Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] (16 page)

“Nay, ’tis yer wife, Lady Eadyth.”

Eirik groaned.

“She be up a tree tryin’ ter ketch bees and Godric sez she be stuck.”

“Up a tree?”

Girta pushed her way through the crowd that was gathering. “I told Bertha not to bother you, m’lord. ’Tis naught to concern you. My lady has done this many a time in the past. She knows what she is about, I tell you.”

“Is she stuck or not?”

“Yea,” said Bertha.

“Nay,” said Girta.

Girta explained with exaggerated patience, “Some bees left their hives and formed a new swarm in a nearby tree. My lady merely climbed the tree above the swarm. She is shaking the limb, and her beekeeper assistants will trap the swarm in a beecatcher box below her on the ground.” Girta folded her arms across her chest and clamped her mouth shut, shooting Bertha an I-told-you-so look.

Eirik heard the people around him snickering. Actually, he had noticed a great deal of nudging, rolling eyes and odd whispers from his men the last few days, especially when he was in Eadyth’s presence. No doubt, they considered him weak for allowing his new wife to order him about. Well, he had more than enough of her mannish ways. He would put her in her proper place this time.

Eirik pushed his way angrily through the crowd, stomping toward the orchard just beyond the outer bailey, then turned abruptly to the muttering mob which was following closely on his heels. “God’s Bones! Have you naught else to do but mind my business? Go back to work. All of you.”

When he reached the orchard, Eirik stopped abruptly in stunned disbelief.

Eadyth, wearing her beekeeping veil, was straddling a limb high above the ground, shaking it vigorously. The cluster of bees clung tenaciously to the end of the limb while two of her veil-clad assistants stood on the ground, holding a large screened box.

“Eadyth, come down from that damn tree at once.”

Eadyth looked down, seeing him for the first time. “Eirik, I did not see you arrive. But do step back. You are only just
recovering from your last encounter with my bees. We do not want a repeat performance.”

“How nice of you to be concerned,” he muttered, but moved away a short distance before informing her, “Eadyth, your behavior is unseemly beyond belief. I insist that you come down.”

“Do not be ridiculous. I just need to shake the bees loose.”

Her defiance angered Eirik. “Then I will bring you down.” He stepped toward the base of the tree, preparing to climb up and rescue his wife, and give her a tongue-lashing she would not soon forget when they got back to the keep.

In the midst of trying to shake the limb and answer him and move a little farther out onto the branch, Eadyth lost her balance and began to fall. Reflexively, Eirik jumped onto the divided tree trunk and began to climb in hopes of rescuing the foolish woman. Eadyth managed to regain her balance, but in the process the hem of her robe and full-length veil got caught on a branch and pulled upward over one leg. At the same time, her head rail fell off, and a cascade of curly blonde hair escaped its confinement.

Curly!

Blonde!

His mouth dropped open in amazement as he gaped at his wife’s exceedingly long leg exposed from trim, bare ankle, to slender calf to dimpled knee, all the way up to the top of her marvelously shaped thigh. And one fact became clear in that moment before Eadyth adjusted her clothing.

His wife was not old, or uncomely.

Bloody Hell!
In one explosive instant, all the pieces of the puzzle came together in Eirik’s mind.

He noted the smoothness of his wife’s leg, unpuckered with age. Gentle curves and lean, youthful muscles molded her calves and thighs into a beautiful sculpture of visual delight. No bones protruded as he would have expected in an aging crone. Aging crone? Hah! The deceitful witch was younger than he, certainly no more than twenty-five.

Quickly, Eirik backed down from the tree and stepped
away a short distance, unwilling just then to let Eadyth realize that her masquerade was over. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his upper lip, forgetting that he had shaved his mustache the day before to alleviate the itching bee stings. His disoriented mind tried to assimilate the implications of his discovery.

“Eirik, are you still there?” she asked in a nervous voice.

“Yea, but I stepped away some distance to avoid your bloody bees,” he lied.

He heard a rustling noise and knew she was arranging her garments. To continue her disguise.
Damn her!

He smacked himself on the side of the head, suddenly understanding so many things: how she could have a child so young, why Steven would have been attracted to her in the first place. He squinted up at Eadyth, who had finally loosened the bees and was shouting instructions to her assistants on the ground. The Silver Jewel of Northumbria! The title referred to her hair, of course—not an aging gray under all that grease, as he had assumed, but that rare shade of silver blonde.

Eirik was not amused.

