The Viking's Woman (42 page)

“What?” she whispered, amazed at the change in him. He might not love her, but she had thought, in the night, that there had been, at the least, a caring between them.

“You are not going home.”

“I did not ask—”

“Whenever you seduce, madam, you are asking. You seek payment like the harlot, you—”

He broke off as she furiously tossed a down pillow into his face. He held the pillow as tightly as he held his temper. “Rhiannon, I do not pay. You should know that by now.”

She pulled a fur over her quivering breasts with what dignity she could muster. “I asked you for nothing!” she spat out. “Nothing, my lord, at all! I sought to
give
something to you last night, but you needn’t fear, I shall never think to give you anything again!”

He tossed down the pillow and reached for her face. She started to turn away, but his fingers moved so gently upon her flesh that instead she froze, stiff and miserable. “I stand corrected, my lady,” he said softly, and his voice touched her, causing a warmth to shiver down the length of her spine. “And I thank you.”

His lips brushed hers lightly. Then he was gone. She hugged a fur to her and stared after him, then sank back down into the bed. She would never know him. In a hundred years she would never know him.

Grendal saw to her needs once again in the morning, then she dressed and waited, wondering if she should go down or if Eric would come for her.

Eric, most probably, would not come for her.

In the afternoon there was a tap on her door. The nun she had seen by the Ard-ri’s bed the first night of her arrival came in, smiling gently. “I am Bede, Erin’s sister,” she introduced herself, and took Rhiannon’s hands and kissed her cheek warmly. “This is such a very hard time to have come upon us all! Truly we are warm and welcoming, and if you could have known him, you would have loved my father so dearly!”

“I am sure that I would have,” Rhiannon said politely.

“You did so very well with Father.”

“I did?”

“You did indeed” came a voice from the open doorway. Erin of Dubhlain was there, glancing at her sister, then smiling wryly at Rhiannon. “You must have been terribly confused when Father grabbed you so.”

“I—” She broke off, determined to say nothing more.
Your father read my mind and my heart!
she wanted to cry, but she did not, and she was glad, for Erin quickly continued.

“You see, he thought that you were me.”

“Your pardon, milady?”

Bede laughed softly, and even Erin cast her an affectionate smile. “Aye, she can laugh now! But this fine, saintly sister of mine once conspired with Father—”

“I did not conspire!” Bede protested.

“Hmmpf!” Erin said. “They tricked me into marriage, you see. I would have taken on a gnome or a dwarf or a large ugly boar rather than a Viking,” Erin explained. “But you see, there had been war—awful, horrible war—and Father and Olaf formed a peace, and I was the assurance for that peace.”

“Oh!” Rhiannon exclaimed. “But you seem now to be so … so …”

Erin smiled delightedly, catching Rhiannon’s hands, bringing her to sit at the foot of the bed. “No woman has ever been so blessed with a marriage—or with a man. The years have been exceedingly kind to me, but they did not start off well.”

“’Twas hard, you see,” Bede informed Rhiannon,
“for Erin and Olaf had known each other. Erin was running about the country in golden armor, you see, and she had battled her own husband.”

“Bede!”

“There was much that Father never knew,” Bede said affectionately.

“Rhiannon, I thank you again with all my heart for what you said to my father.”

“Please, don’t thank me. I—I’m just so sorry that he is gone.”

Erin leapt up and paced nervously. “And now that he is gone, all those men who so honor him in this hall are plotting war against my brother!”

“I don’t understand,” Rhiannon said. “Why should they do so?”

Erin shook her head. “I don’t know, I’ve never understood. When I was a child, there was always war among the kings. Then the Vikings came, and Father formed a peace so that they could be met. And now … now they will fight again. God help Niall!” She spun back around. “Have you everything that you need? Your trunks arrived from the ship all right?”

“Indeed, milady, they did. Thank you.”

“Milady?” She smiled broadly, her emerald eyes bright, and again Rhiannon thought that she was an uncannily beautiful woman. “I am your mother-in-law. You musn’t be so formal. Except that now you must excuse me, because there is so much to be seen to.” She headed to the door, then paused, looking back. “Bede, see to it that Rhiannon meets the family, will you please? Yesterday was so difficult, but today … we must go on.” She started to leave, then came back and smiled at Rhiannon. “I am so glad that Eric
has found you. He has been quite a wanderer, going a-Viking to far-distant lands, and I am actually quite amazed that he has found a beautiful young Christian wife at King Alfred’s court. Pray believe that I welcome you with all my heart!”

