Eirik smiled. He would enjoy playing the cat to this dowdy mouse with her haughty airs.
Clearing her throat, she called out brazenly from the bottom of the dais steps, “By your leave, my Lord Ravenshire, I would beg an audience with you on an urgent matter.”
Urgent matter! Urgent matter! That was what they all said when they came seeking favors. Eirik nodded reluctantly, and with a wave of his right hand to a nearby housecarl indicated that Eadyth’s companions should be taken off for food and drink.
“Apparently you did not receive the missive I sent,” she began in a stilted voice, her lips pinched white with tension. Two little lines between her brows bespoke what must be a permanent glower. Eirik almost burst out laughing as he realized the woman was finding it sore hard to humble herself before him, that she would much prefer to administer a sharp tongue lashing for his discourtesy.
“I received your letter.”
When he declined to explain himself further, Eadyth’s mouth dropped open, exposing surprisingly white and healthy teeth for one so old. He stroked his mustache thoughtfully and squinted to see better. Despite the age lines that bracketed her eyes and mouth, she might not be as elderly as he had originally thought. In truth, the skin over her delicate facial bones was smooth as new cream in those places where a frown did not crease it unpleasantly. He wished he could see her better; it rankled that his poor vision made him see things less clearly when up close.
“Aaah! An honest man. How refreshing!”
“Didst thou expect any different? ‘Tis a virtue I value more than any other—honesty, that is,” Eirik snapped, oddly offended by her complacent acceptance of his admission that he had received her summons and rudely failed to respond.
His answer seemed to please her greatly. “Yea, most times I do expect dishonesty. There are not many truly trustworthy men in my experience.”
“Or women?”
“Or women,” she agreed with a slight nod, appraising him boldly.
A smile tugged at the edges of Eadyth’s finely defined lips with their perfectly ridged divot above the center and a small, disconcerting black mole just above the right corner. In truth, the woman was not as horse ugly as he had originally thought. Oh, her straight nose was too strong and haughty for his taste, not to mention that stubbornly jutting chin, but if it were not for the gray hair and broom-thin body she might be passable in looks. Peering closer, he could see now that she would have been a beauty in her youth—the Silver Jewel of Northumbria.
Eirik’s hand reached instinctively for his mustache. Something about the lady’s appearance struck him as strange. But then he remembered Wilfrid’s words on the scandal that surrounded her. She was a puzzle he could not fathom yet. He smiled to himself at the prospect of solving her mystery.
“May I join you?”
“Of course,” he said, feeling chastened, like a boy, by her softly spoken words at his failure to offer hospitality. He stood and helped her up the steps to the high table, noting the thinness of her arm under the thick fabric. Lord, where did she find such a God-awful color of russet? She was taller than average but still she barely reached his shoulder, he noted as he introduced her to Wilfrid.
Before sitting, she checked the seat of her chair, no doubt looking for dust. Bloody Hell! He had only been home a few sennights and had more important matters to handle than laggard servants. It was one thing for Wilfrid to nag him about opening the purse strings of his fortune to restore Ravenshire, another for this unwelcome guest to look down her long nose at him and his keep.
Reaching for an empty goblet, he looked at her pointedly as he wiped the rim with the sleeve of his undertunic to satisfy her fastidiousness. Then he poured her a drink and offered it to her graciously, hoping to make up for his earlier lack of manners. Eirik saw that she took special care not to let their fingers touch. And, as she sipped the ale, he could not help but notice her nose’s slight wrinkle of disapproval.