THE TARNISHED LADY By Sandra Hill

Wilfrid chortled gleefully at his other side, but Eadyth only colored brightly and pretended she had not heard his words.

“I meant my brawny might in battle,” he added mockingly, lifting a well-muscled arm for her to admire, “and my cunning in maneuvering unscathed amongst the Saxon political snakepits.” He tapped his head as if to show it was not entirely empty.

Eadyth, apparently lacking in humor, as well as beauty, failed to smile at his jest. Instead, she thoughtfully compressed her lips to a thin line as she boldly scrutinized him. Finally, she asked, “May we speak in private, my lord?”

Eirik schooled his face to blandness, betraying none of his surprise, before motioning Wilfrid to leave them for a while.

As if pondering some serious problem, she drummed her slender fingers uncertainly on the tabletop before appearing to come to a decision. She waited until Wilfrid stepped off the dais, then looked Eirik directly in the eye.

* * *

“I need to marry immediately,” Eadyth blurted out without preamble. “Wouldst thou be interested?”

Eadyth watched the dark knight fight to keep his jaw from going slack. After his initial shock over her unexpected proposal, his face froze into an expressionless mask as he tried to understand her bizarre actions.

Hah! Men were so transparent. They thought women incapable of logical thought, and therein lay their weakness, Eadyth had learned over the past eight years lesson after lesson in the power of men over women. But it was not an absolute power, and she had become an expert in outwitting them. Had she not proven over and over her capability in running Hawks’ Lair and trading her own products in the marketplace of Jorvik—the best honey and mead and beeswax candles in all Northumbria?

It nettled Eadyth to have to come on humble knee before the handsome, smooth-tongued Lord of Ravenshire. As if she cared whether his finely chiseled features could melt the hearts of maids from Yorkshire to Strathclyde! Or that his slick words could cause a saintly nun to lose her inhibitions. She wanted no man for husband, and certainly not this illclothed brute in his crumbling castle who looked down his arrogant nose at her in barely suppressed disdain.

St. Bridget’s Breath! The thought of entering the bonds of matrimony made her cringe with distaste. Bonds! That was the all-important word here. For all these many years, she had refused to become chattel to any man.

But now she had no choice. Time was running out. The best she could do was strike a deal for the best betrothal agreement, one that would benefit her prospective husband but allow her to retain her freedom. Would the Lord of Ravenshire agree?

“Mayhap my ears play me false, my lady. Did you ask for my hand in marriage?” When she nodded and defiantly lifted her chin, he snorted with disgust. ” ‘Tis unseemly that you act on your own behalf.”

“Who would negotiate for me? My father is dead. I have no family.” She shrugged. “Are you so strait-laced and fearful of your manhood you cannot deal directly with a woman?”

Eirik sat up straighter, a muscle twitching angrily in his square jaw at her challenge. “You tread on dangerous ground, foolish lady. Heed me well, I fear you not, nor any man or woman. You ask for direct dealings. Well, you shall have them. I tell you directly—my answer is ‘Nay.’ I am not interested in your marriage proposal.”

Eadyth felt an annoying flush move up her neck and heat her cheeks. Why couldn’t she curb her wayward tongue? Accustomed to dealing with crafty tradesmen and laggard churls, she ofttimes forgot how to be diplomatic. With deliberate care, she banked her rankling temper and forced herself to proceed carefully before speaking again.

“I apologize, my lord, for my hasty words. The urgency of my situation causes my loose tongue, but, please… please do not refuse my proposal afore you hear the details.”

Eirik poured more ale into his goblet and sipped thoughtfully, scrutinizing her through slitted eyes, and obviously finding her lacking in the attributes he would seek in a wife. That didn’t surprise her. In fact, she had tried her best not to attract the lustful attentions of men since her one disastrous mistake eight years before.