Eadyth bent her head contritely. How could she have overlooked the thin skin of a prideful man? She should have realized that even the appearance of scorn for their betrothal would demean him in his men’s eyes.
“I was wrong to dally. Actually, I was frightened.” Well, that was the truth, in part, Eadyth hedged. She was afraid, but for her own reasons.
Eirik seemed to soften then and laid a hand on her arm. “You have no reason to fear me, Eadyth. As long as you are honest with me, I will do you no harm.”
Eadyth’s heart skipped a beat at his words. Oh, Sweet Mary, he demanded truthfulness—the one thing she could not give him at the present. Hating deceit, Eadyth contemplated baring herself to him. But then she thought of John in the hands of his vicious father and knew she could not take the chance.
Eirik stood suddenly and called his knights to silence with upraised arms. He waited imposingly for their attention without saying a word. Finally, he announced in a deep, grave voice, “My loyal supporters, I would present to you my betrothed, Lady Eadyth of Hawks’ Lair.”
His men rose to their feet in one swell of motion, despite their drunken state. When a few continued to call out lewd remarks, Eirik raised a halting hand, demanding total silence. Then he commanded, “I would ask that you give my lady the same loyalty you pledge to me. And that you show her the respect due the Lady of Ravenshire.”
He called each man forward, introduced him to Eadyth, then stood solemnly while every individual swore formal allegiance to her. Eadyth slanted thankful eyes toward Eirik, but he did not even look her way. In truth, it would seem he acted, not as a favor to her, but as the lord of the manor demanding his rightful due from his men.
Some of the words were a bit slurred, considering the men’s sodden condition, and Ignold, the burly warrior with the body odor, had the impudence to wink at her when he was done.
From then on, the evening careened progressively downhill. Despite the hand Girta had obviously played in preparation of a surprisingly sumptuous feast, all tasted like ashes to Eadyth and barely passed the lump of anxiety in her throat. Her nerves jangled constantly, like a bad toothache, and she squirmed in her seat every time Eirik looked her way, fearing this would be the time he would discover her masquerade. She did not truly breathe easily until they were on their way to Hawks’ Lair the next morn at first light.
But she knew it was a false respite. She now had three sennights to prepare for her wedding, and Eirik’s eventual discovery of her deceit.
* * *
“You are annoyed with my brother?”
“Annoyed? More like bloody, eye-bulging, breath-hissing, fist-clenching furious,” Eadyth said dryly to Tykir Thorksson, who sat next to her on the dais at her wedding feast three sennights later day. Eirik’s brother had shown up unexpectedly at the Ravenshire chapel that morning, creating a stir midway through the marriage ceremony.
But he was not the only unexpected visitor. Dozens of other nobles with their wives and retainers had crowded the small chapel and now graced the hall. St. Bridiet’s Bones! It was just what she did not need—more witnesses to her deceit. Even the politically powerful Archbishop Wulfstan and an entourage of his clerics had come from Jorvik to perform the holy rites. Surely some lowly village chaplain would have sufficed for this loveless alliance.
Eadyth waved her hand in chagrin to encompass the crowded hall and highborn guests on the dais. By the Virgin’s Breath! Somehow Eirik had even come up with white cloths to cover the high tables. Sparkling silver mazers and small hand cloths graced every other place setting for washing fingers between courses. And the vast array of foods, well, he must have spent his last coin to provide this wasteful excess, Eadyth muttered to herself.
“Eirik knew I preferred a quiet ceremony, not this farce of a celebration,” she complained aloud.
Tykir grinned.
Lord, did bone-melting handsomeness run in Eirik’s family? She would have to hide all the comely maids in the keep over the age of fourteen. Oh, he looked naught like Eirik, but he was wildly attractive in his own way. Where Eirik had black hair and pale blue eyes, his younger brother was a true Viking with long, blond hair down to his shoulders, eyes so light a shade of brown that they almost appeared golden, skin sun-bronzed from riding the waves on his longship, a massive, battle-conditioned body, and a smile that could charm the very teeth from a dragon. Even worse, the rascal had braided his magnificent hair on one side, exposing an ear adorned with, of all things, a thunderbolt earring.