Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] (27 page)

“Tell me what you know about Eirik leaving so suddenly for Jorvik,” she ordered sternly.

“I already told you, I know naught of his intentions.” Her eyes widened with sudden insight, though, and she ducked her head sheepishly.

“What? What is it you have thought of?”

“Well,” Bertha said reluctantly, “his mistress Asa does live there. Mayhap he felt a sudden inclination to visit with her.”

Like ice water dashed in her face, sudden and devastating realization swept over Eadyth. She shook with the impact.

Closing the door on Bertha and the guard, she listened, uncaring, as the key turned in the lock. A raw and overwhelming grief flooded her, and her throat ached with defeat.

Betrayal! Again! When will I ever learn? First he puts me under his thumb with his lustful sorcery. Then he tosses me aside like yesterday’s porridge. How will I bear the pain?

And, most important, how will I escape?

Eadyth spent exactly two hours feeling sorry for herself. She knew because one of her costly 24-hour candles that Eirik had lit the night before was still burning, wastefully.

She wept.

She berated herself for being a fool.

She despaired that her shattered heart would ever be the same again.

She was starting to love Eirik.
The lout!
She was starting to hate Eirik.
The lout!

She cried at her conflicting emotions. She pulled at her hair when she could not stop thinking about the sweet life she had envisioned. A fleeting gift—cherished for a moment, then lost.

Then Eadyth got angry.

She called Eirik every foul name she could think of, and then had to listen to Abdul repeat each word, with infuriating precision, back to her.

She threw the wood trencher and all its remaining food against the wall. Then, failing to find anything else to throw, she tore apart the mattress and threw the straw stuffing about the room.

When she finally calmed down, hours later, Eadyth was her old self again. Cool. Sensible. A little wiser. And fit to kill.

Late afternoon shadows danced through the arrow slits as she plopped down with a whoosh of flying straw onto the remains of Eirik’s bed. And she began to plan.

Well, I have fallen for the soft words of a deceitful man once again. So that just means I am weaker than I thought. But now that I know my weakness, I must strengthen my defenses. How do I do that? Hmmm. I will have to get away—for a time, at least—from Eirik and his seductive tongue…and lips…and hands…and…oh, Lord!

Mayhap I could go back to Hawks’ Lair. ’Twould not be unsafe if I took enough guards with me. Then, when I am stronger—when my bones do not melt at his mere glance, when my heart does not leap at his slightest touch—then I can confront Eirik with new terms for this marriage of ours, which is not really a marriage, after all. First, I will have to escape Eirik’s prison. But, Sweet Mary, how will I ever escape the pain of my breaking heart?

With renewed determination, she picked up one of the heavy side supports which had splintered off Eirik’s bedstead in her tirade and walked to the door.

“Brian…Brian, is that you out there?” she called sweetly.

“Yea, mistress,” the guard answered tentatively. “Did ye get the message I slipped under yer door? Ye were makin’ so much noise I did not know if ye heard me.”

“Message? What message?” Eadyth looked down and saw a piece of parchment on the floor, half buried in the scrambled rushes. Unsealing it, she read the note Eirik had sent to her from Jorvik.

Eadyth leaned back against the door, closing her eyes on the cruel pain which shattered her heart.
A beautiful girl! Cap
tivated!
The brute did not even hide his indiscretions. A suffocating sensation constricted Eadyth’s chest as she crumbled the note in her hands and tears slipped once again from her eyes.

Trust him? How could she do that? He wanted to rut with his mistress and, at the same time, have a wife waiting meekly here at Ravenshire for him, as well. Even worse, he would bring his leman to Ravenshire.

And how dare he call her “dearling” after betraying her so? She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and wondered, with a catch of breath, what endearments he used for Asa.

Girding herself with resolve, Eadyth pushed herself away from the door.

“Brian, would you send Bertha up here with a broom and some cleaning cloths?” she called through the closed door. “I need to sweep up a slight mess in my bedchamber.”

He muttered something, but then she heard him stomping off.

“Here comes trouble,” Abdul squawked, and Eadyth shot him a glare. The parrot lifted his arrogant nose, ignoring her growling admonition. “Here comes
big
trouble.”

