The Tarnished Lady

by Sandra Hill

  "Nay, 'tis too hot to talk. I can scarce breathe With all these bed linens." He looked pointedly at the one covering her naked body. "And every time you have 'something important' to tell me, it involves more work. You make my blood boil when you nag at me, and 'tis already too stifling in here."

  "Maybap 'tis all these candles you have lit." She looked about the bedchamber where a dozen candles burned wastefully at his insistence. Eirik claimed a sudden need for light in the event he needed to use the chamber pot during the night.

  "In any event, I was not going to nag." Eadyth studiously tried to avert her eyes from his naked body as she continued talking. "I just..."

  She failed.

  Her words trailed off as she inadvertently glanced at him in the midst of her reply, and, oh, Lord, he lay with his arms folded behind his head, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and that part of him standing straight up in the air like a steel-firm pike.

  She gasped and forced her eyes upward toward his face.

  "Eadyth, you always nag."

  Thankfully, Eirik did not seem to have noticed her perusal or subsequent embarrassment. He stared back at her blithely, his blue eyes distastefully scanning the bed linen she had pulled up to her chin.

  "It feels like an oven in here," he grumbled again.

  "What do you want me to do about it?" she snapped and immediately regretted her impulsive question.

  "Get rid of the bed linens. All of them."

  Eadyth gulped.

  Eirik slid downward and rolled back and forth, trying to get comfortable. Once, he flung an arm out, accidentally brushing her left breast through the coarse linen. When she turned her back on him, his knee nudged her buttocks, ever so briefly.

  She stiffened. However, she soon relaxed, realizing that his touch must have been accidental. He had told her often enough how her form and face and mannerisms repelled him. In fact, the only part of her body that seemed to hold any attraction for the insufferable man was the mole above her lip. Blessed Saint Bridget! The man was perverted. If he mentioned one more time what he'd like to do to her mole with his tongue, she just might strangle him.

  And yet he failed to consummate their wedding vows. Hmmm.

  Suddenly, Eadyth realized that she had allowed the man to divert her attention once again from the matter at hand—her confession. She sat up abruptly in the bed, barely catching the bed linen from its quick descent to her breasts.

  Eirik's eyes widened and almost popped from his head. 'Twould seem he could see well enough for some things!

  "Eirik, I insist on telling you something important. Stop fidgeting and listen—"

  "Mayhap we should consummate our marriage," he interrupted smoothly. "Now."

  "Now?" she squeaked out. Lord, the man did run hot and cold from one moment to the next.

  "Yea. If you would just do a few things to help, I might be able to rise to the occasion," he offered solicitously. Eadyth could swear she saw a grin twitching at the edge of his firm lips, but the movement stopped before she had a chance to study him more closely.

  "Seems to me your dough has more than leavened," she remarked dryly, remembering too well how it had looked just moments ago. She waved a hand in the direction of his man part, but refused to look at it again. "A limp lily you are not."

  "Ah, so you noticed. But, as you can see, the bread has fallen again. Look for yourself."

  Not even if my life depended upon it! Eadyth lifted her chin and looked, instead, toward the opposite wall, her face flushing as she tried to wipe the mental picture from her mind.

  He made an odd chuckling sound. "Of course, if you tried some... things... we might be able to get it to rise again."

  "Things? What things?" she asked suspiciously, turning onto her back to look at him.

  "Well, I knew this man once—"

  "Not that bloody caliph again!"

  "Eadyth! Your language! Tsk tsk. Nay, 'twas another man, not the caliph. A silk merchant from Micklegaard, methinks it was," he said, waving a hand airily. "This man's dough had a 'leavening' problem, as well. No doubt because his wife's face looked like the back end of a mule." He gazed at Eadyth with soulful compassion.

  Eadyth cringed inwardly at her husband's appraisal of her physical attributes... or lack of them.

  "But his wife did try hard, I give her that," he went on. "He said she ofttimes would stand on her head at the foot of the bed to entice him. Nude, of course. With her long hair hanging down to cover her homely face. The man said it always worked. And, of course, they had ten children. I do not suppose—"

  "Never!" Eadyth snapped her gaping mouth shut, rolling over on her side away from the insufferable wretch. Of course, he lied. Women did not do things like that. Eadyth just knew they did not.

