Roughly, he reached down and tore the soiled cloth from her body and threw it onto the rushes. Then, swiftly, before she could comprehend what he was about, Eirik used his legs to maneuver her thighs apart and thrust his middle finger into her body.
She screamed then, loud and keening. He did not know if it was from the humiliation, or the pain, for her passage was dry and tight for even his lone finger.
Realization swept over him, even before he pulled the finger out and saw the bloody evidence. She did not carry Steven’s child.
Eadyth lay stiffly, trying hard to control the racking sobs which shook her thin body. Her pale eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.
Eirik jumped up in horror and walked to the wall near the window. Angrily, he pounded his fist against the stone wall until he drew blood.
He had never, never been so ashamed of himself in all his life.
Chapter Nine
“Eadyth, we have to talk.”
Eirik pulled a chair closer to the bed. For more than an hour, he had been pacing the bedchamber, watching his wife sleep restlessly, waiting for her to awaken.
After his gross assault on her person, Eadyth had refused to look at him or hear his words of apology. She had surprised him by hurling out a few surprisingly coarse curses that would make a Viking sailor blush, then curled herself into a pitiful ball. She had wept quietly for an ungodly length of time before falling into a fitful slumber.
He eyed the crumpled heap of clothing which hid Eadyth’s slight frame as she came slowly awake and moved awkwardly into a sitting position in the middle of his large bed. He didn’t know which Eadyth he misliked most—the shrewish, arrogant crone who had plagued him with complaints from the moment they first met, or the silent, humbled one who jabbed at his conscience now.
Hell’s flames! He was sore tired from lack of sleep, and his skin itched unbearably from the bee stings. He needed to settle this matter between them. Then, he would like nothing better than to be off to Jorvik where Asa could minister to his needs—both the bee stings and that other long-unmet one.
“Eadyth, did you hear me? We have to talk,” he snapped.
“We have absolutely naught to discuss,” she replied icily as she eased herself off the bed and stood on the opposite side of the room from him. She adjusted her infernal head-rail in her usual fashion so that it half-covered her face, but not before he noted her red nose, puffy eyelids and pink-blotched skin.
He hadn’t thought it possible she could look any worse than before. She did.
He rubbed his index finger thoughtfully across his mustache, wondering how he had got himself into this mess of a marriage, then stopped in midstroke as he noticed something alarming. Suspiciously, he held the fingertips of both hands to his jaw bones, then moved them slowly upward to his eyes and over his forehead in an exploring fashion.
He groaned aloud at what he discovered.
His face had swollen, and one eyelid had puffed almost completely shut. He muttered something foul under his breath and rose and walked over to the wash table under the framed polished metal on the wall.
He had to restrain himself from jumping back in horror at his reflection.
“Damn!” he exploded. “I saw a leper once who looked better than I do now.”
Eadyth laughed with a shrill cackle behind him. “There is some justice in the world then.”
Eirik slanted her a warning look. “Do not be so cocky. I have seen corpses looking livelier than you.”
She glared at him frostily with her violet eyes. Their beauty was surely wasted on such as her, he thought, not for the first time. Then she reached for the goblet near the bed, weighing it in her hands, glancing back at him as if contemplating him as a target.
Well, at least the old Eadyth was back again.
“Do not even think—”
A loud knocking at the door interrupted his words, and Eadyth put the goblet back on the table.
“M’lord, ’tis me, Bertha.” The pounding continued.
Eirik shot Eadyth a meaningful glance that told her without words that their talk was only postponed.
“What is it now?” he grumbled as he pulled the door open suddenly, causing Bertha to pitch forward slightly. He caught her massive bulk, then held her upper arms to steady her upright.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Bertha exclaimed, craning her neck to look up at him. “You look like you been fighting with the devil.”
“Nay, just my wife.”
Eadyth gasped behind him.
Bertha tried unsuccessfully to peer past his large frame into the bedchamber.
