Just then, Eirik heard a loud squealing ruckus accompanied by much loud barking. Three bodies, nay four, came barreling through the open door of the hall and down the steps to the bailey.
Larise screeched to a dust-raising halt before him, followed by John and the kitchen boy, Godric, who barely escaped colliding with Larise’s back. All the while, the large dog that his missing wife had adopted yipped loudly at their heels.
“Father!” Larise screamed happily and hurled herself up into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck in a stranglehold and her legs around his waist. His destrier pranced nervously behind him, snorting its displeasure, and Eirik, bone weary from his journey, almost fell backward from the force of Larise’s embrace.
“God’s Blood! Have I arrived home to a keep of senseless halfwits?” Eirik asked Wilfrid as he put Larise down on the ground. Her hair was wet and smelled of soap, and her shiny face bespoke a recent bath. The other two children had obviously been given baths, too, as had the squirming dog which John held in his arms as he stared wide-eyed up at him.
Girta stepped forward, shooing the children back into the keep. “To bed with you now.”
“Where is your mistress?” Eirik asked her in a frigid tone.
“She went to Hawks’ Lair on an errand. She did not think you would return so soon.”
“What was so urgent she could not wait ’til my return?”
Girta shrugged, a closed look blanketing her face. She obviously knew Eadyth’s mission and chose not to tell him. ” ‘Tis certain she will be back in the morn. Then she can explain herself.”
“Oh, you can be sure she will explain,” Eirik said icily, thinking he had little to thank his brother for this night. He could have been sharing a warm bed with Asa instead of rushing back to an absent wife.
Later that evening, after he had finally bathed and eaten, Eirik heard a soft knock at his bedchamber door.
“Enter.”
Wilfrid walked in hesitantly, a somber expression clouding his usually jovial face.
“Come share some wine with me. ‘Tis from Frankland, I believe. I bought it in Jorvik this morn.”
Wilfrid shook his head and declined to sit in the chair opposite his master. Without any preamble, he blurted out, “My lord, Britta just showed me a missive she found this morn under the mattress in your lady wife’s bedchamber.”
He hesitated, then handed the folded parchment to Eirik. It was addressed to Lady Eadyth of Ravenshire.
“The seal was already broken when Britta found it,” Wilfrid explained when he saw Eirik examining it closely.
Eirik opened the letter carefully, knowing from Wilfrid’s demeanor that he was not going to like its contents.
And he did not.
My Dearest Eadyth,
I am told your wedding has taken place, as we planned. My heart weeps for you and the sacrifice you make for me, and our future. Pray God, the Beast of Ravenshire does not learn of your pregnancy. I work still on plans to end this fruitless marriage of mine so that both my children can bear the stamp of legitimacy. Hold on, my love, just a short while longer until we can be together finally in our eternal love.
Your heart’s husband, Steven
At first, rage choked him speechless. Then Eirik threw the letter onto the floor and ground it angrily into the rushes under his leather-clad foot.
“The lying, cod-sucking bitch,” Eirik bellowed, wishing that Eadyth was standing before him, not Wilfrid, so that he could vent his fury on her deceitful flesh. Frustrated, he picked up his wine goblet and hurled it against the chamber wall. The other goblet, along with a silver linked belt, his battle helmet, a soapstone candle holder, even the pottery jug filled with wine soon followed suit. It was not enough.
“I should have known,” Eirik gritted out. “By the Holy Rood, I should have known. All the signs were there. Her bastard child. Her repugnance at my touch. Her secretive ways.”
“My lord, mayhap you should talk to the Lady Eadyth afore judging her too harshly,” Wilfrid ventured hesitantly.
Eirik turned sharply on his friend. “Nay, you and my brother both advised me to give the lady some lead rope in her defiant ways. Hah! Defiant is too kind a word for her. Treacherous she has proven to be. I should have followed my instincts, which told me to trust no woman.”