Chapter Seven

T he hall was filled to bursting. Augustin’s personal guard sat on one side of the long oaken table, while some of Garrick’s men sat on the other. Eyreka felt all eyes turn toward them as Augustin carried her into the room.

Patrick rose from his seat and walked over to the doorway. “Is there a reason then that you cannot walk, Eyreka?”

Augustin’s face darkened at the younger knight’s words. “You will address my wife as milady,” he commanded from between clenched teeth.

Eyreka laid a hand on her husband’s arm in an effort to stem his rising anger. “Patrick is one of my son’s vassals, second in command only to Winslow the Scot. As such, I have given him permission to address me as Eyreka.”

Her husband stiffened, as if he had been dealt a harsh blow. “As you wish, lady wife.”

It was then she realized that she had not yet given Augustin leave to address her as Eyreka. She tilted her head and stared at the chiseled profile that was so close to her own. Would he even wish to become that friendly with her? Would she want him to?

Knowing Patrick would not be satisfied until she’d answered, him she said, “I had a slight mishap and injured my ankle.”

“Be that as it may,” Augustin continued as if she had not spoken to the younger man, “when we are among our people, he must address you as befits your position as my wife, lady of this keep.”

Eyreka did not wish to argue in front of her people, nor did she want to add fuel to his growing anger. She nodded her head in agreement and noted he seemed satisfied. Augustin started walking toward the seats left vacant in the middle of the long table.

Though she knew he was angry, he gently settled her in the chair and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Eyreka felt it was her place to make the introductions, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Augustin cut her off with a direct look.

“By now most of you have heard that King William has chosen me as the new Lord of Merewood Keep.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “As such, I intend to assume my duties at once. While I have spent most of my time on the fields of battle, I am not ignorant of the duties a lord has to his people. As such, I will begin by hearing minor grievances tomorrow, after Lady Eyreka and I break our fast.”

With that, he sat down and motioned for one of the pages to fill his goblet. The boy approached with two pitchers.

“Our harvest was plentiful,” Eyreka said smiling. She was very proud of her son’s accomplishments. “We have the finest mead and wine to offer, milord.”

Eyreka motioned for the page to fill her goblet with mead. She turned and offered it to Augustin. “Taste mine. See if it is to your liking.”

Her husband’s smoke-colored eyes visibly darkened at her words. His strong fingers brushed against hers, as he accepted the goblet. Eyreka feared he had misunderstood her meaning, reading more into her words than she intended. His steely gray gaze penetrated the mask of contentment she wore, stripping away layer upon layer of the false happiness she strove so hard to weave about herself, until her own turbulent emotions were left raw and exposed.

Eyreka thought she should explain herself, and try to undo the damage she had already done by letting the man she married see the glimpse of the passion she had only shown one man before him.

“I’ll have the mead,” his voice rumbled from deep within his massive chest.

The page poured another goblet and moved on down the table filling the empty cups. The movement broke the powerful hold Augustin seemed to have over her.

Patrick sat quietly on her right, his brooding presence becoming more and more difficult to ignore. While her husband was busy filling their shared trencher with bits of meat and cheese, she turned to the warrior and spoke in hushed tones.

“What is it you wish to ask?”

“I would hear then why he carries you about as if you are unable to walk on your own two feet.”

“I was thrown from my horse when—”

“Thrown? Do you think me daft? There’s not a horse for miles around that would dare,” Patrick said with a grin.

Eyreka could feel herself flush with embarrassment at the younger man’s praise. “I was riding an unfamiliar mount in the middle of a fierce storm.”

“If the storm was so fierce, why were you riding at all?” Patrick’s voice hardened.

“Because my lady wife is intelligent enough to do as she is bid,” Augustin answered for her.

Eyreka could feel the flames of her temper begin to flare. If she were not careful to control her anger, it would blaze out of control. She swallowed the rejoinder that lay poised upon her tongue and answered evenly. “As often as possible, milord.”

Patrick’s eyes showed his disbelief, while the look in Augustin’s suggested he too doubted her softly spoken words. Striving not to lose her temper, and maintain a calm facade for her people’s sake would be difficult enough. But it would surely be a trial to finish the meal without hitting either man over the head with her goblet. She groaned inwardly; the provocation was sure to be great.

At last the interminable meal ended. Without thinking, Eyreka started to push herself out of her chair. Dagger-sharp pain slashed through her ankle the moment she put her weight on it. While she tried to catch her breath, her ankle folded beneath her.

“Eyreka!” Augustin called out, steadying her, letting her lean on him.

Concentrating on controlling the pain that brought tears to her eyes, she wondered if she imagined the concern in Augustin’s voice. Her hands were not steady as she brushed the tears from her eyes. A pox upon that horse… and another upon her ankle for making her an invalid.

“Easy, milady,” Patrick said, taking hold of her other hand. “Kelly!” he called to the warrior standing by the doorway.

“Aye?” The warrior walked over to where Eyreka sat, now cradled in her husband’s arms.

“Lady Eyreka has injured her ankle,” Patrick said. “Can you have a look at it?”

Eyreka saw her husband hesitate and start to open his mouth. She quickly explained, “Kelly is a gifted healer, as well as a powerful warrior.”

Augustin inclined his head.

Kelly knelt before her, closed his eyes and carefully prodded the bones of her foot. He sighed and opened his eyes. “’Tis badly wrenched, but the bones feel intact.”

Eyreka had not thought it was broken, but was relieved to hear another healer proclaim it so. Unfortunately, the throbbing pain would not be ignored for long; it had slowly built in intensity while they ate.

