Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] (12 page)

“You intend to trade your own products?” Wilfrid asked, horrified.

Eadyth cast a condescending glance his way. “Yea, I will. There is a huge demand for my wares, especially the unique timekeeping candles I fashion.”

Wilfrid eyed her skeptically.

“The timekeeping candles were invented by King Alfred many years ago, but mine are of an especially high quality.”

Wilfrid shook his head in despair, no doubt calculating how much more work she intended to make for him. But all Eadyth’s plans hinged on her getting the bees to Ravenshire, which required that she patiently await her husband’s return. And patience was not one of her virtues.

At the end of six sennights, Eadyth received a short message from her husband, which left her oddly hurt by its terseness and lack of sentiment.

“God’s Bones, I am tired of waiting for his return,” Eadyth grumbled to Wilfrid, who was reading his own, much longer, message from his overlord. “Does he tell you why he is delayed?”

Wilfrid stared at her blankly, then shrugged, refusing to betray any secrets.

Looking at the date on her letter, Eadyth reckoned it would be at least another six days before Eirik returned. That would be plenty of time for her to go to Hawks’ Lair, get her bees and the related equipment, and come back to Ravenshire before Eirik’s arrival.

She was about to make that suggestion to Wilfrid, then
stopped herself. Eirik had told her to stay at Ravenshire and to guard the children well, with good cause, considering Steven’s threats. But there was no reason why she could not go off by herself during the night and leave the children behind under the expert care of Girta and Eirik’s retainers.

However, Wilfrid would never agree to her traveling alone. He would take Eirik’s orders literally.

So she did not tell him of her plans. Instead, she left a message for Girta, telling her where she had gone and that she would return as soon as possible.

Eirik approached Ravenshire with his small band four nights later. He turned to Sigurd who rode at his side.

“Lord, ’tis good to be home. Sore tired and dirty I am, and sick to death of trying to persuade Scots and Norse and Welsh leaders to remain loyal to a Saxon king.”

Sigurd laughed.

“I cajoled ’til my voice turned hoarse. I drank mead and wine in forced comradeship ’til my eyeballs felt like they could float. I bit my tongue bloody with diplomatic restraint.”

“And we have all covered so much ground atop our horses that our arses have turned to leather,” Sigurd added with a smile.

“Yea, we have done our overlord’s work well, carrying King Edmund’s message throughout Britain and beyond. But do you think we were successful?”

Sigurd shrugged. “To your face, they appeared loyal, but some of those border lords are so independent they might just as easily play our king false when the uprising begins.”

“The only thing not in doubt is that a rebellion is in the offing. Everywhere we traveled, I saw evidence of more and more fighting men coming into the country. All drawn by rumors of the king’s impending death,” Eirik concluded, sighing wearily as they passed the last hill before Ravenshire.

As his hesir drew upwind of him, Eirik exclaimed, “Bloody Hell, you stink, Sigurd.”

Sigurd chortled, “You do not smell like a rose yourself,
my lord. I saw a maid in Jorvik hold her nose as we passed by this morn. She remarked on the peculiar odor of heathen Norsemen.”

Eirik’s lips tilted in a tired smile. In truth, he was too exhausted to laugh. “Mayhap I should have let her smell my Saxon half. For comparison. I wager it would be a fair contest.”

All of his men laughed at his jest.

They should have stayed in Jorvik, at least overnight, Eirik thought. In fact, he had gone to the market town with the intention of seeking out his mistress, Asa. He had envisioned a hot bath, a short rest, and a long, hot night of lovemaking with his sweet jewelry maker. But he had encountered his brother at the harbor supervising some repairs on his longship which had delayed his departure. Tykir had reminded him of his new wife awaiting him at Ravenshire.

“The marriage has not been consummated, Eirik.”

“Hah! I think I know that better than you, brother. Stop your bloody meddling.”

Tykir had shrugged. “Methought you had motives for marrying the old crone.” He had grinned oddly, as if he enjoyed prodding his brother about Eadyth’s age. “Did you have any luck at Winchester with the king and his Witan regarding Steven’s petition?”