  Did they?

  He infuriated her then by rolling over and ignoring her once again. Not that she wanted Eirik to want her. Really, it was better this way, she told herself.

  So why did she feel oddly bereft?

  * * *

  The next morning, she awakened to hear Abdul squawking to high heaven. Eirik was standing before the bird's cage, fully dressed in black braies and boots and his padded undertunic, obviously preparing to go to the exercise fields with his men. He held out a morsel of bread for the hungry bird.

  "Loathsome lout! Awk!" the bird squawked in a voice a lot like Eadyth's. "Bothersome brute! Witless wretch! Lord Lackwit! Awk!"

  Eirik glanced toward her, arching a brow accusingly. "Mayhap you have too much time on your hands, Eadyth."

  "Wouldst ye like to kiss me tail feathers?"

  "I did not teach him that," Eadyth asserted when he raised another mocking brow in question.

  "Limp lily. Limp lily. Limp lily."

  Eirik's eyes narrowed menacingly as the bird repeated Eadyth's words of the night before.

  Eadyth felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.

  "Hmmm. Mayhap you need a lesson, my lady wife," Eirik said in a silky voice and reached into the cage, picking up a long green feather that the bird had molted. He slanted a look at her speculatively as he walked toward the bed, then sat down on the edge, his hip warm against hers, despite the cloth barrier.

  Touching the edge of the feather to her mole, he said huskily, "Someday... someday, Eadyth, we are going to do some fascinating things with this feather."

  She stared at him, entranced by the rapid pulse that beat in his neck, the fiery sparkle of sensuality in his pale eyes, the fullness of his marvelous lips. How could the man go from complete lack of interest to flaming passion from one moment to the next? And there was no question in Eadyth's mind that, at this moment, he wanted her, in the way a man wants a woman. She would warrant he was having no trouble with leavening under his tight braies now.

  Holding her eyes, he began brushing the feather over her lips, along her jawline, over her bare shoulder, and, oh, Sweet Mary, over the tips of her still-covered breasts. Through the thin linen, they could both see her nipples peak.

  Eirik inhaled sharply.

  Eadyth closed her eyes on a soft groan as a new and wondrous pleasure flooded her body.

  But her eyes shot open when she felt the feather trace a light line down between her breasts, past her waist, over her belly to the juncture of her thighs. The worn linen offered no protection at all. Her precious self-control crumbling, Eadyth wanted desperately to part her legs and arch into the feathery caress. It took all her determination to stop herself.

  Oh, I am becoming a shameless wanton, Eadyth berated herself. And I like it.

  Her skin turned hot everywhere he touched, even through the fabric—over her knees, down her legs, to her ankles. Blood rushed to her ears, and her breath came out in ragged gasps. Her body craved some sinful sustenance she could not understand. Before she realized what he was about, Eirik flipped up the bottom edge of her bed linen, and teased the arches of her feet with the silky feather.

  She keened aloud at the pure ecstasy of his torture. Or was it the pure tort
ure of his ecstasy? Her befuddled mind could not distinguish one from the other.

  Eirik stood with a grim look of satisfaction on his face as an intense physical awareness crackled between them, like summer lightning. He seemed to hesitate, then turn away from her with reluctance, before walking toward the door.

  "You are going to leave me here in this... condition?"

  He stopped and turned slowly, flashing a heart-stopping smile at her. Eadyth could see that his emotions raged as much as hers. Softly, he asked, "What condition?"

  "By the faith, I do not know, but I warrant that you do. Stop it, I tell you."

  "Stop what?"

  Eadyth could tell that her discomfort amused him. "These games you play with me."

  "Games? Nay, wife, 'tis not I who play games." He tucked the feather into the clasp of his dragon shoulder brooch and patted it. "I will save the feather for another time, Eadyth. I promise we will play the game to completion then."

  "What game?" she cried out after him, but he was already gone.

