The only saving grace was that Eirik did not grin anymore. Instead, his blue eyes darkened, and his lips parted, moving closer. He was staring at her mouth like a starving man suddenly offered a feast.
Fighting the pull of his gaze, Eadyth tried to resist this devious charmer of a man who could turn her senses inside out with a mere finger. She must be turning into a lewd woman. Oh, surely he would not kiss her here in the kitchen in front of everyone. But Eadyth did not care. For some reason she could not understand, against all her better instincts, she leaned closer, hungering for his lips, wanting something she could not name, but knew would bring her immense satisfaction.
Bertha’s lewd chuckle from the other side of the room jarred them both back to awareness, but not before Eirik pulled her closer and nipped at her ear through her head-rail, whispering silkily, “And would you suckle the honey from my tongue, as well, sweet wife, if I bring a pot to our bed-chamber tonight?”
Eadyth’s heart skipped a beat in alarm, and a breathless thrill of pleasure rushed through her.
“Mayhap I will not be so tired this time,” he said in a raw undertone of promise as he pushed her in front of him, away from the wall, giving her backside a crude pinch in the process. Before she could chastise him, he asked, “Have you practiced those love moans I taught you yestereve?”
Eadyth stopped mutinously, refusing to budge any farther. Turning indignantly, she put both palms to his chest, giving him a mighty shove to show her displeasure. He did not move a hairsbreadth.
Instead, linking his hand in hers, he pulled her out of the kitchen through the corridor to the keep, then looked back at her over his shoulder, “Best you close your teeth, Eadyth, especially with all these flies about. And you smelling like a honey pot.”
She snapped her mouth shut in self-disgust, promising to get her rioting emotions under control. If only she could stop herself from rising to his continual baiting. The charming rogue was getting under her skin and would soon dominate her with his seductive ways. That she could not allow.
But then she forgot her annoyance when Eirik explained, “I must talk to you in private about Steven and our findings today.”
“Steven! Oh, Holy Mother!” Eadyth chastised herself for momentarily forgetting the danger that had brought her to Ravenshire in the first place. How foolish she had been to relax her defenses! What had the evil Steven done now? By Eirik’s somber demeanor, she knew it must be very bad.
When they were in the private chamber off the great hall, Eirik slumped into a chair and waved for her to sit, as well. For the first time, Eadyth noted Eirik’s condition. He had removed his chain mail but still wore the padded undertunic over his heavy wool braies. Scratches and bruises and soot covered his face and arms. Soot? Eadyth pondered.
“There has been a fire, has there not?”
He nodded.
“The cotters’ huts in the north end of your estate?”
He shook his head wearily and poured mead into two large goblets, handing one to her.
“Nay,” she declined, feeling sick. The honey smell of the keep, in combination with Eirik’s news, was turning her nauseous.
But he shoved it into her hands. “Drink.”
His blue eyes studied her closely, but Eadyth was no longer concerned about whether he discovered her ruse. She felt a sour, sinking sensation low in her belly—guilt that she might have brought misery to Eirik’s people. And that guilt far outweighed her silly masquerade.
Eirik’s grim expression frightened her, and his insistence that she drink… well, there could be only one explanation. She took a long swallow, barely tasting the liquid as it passed the fast-forming lump in her throat, then quickly drank the remainder in her cup.
“Hawks’ Lair?”
“Yea.”
“How could that be?” she cried. “I left it well-protected.”
Eirik shook his head. ” ‘Twas not the keep. The castle and its walls are still secure.”
Eadyth frowned in puzzlement, waiting for her husband’s explanation.