Eadyth narrowed her eyes menacingly. She would have to do something about the rude, far-too-insightful bird. But not now.

Tapping her foot impatiently, Eadyth awaited Bertha’s arrival. Very soon, the key turned in the lock. Bertha held the door open with her wide rump and edged inside, carrying the cleaning supplies. The door swung shut after her with a loud bang.

Bertha’s mouth dropped open and her eyes grew as wide as cow pies when she turned, gaping at Eadyth’s nude body bedecked in the transparent gown. “Oh, my Gawd! Wait ’til the others below stairs hear what the master has done to you! The wily devil! Not only does he lock his stiff-backed lady in his bedchamber fer his own pleasures, but he dresses her skinny body up like a harem slave.” She burst into ribald laughter.

“Of course,” she choked out, “if yer breasts wobbled more, he probably would have stayed at home with you, ’stead of traipsing off to his mistress. I wager
her
breasts wobble like a sweet custard.” Bertha was bending over with infuriating mirth.

Eadyth felt no compunction then about pulling the board from behind her back and whomping the prattling wench on top of her head. The blow was soft enough to do no real damage, but hard enough to cause the robust woman to slide to the floor in a dead faint.

Grunting with exertion, Eadyth managed to pull Bertha’s huge body over to the corner, where she quickly removed her drab gown. Taking off the ridiculous beekeeper gown, Eadyth tore it into strips and bound the cook’s arms and legs and gagged her mouth. With haste, she donned Bertha’s gown, not wanting to take a chance of being seen naked in the halls.

Then she cleverly lured Brian into the room by asking him to help her and Bertha move a chest. She dealt him the same fate as Bertha.

“Big, big trouble,” Abdul opined.

Eadyth turned on the pesky bird, hands on hips. “How do you feel about cats, my fine feathered friend? Seems to me I saw a huge mousecatcher out in the stable, with a decided fondness for tasty wings and tiny tongues.”

Abdul apparently knew when to shut his beak.

Satisfied with her work thus far, Eadyth whisked her hands together efficiently, then left the room, locking the door behind her.

Late the next day, Eirik and his weary guard rode into the courtyard at Ravenshire. Emma slept soundly, nestled against him in the saddle. In truth, she had not allowed him out of her sight since first she laid eyes on him in Gyda’s house, whimpering alternately, “Father” and “home”—two more words than she had spoken in the past three years. A good sign, he supposed.

Luckily, it was not the pox which had afflicted the orphanage, but a much less serious fever. Eirik had helped Selik and Rain move the children back to their homestead outside the city before returning with his daughter.

Wilfrid approached him on foot and started to speak. “My lord, I would tell—”

“Shush,” Eirik cautioned softly, putting a finger to his lips as he dismounted carefully. He did not want Emma to awaken in strange surroundings until he had a chance to forewarn Eadyth. He looked eagerly toward the castle and hastened up the steps with Emma in his arms.

“Please, my lord, I must needs inform—”

“Later, Wilfrid, let me put the child to bed first.” And see my wife.
My wife!
Eirik was worried about his daughter and wanted to seek Eadyth’s advice. In addition, he had thought much about Eadyth and their budding relationship during the past two days. He had so many things to tell her, and, most important, he found that he missed his wife fiercely, much more than he would have expected. He was too mistrustful of all women yet to call these new feelings love, but he was beginning to care deeply for his new wife. In time, mayhap…

After tucking his daughter into a bed in the guest room on the second floor, Eirik went to his own adjacent bedchamber.

“Eadyth,” he called out softly as he unlocked the door. She was probably asleep, since it was barely past dawn.

There was no answer, and the room loomed blacker than Hades. Taking a torch from a hall sconce, he entered.

It was a shambles. Strewn about the floor were food, mattress stuffing, broken pottery, and pieces of his shattered bed.

But no wife.

“EADYTH!”

His roar could be heard all the way out to the bailey and beyond. And Emma began to cry loudly in fright.

Abdul began squawking, “Big trouble, big trouble, big trouble. Awk. Oh, Lord. Awk. Big trouble, big trouble…”

Eirik said a foul word and went to his daughter. After com
forting her back to sleep, he sought out Wilfrid, who was fortifying himself with vast quantities of mead in the great hall.