In fact, when he recalled his brother Tykir’s words to him at the wedding banquet about a secret he and Eadyth shared, he realized that his brother had known of Eadyth’s deceit. Yea,
deceit
. And Tykir had laughingly said he might have a skald put this secret into a saga. Eirik’s temper rose another notch. If his brother dared, he might just wring his frivolous neck and save King Edmund the trouble.

And worse, Eirik suspected that the snickers and soft whispers he had overheard the last few days amongst his men meant they knew about Eadyth, as well. No doubt, they all laughed behind his back at Eadyth’s grand jest, and his dim vision. He gritted his teeth angrily.

Eadyth dropped lithely to the ground and closed the lid on the damned bee box. Eirik started forward, but then he stopped himself. Nay, he needed more time to understand Eadyth’s motives. And to think of the best possible punishment for this deceitful witch of a wife.

One thing was certain. She would regret the day she ever entered Ravenshire. But not before he peeled away the layers of her disguise and discovered exactly what he had in this mysterious wife of his. And not before he brought her to heel.

Eirik smiled with grim anticipation.

“Bloody Hell! Would you look at the way she walks,” Eirik commented to Wilfrid as they watched Eadyth deliberately stoop her shoulders and limp a bit as she made her way through the hall toward the dais that evening.

Eirik had to restrain himself from leaping over the table and strangling her bony neck. No, not bony, more like gracefully slender, he reminded himself with self-derision.

“Damn her deceit! By the time I am done with her, she will hobble all right and with good cause.”

Eirik had already discussed his discovery of Eadyth’s charade with Wilfrid. While his good friend had suspected Eadyth was not as old or uncomely as they had originally thought, Wilfrid told him he had not been certain and, therefore, had hesitated to mention his seemingly farfetched impressions.

“My vision must be growing worse for the wily wench to have fooled me so,” Eirik complained to his good friend. “Even though I was never sharp-sighted as a child, I never saw it as a real problem. Now I am not so sure.”

“Nay, do not think such. Your lady wife fooled us all with her masquerade.”

“I must admit my discovery of her charade today rattled me badly. What kind of future would I have as a blind soldier? Without eyes, a knight is but a shell, less than a man.”

“Put it from your mind, Eirik. I truly believe you wanted to believe her old and, therefore, never recognized the signs of youth. Remember that first night when she blew into the hall like a winter storm and practically kicked the dog. Those were not the actions of a young, beautiful woman.”

Eirik scrutinized Eadyth closely as she moved nearer, his lips curling with disgust as he saw how obvious her disguise was. He wondered just how big a hole she would dig for herself before confessing the truth.

“Do you still think she conspires with Steven?”

“I think not,” Eirik answered, stroking his upper lip distractedly, missing his mustache sorely. That was her fault, too, he decided unreasonably. He wouldn’t have had to shave it off if not for her bees. “I suspect she harbors a loathing for the lustful attentions of men and took advantage of the circumstances to keep me at bay.”

“With all due respect, my lord, I have yet to meet the maid who could keep you at bay, or even wanted to.”

Eirik shrugged. “Some women are born that way and ne’er change—always hating a man’s touch.”
And just my luck to wed one of the man haters!

Wilfrid seemed to give the idea considerable thought, then nodded. “Will you confront Lady Eadyth about her deception now?”

“Nay.”

“What will you do?”

“I will give her enough rope to hang herself.”

Wilfrid laughed, no doubt anticipating an evening of entertainment at Eadyth’s expense. Eirik did not intend to disappoint him. He, too, looked forward to making his lady wife squirm, but first he must bank his raging anger and force a bland expression to his tense face.

“’Twill be interesting to see how far she will go in her foolery,” Eirik continued, “and despite my doubts, I cannot
be certain she has no devious intent. So, yea, I think ’tis best to watch her closely for a time. But you can be sure I will make her pay—both now, in my own special way, and later when I confront her with her deceit.”

Wilfrid just grinned.

Now that Eadyth had solved the smoke problem in the great hall with her new chimneys, Eirik could see the care she took with her disguise, pulling her head-rail forward slightly to cover her forehead and cheeks, frowning so hard her face muscles must ache, and cackling until her voice grew hoarse. She had even ashed her face a bit.

Lord, I must be a lackwit to have been so duped.

Throughout the meal, Eirik continued to study her with feral intensity as he downed cup after cup of her mead. It probably
was
the best in all Northumbria, as she had boasted. Mayhap he would drown her in a tun of her own brew.

