Her cheeks pinkened becomingly, and Eirik squinted to see her more clearly through the clouding of the sheer veil. Damn his poor sight! He shook his head as if to wipe the fog from his eyes and looked again. God’s Bones! If it were not for the ashy hair, he could swear she was younger than he, and he had only seen thirty-one winters.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at my mouth.”
He grinned. Raising a hand, he touched her veil-covered lips with the pad of an extended thumb.
She slapped his hand away.
Eirik laughed, low and throaty.
Eadyth, squirming under his intense scrutiny, dodged away from him and put a hand to the small of her back, as if it pained her, then cackled in a manner that raised the hairs on his arms.
” ‘Tis just that I did not think a man like you would want to do… such… with a woman of my age, and appearance.”
“Lady, I am beginning to think that a man with the bedlust might overlook your age and… shortcomings… just because of your delicious lips and that enticing mole.”
That drew her body stiff as a battle pike, and Eirik laughed to himself at her quick rise to his baiting. Better yet, he saw an odd look of pleasure at his compliment sweep her face before she had a chance to draw on her usual mask of chagrin.
Ah! Finally, an inroad into her formidable defenses.
But then she retorted shrewishly, “Good Lord! If a mole makes you hot, I have a whole cartload of aging, toothless weavers at my keep that could turn your manhood rock hard and occupy your time for a score of weeks.”
“My lady, your crudity knows no bounds. Never… never have I heard a highborn woman use such words afore.”
” ‘Twould seem there is a first for everything then, for I have never heard of a normally endowed man who would yearn to take old grandmothers to his bed.”
Eirik clenched his fists.
Do not strike the impudent wench. Do not strike the impudent wench. Do not strike the impudent wench, he repeated over and over to himself, but, by all the saints, he was sorely tempted to put both hands on her slender neck and squeeze the very breath from her bony body.
“You are not a grandmother,” he sputtered out, then stopped. “Are you?”
Eadyth flashed a strange look his way, and a brittle laugh escaped her lips. “Nay. Not yet.”
As they continued to walk back toward the keep, a thought occurred to Eirik. “Just how old is your son John?”
Eadyth stumbled, but then caught herself and kept on walking. Eirik froze at her reaction to his question, but soon caught up with her. More and more, her actions puzzled him.
“Well?”
“How old do you think he is?” she asked shakily, deliberately refusing to meet his eyes.
Little warning bells went off in Eirik’s head. He sensed he was getting closer to the mystery, and answered hesitantly, “I do not know precisely. Mayhap fifteen or so.”
Inhaling sharply, Eadyth began a fit of coughing. Eirik slapped her mightily across the back before she finally choked out, “Enough! Dost want to break my bones?”
“You did not answer my question, Eadyth,” Eirik pointed out stonily and drew her to a stop outside the kitchen door of the garden courtyard. “I would have the truth.”
She looked him directly in the eye. “Seven.”
“Seven!” he stammered out. “He is a mere child. Why did you not tell me afore?”
Eadyth shrugged. “I saw naught of importance in his age.” Then she studied his face. “Does it matter?”
“Nay,” he said hesitantly. “You just took me by surprise.”
Now that he had a chance to think about it, it was not so unusual for a woman her age to have a seven-year-old child. She would have been in her early or mid-thirties at the time of her involvement with Steven. He looked up, about to ask her if that was the case, but she had already dashed through the door.
“I will see you at the feast,” she called over her shoulder. “Do not bring the dog inside, if you please. I have warned him that he may not enter ’til he has had a bath and learned to behave properly.”