#swsp

"Do you intend to farm, Lord?” she asks, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face.

“I intend to help…we Danes are capable of more than killing, you know.” Erik forces a laugh; Eadwyn remains unimpressed. “We conquer so that we might build and grow.”

“And is that what you intend to do to me?” she asks, one eyebrow raised severely. “Conquer so that you might seed me?”

Erik feels the heat rise in his face—an unfamiliar sensation to him. This small Saxon woman has a blunt way of speaking. “Not conquer, Lady.”

“How strange,” she replies, uncrossing her arms and leaning back on the heels of her hands. “I was warned I’d find you a domineering pagan master.”

“And I was promised a docile Saxon wife,” Erik replies without thinking. “We were both mistaken.”

He ought to have bitten his tongue, but rather than scowl a flicker of amusement crosses her face. Erik sighs a breath of relief that he has not offended further and promptly wonders when he will have the luxury to rest easy in her presence.

Eadwyn smoothes a hand over the bed beside her. “You will not join me, Lord?” Her mouth has softened into a near-smile but her eyes remain vigilant, like a lookout posted on the bow of a ship, scanning the horizon for advantage or danger.

A strand of her hair has escaped the confines of her veil and he’s tempted to brush it back from her face. She notices the stray lock as he does and sighs, then unpins the fabric from her head and removes it, folding it over itself until it is a small square which she sets aside.

The color of her hair is ruddy brown. He remembers it well, he has not seen another woman with quite that color hair since they met. It had appeared brighter at first, now, in the dim light of evening, it looks dark and rich like burnished leather.

“You stare, Lord.” She is not ashamed. She stares back.

Erik shrugs. “You are beautiful.”

She laughs softly—a strange response, but he enjoys the way her head tilts back and her eyes crinkle in the corners. “I am not frightened of you, you know.”

“I can see that. I am glad of it.” And he was. He had no desire for a trembling maiden.

“I have laid with a man before,” Eadwyn continues, gauging his reaction closely.

“And I with women,” he replies with a shrug. “It is only natural. We are not children.”

She appears pleased at his reaction but carries on. “I was betrothed to him.”

“I had not been told this,” Erik frowns. Divided loyalties might prove an obstacle. “You did not marry?”

“He died,” Eadwyn says simply. “You need not fear I will be unfaithful.”

Her face has gone hard again, but Erik can see it’s meant to mask her discomfort. “I am sorry for that loss.”

“You must have had similar experiences,” Eadwyn says evenly. “As you say, we are not children.”

Erik thinks of Inge. It has been a long time since he allowed himself to think of her.

“We should not talk further of sadness,” Eadwyn says with an air of practicality.

Erik watches as she runs her hand down the front of her dress, then catches his eye.

“I can summon my ladies to help me unless you’d rather…” She’s gesturing to the silver brooch that holds her woolen gown at the shoulder. If he had to guess, Erik would say she was quite capable of removing it herself. Perhaps this was a test, then. He did not know for what.

The pin slides out quite easily, allowing the heavy fabric to fall away and reveal the linen garment beneath. She turns so that he can access the other shoulder, sweeping her hair behind her as she does. He removes the second brooch.

He thinks to kiss her, but something in her expression gives him pause. She’s drawn her brows together slightly, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she was going to cry. But then her face clears and she turns towards him.

“We can rest,” he offers. “You must be tired from the journey.”

She narrows her eyes again. Perhaps she suspects he will accuse her of not maintaining her end of the bargain, attempt to have the marriage annulled. That would be reckless, but she may think him so reckless.

“I am prepared to do my duty, same as you, Lord.”

“Will you not call me Erik?” he teases gently.

“If you’d like. I am prepared to do my duty, Erik.” His name drops from her lips like an insult, which he finds more amusing than he should.

“May I call you Eadwyn?” he asks, ghosting his thumb down her arm.

“It is my name.” Her tone is more curt than courteous.

Aethelflaed smiled into her goblet. “I’m not sure I know what you’re implying, Lord.”

“Just that I believe you are better suited to this work of leadership than your husband is, Lady.”

Aethelflaed narrowed her eyes at him. Of course he was right, but she could not reinforce her own power by undermining Aethelred’s.

“I assist my husband as he governs, Lord, it is the way of the Mercians.”

“Ahhh.” Erik’s face broke into a wide smile. “That is the reason then. I did not know the ways here were so different from Wessex, but all Saxon traditions are not so crude as I thought. I knew you could not wish to marry your lord for his beauty alone.”

Aethelflaed suppressed her humor. “I am sure my lord husband would be pleased to hear you acknowledge his beauty.”

The Dane, pleased to have pleased her, bit into an apple, still grinning.

“And how is your wife? How does the Lady Eadwyn fare?” Aethelflaed asked.

“She is well,” Erik replied, his face turning slightly more serious.

“How is she taking to her Danish husband?” Aethelflaed asked, unable to deny her curiosity. “Or perhaps I should ask how you are taking to a Saxon wife?”

“He was promised a docile maid,” Sigefrid interjected from Erik’s other side, having caught the last part of their conversation. “That woman is no more docile than a wild boar.” He laughed derisively into his horn of mead.

“She is a strong woman,” Erik said, a side glance of annoyance at his brother. He spoke as if Sigefrid would do well to fear her.

Sigefrid guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder, then turned back to the warrior Dagfinn who sat on his right. Erik’s frown eased as he returned his gaze to Aethelflaed.