“Somewhat. Edmund promises his support, and I filed a formal protest afore the Witan, claiming my own paternity of John.” He shrugged, adding, “You know that the Witan, in the end, will act as the political winds blow. But, most important, I spoke ofttimes and in public of my loving wife and son at Ravenshire. Hopefully, my words will anger Steven to careless action, and we can finally put an end to his perfidy.”

“You should return to Ravenshire then, Eirik. Wouldst you jeopardize your trap for Steven by dallying here in Jorvik? Afore the vows have even been formalized with the bedding?”

Eirik had narrowed his eyes suspiciously, studying his brother’s concerned face. “I am more interested in your mo
tives for pushing me toward my shrewish wife. Do you know something I do not?”

“Me?” Tykir had asked, slapping a palm to his chest in affront. “’Tis just that I softened the wench up for you with your bride gift. Oiled the way for your entry, so to speak. I would not want my brotherly efforts to go in vain.”

Eirik shook his head in remembrance of his sly brother’s suddenly serious parting admonition: “Remember my words, brother, when the time is right. Beauty is in the heart, not the eyes.”

Easy for him to say, Eirik thought, as he waved to Wilfrid and his other retainers atop the battlements. Tykir did not have to bed the scrawny crone.

He furrowed his forehead with annoyance as he remembered Eadyth’s parting insult about pigs grunting and his threat to make her pay on his return.

Actually, other thoughts had been niggling at Eirik’s mind since his departure. Eirik had been thinking much of late about that kiss he and Eadyth had shared in his bedchamber, and he wondered if the coupling might not be so abhorrent.

In truth, if Eadyth could only stop her cackling words, and the dark of his bedchamber could dim her gray hair and wrinkles, he might enjoy taming her feisty spirit amongst the bed linens. What was it Selik always said about all cats in the dark? With a laugh, he looked up at the battlements, searching for the object of his mirth.

Then he frowned.

Girta stood there, along with Larise and John, who were waving energetically. But no Eadyth. Where was his wife?

Perchance the bothersome wench hoped to punish him. He had infuriated her on his departure with his punishing kiss in front of all his retainers and guests. She no doubt hoped to retaliate. Well, he had had more than enough of her stubborn pride. His lips thinned with irritation. He would put an end to her defiant nature this night when she was flat on her back with her bony legs spread wide.

“Where is my wife?” he demanded of Wilfrid the minute
he alighted from his horse in the courtyard, failing to stifle a groan of pain at his aching muscles. “Have her order me a hot bath immediately.”

Wilfrid’s face turned bright red. “Um…ah…”

“What?”

“She is gone.”

“Gone? Where?”

“Back to Hawks’ Lair.”

“You cannot be serious,” Eirik said incredulously, then stiffened with alarm. His lackwit wife endangered herself with her independent ways. “I ordered her not to leave the keep. And I told you to make sure she and the children were guarded every moment.”

“The children have worn out a dozen guards whilst you have been gone,” Wilfrid answered defensively; then he confessed shamefacedly, “but your lady left whilst everyone slept—four nights ago.”

“And have we no guards?”

“Yea, but they thought she had permission to leave.”

“Who rode with her?” Eirik asked stonily, his fists clenched angrily at his sides. By all the saints! He would strangle the wench for disobeying him. Best she hide her scrawny self for a good long time ’til his boiling temper cooled down.

Just then, Eirik heard a loud squealing ruckus accompanied by much loud barking. Three bodies, nay four, came barreling through the open door of the hall and down the steps to the bailey.

Larise screeched to a dust-raising halt before him, followed by John and the kitchen boy, Godric, who barely escaped colliding with Larise’s back. All the while, the large dog that his missing wife had adopted yipped loudly at their heels.

“Father!” Larise screamed happily and hurled herself up into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck in a stranglehold and her legs around his waist. His destrier pranced nervously behind him, snorting its displeasure, and Eirik,
bone weary from his journey, almost fell backward from the force of Larise’s embrace.