Wanting to lull Eadyth into trapping herself, he reminded himself to squint occasionally and peer closely at objects on the table.
Let her think I am blind to her disguise. The witch!

He played a mental game with himself, devising new, exotic methods he would use to torture her. Strangulation was too clean and quick, he decided. And he wanted to delay her punishment until he was sure of her motives. But what could he do now to prick her haughty countenance without betraying his knowledge of her game?

Aaah!
“Is that a bristly hair I see sprouting from your wart?” he asked suddenly, looking at the enticing mole near her lips. “I could pluck it out for you, if you wish. My grandmother used to get them on occasion after she had reached a certain…age.” He watched with smug delight as Eadyth’s hand shot to her mole, searching, even though she must know she had no such thing.

“’Tis a mole, not a wart,” she protested indignantly and shot him a look of icy disdain.

Hell! How could I have thought her eyes rheumy with age? They are sinfully beautiful.
“Oh. Mayhap I was mistaken.”

Reaching out a hand, he touched a fingertip to the mole,
then trailed it gently over her finely sculpted upper lip with its deep center divot. An immediate jolt of awareness struck a part of his body he would as soon ignore right now. All the boiling blood in his body, which should have been directed at her in anger, rushed to that spot far removed from his brain, and he felt himself harden involuntarily.

When he pulled his hand back, a light coating of ashes covered the fingertip.
So this is why her complexion appeared gray. Does she consider me a half-wit? No doubt, she does
, he decided ruefully.

He rubbed his index finger and thumb together, then dusted the ashes off with exaggerated fastidiousness. Slanting her an assessing look, he commented, “You must have stood too close to the cook fires. You should be more careful.”

Eadyth almost swallowed her tongue at his words.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Do I have cause to be angry with you, Eadyth?”

“Na..nay,” she stammered. “’Tis just that we seemed to be getting along so well lately, and now you seem…well, different.”

“Yea, we have been living together congenially these past few days, now that you mention it, especially since I have been such a good, meek husband, following all your orders, doing all your assigned chores.”

“You could have refused. I never insisted on your help.”

“Nay, but you have milked my guilty conscience nigh dry. Admit the truth of my words.”
If you ever ask me to clean another garderobe in all your life, dear lady, I may just turn you upside down and use your hair to mop up the filth. Better yet, I may bury you in the slops. That should bring your prideful nose down a notch or two.

“Are you upset about my climbing the tree?”

Tree? Tree? She has been deceiving me for weeks and she speaks of trees!
“Yea, I do object to my wife climbing trees. Do not do it again.”

He could see his headstrong spouse start to protest, but then decide to hold her tongue for now, no doubt sensing his pres
ent bad humor. She probably had some other miserable favor she wished to ask of him. Hah! No more!

She sipped at a cup of mead, seeming to seek reinforcement for her faltering nerve. But no, he must be mistaken. His wife had the mettle of a seasoned warrior. When she had drunk every drop in three quick gulps, she looked up.

“Eirik, I have a confession to make. There is something I have been wanting to tell you for a long time.”

Aaah, so now she chooses to make her disclosure. Well, my deceitful little witch, mayhap I do not choose to hear it just yet.
“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you been wanting to tell me…this thing?” He eyed her lazily as he spoke, feeling much like a fat cat playing with a little mouse.

Suddenly, he realized with a grin of delicious anticipation that he might enjoy peeling away all the layers of his lady’s deception to discover what “jewel” he had in this wife of his. Perhaps he would be pleasantly surprised.

“For several sennights. Actually, since our betrothal,” she admitted, pale-faced and nervous.

Good.
“Does it have aught to do with the letter you sent to your business agent in Jorvik yestermorn, even though I told you I would handle your affairs?”

He could see alarm shoot through her as she wondered how he knew of her dealings. Eadyth had exercised great care in sending her missive by way of a passing traveler, but he had been even more cautious of every stranger approaching or leaving Ravenshire since Steven had planted the letter within his keep. Especially because there had been more evidence of the demon earl’s presence in the vicinity of late—a poisoned well, a burned-out cotter’s hut, a village maiden raped by unknown marauding villains.

“Nay, ’tis not the letter to my agent I wish to discuss. Besides, I intended to tell you about
that
.”

Eventually, mayhap.
“Oh, then it must be the sheep you ordered without seeking my permission.”

