Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] by The Tarnished Lady

distasteful touch of a lusty man would be more than welcome.
    Eirik did not notice her quickly suppressed smile, so hard was he concentrating on his writing. Finally he expelled a long breath of satisfaction and leaned back in the chair, pushing the betrothal agreement toward her. The expectant gleam in his eyes warned her that she would not like the conditions he had set.
    Eadyth carefully averted her face, knowing Eirik was watching closely as she read. His eyesight could not be too dim. After all, it did not lessen his abilities as a seasoned knight, if his reputation rang true. She had to remind herself to bend her shoulders slightly, as well, and occasionally she peered up at him through the open fingers of a hand coyly fanned over her lower face, as if his overwhelming masculinity turned her shy. Hah! She would have much to confess in this deceit when next she saw Father Benedict.
    “Do you understand the words, my lady?”
    “Yea, I can read well enough.” She continued to scan his words, then protested, “’Tis not necessary for you to provide a foster-lean for me. My father is dead.”
    “A husband is expected to pay the father of the bride for past nurture. In his absence, I give you his due.”
    Eadyth lifted her chin proudly, defiantly, and scratched that provision from the document. “Claiming paternity for my son is foster-lean enough for me.”
    Eirik shrugged.
    “And I do not crave any portion of your property as the morgen-gifu . My morning gift will be your promise of protection. You have already told me your estates will go to your brother.”
    Eirik looked her directly in the eyes. “And if we have a son, or sons? What then?”
    Eadyth felt her face flush. She wanted to remind him of the nature of this marriage, but could not find the words. Sons! “Have you mistaken my proposal of marriage forsomething other than a business arrangement?”
    “A business arrangement! Never have I met a woman like you afore. Never!” he exclaimed, shaking his head from side to side with disbelief. He waved her protests aside with one hand and said, “Let it stand for now. With the dangers my brother Tykir faces daily, I will no doubt outlive him anyway.”
    Then she read his last conditions and alarm swept over her like a heat flash. “I cannot accept what you ask of me.”
    “Oh, what do you find objectionable?” he drawled, extending his long legs languorously, crossing them at the ankles. The worn fabric of his tight braies pulled taut on his thighs, and Eadyth stared, open-mouthed, for a lengthy moment at their well-formed contours. His surcoat had fallen back, exposing the wide chest of the same blue tunic he had worn yestereve. A few silky black hairs escaped the parted neck opening, but not her notice.
    The edges of Eirik’s firm lips tilted slightly in a knowing smile, and Eadyth’s mouth snapped shut. She could have kicked herself at her betraying perusal. Willing her rapid pulse back to normal, she grumbled, “Must you flaunt your body so? You may think you can charm the very snout off a pig, but I am not one of your lackwit mistresses to swoon at your feet.”
    Eirik just grinned infuriatingly. “Methought we were speaking of conditions here. Betrothal conditions.” He looked down at his thighs, then back at her, goading her silently to react to his taunt.
    Eadyth cleared her throat irritably and pointed to the words he had scrawled at the bottom of her document. “Yea, I wouldst speak of your conditions. Firstly, I prefer to live at Hawks’ Lair. I see no reason to move myself and John here to Ravenshire.”
    Eirik arched an eyebrow in question. “Have you no seneschal to serve in your absence?”
    “Yea, I do. Gerald of Brimley, but—”
    “Is he trustworthy?”
    “Yea, but he only serves in my stead. I am needed, if for no other reason than to oversee my beekeeping.”
    “Move the bloody bees here.”
    Eadyth smiled condescendingly at his ignorance. “Bees are not like people. They