“Rest assured, Eric,” Olaf said quitely, “that I have never discounted that Dane. I know that he will come against me again—and again—until one of us dances with the Valkyries. I will bless the day that I meet him again, for I must. Yet if he issues threats across the seas, you must speak on my behalf. Let the word be carried that Dubhlain cannot be taken. Its walls are stone, and its people, Norse and Irish, will defend it to the death. You taunt me for being Irish, brother, yet by it I have gained much. Half of this fair isle would fight for my defense.”
Eric paused, his hands on his hips, his great golden head tossed back as he surveyed first the assured sizzle in his brother’s searing eyes, then the walls of Dubhlain, rising high and sturdy behind him. He laughed heartily then, all sense of gravity leaving him. “Brother, I taunt you not. I regale you, for surely you have a foothold on this land, which no man has accomplished before you. I have spoken of business, brother, so now I am free to make my visit one of leisure. You will be pleased to see the gifts we have brought. Silks and jewels and silver plate. Tapestries to deck your walls. And”—Eric paused for a slight moment, giving his brother a licentious wink—“a very special gift to be uniquely yours.”
Olaf cocked a sardonic brow. “Spare me, Eric, what is this gift?”
“A woman, brother. A rare and unique beauty. Taken from the Franks, who, it is believed, stole her from distant Persia. Her skin is the color and sweetness of honey, her eyes like almonds of the night—”
“Eric,” Olaf interrupted impatiently, “if there is one thing I do not crave, it is another woman. By the gods, I have trouble enough.”
“I had heard, of course, brother, that you had married. But I knew it was to form this alliance. That is precisely why I have brought you this jewel of Persia. It is known that you grieve still for Grenilde, but you are a man, brother, and you but keep that grief alive and well by spending your days staring upon your pale and shriveled bartered bride.”
Olaf tossed back his head and roared with the first real humor he had enjoyed since his return. “Eric, I thank you for your concern, but believe me when I say I have no use for any woman, no matter how beautiful she might be.” Amusement remained in his eyes as he cast a dry glance his brother’s way. “Come, you must meet my pale and shriveled bride.”
The billowing sails of the dragon ships were visible in the distance from the window of Erin’s chamber. She had stared at them first with horror and panic, but then had been informed by Rig that the ships had come in peace, bearing gifts from Olaf’s father, a great jarl of Norway.
Her panic first became relief and then anger. Apparently all within Dubhlain had known that a contingent of dragon ships was due, all except her. Olaf had not seen fit to inform her. But then he had barely spoken to her for a fortnight now, so perhaps it wasn’t so strange that she knew nothing.
She sank into the hot bath Rig had prepared for her and nibbled nervously upon a nail. Her situation had steadily gone from bad to worse. The pain of loss that had enveloped her upon learning of the deaths of her brother and Fennen had supplied her with a barrier of numbness against Olaf. After that first night in which he had left her alone, he had returned to their room and though he hadn’t touched her, the torture had been all the greater. Night after night they had lain awake, together, alone. The tension had left her sleepless, her nerves shattered, until a fortnight ago when he had emitted an oath of disgust and quit their chamber in the middle of the night, and had not returned since. When she was strong she told herself that it was good. But when she was weak, she was in wretched misery, admitting she would rather he fought with her, railed against her, demanded of her anything but what he had done—leave her.
Erin snapped sharply from her thoughts as she heard the sound of boisterous voices traveling up from the great hall. She stepped quickly from her bath, wishing, for once, that she had chosen another to serve her after Moira’s marriage. She was curious to meet this new wave of Vikings, men from Olaf’s homeland, and despite the loathing she daily attempted to convince herself she bore her husband, her pride and her vanity were at stake. When tales were brought home to Norway on the mouths of these seafarers, she didn’t want it said that the Lord of the Wolves had procured himself anything less than a perfect—if Irish—bride.
It was fall and cool, but she chose a light-blue robe of soft silk that needed no belt and therefore concealed well her pregnancy. With a teal-blue mantle of wool over her shoulders, she would be warm.
