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.