Tykir shook his head and laughed.
“Why, then, do I find it hard to believe that the man known for bedding the most beautiful women in every land is suddenly a connoisseur of inner worth?”
“Nay,” Tykir said, laughing, “you misread me. I did not say beauty was unimportant, just that ofttimes a man is, shall we say, blind to the beauty shining in his face.”
“You speak in riddles, Tykir. Mayhap you have had too much mead to drink. I am not blind.”
Tykir choked and sprayed Eirik with a shower of mead.
Brushing the wetness off his chest, Eirik shot him a look of disgust. “And speaking of beautiful women, Tykir, stay away from Britta. She is Wilfrid’s leman.”
They laughed together companionably, then stood as Eadyth approached, clasping on each side the hands of her son John and Eirik’s daughter Larise.
Larise’s blue eyes adored her father with childish worship. He felt guilty at his long neglect of his oldest child and was happy that Earl Orm had brought her home this morn—for good. Despite all his annoyance, he owed the earl much for his fine care of his daughter these many years.
His eyes turned to John. The seven-year-old boy was thin, like his mother, and would probably be as tall as he himself one day. In truth, Eadyth had been right. The boy’s black hair and pale blue eyes matched his perfectly.
He should hate this son of his worst enemy, but somehow Eirik could not blame the boy for his father’s sins. He held out a hand toward John, and the boy huddled closer to his mother’s knees, turning frightened, questioning eyes up to her. She nodded gravely and shoved him gently forward.
Eirik put an arm comfortingly around John’s shoulder and pulled Eadyth to his other side, and tucked her, as well, under his other arm.
Eirik motioned Tykir and Larise to stand on either side of John and Eadyth. Then they all turned to face the great hall, waiting for the silence of his retainers and guests.
When absolute quiet prevailed, Eirik said in a clear, authoritative voice that resounded across the length of the hall, “My friends and loyal supporters, I give you my wife, Eadyth of Ravenshire.” He leaned down and kissed her cool lips in homage before she could jerk back in surprise. The crowd did not seem to notice her instinctive reaction. It cheered, raising goblets in a toast to the newly wedded couple.
Then Eirik raised an arm for silence and introduced his brother Tykir, who received a grudging welcome. After all, Tykir had fought mightily against some of these very men the past few years.
His daughter Larise’s turn came next. Eirik smiled as she preened like a peacock at the cheers of approval.
When silence prevailed again, Eirik waited for several long moments before lifting John by the waist and setting him on the table in front of him. With one hand on John’s head and the other arm again holding fast the rigid shoulders of his new wife, Eirik announced, “My friends, I give you my true son, John of Hawks’ Lair and Ravenshire. ‘Tis with the deepest pleasure I am now able to claim the paternity I have been unable to recognize these many years.”
A stunned silence greeted his words, then a low murmuring of surprise rippled through the crowd as understanding began to seep into their drink-muddled heads. Finally, Tykir overcame his amazement and raised his goblet, shouting, “To my nephew John, and my brother Eirik. May he be blessed with the family he has harvested thus far, and with the seeds he will plant in the fertile furrows of this new marriage.” He winked at the pike-stiff Eadyth.
The assembly did react then and joined vocally in the toast with cheers and shouts of good wishes.
Eirik chuckled as he felt Eadyth cringe at his side, knowing full well she objected to his brother’s words about seeds being planted in her fields.
Eirik squeezed her shoulder, just to see how she would react. He was not surprised when she jabbed him in the side with an elbow and hissed, “Mayhap I could put a few bees in your brother’s braies. Fertile furrows, indeed!”