She brushed her hair strenuously and adorned it with jewels, then set her hand on the carved door. Two deep breaths and a sturdy squaring of her shoulders and she was ready to face any man. She was, she reminded herself, the daughter of Aed Finnlaith.
“It goes on as always,” Eric was saying with a laugh as he cast his booted feet on the table. “Swein of Osgood cut off Harilk’s ear in a fight, Harilk’s brother stabbed Swein, Swein’s widow cried out for justice, and Harilk was killed by her uncle. The feud will go on, brother, no doubt, until both families are reduced to babes in the—”
Olaf, meditating upon the fire, was startled when his brother’s voice stopped cleanly in midsentence. He was further stunned to see his brother staring toward the stairwell with wide eyes and slack jaw, and then somewhat recoup himself to remove his feet from the table, scrambling to stand.
He followed his brother’s gaze with both amusement and irritation. Erin was coming down the stairway.
Had there ever been a time, he wondered pensively, when he had been able to look upon her beauty dispassionately? With no more absent appreciation than he gave his magnificent horse? Perhaps not, perhaps he had always been somewhat caught within her spell, as Eric was now. She was fresh from a bath, her hair was more luxurious than deepest midnight, curling in tendrils to frame the elegance of her perfect features and the eternal emerald brilliance of her eyes. The silk she wore caressed a supple form made even more beguiling at this stage of her pregnancy when her breasts swelled against the restraint of the cloth and the roundness of her belly was a beckoning curve. Her cheeks were tinged like a rose against purest cream, her lips were a subtle curve, tinted a slight red.
As he had so often since he had quit their chamber, no longer able to bear the tension and torture of being so close and yet unable to touch her by his own decree, he felt desire pierce through him at the mere sight of her. Grinding his teeth, he watched her descend the stairs, lifting his brow and forcing a cool smile of expectancy to his lips.
“Ah, Erin, at long last. We have guests, my love. I would have you meet my brother, Eric. I am afraid, being kin of mine, that he is, alas, a Viking, but one I am sure you will find palatable. Eric, I give you my … Irish wife, Erin mac Aed, Princess of Tara, Queen of Dubhlain.”
Eric’s eyes left Erin momentarily to slide reproachfully to Olaf. Then they once more returned to Erin with unmasked appreciation.
“Erin mac Aed of Tara,” Eric breathed, his eyes sparkling as he walked swiftly to the staircase to capture Erin’s hand. “I have seen a multitude of women in a multitude of places, yet I come here today to discover that the one I must call ‘sister’ is the fairest of them all.”
Erin smiled, unable to resist the brash charm of this stranger who was her brother-in-law. He was like Olaf, and yet he was not. He spoke to her in Norse, and in dress and manner he was Viking. Yet he possessed a gallantry that Olaf did not. He was, perhaps, as Olaf might have been at one time, carefree and light. He was a raider with few cares, but for all his flippant charm, he lacked certain qualities that the Wolf did possess. He had not his brother’s quiet strength, nor towering aura of power and will. “If you come in peace to our shores, Eric, I am glad to meet you. I hadn’t known Olaf had a brother, and I am glad to welcome his family.”
Eric chuckled pleasantly. “A brother? He possessed, at one time, seven. Three are lost upon distant shores, but I wager, lovely sister-in-law, that you will meet the remaining lot of us as the years pass. The size of our households, my lady, i
s one of the reasons so many of us go adventuring. We overflow our homes and lands and to gain, we must move outward and seek our fortunes upon faraway lands.”
It was Olaf’s laughter Erin heard next. “Take care for your comments, brother. My wife does not approve those who seek their fortunes upon the lands of others. She has, upon many occasion, seen fit to subtly remind me that I am but a barbarian invader.”
“If my brother has so failed, Erin mac Aed, I will strive to do my best to see that I leave you knowing that we, in Norway, are not so different from the Irish. We humbly farm our lands, and we live the quest of all men, peace and health and harmony within our families.”
“Ahh … but the peace you seek is only within your own land,” Erin contradicted, still smiling.