  And her body thrummed with an appetite he had whetted for... feathers.

  Yea, the man was driving her mad.

  * * *

  Eadyth was driving him mad.

  Eirik forced his body and the bodies of his men to the limit of their endurance on the exercise fields that day, but he could not erase the image of his wife lying in his bed that morn, her body quivering with the need for consummation. A need he shared mightily.

  Not only had he been mistaken about his wife's true appearance. But, apparently, she was not the cold man-hater he had thought her to be, either. Cold? Hah! If she were any hotter, he might burst into flames.

  Indeed, Eirik had a problem. He was a healthy man with a man's healthy appetites. And he had been without a woman since before his betrothal, ten sennights ago. He knew he would not be able to resist her allure one more night in the intimacy of his bedchamber. But he could not risk impregnating her whilst still unsure of her loyalty.

  No, he had to form a barrier between them until Sigurd returned from his spying mission. But how could he do that when he knew he was about to succumb? It was up to Eadyth. He must do something to make his wife turn cold toward him, for a while; something to make her angry enough to halt her unconsciously seductive invitation to bed her. He must make her stone-cold angry.

  That should not be too difficult.

  Eirik wiped a forearm across his sweaty brow and glanced distractedly to his side where one of his new men, Aaron, was greeting his young wife, a beautiful Moorish woman of tiny stature with slanted eyes and olive skin. With a smile of sudden inspiration, Eirik approached the young couple with a quickly concocted scheme. At first, they protested, skeptical of his unusual proposal, but soon, with the warmth of a few coins crossing palms, they agreed to cooperate.

  Eadyth would have a fit, Eirik thought with a grin. He only hoped it would last until Sigurd's return.

  * * *

  Eadyth dropped her beekeeping veil onto the kitchen bench and brushed the raindrops from her mantle and gown. Thunder cracked loudly outdoors presaging an early-summer storm that promised to be turbulent but brief.

  "Have the men returned?" she asked Bertha, who was cracking eggs in a pottery bowl for a sweet custard.

  The cook nodded, but her eyes shifted secretively.

  "What is amiss?"

  "Naught."

  "You are lying. I can tell. Where is Eirik?"

  Bertha's pudgy face turned beet red. "How would I be knowin'?"

  "You know everything else."

  "Hah! Find him yerself then."

  "Best you mind your manners, or you will find yourself assigned to scrubbing the garderobes," Eadyth rebuked Bertha, but not unkindly. She had grown fond of the outspoken cook.

  Grabbing a chunk of cheese from the table, she walked away, nibbling thoughtfully. Eadyth decided to search for Eirik. She sensed that she and her husband would be consummating their marriage soon, and she wanted no guilty secrets between them. She determined to tell Eirik about her charade, now, even if she had to tie him down and gag him to do so. She smiled, with an unaccustomed thrum of pleasure in the pit of her stomach, at that oddly tantalizing prospect.

  Rain drummed loudly on the rooftop, and Eadyth examined the ceiling of the hall for moisture as she passed through. Apparently her workmen had finally repaired all the leaks, she thought with satisfaction. Next, she would set them to the chapel renovations.

  Eadyth was about to mount the stairs to Eirik's bedchamber when Britta called out, "Mistress, I would not be going up there now."

  "Why not?"

  " 'Twould not be wise," Britta muttered, turning away sheepishly, just like Bertha.

  Something was amiss. Something she would not like. And it involved Eirik. Her eyes narrowed and she started up the steps again, determined to put an end to the mystery.

  "Oh, Lord," she heard Britta mutter ominously behind her. "Now the goose feathers are gonna fly."

  Eadyth did not bother to knock on Eirik's bedchamber door—their bedchamber door, she amended. Instead, she turned the handle and opened the door with a flourish. Then gasped with outrage at the sight before her.

  Eirik was lying on the bed, propped on his elbows. He wore only a loincloth, and his body and slicked-back hair gleamed with moisture from a recent bath.

  He was not alone.

  A young woman—a young, beautiful woman—knelt on the bed with him, his foot on her lap.

