Pensively, Eadyth donned her dowdy garments and smoothed her hair back under its wimple and head-rail. As an added measure, she grabbed a handful of ashes from the hearth and smeared them carefully on her face to give her skin a grayish cast.
She smiled, remembering Girta’s outrage yestermorn when she had deliberately sought out the most drab and concealing garb she could find.
” ‘Tis a poor temptation you make for the marriage bed,” Girta had complained tartly.
“Just so, Girta dear. ‘Tis exactly my aim. I would entice a husband with my dowry and my abilities in managing an estate, not my flesh.” She had shuddered with repugnance at that last prospect, adding, “I have more than learned my lesson in that regard.”
“Ah, child, ’twas one bad experience. Not all men are cut of the same cloth.”
Eadyth’s demeanor had hardened then. “Nay, you are a good woman, Girta, but harsh reality has proven to me that more men than not share Steven’s evil designs where women are concerned. They consider us mere chattel to be used and set aside when the pleasure fades. I would have more than that.”
Girta had shaken her head with worry. “I cannot fathom how you will be able to accept the strictures of wifehood.”
“I will not. My prospective groom must agree to my conditions aforehand,” she had asserted with more confidence than she felt.
“Oh, Eadyth, dear child, I fear you will be sorely hurt.”
Hurt? Eadyth pondered now as she opened the door of her bedchamber onto the drafty hall. Nay, she had long since hardened her vulnerable heart. But John… he was a different matter. She would do all in her power to protect her son from pain—even if it meant marrying the loathsome lout of Ravenshire, or some other equally detestable man.
Eadyth walked through the hall and down the stairs of the two-story, wood and stone keep. Much larger than Hawks’ Lair, it had been an impressive castle at one time, or so her father had often said, but crumbling stone and rotted wood bespoke years of neglect. In truth, she hated to see any fine thing, whether person or building, treated so poorly. It said something about the man. Eirik had much to answer for in his abuse of his heritage, Eadyth thought as she shook her head woefully.
She looked for a servant who could direct her to the garderobe, then to fresh water for drinking and bathing. No one was about. Some drunken knights she had seen yestereve slept on wide benches and in bed closets edging the great hall, along with some of the servants.
A few of the women lay naked under the sleeping furs, limbs entwined with the highborn men. Through the partly open door of an alcove, Eadyth saw a’ red-haired vixen sharing the bed place of Wilfrid, the seneschal she had met yestereve. In the cradle of Wilfrid’s arms, the woman’s bosom pressed provocatively against his dark-haired chest and a long leg was thrown over both of his massive thighs. More outrageous, her callused fingers lay intimately over his limp man part.
Eadyth’s eyes widened at the erotic scene. Then her upper lip curled with revulsion. Knowing what she did of the nature of men, Wilfrid could very well be married and his poor wife asleep above stairs while he fornicated like a rutting rabbit with the servant girl.
Not really surprised, Eadyth knew that bed sharing was common practice in many manors, especially a male-dominated one like Ravenshire. But she did not permit such bawdiness at Hawks’ Lair. She encouraged marriage among her churls, and no unwilling maid was ever bedded by visiting nobles in her keep.
She considered shaking them both awake to vent her disapproval, but, unlike yestereve, she vowed to follow a more sensible path today. After all, it was not her keep—nor likely to ever be so. Instead, she headed toward the separate kitchen area, connected to the keep by an enclosed passageway. Even though the castle had no chatelaine, some servant should be in charge of the household… perchance the cook.
Pushing open the heavy door, Eadyth gasped with horror at the nightmare of greasy pots, darting mice, spoiled food, unwashed trenchers and goblets, and even two chickens pecking contentedly at food droppings on the dirt-encrusted stone floor. Eadyth grabbed a broom and shooed away one fat mouse feasting on a hunk of mutton atop the table, then stomped over to a pallet near the cold fire where a servant, probably the cook, was snoring loudly through the rotten teeth of her open mouth. She rolled over onto her stomach with a grunt and broke wind loudly. Using the broom, Eadyth gave her a whack across her wide buttocks, and the woman shot upright, rubbing her bottom.