“What do you want?”
“The mistress din’t tell me what to prepare fer dinner this eve, and it be way past noon.”
Bertha’s complaint did not fool Eirik. After all, she had been operating her kitchen quite efficiently without her mistress’s direction during Eadyth’s absence. Curiosity, pure and simple, motivated the old cook—that and a well-known love of gossip.
“Do whatever you bloody well want.”
“Well, ’tis no need to get on yer high horse with me. Jist ’cause you were lackwitted enuf to stick yer head in a basket of bees, ’tis no reason to take yer bad humors out on me.”
“I did not—”
“You don’t see me laughin’ me bloody head off, do you? Nay, m’lord. Do you see me sittin’ down in the kitchen with the scullery maids wonderin’ if yer staff got bit by them bloody bees and whether it be swollen twice its size and whether you be up here givin’ yer new wife twice the pleasure?”
Eirik choked back his laughter.
“Nay, I be up here jist tryin’ to do me duty,” she continued. “Even when I could be in the great hall listenin’ to yer men makin’ wagers on how many bee stings ye got on yer body. I got better things to do with me time. Yea, I do.”
Eirik snorted with disgust. God’s Bones! Now his wife had turned him into a laughingstock.
“…’cause I know there be no way you could have two hun’red stings on yer fine body,” Bertha babbled on recklessly, failing to notice the stiffening of his back or his frowning face, “even if Master Wilfrid sez he picked up two hun’red dead bees in the bailey.”
“Oh, nay, say ’tis not so, Bertha,” Eadyth exclaimed with alarm. “So many of my precious bees dead? I must go at once to check the damage and see the remaining bees secure in their new hives. I cannot believe I was lying here wallowing in self-pity when so much needed to be done.”
Eirik turned in surprise at Eadyth’s words, which gave Bertha the opportunity to step past him into the bedchamber. Her mouth dropped open in amazement, displaying a half-dozen missing teeth.
Bertha looked at Eadyth’s sodden clothing and tear-splotched face, then darted her beady eyes to Eirik, then back to Eadyth. Laughter rumbled from deep in her belly, erupted raucously, and continued until tears ran in rivulets down her bloated face.
“Oh, oh, I can barely credit the two of you. What a pair you make! Yer faces look like two bowls of day-old, lumpy porridge.”
“Kiss my arse,” a muffled voice said.
That stopped Bertha’s laughter abruptly. “Wha…what did ye say, m’lord?”
“Show me yer legs.”
The bloody bird displayed a real talent for bad timing and mimicking voices, Eirik thought.
“Well, I never thought to see the day, m’lord. Yer blessed grandmother mus’ be rollin’ in her grave to see you oglin’ an old woman like me. Not that I have any trouble gettin’ a man into my bed even yet.” Bertha sucked in her bulging stomach and thrust out her buxom breasts proudly.
Eirik’s eyes widened in disbelief. The old hag actually thought he was attracted to her gross charms.
“Actually, now that I think on it, mayhap you have developed a taste fer older meat,” Bertha added slyly, darting a meaningful look at Eadyth.
“That will be enough,” Eadyth said stonily in her best lady-of-the-manor voice. “Leave my presence at once if you value your misbego
tten skin. I will come down to the kitchen as soon as I check my bees.”
Somewhat chastened, but still chuckling, Bertha headed toward the door.
“And make sure there are no weevils in the manchet bread like there were afore I left for Hawks’ Lair. Nay, do not raise your chin at me, you lazy wench. I intend to check the flour closely, and every worm I find will be put on your loose tongue with my very own fingers.”
Bertha waddled away, muttering something about ungrateful mistresses.
“And make sure you do not gossip below stairs about what you have…seen here,” Eadyth added.
Bertha clucked her tongue with disgust. “As if anyone with eyes in their heads will not be able to see fer themselves fer days ter come what you two have been about.”
