“Not again, Eirik, I am too weary,” Eadyth mumbled sleepily.
Eirik’s lips turned up with immense satisfaction, knowing he had done a superior job of tiring her out.
“Eir-rik,” Tykir whined, knocking on the door again, “open up. ‘Tis past dawn, and I have four bothersome children in my bed making so much noise my head hurts. ‘Tis time for you and Eadyth to take over.”
“Begone, Tykir. And do not come back unless the keep is under attack.”
Eirik heard Tykir mutter several swear words, then stomp off. He put a hand on Eadyth’s satin-smooth buttock, relishing the idea that he had a husband’s right to do so. New, wonderful feelings washed over him as he gazed at his wife, and he feared examining them too closely, lest they be ethereal and fade away, like dreams. He closed his eyes, preparing to fall asleep again.
But Eadyth had other plans, soon evident when she shifted and rubbed her breasts across his furred chest, then placed a hand possessively over his exhausted man part, purring, ” ‘Twould seem you need a bit of leavening in your life, dearling.”
And it was Eirik then who protested with a groan, “Not now, Eadyth, I am too tired.”
But he soon changed his mind when she asked saucily, “Not even if I stand on my head, bare—”
“You would not!” he said with shock, his eyes shooting open. “Would you?” He could not hide the gleam of interest in his eyes.
“Nay, you brute, I would not.” But then she swung her body atop his, challenging, “Are you done ‘peaking’ so soon? You promised me twelve ‘peaks,’ and you are only up to six so far.”
Eirik found he was no longer quite so tired.
An hour later, Tykir was back at their door, pounding insistently. “Eirik, you push the bounds of brotherly love. Get your arse out here and take these whelps off my hands. John has challenged me to a pissing contest. Larise has my feet aching from dancing so much. Dancing! For the love of Thor, who ever heard of a Norse warrior dancing? Emma has honey in her hair. Godric is shooting arrows into Bertha’s butter churn. Abdul has begun to molt. And your damn dog shit on my bed.”
Eirik and Eadyth exchanged looks of amusement before both exclaiming at the same time, “Go away!” and then they burst into laughter.
“Are you laughing at me?” Tykir demanded, affront turning his voice churlish.
“Why do you not teach the children some of your magic tricks?” Eirik finally choked out when Tykir continued to mutter loudly outside in the corridor. Tykir told him exactly what he could do with his “magic tricks” and stalked away.
Since they were already awake, Eirik decided to teach Eadyth a few “magic tricks.”
“Have you ever heard of the famous Viking ‘S’ spot?” he asked his wife, grinning against the cleavage of her breasts, and moving lower with a trail of kisses.
“Nay. Is this another one of those caliph stories?”
“Of course not,” he said, affronted. “My ‘Uncle’ Selik told me about the ‘S’ spot. The tricky thing about it is that it can only be found with—”
“With what?” Eadyth asked with a gasp as Eirik knelt between her legs and raised her knees over his shoulders.
“—the tongue,” he answered smoothly, with a wink.
And Eadyth told him later, much later, that he could practice his magic tricks on her anytime he wanted.
The third time Tykir came banging on their door, about mid-day, he demanded, “Eirik, come quickly. Britta is missing, and we fear Steven may have her.”
* * *
Eadyth gathered the frightened children about her while she watched Eirik and his men ride off in full battle gear to search for the missing maid. She tried to hide her terror, both for Eirik and Tykir, and especially for the helpless Britta, who had been pulled into their battle with Steven.
Before he had mounted his horse, Eirik had drawn Eadyth into his arms and whispered against her lips, “I am well pleased with you, wife. I had hoped to have more time to show you my joy.”