“You underestimate my insight, brother. The vulnerability that Eadyth fails to hide on the odd occasion touches me, too. Didst see her face earlier when I introduced her to Earl Orm and his daughter Aldgyth? They treated her with bare civility.”
“Yea, if you had not been standing at Eadyth’s side, I warrant Orm and his bloody daughter would have snubbed her, but, hypocrites that they are, they put on false smiles.”
Eirik shrugged. “They need my support in their political intrigues. I know that well. They will not insult her outright. And Archbishop Wulfstan, that wily priest, look how he works his way amongst the crowd below in his plot to overturn Saxon rule in Northumbria.”
“Yea, he performed the wedding ceremony, but even he could barely hide his disapproval of the match and Eadyth’s scandalous past. Shall I chop off his head for you?”
Eirik grinned at his brother. “Nay, you bloodthirsty fool, though I, too, feel the urge to protect her. This wedding feast has given me a tiny glimpse of what Eadyth’s life must have been these past eight years—snickers, judging stares, shunning.”
“And you know all too well how cruel the high-blown Saxon nobility can be, my brother. How you stood it so long I will never know.”
Eirik nodded at the unwelcome memories Tykir’s words brought forth. “I would be a fool not to be drawn by Eadyth’s strength of character in withstanding their ill treatment. I can only wonder what pain my wife has suffered that she holds inside still.”
“Mayhap her only armor is the brittle shell she draws around her soft inner core?”
Eirik had not thought of that before, but decided Tykir was probably right.
“And do you wish to discover that inner Eadyth?” Tykir asked with a jiggle of his eyebrows.
Eirik laughed. “Oh, I will discover Eadyth’s ‘inner’ secrets this night. You can be sure of that. But, if you speak of that part of herself she attempts to hide, know this: a man protects those under his shield, and I may not be able to erase past mistakes, but I will make sure that no one hurts her again. And that includes Steven of Gravely.”
“And how will you sweeten her unpleasant nature?”
Eirik shook his head at that awesome task. “I will be gone from Ravenshire much of the time. Even now, I await word from Edmund. He moves his armies to…” Eirik let his words trail off, realizing he should not divulge such information to his brother, whose allegiances often differed from his. “Tykir, promise you will leave Britain and stay out of the fight to come.”
Tykir refused to commit himself, and instead asked, “Do you not ever tire of this double role you play, brother? You cannot always walk the middle road betwixt Saxon and Viking causes. Someday you will have to choose, and if these highborn guests here have their way, it will be soon. A battle approaches for control of Northumbria. On which side will you ride?”
“I truly do not know. But know this—I owed much to King Athelstan and I promised on his deathbed to support his brother Edmund, as well. I will not break my oath of loyalty to him, but I will not ever fight against you, my brother.”
“Ah, Eirik, why do you always make life so complicated? ‘Tis a simple choice, really. Are you Norseman or Saxon?”
“That is where you are wrong. I am both. And well you know that men of our time give loyalty to leaders, not countries.” He stood then and squeezed his brother’s hand warmly. “But no more of this. ‘Tis my wedding, a night to rejoice,” he said dryly. “Come stand with me whilst I raise a toast.”
“Yea, but first let us have a personal toast atween the two of us,” Tykir said solemnly, touching his goblet to his brother’s. “Know that this wife you have chosen is indeed the Silver Jewel of Northumbria under all her tarnish. May you be the true Norse-man I know you to be deep down, one who values women for their true worth, not the surface glitter.”
Eirik arched his eyebrows in disbelief. “Words fine enough for a poet, my brother. Have you been traveling with that warrior-skald Egil Skallagrimmson again?”