She left then, and Bede suggested that Rhiannon come down to the hall and meet the family.

Rhiannon followed Bede. Down the stairway she could see the hall where the Ard-ri now lay to receive the homage of his people. A multitude of men in elegant dress, mantles emblazoned with their mottoes and insignias, stood by him in silent prayer. Rhiannon did not see her husband.

As the day wore on, Bede guided Rhiannon about the manor of the King of Dubhlain. In a room across from the main hall she caught a glimpse of Eric at last. He sat with a large group of men, his brothers and uncles, she assumed, and they were engaged in a heated discussion. Bede led her onward. In the grianon, or the women’s sun room, a beautiful girl with Erin’s ebony hair leapt to her feet and raced forward when Rhiannon entered. “Aunt Bede, you’ve brought her at last! I was so intrigued to meet you last night. Do you remember me?
Can
you remember us all? I’m Daria, the youngest and last of this brood, Eric’s sister. And these are my sisters, Megan and Elizabeth. You’ll get to us all eventually. The boys are Leith—you might have seen him last night at Grandfather’s bedside—and let’s see, Bryan, Conan, Conar, and Bryce. And Eric, of course. Father’s double, that’s what we call him. Please, come in! There’s been so much sorrow! Tell us about Alfred and England, and that awful Gunthrum. Oh, please, do come in, and
don’t be shy. We’re never able to be so ourselves, you see.” She laughed, and Rhiannon was instantly enchanted by her candor and ease.

“Well, I can tell you a bit—” she began.

“You’re Alfred’s kin, aren’t you?” Daria interrupted.

“His cousin.”

“Do tell us something, please. We’ve all been so wretched over Grandfather—we’d love to escape to some faraway land!”

Rhiannon found herself in the midst of the women—Eric’s aunts, sisters, and sisters-in-law—with her natural storytelling ability coming to the fore. She repeated the story of Lindesfarne, refraining now from mentioning that it had been Norwegian Vikings that had wreaked havoc, and she told endless tales of Alfred’s heroism and nobility. When she was done, Daria demanded to know how Eric had managed to sweep her away.

“Rather against my will,” Rhiannon admitted calmly. “You see, he came a-Viking, stole my manor and lands, and Alfred decided that we should be wed.”

There was a sudden silence. She had made the statement lightly, almost jokingly, and yet they were all staring at her. She had offended them, and she was sorry.

But then she realized that they were all staring at the doorway. She swung around, startled and dismayed to discover that Eric was there, staring at her. Comfortably leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, he watched her with his crystal-blue,
fathomless, but surely condemning gaze and waited.

“She’s a wonderful weaver of tales, is she not?” he inquired politely of the group. “Alas, my love, I do believe that you neglected part of the story. My wife is quite the heroine herself, you see. We arrived, and before I know it, I’m wearing one of my dear lady and wife’s arrows in my thigh. No Viking has ever held much sway over this fair lass, I do assure you.”

“You—you shot Eric!” Daria exclaimed.

Rhiannon flushed. “I did not mean—”

“Oh, Eric!” Daria giggled, leapt to her feet, and hugged her brother. Rhiannon saw the easy affection that passed between them, the lightness, the smiles. He’d never have such a smile for her, she thought, half wistful, half bitter.

“I see that you came out of it well and good,” Daria told him.

“Little sister”—he scowled playfully—“I wear a horrid scar upon my flesh.”

“Oh, well, you wear other scars!” She winked at Erin. “You really hit my brother with an arrow?”

“She has excellent aim,” Eric said, “if very little common sense and a dubious quantity of loyalty. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I must retrieve her for the moment. Rhiannon?”

She rose, wishing she had a bow and arrow in her hands at that very moment. How could he say such a thing before his sisters and his aunts?

She strode to the doorway, then paused right before him. “Alas, my lord! What would you have of me? If my loyalty is so dubious, perhaps my aim is also. Take care, young lord of the wolves, for the future.
My aim could improve, along with my common sense. Were it just a little bit better, we need not have married at all, as there would have been little left for you to consummate such an arrangement!”

