Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] (37 page)

“Yea, and I need no lessons in sarcasm from you, my brother. Why is my wife looking for me?”

Tykir put his hands on his hips and glared at him. “You are a lackwit. Why the hell do you think she seeks you out? To tend her bees?”

“I do not care for the tone of your voice.”

“And what do you intend to do about it?”

Eirik clenched his fists angrily and could not believe he was about to strike his own brother. Breathing deeply, in and out, he calmed his temper and asked with forced politeness, “Brother dear, why is my wife in Jorvik?”

“Because the mindless maid misses her loathsome lout of a husband,
brother dear
,” Tykir retorted with equal sweetness. “And because she is worried sick about you.” Tykir exhaled loudly with disgust and advised, “Go home, Eirik. Go home and make a family with Eadyth. I do not know why, but the lady loves you.”

Eirik grinned. “Yea, I am a lovable lout, am I not?”

“It runs in the family,” Tykir agreed, punching Eirik playfully on the arm. “Oh, by the by,” he added casually, “do you have any idea why Eadyth has been practicing standing on her head?”

Eirik choked on a surprised swallow of air, and it took three harsh thumps on the back from Tykir before he could breathe again. “You lie, Tykir. I know you made that up.”

“Did I?” Tykir said, examining his fingernails in a bored fashion. “Well, mayhap I misheard her.”

The two brothers laughed, wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders. They went onto Tykir’s ship and drank some of the excellent mead Eadyth had brought for Tykir’s voyage. After they talked for a short time, Eirik informed Tykir of Edred’s plans and expressed thanks that Tykir would be leaving Britain and the upcoming fray. Tykir told him he
would be sailing at dawn, so he would not see his brother again before departing.

Tykir exclaimed with a snap of his fingers, “Oh, I forgot something.” He went over to a chest and came back carrying a package.

“What is it?” Eirik asked suspiciously.

Tykir jiggled his eyebrows. “’Tis my wedding gift to you. I purchased it, with Eadyth’s permission, in one of the market stalls yesterday.”

“For me? Why would you need her permission to buy me something? Besides, you already gave us that damn parrot for a wedding gift.”

“Nay,” Tykir corrected Eirik with a laugh. “I gave the parrot to Eadyth. This is a special treat for you.”

“Will I like it?”

“Eirik, you will thank me to your dying days for this gift.”

The brothers embraced again near the dock. Eirik was just about to leave and go to the home of Eadyth’s agent when Tykir snapped his fingers again. “Oh, there is something else I forgot.”

“What? Another secret purchase?”

“Nay. I just thought you would like to know where Eadyth is right now.” Tykir was leaning jauntily against a tall coil of ropes, and Eirik briefly considered picking him up and tossing him into the river. He just knew he was not going to like what Tykir had to tell him.

“Well?”

“She has gone to visit Asa.”

Asa’s jewelry stall was closed when Eirik arrived at Coppergate, and, at first, there was no answer when he knocked on her door. Finally, a servant answered. Recognizing him, she motioned him into the large hall. Eirik approached the small solar off the hall where the maid directed him, and then Eirik stopped mid-stride with horror.

Eadyth and Asa were sitting side by side on a bench at the window seat. Eadyth was weeping, and Asa had her arm
around her shoulder, whispering words of comfort.

“Eadyth?” Eirik asked as he moved closer.

“Eirik!” Eadyth and Asa both said at the same time as they stood, Eadyth towering over Asa’s much shorter figure. He had always thought Asa was the most beautiful woman in the world. He realized now how wrong he had been. Eadyth, his wife, was much more beautiful. Gloriously beautiful. And she was his.

And I love her.

He smiled warmly toward Eadyth, expecting her to smile back. Instead, she looked with pain-stricken eyes from him to Asa. Her violet eyes turned luminously angry. “Oh…oh…,” she sputtered and shoved him aside, running through the hall and out the door.

“Wha-at?” he asked Asa.

Asa just shook her head, as if he were the most dull-headed fool in the world.

Eirik spun on his heels and hurried after his wife, but she had already disappeared in the crowded street. He got his horse and rode toward her agent’s house. By the time he maneuvered through the bothersome crowd, his mood had turned sour. He entered the agent’s house without knocking.