“Well?” he demanded icily.

“She went back to Hawks’ Lair and took her son with her,” Wilfrid said all in one breath, as if he had rehearsed the words.

“And how did she escape my locked bedchamber? Fly through the window?”

Wilfrid groaned and put his head in his hands. “Nay, she cracked the skulls of Bertha and Brian.”

Eirik’s eyes widened in surprise. “She what? Never mind. I do not think I want to know…just yet. And where were you when all this skull cracking was taking place?”

“I was patrolling with a guard near Peatshire. Some strange men were seen skulking about.” At the questioning rise of Eirik’s brows, Wilfrid shook his head. “They were gone by the time we arrived.”

“And Eadyth risked her life and that of John to leave Ravenshire? Why?”

“Well, she did order a goodly number of men to accompany her. So, to be fair, she did take precautions against Gravely. As to why she left…well, Bertha did hint that, mayhap, she might have led the mistress to believe…”

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“…that you went to Jorvik to be with Asa.”

“Bloody Hell! Whyever would Eadyth believe that?”

Wilfrid shrugged. “Who understands the turn of a woman’s mind? But you left with no explanation to Bertha for your hasty departure, and I was not here to explain, and, well, you did hasten to Jorvik, and Asa does reside there, and—”

“I thought I told Bertha why…hmmm…mayhap in my haste I neglected to mention…” His words trailed off as he stroked his upper lip thoughtfully, deciding he might have neglected to inform Bertha exactly why he needed to rush to Jorvik. “Still, Eadyth should not have left Ravenshire against my orders.”

“For a certainty,” Wilfrid agreed, slamming his goblet down on the table for emphasis.

“Will ye lock her in yer bedchamber again with naught but a harem veil ter cover her bare arse?” Bertha asked hopefully behind him.

Eirik almost jumped from his seat with surprise at his cook’s shrewish voice. “God’s Bones, Bertha! Must you creep up behind a man without warning?”

“Ye mean like yer vicious wife with the heavy hand? Do you see what she did to me? Do you?”

Bertha’s head was covered by a huge swath of linen, large enough to bandage an elephant Eirik had seen once in his travels.

“Gawd! All I did was laugh at her garment!” Bertha complained.

Eirik gaped at his outspoken cook. “Bertha, ’tis not your place to mock your lady.”

“Well, you would think the lady would appreciate some helpful advice. Jist ’cause I remarked on her breasts not wobblin’, as a woman’s should, even in that scandalous garment, was no reason to split me head open.”

“Wobbling?” Eirik and Wilfrid both sputtered out.

“Yea, wobblin’. Men like a little jiggle in the tits, you know,” she informed them sagely. “And I have told yer lady wife so on more than one occasion.”

Wilfrid rolled his eyes at Eirik, and they both grinned.

After listening to more of Bertha’s complaints, Eirik dispatched her to start cleaning his bedchamber. “And stop repeating those tales about Eadyth’s attire. She will not be pleased.”

“Hah! Everyone already knows, anyway. We are all jist waitin’ fer yer next move. I think puttin’ her in a cage out in the bailey might be a nice touch.”

Eirik ignored Bertha’s unwanted advice and turned back to Wilfrid, more serious now. “I cannot leave Emma. She starts screaming at the least little start as memory of her mother’s
death comes back in bits and spurts. Take twenty of my men and go after Eadyth.”

“Now?”

“Yea, I want her back here tonight, even if you have to tie her to a horse to accomplish the deed.”

Wilfrid stood reluctantly, obviously not looking forward to the task. “What will I tell her?”

“Tell her naught but that her husband demands her return. I can do my own explaining.”

“I will no doubt have to gag her,” Wilfrid muttered as he walked off to do his master’s bidding. “And she will have my hide, in one way or another, in her own good time. No doubt set me to cleaning the garderobes. Again.”

Eadyth was, in fact, gagged and tied to the saddle of her horse when they arrived back at Ravenshire near dawn. As Wilfrid began to undo her bindings, she glared at him icily. She would deal with the oaf later. Right now, she had a knave to kill. A black-haired, blue-eyed knave. And he was nowhere in sight.