“Nay. I am thinking of using it on her, though.” He turned to Wilfrid and said, “I expect you to punish Britta for her part in this foolhardy plot. As I will handle my own faithless lady.”
Wilfrid nodded, and Eirik turned, heading back toward the keep and his willful, deceitful, lackbrain wife. At that moment, he could have killed her without any compunction whatsoever.
Eadyth was not the only one with a talent for making lists. He began to make a list in his mind of all the ways he could torture her before doing the final deed. Mayhap he would start by rubbing her face in the bloody animal parts. Or make her swallow a pig eye or two.
Luckily, Eadyth was hidden behind a screen in his bed-chamber when Eirik entered. He reached above the door jamb and retrieved the vial of poison. Then he locked the door behind him. Quickly, he dumped the vial’s contents into a chamber pot, then rinsed it out and filled it with water.
He noticed the still-wrapped linen parcel on the floor and felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for Eadyth when he realized that she must have thought it was Godric’s head. But her pain was naught when weighed against the kind of pain he would have felt on learning of her and John’s deaths. How could she?
Eadyth practically jumped out of her skin when she emerged from behind the screen, fully clothed, and saw him leaning against the door, waiting for her.
“You came back,” she said hopefully, reaching out toward him with open arms.
He sidestepped her embrace. “I am leaving with Sigurd and Tykir,” he told her evenly, barely holding in check the angry words he wanted to hurl at her. “At last, we have Gravely within our grasp. I hope to inform you afore this day ends that the demon is finally dead.”
“Oh, nay, you cannot go after Steven now.”
“And why not?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
The hand she pressed to her lips shook, and she moved jerkily. The woman was clearly overwrought. She finally choked out, “Please. If you ever cared for me, do not go today.”
“Why?”
“Because… because I have had a dream portending misfortune.” She could not look him in the eye as she spoke.
Liar!
“And I am feeling unwell.” Her eyes looked everywhere but at him.
Liar! “Are you worried that I would be unequal in a contest with Steven of Gravely?”
“Nay.”
Liar!
“Do you think he may have captured Godric and that my precipitous actions may jeopardize the boy’s life?”
She gasped, and her eyes widened with fright at his words, which must seem glaringly insightful to her. “Of course not, though you know how devious Steven can be, and, if he has Godric, he might use the boy in any way he can…” Her words trailed off as she realized that she was rambling and that he was staring at her with icy contempt. “Eirik, I beg of you, stay at Ravenshire today. There will be other days to go after Steven.”
“Give me good reason to stay.”
“Because I love you.”
Eadyth’s words cut Eirik deeply because he now knew she was a master of falsehood. If she lied about one thing, she would lie about another. He hardened himself against her entreaties. “Love and lies never go hand in hand, Eadyth.”
Her shoulders slumped with defeat.
“Why are you trembling, Eadyth?”
She stiffened and clenched her fists, forcing her body to stop shaking. The woman’s will was formidable. And her courage, too, he had to admit.
Eirik stepped forward a pace and nudged the vial in the rushes, where he had placed it moments before. “What is this?” he asked, picking up the container with mock puzzlement.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning deathly pale. “Give that to me. It must have fallen…” She looked quiltily up at the door jamb.
Eirik held it close to his face, sniffing. “What an odd odor!”
“Give it to me,” she demanded in a near hysterical voice, coming closer.
He held it out of her reach and tilted his head questioningly.
” ‘Tis a headache potion the village herbal woman gave me. I told you I have been unwell.”