He had to restrain himself from jumping back in horror at his reflection.
“Damn!” he exploded. “I saw a leper once who looked better than I do now.”
Eadyth laughed with a shrill cackle behind him. “There is some justice in the world then.”
Eirik slanted her a warning look. “Do not be so cocky. I have seen corpses looking livelier than you.”
She glared at him frostily with her violet eyes. Their beauty was surely wasted on such as her, he thought, not for the first time. Then she reached for the goblet near the bed, weighing it in her hands, glancing back at him as if contemplating him as a target.
Well, at least the old Eadyth was back again.
“Do not even think—”
A loud knocking at the door interrupted his words, and Eadyth put the goblet back on the table.
“M’lord, ’tis me, Bertha.” The pounding continued.
Eirik shot Eadyth a meaningful glance that told her without words that their talk was only postponed.
“What is it now?” he grumbled as he pulled the door open suddenly, causing Bertha to pitch forward slightly. He caught her massive bulk, then held her upper arms to steady her upright.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Bertha exclaimed, craning her neck to look up at him. “You look like you been fighting with the devil.”
“Nay, just my wife.”
Eadyth gasped behind him.
Bertha tried unsuccessfully to peer past his large frame into the bedchamber.
“What do you want?”
“The mistress din’t tell me what to prepare fer dinner this eve, and it be way past noon.”
Bertha’s complaint did not fool Eirik. After all, she had been operating her kitchen quite efficiently without her mistress’s direction during Eadyth’s absence. Curiosity, pure and simple, motivated the old cook—that and a well-known love of gossip.
“Do whatever you bloody well want.”
“Well, ’tis no need to get on yer high horse with me. Jist ’cause you were lackwitted enuf to stick yer head in a basket of bees, ’tis no reason to take yer bad humors out on me.”
“I did not—”
“You don’t see me laughin’ me bloody head off, do you? Nay, m’lord. Do you see me sittin’ down in the kitchen with the scullery maids wonderin’ if yer staff got bit by them bloody bees and whether it be swollen twice its size and whether you be up here givin’ yer new wife twice the pleasure?”
Eirik choked back his laughter.
“Nay, I be up here jist tryin’ to do me duty,” she continued. “Even when I could be in the great hall listenin’ to yer men makin’ wagers on how many bee stings ye got on yer body. I got better things to do with me time. Yea, I do.”
Eirik snorted with disgust. God’s Bones! Now his wife had turned him into a laughingstock.
“. . . ’cause I know there be no way you could have two hun’red stings on yer fine body,” Bertha babbled on recklessly, failing to notice the stiffening of his back or his frowning face, “even if Master Wilfrid sez he picked up two hun’red dead bees in the bailey.”
“Oh, nay, say ’tis not so, Bertha,” Eadyth exclaimed with alarm. “So many of my precious bees dead? I must go at once to check the damage and see the remaining bees secure in their new hives. I cannot believe I was lying here wallowing in self-pity when so much needed to be done.”
Eirik turned in surprise at Eadyth’s words, which gave Bertha the opportunity to step past him into the bedchamber. Her mouth dropped open in amazement, displaying a half-dozen missing teeth.
Bertha looked at Eadyth’s sodden clothing and tearsplotched face, then darted her beady eyes to Eirik, then back to Eadyth. Laughter rumbled from deep in her belly, erupted raucously, and continued until tears ran in rivulets down her bloated face.
“Oh, oh, I can barely credit the two of you. What a pair you make! Yer faces look like two bowls of day-old, lumpy porridge.”
“Kiss my arse,” a muffled voice said.
That stopped Bertha’s laughter abruptly. “Wha… what did ye say, m’lord?”
“Show me yer legs.”
The bloody bird displayed a real talent for bad timing and mimicking voices, Eirik thought.