“Nay, sweetling. Your father wants you all to stay inside the keep today.” Eadyth had made a conscious effort to refer to Eirik as John’s father since the wedding feast, and her little boy surprised her by accepting him so readily.
John gazed up at her through eyes as blue and captivating as Eirik’s and whined, “But nobody wants us about. They all tell us to stop bothering them. We make too much noise. Father said he would show us how to spit off the ramparts when he returns, but it may be too dark by then.”
Eadyth made a clucking sound of disgust at John’s words about spitting, then advised, “Listen, dearling, why do you not ask ‘Uncle’ Wilfrid to teach you to play that board game? Hnefatafl, I think the Norsemen call it.”
His doleful face brightened and he shouted to Larise and Godric, even though they were only a few steps away, informing them of the new plans. They ran, shrieking, from the kitchen.
Wilfrid would, no doubt, have much to say later about the favor she did him. But everyone in the kitchen breathed a sigh of relief at the blessed quiet.
“Gawd, I ne’er heard so much squawkin’ ‘n squealin’ in all me life,” Bertha commented with a smile.
“That Godric never said more than two words afore John and Larise arrived,” Britta added with a rueful shake of her head. “Now the halfling babbles endlessly.”
Eadyth remained silent, knowing that both women, despite their complaints, cherished the warmth the young children brought to the forlorn castle. Even with the threat of Steven hovering over her head, Eadyth, too, found herself relaxing under Eirik’s protection and enjoying the seductive lure of family life.
By late afternoon, when they had finally cleaned up the kitchen, Eadyth looked with pride at the long line of pottery containers—twenty pots with the combs, and fifty of the strained honey, each with a special mark on the container to denote its variety.
“What is that God-awful smell?”
Eadyth looked up to see Eirik filling the doorway of the kitchen with his large frame. He tunneled his fingers through his overlong hair. His clothing was filthy. And she could swear she heard his stomach growl with hunger from across the room.
Her husband had been gone since early morning on his ride to the far northern reaches of his estate to investigate the new misdeeds. She anxiously waited to learn what he had found, but his scowling expression spoke of bone-weary exhaustion. She decided to wait until later to ask her questions.
In the meantime, she motioned several kitchen maids to begin preparing the tables in the great hall for the evening meal. Then she turned back to her loudly sniffing husband.
” ‘Tis my honey,” she said defensively, trying to still her fast-beating heart. It was the first time she had seen her husband since sharing his bed the night before, since he had touched her naked body so intimately. She pulled her head-rail forward, hoping to hide the blush which no doubt heated her face. “Do you not like honey?”
“I love honey, but too much of a sweet can gag a person. The whole keep reeks of it. Even the outer bailey. There are so many flies out there, I swear some have come from as far as Jorvik.”
Eadyth stiffened at his mocking words. “At Hawks’ Lair, I have a separate shed for processing my honey, away from the keep. In any case, the flies will go away in a day or so.”
“Oh, I dare say they will be gone sooner than that,” he remarked lazily, “especially since the flies have drawn every crow from all the shires in Northumbria. There are so many bird droppings in the courtyard, I could barely see the dirt.” Then he looked pointedly at his white-speckled boots which were dirtying her newly scrubbed kitchen floor and smiled wickedly. “Mayhap you should get your broom brigade out there. The lackwit birds have not yet heard of your strict code of cleanliness.”
Eadyth bristled at his taunting criticism. Did he jest? Or did he truly mislike her pristine ways?
Meanwhile, Eirik moved closer to where Eadyth stood at the table, as Bertha and Britta began to move the pottery containers to the scullery. Peering over her shoulder, he placed a palm familiarly over her right buttock, and let it rest there.