Chapter Four

“M arried!” Garrick bellowed.

“To whom?” Dunstan demanded, his frown as dark as his brother’s.

Eyreka stared in disbelief at her outraged sons. If her youngest, Roderick, were here and not still in the Highlands with MacInness, he’d probably be standing with his brothers united in their opposition. Did they forget to whom they were speaking? By Odin, she was their mother! They should be showing her proper respect.

Indignation ignited her temper; it flared brightly. “’Tis not your place to question my actions,” her throat was taut with the need to shout.

“His name, Mother,” Dunstan said in a quiet voice.

She turned, hands on her hips, to glare at her middle son.

Barely able to hold back the verbal lashing poised on her tongue, she bit out, “You are not to speak of this. Understand?” They must know she was doing all that was in her power to save their home. Surely they realized that she dreaded suffering the Norman’s touch.

Garrick reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. She shrugged it off and kept walking, refusing to let them see her fear. With each hour her fate drew closer, until she would be legally and honor bound to a Norman. May the gods help her, she had survived marriage to a Saxon, even learned to understand his Christian god. She had grown to love her first husband. But to have to do it all over again—when she had become so set in her ways, was worrisome—she did not know if she could.

A shiver of dread snaked up her spine. Chilled to the bone, she rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. Her steps faltered. Do not let it defeat you. Her husband’s words echoed in her head. Drawing strength from them, she squared her shoulders and steadied her stride. As she rounded the turn in the passageway, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of more than one man’s heavy footfall not far behind her.

Lord love them, they were as tenacious as their father and as single-minded as she.

“Mother!” Garrick called out to her.

“Wait!” Dunstan pleaded.

She slowed her steps and looked over her shoulder.

“I could force you to tell us.” Garrick’s voice sounded as bleak as the concern marring his brow.

“Mayhap.”

“For the love of God!” Dunstan groaned, reminding her of her pledge to Addison to learn and then in turn teach their children all about the Christian god her husband prayed to. He had never insisted that she forget her own Viking upbringing or as he called them, her pagan gods. She taught her sons about their heritage, both Saxon and Viking. Her bloodlines traced back to the Viking rulers of old. They would no doubt understand just how upset she was by invoking Odin’s name.

“Aye, and Odin,” she answered. Not able to help herself, she reached out a hand and gently brushed the hard planes of Garrick’s strongly chiseled jaw.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Mother—” Dunstan began.

She reached out and did the same to Dunstan. He, too, immediately quit his protests.

Love for her sons welled up within her, pushing her doubts aside. She had made her choice and would not change her mind.

“Do either of you have any idea how very much I love the both of you?”

Garrick’s sigh of exasperation was as loud as Dunstan’s groan.

She knew she had their attention. “I would do anything to see that our home is not divided up and given away as gifts by our king.”

Her eldest son’s bellow was fierce, “You agreed to marry de Chauret?”

For once in his life, Dunstan was bereft of speech.

They had taken the news as well as she had expected them to. While her sons were still reeling from the news, she slipped away, knowing that they both needed time to grow accustomed to the idea. Not quite certain how long that would take, she decided it would be best not to appear for the midday meal. Her sons needed time to get used to the idea that she would marry again, and she had no desire to butt heads with their stubbornness again. Her head ached with the myriad of questions and problems that had arisen with the king’s acceptance of her offer.

Walking back to her chamber she decided to order a bath and hopefully forget, at least for a short time, the anguished look in Garrick’s eyes and the anger in Dunstan’s. Drawing in a deep breath she knew it was time to prepare herself for the ceremony that would take place at sunset.

*

The soothing effects of her lavender-scented bath evaporated under the intense scrutiny of the nobles assembled to witness the marriage of one of their own to a Viking by birth, Saxon by marriage. She dared a glance at the two men standing near the far wall, and sighed. From their identically rigid postures, crossed arms, and set jaws, her sons were still angry for having been barred from her chamber earlier that afternoon.

She looked away, hoping that someday they would understand why she had taken matters into her own hands. Though the solution to her peoples’ problem placed her right back where she did not want to be, dependent upon a man, she had had no choice. She glared at her future husband’s guard; they all wore identical black expressions. Though none were as blatant, or as filled with contempt, as one of her future husband’s vassals. The over-large, battle-scarred warrior with iron gray hair seemed to regard her as though she were a leper…unclean and unfit for the role she had bargained to fill.