A startled lady looked up—presumably Bertrand’s wife—and Eirik asked rudely, “Where the hell is Eadyth?”

“And you are…?” the buxom woman asked, approaching with a raised copper ladle.

“Her husband.”

“Oh. The loathsome lout.”

Eirik grimaced at the woman’s words.

She lowered her weapon and jerked her head toward the stairs leading to an upper level. He thought he heard her say, “Mayhap now the maid will stop her constant weeping.”

Eirik found Eadyth in one of the guest bedchambers, packing her belongings in a leather bag. “Good tidings, wife,” he said in a silky voice, as if he had just returned from the exercise fields at Ravenshire a sennight ago, before all their angry words and separation, before Steven’s death. He pulled
the door shut behind him and turned the lock so they would not be disturbed. Then he leaned lazily against the wall, watching her closely.

She looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes and gave him a condemning, condescending look—the kind Eadyth excelled in, the kind she flashed at doltish servants and lackbrain husbands. Lord, he loved the woman.

“Are we going home?” he asked, looking pointedly at her traveling bag.

“I do not know where you are going, but I am returning to Ravenshire.”

“Then we will travel together, I suppose.”

“I do not need your company.”

“But I need yours,” he said softly.

Her eyes shot up at that. “Since when?”

“Since the day you barged into my keep, kicked my dog and started managing my life.”

“I never kicked your dog,” she protested. “’Twas a soft nudge.” Then his other words sunk in, and her face colored. “What about Asa?”

“What about her?”

“Do not play games with me, Eirik. You went to her house.”

“And…?”

“Eirik, I told you the first time we met that you could have your mistresses as long as you did not bring them to Ravenshire. Well…well, if that is what you want…”

“Eadyth…Eadyth…Eadyth,” he said softly, shaking his head. “If you ever say again that you do not care if I have a mistress, I think I may just—”

“I never said I did not care,” she declared vehemently. “’Tis because I care and want you to be happy that I will not play the shrewish wife.”

He raised his brows mockingly. “Really? I do not know if I like that idea. I have grown rather fond of…shrewish tongues.”

She made a clucking sound, so like her usual self. He
wanted to squeeze her with sheer joy. “Eadyth, I have not been with Asa since before our betrothal.”

She stilled suddenly, and he noticed the trembling of her hands as she laid aside her packing to study him. “Why are you here, Eirik?”

“Why did you come to Jorvik?” he countered.

Her eyelashes fluttered downward and she said, barely above a whisper, “To convince you to come home.”

“Well, convince me.”

She glanced up at him sideways, trying to guess his mood. “Will you come home?” she asked, lifting her haughty chin to the ceiling, as if anticipating a negative answer.

He pretended to ponder her question and moved away from the door toward her. He picked her traveling bag up off the bed and laid it on the floor, then sat down wearily on the mattress. He drew her down beside him.

Eadyth wanted to shake an answer from her husband, and she wanted to remain pridefully silent. More than anything, she wanted to save her marriage. “Eirik, I have made mistakes,” she choked out, “but I think I could change.”

Eirik grinned disbelievingly at her. And Eadyth’s heart flipped over. Blessed Lord, he was a handsome man.

“I need to be able to trust you, Eadyth. I cannot abide lies. I just cannot.”

“I know, and I am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You always do.” Fine lines webbed his eyes and the edges of his mouth. He looked exhausted and heart weary, and Eadyth cried inwardly that she had caused him so much pain.

Eirik took her hand in his and traced the betrothal scar at her wrist. Eadyth’s pulse jumped under the tender caress. Then he entwined their fingers so that their two scars met. “Heart of my heart,” he murmured, repeating their betrothal vows. And Eadyth’s heart felt as if it were expanding in her chest. So many feelings unfurled and rippled through her senses. There was no way to express them all.

So, of course, she started to weep.

“What shall we do, Eadyth?” Eirik asked, wiping the tears with the fingertips of his free hand.

“I do not know,” she said on a sob. “What do you want?”

He looked at her levelly. “A wife to love, who would love me in return. A family. A warm home.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then added on a whisper, “You.”

Eadyth’s heart stopped beating for a moment. Then she threw herself at him, knocking him backward onto the bed as she kissed his face and neck and ears and hair, crying the entire time. Her head-rail slipped off and its gold circlet fell to the floor with a metallic clink.