“Do not attempt to reason with my wife,” Olaf warned his brother, striding to the stairway to slip an arm through Erin’s and lead her away from his brother toward the hearth where he turned her so that he might possessively slip both arms about her waist and speak over the top of her head. “Erin would have you sending apologies to all you have warned against and replenishing all coffers you have seized.”
Erin thought it impossible that Eric did not hear the hostile mockery in Olaf’s voice. She felt the taunt with all of her body. It was in his rigid touch, in his voice that whispered against her hair. She wished she had the nerve to slap his hands from her and boldly inform Eric that his brother considered himself shackled by honor and alliance to a traitoress.
But Eric saw nothing amiss. He was smiling broadly. “It seems that Irish carries a bit of the Norse. Am I mistaken, brother? Or may I carry to our father the news that she begins a dynasty within your Irish lair?”
Erin flushed furiously as Olaf spanned his fingers over her belly. “Aye, Eric. The jarl will be pleased to know that the seed of his seed flourishes well in distant isles. Tell him … tell him that the Wolf creates fine grandsons for him, to grow to go a-Viking, as his heritage.”
Erin stiffened furiously, but the steel of Olaf’s hand increased against the protest of her body. She strained her lips into a smile over clenched teeth. “Nay, good Eric. Tell your father, the jarl, that the seed of his seed has entered into a fine and noble race, cultured and learned. He should be proud to grandsire an Irish child.”
“Erin,” Olaf protested, feigning confusion. “I have spent much time with Irish kings and warriors, and I was led to believe that should a wife be set aside, her child remained with its sire, for that child would be his father’s heir, and the Irish guard well the priorities of inheritance.”
A chill of fear swept through her spine. Had he then decided that she should remain until his heir was born and weaned, and then return her to her father, their marriage contract put aside honorably as no man was expected to keep a woman as his wife if she had brought a sword against him?
She did not want to tremble as he held her; yet she was aware that he felt the shivering from deep within that she could not control. Dear God, she would never allow him to take her child. Had she slashed her own throat by decrying him so strenuously? He no longer sought her out, no longer cared to sleep beside her. But what else could she have done? Pleaded guilty when she was not? Nay!
“I think,” Eric interrupted her thoughts with dry amusement, “that this child, Irish or Norse—whichever you ever decide—will be one to reckon with, judging by his—or her—mother and sire! But what of this great hall, Olaf? You rush me to this splendid place of stone and mortar, but offer not a weary traveler mead or ale to cool his throat?”
“The queen is remiss in her duties,” Olaf said coolly, releasing Erin. “Wife, you will see to the comforts of my family and friends.”
Erin lowered her lashes to hide the seething resentment and sudden rush of pain within her eyes. It was true that Olaf had always welcomed her family with no reservations. He had supported her eldest brother in battle, avenged the brother she had lost, but Eric standing within the hall, offering Olaf the familiarity of kin, struck her anew with pain for that brother she had so recently lost. This was her land; Leith’s land. Husband or no, Olaf was a Viking, as was the fur-clad warrior who was his brother. Raiders. Invaders. She was the wife of the Wolf; she could have just as easily been given to a Dane. Perhaps there would have been little difference.
She raised her lashes to see a thoughtful and pensive look in Eric’s blue-gray eyes as they fell upon her. “I would thank you greatly, my new sister, if you would be so kind to see to my needs.”
Erin looked away quickly at the gentle kindness in the Viking’s voice. Had Eric at long last sensed the tension that raged within the hall between Irish queen and Norse king? It was as if he reached out with what power he had to soothe and smooth the currents from the air.
“I shall be glad to see that you are served,” Erin said quietly, lifting her chin and sailing on light feet from her husband. She turned when she would have exited the hall to seek the kitchen. Her luminous eyes lit upon Eric once more and she added with a touching dignity, “And I am glad to call you brother, Eric.”
Erin did not return to the great hall. It was filling with the Norse heroes who had come to sample the hospitality of the Wolf and she did not think she could stomach the tales of conquest that she would most likely hear. She spent the morning with Moira, expecting to find a certain solace for her own agitation in her friend’s company. But she grew more miserable. Moira loved to speak of how their children could grow as friends, and Erin doubted more each day that Olaf intended her to see her child grow at all.
