by Sandra Hill
Hell, yes!
Eirik shook his head in self-derision, then lathered his hair and slid under the water to rinse. When he came up for air, Eadyth stood frozen in the middle of the room carrying a bundle of folded linens. She gawked at him in amazement, as if he were a whale blowing water through its breathing hole.
He used both hands to slick the wet hair back off his face. And stood.
Her jaw dropped like an iron weight.
Eirik barely stifled a grin. "Would you hand me one of those drying cloths?"
Eadyth was staring at a part of his body that liked to be stared at. Very much. He felt an immediate reaction, and his wife's eyes shot upward in embarrassment.
"What did you say?" she squeaked out.
"When?"
"Just now."
"Would you hand me one of those cloths in your hands?" he asked with amusement.
"Oh." She stepped closer, making an obvious attempt to keep her straying eyes above his chest as he stepped out of the tub.
Quickly, she laid the rest of the cloths on a chest and turned to leave.
"Could you dry my back?" he asked, trying to delay her departure.
He thought he heard a choking sound.
"Please?"
She returned to his side, practically dragging her feet. Reluctantly, she reached for a cloth and began to dry his back, starting with the shoulders.
"You have a bad bruise on your shoulder. Does it hurt?"
She pressed her fingertips inward, and he jerked. "God's Bones! Of course it hurts."
"How did it happen?"
He shrugged. "We were putting out the fires, and a smoldering tree limb fell on me. I have more than a few scratches, too, I warrant."
"The orchard trees burned, as well?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yea, but many of them can be saved with careful pruning. Knowing your expertise in just about everything in the world, I have no doubt you will be able to revive them."
She ignored his taunting words. "You need to put some ointment on the bruise. The skin is broken."
"How about some of that lard from your hair?" he offered dryly.
He felt her fingers hesitate, as if questioning whether he jested or was serious.
"You did say it worked well on horses, did you not?"
"Yea, I did, and you certainly fall in the same category, though more like a mule." She laughed, and the tenseness left her fingertips as she continued drying him with gentle, sweeping strokes that left his senses uncommonly agitated.
"Why is your skin always so hot?" she blurted out.
"What?"
He looked back over his shoulder. Eadyth was biting her bottom lip and blushing through that infernal gray film on her face.
"Your body throws off heat like an oven."
"It does?" Eirik smiled. "Mayhap 'tis just you and your intoxicating nearness that warms me," he teased.
"Hah! Me and every other maid from here to Jorvik."
Eirik disregarded her insult and asked huskily, "I wonder, my lady wife, what would it take to turn you hot?"
Eadyth's face drained bloodless, making the ash even more uncomely. She threw the drying cloth aside with disgust and stepped away from him. "Stop muddling my senses all the time."
Eirik grinned. "I muddle your senses?" I would like to muddle a lot more than your senses right now, sweet witch. Why do you not come a little closer? Come, Eadyth, let us play a little game of... muddling.
Her senses were not the only ones muddled, Eirik realized, as he looked down ruefully at his burgeoning arousal. He started to turn, then hesitated, lest he give her another shock.
Shock be damned, he finally decided with a roguish grin, and turned anyway.
Eadyth looked down, blushed again, then looked him directly in the eye, obviously realizing that he was teasing her. "Best you don some garments, my lord, or some of those crows you mentioned below stairs may find a new roosting spot."
It was Eirik's turn to choke. He had to admire his wife's quick wit, even when she turned it on him. Chuckling, he donned small clothes and a pair of faded braies, all the time watching her graceful movements as she put the cloths in a chest at the foot of the bed and proceeded to pick up his dirty garments and wet drying cloths, mopping the damp rushes near the tub into a pile for discard.
"You need to be trimmed," she remarked behind him as he ran an ivory comb through his shoulder-length hair.
"Yea, I do," he agreed, looking at himself in the polished metal above the washstand. "You can do it for me."
"I am not very good at hair cutting," she balked.
"God's Breath, Eadyth! Have we finally uncovered something at which you are not the master?"
She did not smile at his jibe.
"Lighten up your countenance, wife. Life is too short to frown all the time."
"Cut your own hair, lackwit. I have no time for your foolery." She started toward the door with her bundle of laundry.
"Nay, stay and cut my hair. I cannot reach the back," he cajoled. "Besides, I want to talk to you about Steven."
She returned reluctantly and laid the laundry down. When he was seated on a low stool, his back to her, he handed Eadyth a pair of shears.
"How short do you want it?"
He shrugged and drew an imaginary line across the back of his neck with a forefinger. "Short enough. Just do not nip my ears." Or any other body part.
She remained silent at his back as she held clumps of his hair together and clipped the ends off with the shears.
"Eadyth, do you never laugh?"
"Yea, I do, when I hear something laugh-provoking. Mostly, though, the things you consider amusing are just vulgar jests at my expense."
Well, that was mostly true, he supposed. "What would make you laugh?"
"You tripping over that appendage betwixt your legs that you prize so highly," she retorted quickly. He could feel the immediate regret for her hasty words in her fingertips which stilled in their work.
Eirik chuckled. "You overestimate my powers of... enlargement," he replied quickly, finding that he liked this lighter, less prim side of his wife.
Wife!
Eirik recalled his earlier thoughts about Eadyth and his yearning for consummation of their marriage vows. And the reason why he hesitated to do that which his body ached for—Steven of Gravely.