“She could have reinjured it just now,” Kelly added. “You should stay off your feet for a fortnight… rest your ankle on a pillow… mayhap two. I’ll have Sara mix up a batch of your comfrey root concoction for a poultice, milady.”

“Thank you, Kelly.” Eyreka tried to smile, but could not quite pull it off. “That should help with the swelling.”

“Come, lady wife, ’tis past time for you to retire.”

Eyreka’s heart fluttered at the thought of spending the night in the same chamber as her husband. She had not thought far enough ahead to discuss their sleeping arrangements once they reached Merewood. She was no newly married maid, unaware of what transpired between man and wife—but he was not Addison—he was Augustin, her husband in name only. It would not do to forget their bargain, no matter how her traitorous body reacted to his voice or his solicitous touch.

“I am tired,” she whispered, as they reached her chamber.

“Leave us.”

The young servant waiting in their chamber hesitated. “But milady—”

“I will see to my wife.”

The maidservant made a hasty retreat.

Her gaze darted from the closing door to her husband’s impassive face. He seemed too relaxed to her, belying the banked embers flaring to life in his dark gray eyes. She was trapped by her unwanted reaction to the man she had pledged her life to. But she had no intention of sealing that pledge. At least not yet.

“My every need?” she asked, before she was able to stop herself.

“All that is in my power to fulfill.” His gray eyes betrayed his desire-laced frustration.

“Do you go back on your word, husband?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You sent my maid away,” she replied, “and I will require assistance in undressing.”

“I am here to serve.” Augustin set her down on the edge of the bed.

Eyreka could not help but notice that the hunger was gone, buried once again beneath the icy gray of his gaze. She knew he had himself back under control by the way he stood, stiffly at attention.

Greatly relieved, she nodded. “My thanks.” She turned her back to him, ignoring the nagging question hammering in the back of her mind. Why did she trust him?

He bent down and untied the belted girdle she wore. As he peeled the first layer of clothing from her, the air between them crackled with tension.

When he reached for her chainse, she stayed his hands. “I think I will sleep in this tonight.” Her voice sounded breathless, and she chastised herself for not being able to resist the powerful form of her new husband. She sought his gaze, hoping to see whether or not he too was unsettled by their closeness, or if she alone suffered.

The heat in his gaze scorched her. Pinpricks of awareness heightened her reaction to him. He drew her into his embrace and paused a heartbeat before brushing his lips across hers—gently, softly, coaxing her to kiss him back.

When she leaned into him, he braced a hand to the small of her back and kissed her with a devastating intensity that awakened the passions she had buried alongside her husband—Addison—by the breath of Odin. How could she forget the love of her life? Her ardor cooled instantly, and she pushed away from Augustin.

His bewilderment was replaced by irritation. Before she could speak, an invisible wall was erected between them. His reaction unnerved her and was as if he were two men: the hot-blooded man, and the icy cold warrior.

“I leave you to your sleep.” Turning on his heel, he strode to the door, anger punctuating his footsteps.

Eyreka wished she knew what he was thinking. Before he had turned away, she’d caught a glimpse of his eyes. They had been the same color as the mid-winter ice that formed on the pond near the south meadow. Unable to trust herself to speak, she nodded. When he slammed the door shut, she knew the approachable man was gone, replaced by the formidable warrior.

Alone, she lay back against the cool linens and closed her eyes. She was a mature woman with grown sons. She would not be controlled by the passion she felt for the fierce Norman knight who stalked from her chamber moments ago. A faint memory of a Viking prophecy swirled through her exhausted brain as a wisp of lavender greeted her, relaxing her as she drifted off to sleep. She dreamt of ice storms and a warrior carved of stone.

*

“Are the herbs your lady wife placed within the rushes not to your taste?” Georges asked, daring to prod the warrior who paced angrily in front of him.

Augustin stopped abruptly, confused by his cousin’s question. “Herbs?” he asked.

“Were the odor pleasing, you would not be so determined to grind them to dust beneath your big feet.” Georges turned away, but not before Augustin saw him trying to hide a smile.

Raking a hand through his hair, he glared at Georges and continued pacing. His left hip ached. It was as if he had taken a steel blade through it to the bone, but it was bearable compared to the unwanted heat of unfulfilled desire. He needed to move; if he stopped he knew he would beat someone senseless. The only person readily available was Georges, and Lord knew with the way his hip felt, Georges would like as not end up besting him.

A strong hand clamped around his forearm. He paused.

“Did she bar you from her chamber?” Georges’s concern marred his brow.

An ugly laugh erupted from the depths of his frustrated being. “Nay.” For a moment Augustin tensed, wondering if Georges had guessed that their marriage was not all that it appeared. But then he relaxed; Augustin had not told anyone of the agreement he made with his lady wife. His men had obviously assumed that his marriage was normal, that he and his wife had consummated their union a fortnight ago.

Would that they had, he thought, he would not be prowling the lower regions of their home, weary to the bone.

“My hip pains me.”

Georges nodded his understanding, “Let me help you straighten it out.”

“Lady Eyreka does not know of my weakness.” He did not want to imagine her reaction, knowing that her husband had such a flaw. An enemy would take advantage of his weakness. Is she the enemy?

“Mayhap you should sleep here with the men tonight,” Georges said slowly, rubbing his chin, deep in thought.

“Send word to my lady wife. I will meet her in the hall on the morrow, and we will break our fast together.”

Augustin hoped that his cousin was satisfied with but half the explanation he deserved.