As afternoon came, Erin grew more restless. She had obeyed Olaf’s ultimatum and remained within their residence since their return, but suddenly she cared little for his warnings. The urge to escape his Norse walls of stone was overwhelming. With the commotion taking place as the city and residence were swarmed with the visitors from the sea, it would be easy for her to slip outside unnoticed. She could ride to the cliffs, allow the tempest of the ocean to soothe her soul, and return.
You are foolish, she thought as she let herself out through the kitchen, to taunt Olaf further. Yet she was the wronged party, the victim with no recourse. She had to go to the sea. It beckoned to her compellingly.
As she rode she could feel the earth fly beneath her, feel the power and strength of her horse. It was freedom. But from the cliff she could see the harbor and beach at the mouth of the Liffey and the great dragon ships that lay at anchor. Today the ships offered her no threat, and yet they did. They symbolized the gulf that lay between herself and Olaf; a gulf of custom, of society … of trust.
I will never forgive him, she reminded herself with poignant pain, and yet she had nothing with which to fight him. He had the power to take everything from her, and give her nothing. If he had tired of her, she was truly lost, and no matter how her dignity and mind cried that she must deny him always until her strength could hold no more, her heart and body cried out for him. She missed him unbearably in the nights, and she tortured herself with visions of him holding another. There had been something beautiful once, if only for a brief time. Something golden and beautiful. A joining that went beyond conquest, fight, anger, or fear. Beyond race, beyond peoples. That day upon this very cliff, long ago now, another world, another time. They had met as a man and a woman, touched … loved.…
Watching the surf as it pounded and broke against the rock Erin barely heard the hoofbeats until they were upon her. Despite her resolution that she cared not about Olaf’s decrees, a shaft of fear bolted through her. She turned from the sea in panic, only to find herself giddy with relief as she saw that it was Brice and Gregory who rode toward her.
“Erin!” Gregory called to her, his tone both scolding and relieved. “Dearest cousin, I never thought you to be a fool!”
Erin stiffened with shock on her mount as Gregory and Brice drew abreast. She glanced from cousin to brother before exploding, “Fool! Gregory, that you of all people should charge me so—”
“Erin, you are behaving
like a fool,” Brice interrupted her firmly. His voice softened. “Did you think, sister, that Gregory and I hadn’t demanded of your husband what recourse he had taken? Olaf told us that he ordered only that you remain within his house. That is gentle action, sister, for a Viking—nay, for any man who faced his wife at swordpoint.”
Erin closed her eyes momentarily. “Gentle action! Brice, I did not set out against Olaf! I was misled. If my own brother does not give me the shadow of doubt—”
“None of this matters now!” Gregory exclaimed, stopping the quarrel that was quickly becoming heated. “Erin, we must get back. A messenger has come from Tara, and your husband seeks you out.”
Erin caught her lower lip between her teeth before it could begin to tremble. “Does he know that I am gone?”
“We don’t know,” Gregory said softly. “I suggest we return quickly. The hall is crowded; perhaps he has not discovered your absence yet, so let’s spend no more time talking.” He turned his mount and nudged the horse to a run. Brice and Erin followed in swift pursuit. They did not slow until they reached the city walls. Once inside, Brice urged her to dismount. “Go back in by the kitchen, Erin, and pretend that you have been busy. Gregory and I will see to your mare.”
Erin nodded with a lump in her throat. “Brice,” she said softly, “I tell you, I was not guilty. But I thank you, brother.”
“We are mac Aeds, Erin. And if you tell me you are not guilty, then I will trust you.”
Erin nodded and walked swiftly away from the two. She slipped around to the back and entered the kitchen, grateful to see that all was busy chaos. She chatted with Freyda and several of the cooks, and then moved quickly into the hall, trying to still the tremors of nervousness that could so easily give her away. To her relief, she stumbled upon Eric, who was inspecting the structure of his brother’s walls.
Golden Surrender Page 28