Eadyth prepared to follow Bertha through the door, but Eirik halted her progress with a raised arm and closed the door.
“We will talk now.”
Eadyth turned her nose up stubbornly. “I do not wish to speak with you—now or ever.”
“That should make for a wonderful marriage.”
“No one ever promised you a wonderful marriage.”
“You pledged honesty.”
“And I have given it.”
“I asked you afore I did…what I did…,” Eirik said, searching lamely for a polite word for his vulgar act. “I clearly asked whether you had ever deceived me, and you hesitated—”
“And you consider my mere hesitation a justification for such a vile response?”
“Nay, I do not. I am merely trying to explain.”
Eadyth’s eyes flashed angrily as she challenged him, hands on hips, chin tilted upward. Suddenly, Eirik realized why she might have been considered a beauty in her youth. With that fiery nature, and just a little natural beauty, she must have been a woman worth her weight in gold. Nay, not gold, silver, Eirik reminded himself, recalling Wilfrid’s reference to the Silver Jewel of Northumbria.
“Stop that,” Eadyth demanded, stamping her small leather shoe petulantly in the rushes.
“What?”
“Looking at me…like that.”
“How?”
“Like I am one of your tarts.”
“Hardly.”
His wry observation did not sit well with her. “You make me so damned angry I could spit.”
“So? Relax some of that self-righteous self-control of yours and do it.”
“Do what?”
“Spit.”
“Argh! Talking with you is useless. Why do you not go off to Jorvik and plague one of your mistresses?”
Eirik felt his face heat at her too accurate reading of his plans. And he misliked the fact that she accepted other women in his life so easily. Not that it was not a woman’s role to be subservient to her husband, to turn her head at his sexual misdeeds. ’Twas the nature of men to seek many partners and had been through the ages. It just rankled that she practically pushed him into another woman’s arms.
She glared at him fiercely, waiting for his reply. Armed to the teeth, no doubt, with another caustic remark, he thought. Then an odd thing happened. Her lips began to twitch, and she quickly covered them with both hands as if to hide something. Suspiciously, he leaned closer, thinking he heard a little twittering sound.
Then he knew.
The wench was laughing at him. She dared to laugh at her husband. She must have the brains of a flea to tempt his already overwrought temper thus.
“Oh, I cannot help myself,” she confessed. “You look so funny, standing there like a raging bull, but looking like a puffy mass of red-speckled dough.”
“So you think me amusing, do you?” Eirik said, advancing closer. “Have you any idea what your unwelcome bath and your blubbering have done to your appearance?”
Before she could protest, Eirik turned her toward the polished metal and forced her to look at herself.
“Oh, my.”
“Oh, my, indeed.”
“I guess Bertha was right. We look quite the pair.”
Eadyth suddenly seemed to realize that she had dropped her anger toward Eirik too easily by laughing with him companionably. Forcing a scowl onto her mirthful face, she snorted with self-disgust and started to walk toward the door. Eirik figured he had best make his apologies quickly before she turned shrewish again.
“Come,” he said, leading her to the chair and pushing her gently to sit. He pulled another chair closer so they sat facing each other, knee to knee. “I would have my say now.”
Eadyth made as if to rise, but he halted her by shaking his head. “Nay, you will sit and listen. ’Twill not be easy for me to tell you of the reasons for my berserk behavior, but you deserve the explanation. It all revolves around that bloody demon, Steven of Gravely.”
Eadyth’s head shot up with interest, and she sat back, steepling her fingers in front of her tightly pressed lips. Studying him warily, she finally said, “I am listening.”
Eadyth watched her husband as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair facing her. A soft white shert covered his taut body down to the wrists, and faded brown braies hugged his thick thigh and calf muscles down to the ankles, but Eadyth knew from his swollen face and the reddening bite wounds evident in the open neckline that he suffered terribly with the urge to scratch.
Good, she thought, remembering the vulgar thing he had done to her.