“God’s Blood! Have I arrived home to a keep of senseless halfwits?” Eirik asked Wilfrid as he put Larise down on the ground. Her hair was wet and smelled of soap, and her shiny face bespoke a recent bath. The other two children had obviously been given baths, too, as had the squirming dog which John held in his arms as he stared wide-eyed up at him.

Girta stepped forward, shooing the children back into the keep. “To bed with you now.”

“Where is your mistress?” Eirik asked her in a frigid tone.

“She went to Hawks’ Lair on an errand. She did not think you would return so soon.”

“What was so urgent she could not wait ’til my return?”

Girta shrugged, a closed look blanketing her face. She obviously knew Eadyth’s mission and chose not to tell him. “’Tis certain she will be back in the morn. Then she can explain herself.”

“Oh, you can be sure she will explain,” Eirik said icily, thinking he had little to thank his brother for this night. He could have been sharing a warm bed with Asa instead of rushing back to an absent wife.

Later that evening, after he had finally bathed and eaten, Eirik heard a soft knock at his bedchamber door.

“Enter.”

Wilfrid walked in hesitantly, a somber expression clouding his usually jovial face.

“Come share some wine with me. ’Tis from Frankland, I believe. I bought it in Jorvik this morn.”

Wilfrid shook his head and declined to sit in the chair opposite his master. Without any preamble, he blurted out, “My lord, Britta just showed me a missive she found this morn under the mattress in your lady wife’s bedchamber.”

He hesitated, then handed the folded parchment to Eirik. It was addressed to Lady Eadyth of Ravenshire.

“The seal was already broken when Britta found it,” Wilfrid explained when he saw Eirik examining it closely.

Eirik opened the letter carefully, knowing from Wilfrid’s demeanor that he was not going to like its contents.

And he did not.

At first, rage choked him speechless. Then Eirik threw the letter onto the floor and ground it angrily into the rushes under his leather-clad foot.

“The lying, cod-sucking bitch,” Eirik bellowed, wishing that Eadyth was standing before him, not Wilfrid, so that he could vent his fury on her deceitful flesh. Frustrated, he picked up his wine goblet and hurled it against the chamber wall. The other goblet, along with a silver linked belt, his battle helmet, a soapstone candle holder, even the pottery jug filled with wine soon followed suit. It was not enough.

“I should have known,” Eirik gritted out. “By the Holy Rood, I should have known. All the signs were there. Her bastard child. Her repugnance at my touch. Her secretive ways.”

“My lord, mayhap you should talk to the Lady Eadyth afore judging her too harshly,” Wilfrid ventured hesitantly.

Eirik turned sharply on his friend. “Nay, you and my brother both advised me to give the lady some lead rope in her defiant ways. Hah! Defiant is too kind a word for her. Treacherous she has proven to be. I should have followed my instincts, which told me to trust no woman.”

“But it does not make sense—”

“Sense! The only sense in this sorry mess is that of smell—the bloody, God-awful odor of a putrid, faithless woman.” He ran his widespread fingers through his hair and pulled, shaking his head. “Holy Jude! How many times does a man need to be burned afore he learns not to trust the flame?”

“But I do not understand. What need would she have for marriage vows with you, unless she truly feared the Lord of Gravely?”

“Steven has ever wanted to ruin me. ’Tis certain he uses her in his devious plot. And who knows what Eadyth hoped to gain.” He shrugged. “She fancies herself in love with the demon thane, no doubt.”

“Somehow, she does not fit the picture,” Wilfrid said with uncertainty.

“I know what you mean. I had thought her past the child-breeding years, too. And, more than that, Steven usually chooses more comely maids for his pursuits.”

“Now, there you could be wrong. With all due respect, I have been riding about the estate with her in your absence. Like a burr in my backside, she has been, with all her demands. But I have a nagging suspicion she may not be what we originally thought.”

Eirik waited for Wilfrid to explain himself, but his seneschal turned red-faced and stammered, “But ’tis not my place to reveal such things without proof. And you will think me wooly-headed if I say she is not
that
unattractive.”