Eirik grinned.
“I had a docile wife at one time, Eadyth. ‘Twas not a pleasant experience,” he confided in a soft voice, leaning near her ear, liking the way the wispy fabric of her head-rail felt against his lips, feeling a sudden urge to taste her mouth again. ” ‘Twill be interesting to test your feisty nature in the marriage bed.”
Discovering that he enjoyed teasing this new wife of his, he was greatly pleased at her gasp of indignation. She was too sanctimonious by far.
In truth, the bedding might not be so bad, Eirik told himself silently, especially since he would not have to look at Eadyth’s dour face or bony body in the dark of their bedchamber. If only he could put a gag in her mouth to halt her grating voice.
Her violet eyes flashed fiery sparks as if she divined his thoughts, and her chin jutted out angrily.
Eirik chuckled. Lord, he loved a good battle.
* * *
Actually, Eadyth was not truly upset over Tykir’s lewd toast or Eirik’s teasing ways.
When her new husband had acknowledged her son as his own in front of all the honored guests, Eirik had touched a spot deeply hidden in Eadyth’s long-frozen emotions. She would be forever thankful, and, in her present mood, would forgive him much—even a little light amusement at her expense.
She forced herself to lay a hand on Eirik’s arm when they sat back down at the table. In an emotion-choked voice, she told him, “Eirik, I thank you for your words regarding John. ‘Twas more than I expected.”
Eirik looked pointedly at her hand, then raised an eyebrow in question. “Grateful, are you? Just how grateful?”
“Not that appreciative, you lusty lout.” Though she tried to frown, she could not prevent a small laugh from bubbling from her lips at his persistent teasing.
“Oh? And how do you know my meaning? Mayhap I was referring to an increase in your dowry—a few more coins, an extra ell of silk.” He chuckled aloud and added, “Or more bees.”
Eadyth shook her head disapprovingly. “Methinks your brother does not know you as well as he thinks.”
“How so?” He smiled easily.
Eadyth cringed inwardly at the tugging attraction she felt toward Eirik. She had thought herself immune to a man’s charm after her experience with Steven. And certainly she would not have expected herself to be drawn to a man as crude as the one she would now call husband.
Husband, she groaned silently. Oh, Lord.
She was having trouble even recalling the drift of their conversation. Oh, yes, now she remembered. “When I told your brother that he was just as frivolous as you, he told me I misspoke, that you have ever been the serious brother. To hear him tell it, you do not have a light-hearted bone in your body. But I know better. From the first we met, you have been teasing and making jest of me.”
Eirik grinned. “Tykir speaks true. I have been accused of being too somber. Mayhap you bring out the lighter side in me,” he offered silkily.
“Mayhap you play a pointless game if you hope to flatter me with sweet words. Save them for some lackwit maid.”
Eirik smiled in a maddening fashion, as if he knew females well, and she was just like all the rest.
“And what would soften your hard shell, my wife?” he asked in a low, seductive voice, reaching forward to blow against the wispy edges of her head-rail, seemingly fascinated with the fluttery fabric.
Eadyth steeled herself not to pull away in fright at the sweet smell of his breath, a mixture of the honeyed mead which she had brought from Hawks’ Lair and his own distinctive scent.
“A precious jewel? Would that tempt you?” Eirik went on, completely aware, no doubt, of his effect on her heightened senses. “Or fine silken robes? New tapestries to brighten the walls?” When she failed to react favorably to any of his suggestions, Eirik thought for a moment, then brightened. “How about a book of beekeeping notes from a Frankish monk? I seem to remember such in Athelstan’s collection which he bequeathed to King Edmund.”