“Nay, ’tis not the letter to my agent I wish to discuss. Besides, I intended to tell you about that.”
Eventually, mayhap. “Oh, then it must be the sheep you ordered without seeking my permission.”
“I intend to pay for them myself,” she protested, waving her hand dismissively, obviously chagrined that he refused to let her make her confession in her own manner. “I kept asking Wilfrid about the sheep, and when you were delayed for so long in the North, and summer was almost here, I decided…”
Her voice faltered when she looked up, no doubt noticing the scowl lines in his forehead and those deepening at the edges of his mouth.
“Then it must be your ban on allowing my dogs in the great hall.”
Eadyth groaned with frustration. “I thought you would approve. I did not want to trouble you.”
Trouble! You have been nothing but trouble from first we met, you shrew. “Actually, I know what distresses you then, my wife. ‘Tis the words you have been teaching Abdul. Did you not realize that he would soon repeat your lessons to me?”
A pink blush hazed her throat and crept attractively up her face—the skin of which, he now realized, must be as deliciously white as new cream, not ashy gray.
She raised her chin brazenly, refusing to yield to his subtly cloaked accusations. “What words?”
“Loathsome lout! Bloody beast! Odious oaf! To name a few.”
Fear flashed briefly across her rigid face, but she refused to back down. “How do you know ’twas me?”
“Because the damn bird has a talent for mimicking voices, as you well know. Because when the feathered half-wit called me a loathsome lout, his voice had a decided cackle to it. And there is only one person in this castle who cackles.”
He had to admire her unwavering, unapologetic demeanor. In fact, the edges of her sinfully seductive lips twitched saucily with a smile. She would pay for that later. Eirik tilted his head questioningly as he realized that he had never heard his wife laugh aloud or even seen her smile spontaneously at any jest. She was too stiff-necked by far. Hah! I will bend you to my will and relish the effort, my sly wife.
“I do not know why you feel you cannot discuss these decisions with me aforehand, Eadyth. I am not an ogre.” Eirik forced himself to speak with sweetness, and Eadyth eyed him suspiciously. “Oh, ’tis true, I mislike your ‘managing’ my life and household to your standards, but the only thing I demanded of you afore our wedding was honesty. As long as you do not play me false, in any way, I think we can abide together reasonably well.” Honesty! Hah!
The blood drained from her face. Blessed Lord, if he were not so damned angry he would enjoy this game of cat and mouse. In fact, despite his anger, he did find himself vastly amused.
“So, this confession of yours—that is what you called it, is it not? Could it be the fact that you have finally decided you want to consummate our marriage, and you, shy bird that you are, just cannot find the words to tell me? Well, do not be embarrassed. I asked Bertha, and she told me your flux has ended.”
Eadyth’s expressive eyes widened with horror.
And his grin grew wider.
“I know it must be a worry to you… the lack of a consummation, that is. Especially since Saxon law specifically says a marriage is not truly valid ’til the morgen gifu is given the morning after the… well, for lack of better words… the satisfactory performance of the wife in the marriage bed.” She need not know that the law was rarely enforced, Eirik decided.
Eadyth did choke then, and he solicitously handed her another cup of mead. When her bout of coughing ended, she sputtered out, “But Tykir gave me your ‘morning gift’ on your behalf, which I cherish, incidentally. The beekeeping book is the nicest gift I have ever received. I have not had a chance to thank you properly, but I assumed…”
Eirik peered at her in a squinty, questioning fashion. “Do not move about so much, Eadyth, I have trouble seeing you clearly.” He clenched his fists tightly to control his temper. Two could play this game of charades.