti
nctively arched upward for more. Blood roared in his ears, and Eirik felt his control slipping fast at her involuntary response.
"Oh," she whispered.
"Oh?"
"It was ne'er like this with Steven."
Steven! Mention of his hated enemy drew Eirik jarringly back to his present dilemma. Could he risk making love to Eadyth and possibly planting his seed in her womb when there was even the remotest possibility that her charade these past few sennights connected somehow with Steven of Gravely? Nay, he decided, forcing himself to ignore the pulsing hardness between his thighs and the churning of his blood which ached for the satisfaction that only her body could provide. With determination, he rolled over to his side of the bed.
"Wha... what?" Eadyth asked.
Eirik yawned loudly and tried to appear unaffected as he lied, "I find I am not really up to all this bed sport tonight. Mayhap another night." Then he turned his back to her and pretended to fall asleep.
For once, he had stunned his shrewish wife speechless. She probably thought her age and uncomeliness repelled him. Hah! If he were any more attracted, the bed might burst aflame. Smiling, he considered, then discarded, the notion of relieving himself with his own hands to ease the ache of his powerful erection. He had given Eadyth enough shocks for one day.
Eadyth lay on her back, frozen in the same position for a good long while, stunned by Eirik's rebuff. Oh, it was humiliating beyond belief. Finally she had yielded to a man's lustful advances, and he had found her... deficient.
Eirik let out a loud snore. Her lips curled with disgust as she turned to view her husband's naked back. The brute! How could a person fall into such a sound sleep so quickly? She was sorely tempted to kick his bare bottom.
But Eadyth was not sure she wanted him awake. She felt her carefully guarded self-control unraveling, and she did not like the prospect one bit. Acutely conscious of her sensitized body, she needed to understand the odd pleasures Eirik's touch had ignited just moments ago. Slanting a look his way to make sure he could not see, Eadyth brushed her fingertips over her thighs, across her flat stomach and up over the still turgid nipples of her breasts. She felt nothing nigh approaching the delicious sensations Eirik's fingers had evoked.
Why did it feel so different, so achingly wonderful, when it had been Eirik's hateful fingers doing the caressing? What would it have been like if he had kept doing those wicked things with his lips and tongue on her nipple? Her breasts swelled and ached oddly at the image. And if he had kissed her lips, especially if he had kissed her with his tongue as he had done that one time in this very room, and if he had been touching her body with those feathery caresses at the same time... well, Eadyth did not know if she would have been able to hide her response.
The puzzle nagged at her for hours before she finally fell into a troubled sleep.
* * *
Eirik was already up and gone when Eadyth awakened the next morning. Thank God! She recalled that he and his retainers intended to travel to the far reaches of his estate to investigate reports of strangers on horseback trampling a new field of wheat. Eadyth shuddered, knowing that Steven was, no doubt, behind this latest trouble that plagued Ravenshire.
The demonic Earl of Gravely played with them—a macabre game designed to set their nerves on edge as they waited for his final action. What that would be, she could not guess, but she swore it would not involve her son John.
Eadyth also resolved not to let Eirik put her off again today. She must confess her ludicrous masquerade before it went any farther. Especially since he had put such emphasis on honesty in their talk yestereve. Oh, Lord!
Later that morning, she sat at the kitchen table helping Bertha and Britta shell a basket of early peas. She wanted to clear the large table for the dozens of honeycombs she had gathered that morning. She intended to prepare them for market in small pottery containers she had designed. Kettles of hot water and special straining devices lay at the ready.
"I heard how our Lord Raven teased you at the great table yestereve," Britta. commented companionably. "Men are such vulgar beasties sumtimes."
Eadyth popped several sweet peas in her mouth and crunched as she raised an eyebrow in question.
"You know, about the color of your nipples and such."
Eadyth choked and the peas went down the wrong passage. She coughed and coughed until Bertha finally fetched her a cup of water.
"You know what Eirik said to me?" Eadyth finally asked the artlessly blunt maid, not sure if she was more incredulous or angry at her private talk being repeated about the keep. But then, that was ever the way with servants, she supposed.
"Yea, Wilfrid... I mean, Master Wilfrid... sumtimes tells me things."
I bet he does. The wretch!
"Do not be embarrassed, my lady. All men are like that on the odd occasion, 'specially when they are drinking or when they are 'specially... uh... 'specially lustful." She blushed prettily at her last word.
Oh, Good Lord! How did I get involved in such a conversation?