Mayhap he should just toss her on the bed right now and be done with all the games. A day in bed with a willing woman was a damned good idea. He looked over his shoulder to find Eadyth scowling at his last words of humor.
Maybe not, he decided wisely.
Finished with the cutting, Eadyth ran a comb through his hair to check the evenness of her efforts. " 'Tis good enough," she declared, putting her implements aside, and tossing his hair clippings on the pile of damp rushes to be removed.
She stood in the center of the room, as if pondering some weighty subject.
"Eirik, I have wanted to discuss something important with you for a long time," she said hesitantly.
He sat down and motioned her to the chair beside him.
"I am not proud of what I have done, but I would have you know why 'twas necessary to my way of thinking."
Eirik's body became alert, knowing she planned to confess her masquerade. Now that he was aware of her ruse, Eirik saw clearly that Eadyth was an uncommonly handsome woman. What he had previously considered wrinkles were nothing more than temporary scowl lines. And that mouth of hers with its disarming mole, well, he looked forward to exploring it and many other parts of her body she had kept well hidden.
But did he want her to confess before Sigurd returned with his report? One part of him needed to have the confession over with so that he could take her to bed and work out this fever of wanting in his blood. It was the part below the waist, for a certainty. The other, more logical part warned that he risked planting his seed in yet another woman who might be conspiring with Steven for his demise. No, he must wait a few more days until Sigurd's return.
Eirik tried to think of a way to forestall her confession. His senses came to full alert on one blossoming, tantalizing idea.
"Eadyth, tell me more about those timekeeping candles of yours?"
"Huh?"
"You told me you specialize in timekeeping candles. What are they? Did you invent them yourself?"
"Nay, King Alfred designed them first, many years ago. But I have experimented and refined mine so they are near perfect."
"Would they dare be any less?"
"Do you want to know, or just make sarcastic remarks?"
"I really want to know."
Eadyth looked at him warily but then explained, "The good Alfred devised candles of seventy-two pennyweights of wax that would burn for four hours, thus six candles per day in succession to mark the time. I developed one extra-large candle, with hour markings, that would burn for twenty-four hours, thus—"
"Thus eliminating the need for someone to remember to light the subsequent candles," he finished for her, impressed, despite himself, with her ingenuity. "They must needs be huge."
"Exactly. And very expensive, but still people buy as many as I can make." She studied him quizzically for several moments before asking, "Why did you want to know about my candles?"
So, she does not accept my sudden interest in her wonderful talents. Clever lady! "You do not want to know."
"Yea, I do."
"Well, if you insist." Before I am done with you, you will learn never to lie to me again. You will regret your masquerade much more than you could possibly guess. "I was wondering—could you make me a five-hour candle?" he asked meekly.
She raised an eyebrow, her suspicions definitely aroused now. "For what purpose?"
I thought you would never ask, my prim and proper little wife. Let me see if I can muddle your senses a bit more. "Have you ever heard of the five-petaled lotus?" Not in a thousand years, I wager, especially since I just conjured it up in my mind.
"Nay." She frowned, obviously trying to connect his question about timekeeping candles with a lotus flower. "Does the flower have aught to do with the type of candle wax produced when bees gather petal dust from it?"
Eirik could barely keep from rubbing his hands together with relish before saying casually, "Nay, it has more to do with what is done during the five hours the candle is burning."
"Oh?"
"I am sure you would not be interested." He examined his fingernails in a bored fashion. Ask me. Ask me. Ask me.
"You have piqued my interest."
Peak! That is the key word here, my trusting little pigeon. And you stepped very nicely into my word trap, thank you very much. "Well, if you really want to know, there was a caliph in one of those eastern harems—"
"Oh, nay, not another one of those harem tales of yours!"
He raised his eyebrows innocently. "Have I told you this saga afore?"
"Remember, you mentioned once that sheer fabrics, like my beekeeping veils, are used for a different purpose in the eastern harems."
"I had forgotten. Nay, 'tis another tale." He wagged his fingers impatiently in the air in front of his face. "This one involves time, and mayhap your candles."
She eyed him skeptically with the most beautiful violet eyes he had ever seen, finally prodding, "Go on."
Oh, I love it, I love it. "As I was saying, there was a caliph in an eastern harem who bought a slave girl who did not appreciate the honor of sharing his bed."
"Humph!"
"Even when he agreed to make her his eleventh wife, she refused to let him ease himself with her bodily charms."
"Eleventh! Hah! He was probably too tired to do more than breathe."
Eirik grinned, satisfied that he had snared her interest, looking forward to trapping her in the web of her own curiosity. "He tried gifts, aphrodisiacs—"
"Aphro... what?"
Eadyth's question stopped Eirik short for a moment, setting all kinds of indecent fantasies in motion in his head. When he regained his composure, he said gruffly, "Let us save that explanation for another time. Are you going to keep interrupting me? If so, mayhap we will miss dinner, and I am mightily hungry."
"Go on, I promise not to interrupt again."
I doubt that sincerely. "In any case, the caliph tried everything, but to no avail. Finally, he consulted a wise old man who told him of the five-petaled lotus."
He looked over to Eadyth who was leaning forward with interest. That is a good trusting bird, Eadyth. Just a little longer.
"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 purp
le 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."