The barest touch of his finger, a whisper of a caress, ignited sweet tingles of sensitivity which ricocheted sensuously up her arm, to her breasts, causing the tips to harden into tiny pebbles of aching need. Eadyth inhaled sharply, alarmed at this new feeling of helpless yearning. She tried to pull away, but Eirik held her hand fast.
His head tilted questioningly and his eyes narrowed as he studied her closely.
“When you are not frowning, you do not look so aged. How old did you say you are?” he asked, without warning, in a suspicious tone of voice.
Eadyth could see the erotic luminosity hazing his eyes and knew the touch affected him as much as it had her. At the same time, he obviously puzzled over his uncharacteristic attraction to an aging woman. Thank the saints for the dimness of the chamber. Before she had a chance to respond or turn her face away from his scrutiny, Eirik suddenly unsheathed a sharp blade hanging from the belt at his waist.
Good Lord! Was he going to kill her just because he felt a momentary lustful impulse for an old crone? She gasped and yanked futilely against his grip. The man had lost his senses.
Before she could guess his next move, he ran the razor-sharp blade across her wrist, then did the same to his own. In shock, Eadyth watched entranced as thin streams of blood pooled on both their wrists. For a long moment, they both gazed at the twin wounds, the only sounds in the room the even, exaggerated echo of their breathing.
Gently, he pressed his massive hand across hers so the blood mingled and their pulses merged, then looked her directly in the eyes and stated in a firm, husky voice, “Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth.”
Heart hammering, Eadyth stared at him. Sweet Mother of God! He truly was a Viking barbarian. At the same time, she felt an irresistible pull toward him, a melting of her defenses that frightened her to the core.
Seemingly unaware of his devastating effect on her, Eirik adjusted his hand so that their fingers twined together and folded, wrist to wrist. Her tingling wound throbbed and changed character, became almost an erotic rhythm, a sharp counterpoint to her pounding heartbeat.
Oh, my!
“Now you repeat the words,” he demanded raspily, refusing to let her pull her wrist from its savage embrace with his.
In stunned silence, her eyes locked with his. She could not speak.
“Say the words, Eadyth,” Eirik coaxed.
“Blood of my blood, I pledge thee my troth,” she repeated softly.
Her world tilted askew then as something new and beautiful—and frightening—blossomed inside Eadyth’s chest and unfurled with exquisite, heart-stopping intensity. This was not the usual betrothal ceremony, presided over by church clergy, attended by family and friends, as solemn as the wedding ritual itself. It was better, and its heart-wrenching intimacy shook Eadyth’s long-frozen soul.
“Do you think this is binding?” she finally whispered.
“Yea, ’tis,” he answered softly.
Still holding her arm fast, Eirik pulled a ring from his tunic and slipped it on the third finger of her right hand. ” ‘Tis the first of my arrha gifts for you. You will move it to your left hand after the wedding, symbolizing that you accept your new position of obedience.” He chuckled at his last word.
Eadyth raised an eyebrow skeptically, but she could not fail to appreciate the magnificence of his gift as she closed her fingers to keep the huge gold band from slipping off. Looking closer, she saw the image of a raven, with gleaming emerald eyes, etched into its center.
” ‘Twas my grandfather’s.”
Eadyth nodded at the significance. “I have never heard of arrha. It means ‘earnest gifts,’ does it not?”
“Yea, tradition calls for three bridal gifts. The ring was the first.” Then he reached into the packet on the table and handed her a silk-embroidered shoe, proclaiming, “This is the second. It belonged to my grandmother Aud.”
“Only one?” she asked with a laugh, pleased, despite herself, that Eirik had taken the time to honor her with tokens.
He grinned. “I get to strike you on the head with it during the marriage ceremony. Normally, your father would hand it to me, symbolizing his transfer of authority over you to my hands.”