The Viking's Woman (28 page)

She came down the stairs to the main hall and strode across the room. Adela had been busy by one of the windows with her needlework, but she was smiling with mischief in her eyes and was quick to rise when Rhiannon came. “So the giant returns.”

Rhiannon cast Adela a quick gaze and swallowed down a nervous retort. “Yes, Adela, come. You must meet him. Don’t be afraid of him.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid at all!” her cousin assured her.

Adela followed her out the heavy double doors to the yard before the house. Far to her left, the gates were being opened. Sigurd and Mergwin were already there, awaiting their lord.

Her heart beating wildly, Rhiannon clenched her hands to her sides as she stood in the early-morning
sunlight. He must have ridden through the night, she thought, to arrive so early.

The horses began to thunder through the gates. Eric still rode in the lead. His silver helmet lay in his hand now; his great wolf standard still flew high behind him. Arriving in the yard, he quickly dismounted. Stable lads were quickly there to take the white stallion from him. Huge in his mail armor, Eric smiled at Mergwin and Sigurd, and then his eyes roamed quickly to the steps where Rhiannon stood, her hands still clenched tightly at her sides. She thought there was grave amusement in his eyes as they flickered over her. Perhaps there was a challenge.

He stood tall in the sunlight, watching her with those startling blue eyes. She wondered if perhaps he was thinking that she should come to him, but that she would not do. Then it was no matter, for Sigurd had stepped forward and was demanding the news of the battle, and Eric had clapped him on the shoulder and assured him that it had been a total rout. He greeted Mergwin and asked after his health, and then he was coming toward Rhiannon. She was having difficulty breathing.

She suddenly could not forget how he had first come to this hall; she could not forget the raw physicality of that first battle and meeting.

He stood before her, his visored helmet still beneath his arm, his armor adding bulk to his already huge size. She was certain then that his eyes held a challenge, along with the amusement. “My lady, my wife, how pleased I am that you have come here so anxious to greet me.”

She was certainly not pleased to greet him, and he must know it very well. Nevertheless she smiled, feeling as if her face had cracked. “I would inquire after the king, Eric of Dubhlain.”

“The king fares quite well. Would you not inquire after
my
health?”

“I am not blind, my lord. I can see very well that your health is excellent, is it not?”

“Most excellent. I’ve a nagging scar upon a thigh from a previous arrow wound, but I come from this foray unscathed. I am sure that must please you greatly to hear.”

Her smile was frozen in place. “Greatly.”

He leaned low, taking her hand, whispering for her ear alone, “What a liar you are, milady. You were desperately wishing that I would arrive with my entrails hanging from my tattered flesh.”

“Nay, my lord, I was desperately wishing that you would not return at all,” she said sweetly. She raised her voice. “You must be very weary from your long ride.”

“I’m not really weary at all,” he told her. “I have ridden quite furiously for the promise of … home.”

She turned about, ready to enter the house and have done with the charade they must play before the others. But it wouldn’t end, of course. Rollo would enter with him, and perhaps others of his captains, and they had to be served ale and whatever meal could be quickly assembled. She would see to that for him. And then she would see to it that she managed to be somewhere else for the day.

She nearly tripped over Adela. Eric saw the woman
then for the first time, for he frowned, pulling Rhiannon back. “And who might this be?”

“Adela, milord! Your wife’s woman.”

“My cousin,” Rhiannon corrected, giving Adela a stern look.

Adela bobbed prettily and gracefully, her light eyes dancing. “I’m quite pleased to see you back, safe and well.”

Eric smiled slowly, and then he started to laugh. “Adela, eh? Come, then, and drink with us. I’m sure that my wife is most eager to drink to Alfred’s latest victory.”

Rhiannon said nothing. His every word seemed to be double-edged. He did enjoy taunting her so very much. But she would never be his hapless victim, she vowed; she would never surrender. Let him have his little joke now; the last laugh would be hers.

Rollo came up behind her husband then, greeting her with a kiss upon the hand. Others began to fill the hall.

Rhiannon’s heart seemed to flutter fiercely and then seemed to cease beating as she noted a very familiar face among the crowd of warriors.