The ceremony was blessedly brief, though still nigh impossible to remain standing when the quaking in her lower limbs threatened to topple her over. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice her discomfort, especially the quiet man who escorted her to the empty seat to the right of their king.

“Well done, Augustin.” William thumped her husband on one of his broad shoulders. Eyreka flinched at the power behind the blow, but Augustin seemed not to notice. He was preoccupied, staring at the feast spread before them. He seemed enthralled. Her reaction was the opposite.

The amount of food was daunting, the display vulgar. When she thought of the poor souls that had nearly starved only a year ago, she rasped, “’Tis enough to feed Merewood’s crofters for nigh onto a fortnight.”

“I cannot imagine this fare would feed fifty of my men, let alone twice that number.” Augustin looked at her for the first time since they had vowed to cleave to one another.

Taken aback, Eyreka shook her head. “Have you ever gone a day without food? Have you lain awake at night, your belly so empty that your mind is consumed with the worry that your family would starve before you could find a way to put a loaf of bread on the table?”

His gray eyes registered the shock her words must have given him, but his response was calm, “Aye. I have seen those that have suffered to the point they could not summon the strength to stand.”

Surprise rippled through her at his words. He did understand. “I did not think—”

“Aye, you did not,” he cut her off.

Before she could open her mouth to counter his words, his hand appeared before her lips, holding a plump piece of roasted fowl. “I am not hun—”

Her words were silenced by his strong fingers deftly placing the food between her lips. She could do naught but chew quickly and swallow. She planned to tell him she did not intend to remain silent while he criticized her in front of others. This time when she opened her mouth to speak, a hunk of bread soaked in the meat drippings was unceremoniously popped in.

If her new husband thought to fool those celebrating their union by solicitously feeding her the choicest bits of meat and broth-soaked bread, as was the custom for a newly married lord and lady, he was very mistaken. Theirs was a match made to benefit Merewood’s people and the future of all of her sons.

When she tried to hasten her swallowing, to tell him just what she thought of his ploy to make everyone think theirs was a typical union, she choked. He whacked her between the shoulder blades and held a cup of spiced wine to her lips.

Furious at both his treatment of her and his total lack of attention, she grabbed his forearm.

That action stopped him cold. He paused in his conversation with the king and turned his glacial glare upon her. Undaunted, she started to speak. He made a move to feed her another bit of meat, but she forestalled his action with the sweep of her hand, knocking the meat out of his fingertips and into her goblet of wine.

“Mayhap you are not hungry?” he suggested in clipped tones.

“Had you let me speak earlier, you would know that I—”

He leaned close to her and whispered, “Mayhap you are eager to consummate our vows?” The low, seductive timbre of his voice sparked a familiar warmth deep within her. Captivated by the way his heated gray gaze raked her from head to toe, she was inexorably drawn to him, like the poor doomed moth drawn to candle flame. Eyreka shook her head to clear it, but she could not shake the image her mind had conjured up at his words. She did not want to be interested in her husband as a man, only as a figurehead to rule over her people, ensuring the stability of the home and her people’s well-being.

The combination of unwanted desire and desolate sorrow warred within her breast, but she refused to let either emotion rule her actions. She had to be strong, to be smart, and do whatever she must to ensure Merewood’s people would survive and flourish under Norman rule. Mayhap now was the time to catch him off guard and put her request to him. She placed a hand on his arm and leaned close.

His gaze snapped back to meet hers, but Eyreka was not to be put off by the temper she saw sparking there, “Aye, husband,” she rasped, “I cannot wait to—” Before she could finish speaking, her words were cut off, as was her breath, when he grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet and crushed her to his side.

“My liege,” he said, not looking at her. “I beg your indulgence, but my wife…”

King William looked up at Augustin and waved him away, his mouth already occupied, tearing the meat off of a haunch of venison.

Eyreka found that she had to run to keep up with her husband’s furious stride. When he pulled her into his chamber, he turned back to bolt the door.

Her own anger abated when he turned around. It was then she noticed the taut line of his jaw. If he clenched it any tighter, she feared it would snap.

She took a step back.

He took a step closer.

She backed up another pace. Again he took a step closer. Finally, there were no more steps to be taken. She had backed her way across the width of the chamber and up against the edge of the bed.

He towered over her. Anger radiating from the powerful warrior she had wed caused a tingle of fear to trickle down her spine. This would not do at all. It had been necessary to get him alone, in order to convince him to hold off consummating their vows. Her plan was to get her new husband to agree to a marriage in name only. But one look at the virile warrior glaring at her, and she was afraid there would be no more talk this night. It was his right, but her plans to get him to agree to their union did not include intimacy.