  Eadyth's eyes widened in disbelief.

  The Moorish woman was paring Eirik's toenails, and he lay practically naked. In her lap.

  "Eadyth, I did not know you were there. Come in," Eirik said with seeming innocence. His slumberous eyes spoke of some other emotion.

  Oh, the humiliation of it! Eirik had actually brought a mistress into her home in front of everyone. She would kill him! Perchance with that little paring knife the woman wielded. Mayhap she would kill them both.

  In the midst of her anger, Eadyth's eyes swam with tears of disillusionment. She had not realized until then how much she had grown to trust this man, her husband, and to look forward to their union. Oh, 'twas unfair. First Steven, and now this womanizing wretch.

  What a foolish maid she had been, walking into this marriage with her heart wide open. Raising her chin angrily, she tried to hide her misery from Eirik's probing stare. She was a strong woman, well accustomed to the harsh reality of loneliness. She would survive yet another man's betrayal. Yea, she would.

  Without thinking, she grabbed a bucket sitting next to his dirty bathwater and dumped the contents onto his still-reclining body. It soaked him and the bed linens and splattered the gown of the slut who sat back on her haunches on the bed staring at her in horror.

  "Holy damnation, Eadyth! That water was ice cold," Eirik exclaimed, reaching for a drying cloth. "Do you take exception to a man practicing good bodily habits?"

  "Bodily habit's?" she barely choked out and filled the bucket with dirty bathwater, approaching the bed again. The young woman screeched with alarm and jumped off the bed, darting around her and out the door.

  Eirik stood and eyed her challengingly. "Do not dare to throw that filthy water at me, or you will suffer the consequences."

  Despite her fury, Eadyth had to admit that the man looked glorious standing there, bare-chested and bare-limbed. The light from the arrow slit played on the fine muscles that sculpted his shoulders and arms, highlighting the bunching sinews of long legs which had been honed by years of horseback riding. He threw the linen cloth onto the bed and put both hands on his hips with supreme arrogance. Amusement twitched at his enticing lips, and his pale blue eyes sparkled with some perverted pleasure.

  A red haze of fury blinded Eadyth then. The man was laughing at her. He amused himself with another woman and found humor in her anger. He had promised her loyalty in the betrothal agreement and then committed adultery even before their marriage was consummated. Worst of all, he found that ignorant peasant attractive,
and her... and her, his true wife, he could not even bear to bed.

  She threw the bucket of water in Eirik's face. Soapy water dripped from his hair and eyelashes and chin. Stunned with surprise that she had actually disobeyed his command, Eirik's mouth dropped open. But only for a moment. His surprise swiftly turned to anger and he promised ominously, "You will regret, wife, that you did not heed my warning."

  Eadyth realized then that she had perchance been hasty in her method of showing her displeasure to Eirik. She should have waited until she had contained her roiling fury and discussed the situation with him rationally. God's Bones! Where was the cool-headed, logical woman she had been before coming to Ravenshire? She did not recognize this hot-tempered termagant she had become.

  Eirik started toward her, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

  Eadyth spun on her heels and ran down the steps and through the hall, ignoring the knights who had come in out of the rain and sat about dicing at the long tables. She raced blindly out the courtyard door, unsure of her destination, just knowing she had to escape the pounding footsteps she heard following her.

  She had barely reached the courtyard when she heard Eirik's bare feet slip on the outside steps. He slid, swearing loudly, before falling to the muddy ground of the bailey.

  Eadyth looked over her shoulder with concern and considered going back to see if he was all right. One look at Eirik changed her mind. He was sitting in the mud, still wearing only the brief loincloth, glowering at her, and she decided she had best find a hiding place until his anger cooled.

  She made it almost to the kitchen garden when Eirik lunged at her from behind, grabbing her waist. She landed flat on her stomach, her face pressed into the mud, Eirik atop her. The rain pounded down on them both, creating a pool of mud.

  Eadyth pressed her palms into the soggy ground and tried to raise her head and shoulders, but she could not move. Eirik covered her from neck to toes with his own much larger body, and she was having difficulty breathing.