Rowan’s face. Her onetime betrothed had followed her husband to the very hall that should have been his own.

She felt the blood seep from her face, and more. She felt her husband’s eyes hard upon her, even as he responded to something that Adela had to say to him.

Rowan.

He was laughing at some man’s jest when his gaze met hers. The laughter faded quickly from his eyes.
Gravely he bowed his head to her in acknowledgment, then turned away.

A heavy, gauntleted hand fell upon her arm, pulling her around. She raised her face, pale and translucent, to meet her husband’s searing blue stare.

“Aye, wife,” he said to her softly, “young Rowan is with me. Alive and quite well, as you will notice.”

She determinedly pulled her arm from his grasp. He let her go. “Why is he here?” she demanded. “What new cruelty is this?”

“No cruelty, madam. He chose to serve me.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Do you see the man in chains? No, my dear wife, he walks about freely. I happened upon a chance to wrest his life from certain Danes, and I believe that he is grateful.”

“You saved his life?” His smugness and arrogance irritated her beyond all reason. “You are a fool, great Irish wolf,” she said very sweetly, spitting out the last words. “Perhaps I am still mindlessly in love with him. Perhaps he is still mindlessly in love with me. And perhaps we will both betray you in this very place.”

He was silent for so very long, not a muscle twitching in his fierce, striking face. Despite herself, she felt a churning in her stomach and wished that she had not spoken so.

But then one golden brow arched high as he stared at her, and she wondered desperately what he was truly thinking. He shrugged, and she nearly screamed when he took her hand between both of his, bending low once again to brush her flesh with his lips. “I think not, my lady. Truly I think not. Rowan
will not betray me for his honor. And you will not betray me, for if you do, I shall flay your naked back and buttocks until your lesson is well learned.”

This time when she tried to wrench away from him, he chose not to let her go.

“Leave me be!” she whispered desperately. “You’ve a hall filled with companions! Would you not be a welcoming host?”

“Nay, I would be the lord, madam. I intend to bathe and change before supper.”

“Don’t expect me to entertain your men!” she protested.

“I do not,” he assured her. “I expect you to entertain me.”

Her eyes widened, and she wrenched her hand away in earnest. “Eric, you cannot mean—”

“But I do, my love. Your endearing words regarding Rowan have brought sharply to mind a vision and a memory. I see again my wife, cloaked in little more than the splendid beauty of her hair, promising me anything if young Rowan should live. Promising to serve me in any way. Any way at all.”

“But he lived already!”

“I could not have promised not to slay him had he already lain dead, my love.”

“Oh! You know what I mean. You tricked me. You had already made up your mind. You sat there atop that stallion of yours—of mine—and you let me make a fool of myself—”

“You promised to give me all that was owed to me.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“On the contrary,” he told her, his eyes blue fire as
they bored into hers, his grip upon her nearly merciless. “You owe me much and I have come to collect.”

“Not here, not now—”

“Adela!” he called sharply, interrupting Rhiannon. Adela turned about quickly. Eric gave her a handsome smile that seemed to charm her at once.

It chilled Rhiannon to the bone.

“Lady, would you be so kind as to order servants to see that the tub is brought to my lady’s and my bedchamber? And see that much steaming water is brought, and perhaps some wine. And then, Cousin Adela, perhaps I could also count on you to see to the welfare of my men within this hall. I imagine you were accustomed to such a role within this place before the confusion of our coming. Since we were not expected, I imagine that it will take some time for meat to be roasted and a supper prepared. If you will see to things until then …?”

“Certainly, milord,” Adela said, and quickly turned toward the kitchen entrance to carry out the task she had been given.

Watching her go, Rhiannon spoke up quickly. “Eric, surely such behavior on our part would be most rude—”

“Walk by my side, lady, or over my shoulder. I care not which way you accompany me, but accompany me you shall.”

“You are doing this to me because Rowan is in the hall!” she accused him stubbornly.

“Nay, my lady and wife. I’m doing this because it will give pleasure to me—and perhaps not to me alone.”