" 'Tis the tits what will do it every time," Bertha offered sagely. "Men do love a good bosom, 'specially if it wobbles."
"Wobbles?" Eadyth and Britta both asked, turning to her in surprise.
Bertha threw back her shoulders, thrusting her massive breasts forward with pride. Then she put her beefy hands under the two udders, lifting them higher and jiggling them in a ridiculous fashion.
"See. Mine wobble. 'Tis why the men's tongues hang out when I pass by."
Eadyth's mouth dropped open in amazement at the thought of any man being interested in Bertha's overblown form, but, come to think on it, the bawdy cook did seem to have a continuous supply of bedmates. Britta's eyes widened with interest, as well, and then they both looked down at their own bosoms. While Britta's lush breasts might wobble if she walked with an exaggerated sway, Eadyth knew her smallish breasts would never develop the slightest wobble, even if she jumped up and down.
One side of Eadyth's mind told her that Bertha was just an ignorant old hag who knew nothing of the world or its men, but another side whispered slyly that perhaps that was why Eirik had not consummated their marriage yestereve. He found her woman parts lacking.
She looked over at Britta, who was still studying her own chest. Then their eyes made contact with sudden understanding, and they burst into giggles like young children.
Wobbling breasts! What next?
Chapter Eleven
For the rest of the day, Eadyth enlisted every servant inside the keep to help with her honey gathering. The spring blossom harvest always netted the most bountiful and best quality honey, but honey production was, at best, an arduous, sometimes messy process.
Basking in this work which she adored most of all a chatelaine's chores, Eadyth forced everyone who entered her kitchen to scrub their hands with strong soap and to wear clean overtunics. She even examined the honeycombs for cleanliness and removed all particles of dirt or insects with meticulous care.
She cut some of the honeycombs into sections and placed them in special pottery containers for those customers who preferred their honey still in the comb. But mostly Eadyth preferred to keep the waxy combs for her own use and sell only the nectar.
She insisted on performing some chores herself, those requiring expertise. With a critical eye, she first examined the color of the honey in the combs, and sorted them accordingly.
"What difference does it make? Honey is honey," Bertha complained, wanting all the workers gone as soon as possible from her cooking domain. Now that Eadyth had forced rules of cleanliness on the castle, Bertha took proprietary pride in her sparkling kitchen.
"It makes a great deal of difference, Bertha. See that bright yellow honey? 'Tis from the dandelion flower. The whitish yellow comes from clover. Fruit blossoms, like the cherry trees, produce a light, golden yellow. I like to label my pots so people who purchase my honey know what kind they are getting."
Bertha grumbled, "Seems to me sum people are too pertic-ya-le
r."
Eadyth just smiled as she sliced the caps off the honeycombs with a fire-heated, sharp knife. The process had to be carried out quickly and with a deft touch to avoid losing any of the precious honey or making a sticky mess in the work area.
She immediately handed the honeycombs to Britta, who placed them in loosely woven cloths hanging over huge earthenware crocks near the warmth of the cook fire so the sweet nectar would strain through, leaving only the wax combs behind. Later, Bertha would mash the drained honeycombs in a massive bowl. Then they, too, would be placed in another clean straining cloth over a second crock near the fire. This second extract would be of poorer quality, but suitable for kitchen use, never for selling in the market stalls of Jorvik.
Eadyth placed the comb fragments and the wax caps she had cut off previously in warm water to clean them thoroughly, then set them out to dry. They would be saved for autumn when she made her beeswax candles.
Finally, she cut the straining cloths into strips and gave them to John and Larise and Godric to suck on for a special treat, shooing them out to the courtyard. The children, always in the company of at least two of Eirik's guards, had been hovering all morning in the kitchen, ostensibly to help, but more often causing mischief.
"Can we play with Prince in the orchard?" John asked as Eadyth wiped his sticky fingers with a damp cloth.
"Nay, sweetling. Your father wants you all to stay inside the keep today." Eadyth had made a conscious effort to refer to Eirik as John's father since the wedding feast, and her little boy surprised her by accepting him so readily.
John gazed up at her through eyes as blue and captivating as Eirik's and whined, "But nobody wants us about. They all tell us to stop bothering them. We make too much noise. Father said he would show us how to spit off the ramparts when he returns, but it may be too dark by then."
Eadyth made a clucking sound of disgust at John's words about spitting, then advised, "Listen, dearling, why do you not ask 'Uncle' Wilfrid to teach you to play that board game? Hnefatafl, I think the Norsemen call it."