“I intend to pay for them myself,” she protested, waving her hand dismissively, obviously chagrined that he refused to let her make her confession in her own manner. “I kept asking Wilfrid about the sheep, and when you were delayed for so long in the North, and summer was almost here, I decided…”

Her voice faltered when she looked up, no doubt noticing the scowl lines in his forehead and those deepening at the edges of his mouth.

“Then it must be your ban on allowing my dogs in the great hall.”

Eadyth groaned with frustration. “I thought you would approve. I did not want to trouble you.”

Trouble! You have been nothing but trouble from first we met, you shrew.
“Actually, I know what distresses you then, my wife. ’Tis the words you have been teaching Abdul. Did you not realize that he would soon repeat your lessons to me?”

A pink blush hazed her throat and crept attractively up her face—the skin of which, he now realized, must be as deliciously white as new cream, not ashy gray.

She raised her chin brazenly, refusing to yield to his subtly cloaked accusations. “What words?”

“Loathsome lout! Bloody beast! Odious oaf! To name a few.”

Fear flashed briefly across her rigid face, but she refused to back down. “How do you know ’twas me?”

“Because the damn bird has a talent for mimicking voices, as you well know. Because when the feathered half-wit called me a loathsome lout, his voice had a decided cackle to it. And there is only one person in this castle who cackles.”

He had to admire her unwavering, unapologetic demeanor. In fact, the edges of her sinfully seductive lips twitched saucily with a smile. She would pay for that later. Eirik tilted his head questioningly as he realized that he had never heard his wife laugh aloud or even seen her smile spontaneously at any jest. She was too stiff-necked by far.
Hah! I will bend you to
my will and relish the effort, my sly wife.

“I do not know why you feel you cannot discuss these decisions with me aforehand, Eadyth. I am not an ogre.” Eirik forced himself to speak with sweetness, and Eadyth eyed him suspiciously. “Oh, ’tis true, I mislike your ‘managing’ my life and household to your standards, but the only thing I demanded of you afore our wedding was honesty. As long as you do not play me false,
in any way
, I think we can abide together reasonably well.”
Honesty! Hah!

The blood drained from her face. Blessed Lord, if he were not so damned angry he would enjoy this game of cat and mouse. In fact, despite his anger, he
did
find himself vastly amused.

“So, this confession of yours—that is what you called it, is it not? Could it be the fact that you have finally decided you want to consummate our marriage, and you, shy bird that you are, just cannot find the words to tell me? Well, do not be embarrassed. I asked Bertha, and she told me your flux has ended.”

Eadyth’s expressive eyes widened with horror.

And his grin grew wider.

“I know it must be a worry to you…the lack of a consummation, that is. Especially since Saxon law specifically says a marriage is not truly valid ’til the
morgen gifu
is given the morning after the…well, for lack of better words…the satisfactory performance of the wife in the marriage bed.” She need not know that the law was rarely enforced, Eirik decided.

Eadyth did choke then, and he solicitously handed her another cup of mead. When her bout of coughing ended, she sputtered out, “But Tykir gave me your ‘morning gift’ on your behalf, which I cherish, incidentally. The beekeeping book is the nicest gift I have ever received. I have not had a chance to thank you properly, but I assumed…”

Eirik peered at her in a squinty, questioning fashion. “Do not move about so much, Eadyth, I have trouble seeing you clearly.” He clenched his fists tightly to control his temper.
Two could play this game of charades.

At first, she looked pleased with herself, no doubt congratulating herself for successfully making a fool of him. Then she returned to her earlier words. “I thought the gift Tykir gave me on your behalf would be sufficient to validate our marriage.”

“’Twas what I intended, of course, but the courts and the church could end our marriage, even now, without the consummation. There are those who know I was not here on my wedding night, and that I sleep alone. If Steven ever contested the marriage afore the Witan, we would have to swear that the deed was done.”

He stared at her boldly, enjoying her discomfort immensely. “Is it a risk you wish to take?”

Eadyth hesitated only a moment before shaking her head.

“Good. Then you will not mind that I ordered the servants to move your belongings into my bedchamber.”

“Already?” Although her face betrayed no panic—Lord, his wife was a consummate actress!—her slender fingers flexed nervously in her lap.

“Yea. Can you think of any reason for delay?”

Eadyth’s mind seemed to go blank. His question had struck her dumb.

“Well, mayhap you are right,” she conceded grudgingly. “After all, ’tis only one night. And, no doubt, ’tis best to get the bedding over and be done with the vile business so—”