“You mislike dogs and ale, as well, I see,” he commented testily.
“Nay, ’tis untrue. I like dogs well enough, in their place, outside the hall and kitchens. And as to your ale, ’tis passable.” Her prideful chin lifted a notch higher. “I have been spoiled, though. I make the best mead in all Northumbria from my own honey.”
“Truly? ‘Tis remarkable. Not that you brew your own mead, but that you sing your own praises.”
Eadyth’s eyes shot up and locked with his, and the heat of her blush turned her cheeks pink.
Good! he thought.
“I must yield to your wise assessment of my failings, my lord. ‘Tis true I am immodest. I have lost the feminine arts these many years I have lived away from society,” Eadyth apologized with no embarrassment whatsoever. “Ofttimes I forget that gentle-born ladies are to be ever meek and weak. My father indulged me in my independence.”
Even if he had not already noted her prideful chin, which had a tendency to jut upward stubbornly, Eirik sensed instinctively that she did not often humble herself so. An almost imperceptible note of vulnerability edged her voice, and Eirik softened.
“He was a good man—your father. I met Arnulf years ago when. he came to visit my grandfather Dar. Sorry I was to hear of his death.”
Eadyth nodded in acknowledgment of his condolences.
“You have no brothers, as I recall,” he continued. “Who runs Hawks’ Lair?”
“I do.”
Startled, he choked on the ale he had been sipping, and Wilfrid slapped him heartily on the back.
Eadyth’s lips turned up in a condescending smile, and Eirik’s attention once more riveted on the small mole near her mouth. He had heard of some women who painted such on their faces. Could that be the case with her? Nay! A woman who skinned her hair back like a nun and wore such drab garments would disdain vain decoration.
“Why is that always a man’s reaction? Truly, I do not understand why men ever persist in believing women incapable of more than gossip and stitchery.”
Eirik sat forward and began to look at Eadyth with new interest. ” ‘Tis my experience that most women are empty-headed, devious creatures and quite content to do little more than just that. ‘Twas certainly so with my wife afore she died. If ’twere not for the need of heirs, I warrant, most men would disdain the marriage bed and get their bed sport elsewhere.”
The bluntness of Eirik’s words did not seem to bother Eadyth’s feminine sensibilities. In fact, she appeared to appreciate his honesty.
Her fingers traced an invisible pattern on the tabletop as she studied him closely. Why? he wondered. Eadyth licked her lips nervously, drawing his eyes once more to the disarming mole. Eirik watched, mesmerized, as the pink tip of her tongue unconsciously traced a path from one corner, to the divot, to the other corner, then across her full bottom lip. What would it be like to do the same with his own tongue? Eirik fantasized, feeling an immediate swelling at the joining of his thighs.
By All the Saints! he chastised himself. He was behaving like an untried boy. In truth, he had been too long without a woman if an aging chit could turn him hard.
And the impudent wench was scrutinizing him in an oddly searching fashion. Truly, she was a most unusual woman.
“Are your eyes blue… pale blue as a summer sky… as I have been told?” Eadyth asked unexpectedly, jarring him from his lustful thoughts.
Disconcerted by her odd question, Eirik drew back slightly. “Yea, they are—a legacy from my Viking ancestors.”
Eadyth nodded her approval.
God’s Teeth! Why would the old crone care one way or another whether his eyes were sky blue, or dirt brown?
“You do not look the Norseman. Your hair is black, is it not?” She asked her question in a casual manner, but Eirik could tell by the whiteness of her knuckles, apparent even in the dimness of his hall, that his answer was important to her.
What was the wench about, asking him foolish questions about the color of his eyes and hair? He leaned back and viewed her suspiciously through slitted eyes. “I am only half Viking. My mother was Saxon.” He bit his bottom lip in annoyance as he failed to figure her game, then added mischievously, “Would you like to see my Viking half?”