Daria, close enough to hear her words, burst into laughter. Eric studied Rhiannon and slowly grinned. Then he took a step forward, swept Rhiannon into his arms, and lightly tossed her over his shoulder. “Excuse me, ladies, I must deal with my wayward wife.” Bowing, he took her from the grianon and down the hall, heedless of anyone about them. Stunned and short of breath, Rhiannon could make no protest.

Then she discovered that she was on her feet again. They had left the manor behind and stood in a courtyard before it. Men were everywhere, saddling and bridling horses and adorning them in their king’s and prince’s colors. Rhiannon started to protest Eric’s manhandling of her but fell silent, gazing around at all the activity.

“What—”

His eyes were steady upon her. “There has already been an attack upon Ulster in Mall’s absence,” he told her.

“You—you’re riding away now?” she asked in amazement. “Your grandfather’s body has not even grown cold!”

“We will escort Grandfather’s body to Tara and ride on to Ulster,” he said. His hands were firmly crossed across his chest; his eyes were chilling as they rested upon her. “And you will stay here, in my mother’s care, until I return.”

She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it, for she saw Rowan across the courtyard, conversing with another
of the men of Wessex who had accompanied them. She glanced at Eric, finding it difficult to breathe. “Rowan will ride with you?”

He seemed startled, then he stiffened. “Aye, by his own choice.”

“He should not … he should not die on foreign soil!”

He pulled her suddenly and hard against him. “Do you seek his return and not mine, milady? Alas, I see that it is true, but then you never pretended to seek other than a Dane’s battle-ax for my skull. But, lady, if this lasts days or years, you will remember that you are my wife; you will remember me!”

She tried to jerk free; he was hurting her. Her stubborn pride wouldn’t let her tell him that she loved him, that her concern for Rowan was now a ruse to protect her heart. She could not tell him that she could not bear the world if he did not return; she could not even tell him about their child.

“Eric—”

He lifted her up into his arms. His lips descended upon hers with startling force. He kissed her passionately, ravished her lips and her mouth, and when he set her down, it did not seem that he had done enough.

“Eric!” She whispered. “You must watch out for—”

“For Rowan?” he demanded cuttingly. “By God, madam!” he swore fiercely. Then a cry escaped her as he lifted her violently into his arms. She held tight to him, for his strides were long and careless as he burst back into the manor, took the stairs two at a time, and brought her back to his room. There he tossed her heedlessly upon the bed, and before she could rise or
protest, he had cast his own weight upon hers. “Stop this, you Viking … bastard!” she cried in alarm, but there was no stopping him, his anger, or his passion.

He shoved up the hem of her tunic and briefly adjusted his own clothing. She cried out once again, hysteria rising in her voice at the depth of the violence within him. “Eric!”

Something in her voice reached him at last. He went very still, then eased his weight down beside her. He murmured something that she couldn’t understand. He started to pull away, and she should have been glad but she could not let him go. Tears were damp on her cheek, she realized.

She felt his kiss upon those tears, a gentle kiss. She held him more tightly against her, feeling a quickening within her body. His lips found hers and there was a fierce, seeking hunger in them but no longer the violence. His tongue entered deep into her mouth and seemed to reach secret recesses. The hard feel of his body against hers brought a sweet, moist warmth seeping through her. It seemed that his very hunger filled her. She wanted him. Desired him with a fiercely growing need that filled her heart and her limbs and her very being. He was leaving again.

“Lady, you will remember me!” he whispered softly against her ear. He repeated himself, and she felt a great trembling seize hold of him. Moaning softly, she reached for him, drawing his lips to hers, pressing herself against him with a welcoming undulation of her hips.

“Rhiannon …”

She heard the whisper of her name.

She didn’t want to speak. She buried her face against his throat. “Please!” she murmured simply.

There was no more that she needed to say. He was within her, and she held tight to him with the first startling impact. He began to move, with every thrust he came deeper into her, and in seconds she was meeting his frenzy, matching it with her own. He made love as if he could forever leave his imprint upon her; she made love as if her longing for him could keep him from war. Thunder seemed to rock the air around them as their rhythm and tempest rose to nearly unbearable heights. Then she cried out, for the climax that then claimed her exploded with a searing fire that left her tasting ecstasy, then robbed her briefly of consciousness. When she saw light again, she felt Eric’s great weight shuddering above her, and again she was filled, flooded with the searing warmth of his seed. She closed her eyes, savoring that warmth.