Until she had met Steven, she had been modest in her person, never allowing any man to touch her, not even for a chaste kiss. It had taken Steven months of seductive wooing to convince her of his love, and only then had she allowed that most intimate of all acts.
Since Steven’s betrayal, she had learned her lesson well and kept all men beyond touching distance of her body. It had not always been an easy task once word of her child leaked out, for she had been deemed tarnished goods. In defense, she had avoided the royal court and any public places where she might have been vulnerable to men’s advances, and she had made a concerted effort to downplay her attractiveness.
Mayhap that was why Eirik’s vulgar action devastated her so. Like all the other men, he placed no value on her dignity. And, for some reason, his condemnation of her as an adulteress hurt deeply. Blessed Lord, she could not remember the last time she had allowed herself the indulgence of a good sob. Probably not since Steven’s betrayal.
Eirik shifted noisily in his chair, breaking her reverie. “I first met Steven when I went to King Athelstan’s court as a boy for fostering.”
Despite her angry emotions, Eadyth could not curb her curiosity. “Was it not odd for a Viking child to foster at a Saxon court?”
“Nay, ’twas not unusual. My cousin Haakon, as pure a Viking as there ever was long afore he became high-king of all Norway, fostered there with me. Not to mention an assortment of scholars and refugees from royal courts around the world.
“And I told you afore I am only half Viking.” Eirik grinned in a ridiculous parody of a smile, considering the puffiness of his face. His lips tilted up only on one side. And, yea, Eadyth did remember all too well that earlier conversation when he had teased her, asking if she would like to see his Viking half. She curled her lips with distaste and made a clucking sound of disgust.
“Did your father force you to foster there?” she asked, choosing to ignore his insinuation about Viking parts.
“On the contrary, I coaxed my father into allowing me to be a Saxon fosterling.”
“But why?”
He shrugged, scratching distractedly at his arms, then the back of his neck. Eadyth wanted to remind him that the onion juice would alleviate his discomfort but knew somehow that he would accept no help from her.
“’Tis hard to explain, but even then times were changing for all Norsemen. Throughout Britain, you see evidence of how we Norsemen have assimilated, adopting Saxon customs, marrying their women. And ’tis not one-sided, this blending. Saxons have taken on many Norse ways, as well.”
“Like Earl Orm?”
“Yea, and many others. It seemed to
me, even as a child, that my future, and that of my fellow Norsemen, would be better served by learning the Saxon ways so both peoples could live together peacefully.”
Eadyth bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and gazed at this husband of hers—a stranger, really—seeing him in a new light. She had heard of his military exploits, but this idealistic side of his nature intrigued her.
But mayhap his noble words were just a ploy to soften her anger. She would have to tread carefully.
“And Tykir? Did he foster there with you?”
“Hardly,” Eirik scoffed. “He was more interested in the direct approach to settlement in Britain. Kill every Saxon in sight.”
“What has all this to do with Steven and your disgusting behavior?”
Eirik stroked his mustache absently. Then he flexed his fingers nervously and combed them through his hair. His throat worked as he sought for the right words.
Eadyth studied him carefully. What could cause such distress in Eirik that he would have trouble expressing himself?
Eirik cleared his throat and began. “Steven was also a fosterling at King Athelstan’s court. In fact, they were second cousins,” he said. “When I arrived, I had seen only ten winters, and Steven five more than that. We should have been friends.”
Eirik seemed drawn back in time, and a fierce anguish swept over his face in memory. A deep, deep pain misted his blue eyes.
“And?” she prompted when his silence went on and on.
At first, he did not seem to hear her as his thoughts turned inward.
“And?” she repeated.
“And we were not friends.” Eirik sighed deeply, forcing himself back to the present. Then he looked her directly in the eye, determination turning his eyes dark blue. “Steven was evil even then. He delighted in torturing not only animals, but those humans unwise enough to cross his path—those younger or weaker than he.”
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