Godric, the orphan boy he had seen with John and Larise the night before, was snapping beans before the fire. He nodded shyly up at him.
And Britta came bustling in with an armful of bed linens, singing a bawdy song merrily. When she saw him, she slowed down and flushed with embarrassment at his perusal before rushing outside to give the items to the laundress.
Mumbling gruffly of work to be done, Eirik backtracked through the hall and out to the castle wall which neared completion under the direction of Jeremy, the stonemason Eadyth had brought as part of her dowry. Just how far did Eadyth’s treachery extend? he wondered. Jeremy could be putting inferior sand in the mortar so it would crumble at the first assault. He would have to examine it closely.
Just as he was about to enter the stables and organize the hunt for his errant wife, the sentry atop the palisade rang the large tower bell which warned of visitors on the horizon. Wilfrid joined him on the ramparts. They watched with growing consternation as the Lady Eadyth, brazen as you please, rode a snow white palfrey over the rise to the castle motte. Behind her followed a caravan of pony carts filled to overflowing with the most ungodly assortment of objects—dozens of huge, conical baskets, large wooden boxes with finely latticed sides, hundreds of pottery containers and metal molds.
Worst of all, she and the young men who drove her carts were covered head to toe in the diaphanous veils she favored. Eirik’s eyes narrowed intently. Holy St. Sebastian! Mayhap he would strangle her with one of the infernal wisps of fabric, cut her body into pieces to fit neatly into one of the large baskets, and send it to her lover at Gravely.
He grinned at the thought.
Eadyth was surprised, and oddly delighted, to see her new husband standing in the bailey with Wilfrid and some of his retainers when she pulled her carts into the courtyard. She had not expected him until the next day, but it was just as well. He could help her unload and place her beekeeping equipment beyond the orchard.
But then she noticed the challenging stance of his widespread legs. He was wearing skin-tight braies, covered with a black wool shert. He must have just awakened because the leather ties at the neck slit exposed an enticing expanse of sun-tanned skin and curly black chest hair. But Eadyth had no time to dwell on that as her attention riveted on his fists, which kept clenching and unclenching where they were braced on his hips.
Oh, Lord. She had known he would not like her leaving Ravenshire against his command, but she had not expected he would be this angry.
A squire stepped forward and helped her from her horse. The six carts halted behind her, the drivers waiting for her signal to alight.
Eirik did not move even a tiny bit from his spot at the top of the steps leading into the hall. Apparently, he expected her to walk to him in greeting. She grimaced but decided it was the least she could do after disobeying his orders.
When she climbed halfway up the stone stairway, she noticed the stone-cold fury in his blue eyes and paused momentarily. She saw his gaze sweep contemptuously over her beekeeping veils. Sweet Mary! Did he expect her to transport bees unprotected?
When she moved closer, he grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her close enough to hear his snarling words. “My Lady Bitch, where in bloody hell have you been?”
Eadyth recoiled at his harsh words and tried to pull out of his grasp, to no avail.
“I have been to Hawks’ Lair,” she stammered out, confused by his blazing hostility.
“And who was there with you? Your lover?”
“My what?” she sputtered. “Are you daft? A lover is the last thing I want. Not you, nor any man, you bloody beast.”
“Yea, your lover referred to me as the Beast of Ravenshire in his letter, as I recall. Is it a pet name you two concocted for me?”
Alarm swept over Eadyth like brushfire. What was he talking about? What lover? What letter?