“Oh, Eirik, I promise you will not be sorry. I am going to be the most biddable wife in the world.”

He laughed with disbelief against her neck as he swept his palms up and down her back, from her shoulders to her thighs, over and over.

“’Tis true, and I will never, never lie to you again.”

Eirik held her face above his in the cradle of his two palms. “Eadyth, do not make promises you cannot keep.”

Eadyth could see the pain in his wonderful blue eyes, pain she had caused with her dishonesty, no matter how well-intentioned. “I want to try,” she said.

He nodded in acceptance of her pledge. “’Tis good enough for now.” He pulled her head down to his then and kissed her with all the pent-up passion of the past sennight of their separation. When he finally tore his mouth from hers, panting for breath, he told her in a thick voice full of emotion, “I have missed you, dearling, more than you can ever know.”

“I never want to lose you, Eirik. You must help me, though. I have a tendency to try to take over and manage things, just as you have complained ofttimes. And…why are you grinning?”

“Because there have been a few times when your ‘managing’ has not been too difficult to abide.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered the scandalous way in which she had “managed” a seduction of her husband one
night. And she marveled at the changes this man had wrought in her cold life and disposition. Good changes, she decided.

Eirik’s fingers were busy meanwhile with some managing of their own. He undid her belt and lifted her tunic and chemise over her head, stopping here and there to kiss a shoulder, to nip a breast, to touch the tip of his tongue to her mole.

When she was naked, he stood her before him and removed his own clothing, holding her eyes the entire time. “Can you see me in this dim light?” she asked tentatively, knowing how sensitive he was about his eyesight.

He chuckled softly. “Well enough to see the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. Well enough to see your nipples peak with their own sweet ache. Well enough to see your lips parting in anticipation of my kisses. Well enough to see the dew of—”

She stepped forward and put her fingertips over his lips, stopping his next words. Then she tried to loop her arms around his neck, but he put her away from him with a gentle kiss. “Not so fast. I want to open my wedding gift from Tykir first.”

“Wedding gift? Oh!” she said, blushing hotly when she recognized the purchase Tykir had made for her in the market yesterday. “He told me it was a gift for me.”

Eirik took the silken harem garment out of its wrapping and handed it to Eadyth. It was really only a series of transparent scarves draped together with tiny bells along the edges. “Will you dance for me, Eadyth?” he asked in a suddenly raw voice.

Shyly, Eadyth donned the flimsy costume for her husband, wanting to cover herself with her hands, but stopping herself from doing so when she saw the look of pleasure in Eirik’s eyes as they swept over her.

“I cannot dance. I never learned how,” she confessed. “But I could sit on your lap while you tell me one of your caliph stories.”

Eirik thought that was a splendid idea.

But they only got through the beginning of his story before
the floor was littered with silken scarves. When he was buried in her woman folds, she held him close, forestalling the onslaught of spiraling passion which would overtake them soon. She cherished this oneness with her husband, this moment out of time, where only he and she—man and woman, husband and wife—existed.

Eirik seemed to cherish the special moment as well. Bracing himself on his straightened arms, he looked down at her adoringly and declared on a heartfelt whisper, “I love you, Eadyth.”

“I love you, too, Eirik. Nay, do not move yet…oh!” She put her hands on both his buttocks to hold him in place, but closed her eyes for a moment until the spasms of sweet pleasure at their joining place stopped. With a sigh, she then took one of his hands in hers and laid it on her stomach. In an emotion-choked voice she told him, “With all the wedding gifts you and Tykir have given me, I have not yet given you any. Here ’tis, and I hope you will cherish it as much as I value all those you have given me.”

At first, he just gazed at her in confusion. When understanding dawned, he smiled at her with such open love that Eadyth felt blessed by God. Then Eirik showed her with slow, slow strokes, and sweet kisses, and softly spoken words of love how very much he prized her love gift to him.

Much later, Eadyth lay cradled in her husband’s arms, tracing her fingertips across his fine chest hairs, liking ever so much the idea that she had a right to touch him so. Eirik’s gaze and his caresses went continually to her flat belly, as if in amazement that they could have created a child together.