An ice shield seemed to fall over his eyes as he
gazed down upon her. Deep inside she felt the chill, and then the cold was gone, and she felt a searing heat instead. Her mouth felt dry and she was trembling. She wanted to hate him—she did hate him—and despised what he was doing to her. But despite herself, she was remembering their wedding night.

And the feel of his hands upon her, moving over her. The feel of his lips brushing her mouth, searing her flesh.

She shook her head desperately. Rowan was in the hall. She had loved Rowan.

And he had never, never made her feel like this.

“Eric, I will not come with you now!”

“Give battle, lady, and I will best you every time!” he warned her.

“You will
not
win every time—”

“Aye, for I have been taught to win, or else there is nothing but death, and so I take all my battles to heart.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he was determined and did not make idle threats. He bent low and swept her up over his shoulder. The laughter and conversation within the hall suddenly ceased, and even as Rhiannon strained against him, he spoke with a light touch to those assembled in the hall. “Men, drink deeply and enjoy the rest that battle has awarded to us! My lady and I will rejoin you shortly.”

There was laughter, and a promise of understanding from the crowd. Eric turned about. Rhiannon was swept against his mail-clad body as he headed swiftly for the stairway. Within seconds he had traversed the steps despite her whispered threats and flailing fists. Then they were within the bedchamber, and he
tossed her down carelessly upon the bed with such force that she thought the rope supports would be torn to shreds. She quickly came up on an elbow, longing to scream and rail at him, but she only seethed inwardly as she realized that the wooden tub he had requested had arrived, that the kitchen lads were bringing pail after pail of steaming hot water into the room. Old Joseph from the kitchen set a leather gourd of wine with two silver cups upon a table. He never looked her way. None of them did. Eric was easy with the servants, thanking them when they departed and firmly bolting the door when they had gone.

He leaned against it then, watching her.

“Well?” he demanded at last.

“Well?”

“Come serve me, my love.”

“You’ve lost your mind. One battle-ax too many has come across your skull,
my love.”

“What a delightful cadence those words have upon your lips! I have not lost my mind. On the contrary, my memory is excellent. And I remember, love, that you—”

“You tricked me!” she reminded him.

He started to stride across the room to her, formidable indeed in his mail and the heavily padded garments beneath it.

She leapt from the bed before he could reach her.

“Eric—”

“Rhiannon! Come give me assistance with this mail now, or I vow you will come to regret it!”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“It is a grave and sincere promise.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. I’m quite certain that you’ve assisted often enough with armor. Come, assist me. Serve me. Perhaps that is all that I will require of you.”

She stood still, her heart beating fiercely, and then she tossed back her hair and strode over to him impatiently. His helmet he had already cast aside. He reached low for the hem of the long, tuniclike piece that composed the bulk of the protective garment. He dipped low on one knee, and she helped slide it over his head. It was heavy; she lost her grasp and the metal thudded to the floor. “It is no matter,” he told her impatiently. “My man will come for it. Get the straps.”

He stood again, and Rhiannon silently walked around to his back, uncinching the leather ties that held his tunic in place so that he could bear the weight of the mail. He tossed the garment aside impatiently. Beneath it he wore only a linen shirt and hose and boots. He could manage those quite well himself, Rhiannon thought, and moved away from him.

But he sat in a chair and lifted a foot and stared at her. “Oh, come! You can remove your own boots.”

“Yes, I can. But I prefer that you assist me.” He smiled pleasantly. “I promise that I shall assist
you
in removing your clothing any time that you should desire.”

“Thank you, but I shall not desire,” she retorted pertly. He was still staring at her, still waiting and smiling. And even as he watched her it seemed that the heat crept slowly within her, swirling low within her belly and rising at long last to color her cheeks. “Oh, for the love of God!” she muttered. She strode
over and pulled off his boot. He rested his hose-covered foot upon her backside as she set about removing his second boot. She jerked the boot from him as quickly as she could, and swirled about. Those Nordic blue eyes were still so hard upon her, yet his smile was in place. Lazily his lashes fell to half cover his eyes. “Thank you,” he said mildly, rising. With his back to her, he stripped off his shirt and hose.