She would make him see reason. Not knowing of any other way, she held a hand out to him, beseeching him to pause. “Milord, please?”

For an instant his eyes clouded with what she thought was confusion before they cleared. He took a step back and raked a hand through his hair, clearly as unsettled as she.

She saw her opportunity to speak and plunged ahead. “I wanted to speak to you earlier, but my messages were returned unopened.”

He seemed confused, “What messages?”

“I sent my handmaiden to your chamber twice today with the message that I wished to speak to you, privately.”

She noticed he was frowning when he turned away from her to stalk across the room. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to walk back toward her.

Instead of offering an explanation, he asked yet another question. “What reason did she give for returning with the messages undelivered?”

“That you had not the time, nor the desire to speak with me.” Her earlier anger at having her missive brushed aside returned. She tilted her chin up at a defiant angle and bravely met his gaze.

Instead of the convoluted reasons she thought he would use to try to excuse his behavior, he smiled.

She was appalled. “Do you mean to say that you actually left those instructions with the man guarding your chamber?”

He nodded, and she wondered had he spent so little time conversing with others and so much of it engaged in battle that he did not concern himself with the thoughts and feelings of others?

Her plans to secure a future for her sons was still just out of reach, and the dense warrior did not seem to be inclined to listen. Her cursed Viking temper, so like her father’s, flared to life like a spark dropped onto a pile of dry twigs. She placed both hands against his rock-hard chest and shoved with all of her might. Completely taken by surprise, he faltered for a moment before losing his balance and crashing to the floor.

His eyes narrowed, and she made the mistake of looking away for an instant to gauge the distance to the door. Before she could take a step toward it, he grabbed her leg, tumbling her down into his lap.

“You have my undivided attention now, wife.”

The husky sound of his voice unsettled her. She quickly wriggled off him and stood, and he made no move to stop her. Her body still trembled from the brief contact, unnerving her, while he seemed unaffected. Mayhap he had not felt anything when she’d landed on top of him. She frowned at the thought.

Smoothing her hands down the sides of her gown, she brushed away the tiny bits of rush that clung there. The small familiar motion helped give her time to compose herself.

His intense stare was unnerving, but she resolved to ignore it and convince him to agree with her plan. “I wish a boon.”

If she thought to shock him, she failed miserably. He pushed up off of the floor in a fluid movement that bespoke his years as a warrior. He stood before her with his hands once more clasped behind him, his rigid control back in place.

Augustin’s silence had begun to wear on her. He was obviously waiting for her to continue. Gathering all of her courage, she reached for the amber pendant hanging between her breasts. As soon as she touched it, raw power surged up her arm, strengthening her resolve. “I think that we should wait to consummate our marriage.”

She paused, watching him closely to see if she could determine just what he was thinking. His face was devoid of all emotion… completely blank. Eyreka suddenly felt sorry for any warrior who had to face her new husband’s bleak countenance. It was distinctly unnerving, and he was not even armed!

She brushed that thought aside and said, “We need to accustom ourselves to one another. It would not do at all to arrive at Merewood out of sorts.”

“And you feel that sealing our union would cause this discord?” The arch of his brow suggested he did not agree.

“Aye. Once we are more comfortable, and know one another better, then mayhap we can discuss this further.”

Augustin was silent for the longest time. Not wishing to appear too anxious that he agree, Eyreka quietly studied him. It was then that she noticed that his eyes had dark circles of exhaustion surrounding them. Lines of worry marred his forehead, making him seem less the formidable adversary, more approachable.

Finally, when she could no longer stand the wait, she added softly, “I know that you had no desire to wed, but the people of Merewood should not have to suffer because our king deems it necessary to take away their lord. ’Twould truly be to your benefit to allow my son to stay on as seneschal and manage our holding until you are accustomed to our people.”

The anger in his gaze dimmed. “And you would do anything for your people, would you not?”

Eyreka thought to disagree, but what would she have to gain by hiding the truth from him? Like it or not, she was now bound to him by her vow, freely given. “Anything.”

Though she did not like the gleam in his eyes, she refused to weaken in her stance until he agreed.

“I will wait. Who knows, mayhap you will find that your people are more than willing to accept me as their lord.”

And mayhap the Saxon people will rise up and overtake their Norman oppressors. Eyreka doubted either event would ever come about. Though hopeful, she was realistic; it would take more than her marrying the Norman baron for her people to openly accept him as their lord.