Page 106 of Viking in Love

“Oh, I do not mind staying,” Geoff started to say, looking to Caedmon for guidance.

“’Tis not necessary,” he whispered to his friend. “Make sure the women are ready.” Breanne and her two sisters were presumably sitting outside this room all this time, waiting for their own interrogation.

Once Geoff left, Edgar sat up straighter. Caedmon was fairly certain he had a cushion under his arse to give him height. “Last time I heard, and ’twas only a few months ago, you were adamant about not remarrying. Tell us of your relationship with the Viking princess? What made you change your mind?”

The two thanes bracketing Edgar sat up straighter, too. It became apparent to Caedmon that while Heatherby was no longer of interest to them because the hunchbacked Sybil went with the package, Larkspur was not so encumbered. They wanted his land.

Caedmon warned himself to tread carefully. “That is how I felt at the time, but then I met Lady Breanne.”

“Is she the one with red spots?” Edgar asked Dunstan.

The archbishop nodded.

“How long will she have them?” Edgar wanted to know.

Why in bloody hell does he care? If he thinks to force her to his bed, he will have to plow through me first! “I have no idea. Is there a reason why you ask?” Caedmon’s voice was icy with affront. No one in the room could doubt that he was giving the king a silent warning.

Edgar tented his short fingers in front of his face, staring at him with barely concealed hostility. “Why should we give our permission for this betrothal?”

Caedmon would have liked to ask since when was a royal approval needed for anything involving this remote, small estate?

Just then, the door swung open and in strode a man clearly of noble stature. He was tall, his black hair sprinkled with gray, wearing a fine wool cloak over soft leather breeches and tunic. Gold shone from his shoulder brooch and belt. It was Eirik, earl of Ravenshire, kin-by-marriage to Breanne’s sister Tyra. Caedmon did not know him personally, but he had seen him at a distance in the past at royal events.

Geoff followed Eirik in and sat down beside Caedmon, whispering, “The women are primed for battle.”

“Please tell me that you jest.”

Eirik made a short bow from the waist at the “royal” table and said, “Greetings, Your Eminence. Greetings, Your Highness. I came as soon as I heard a meeting of the Witan was being called. I must have missed my invitation.” Without being asked, Eirik pulled a chair up to the table where the others sat. He turned then and winked at Caedmon, so quickly no one else saw it.

“This is not a formal meeting of the Witan,” King Edgar said in his usual whiny voice.

Caedmon had mixed feelings about Lord Ravenshire’s arrival. On the one hand, he resented the implication that he could not handle his own affairs. On the other hand, a good soldier never looked a gift horse in the mouth. Or, as Rashid would say, “Never look a gift camel in the mouth.” It was a sign of his melting brain that he was making up camel proverbs in his head.

“Continue as you were.” Eirik motioned toward them with a wave of his hand. “Do not let my presence inhibit you.” The latter was ludicrous, considering how uncomfortable he was making the other Witan members.

“King Edgar asked why he should give permission for my betrothal to Lady Breanne,” Caedmon explained to Eirik, whose eyes widened just the tiniest bit at the news of a betrothal. “I was about to say that I married twice to satisfy the crown’s wishes, and I vowed that I would ne’er wed again, but that was afore I met my lady love, a gentle, sweet lass. She is everything a man could want in a wife.” He was sure that Geoff and Wulf would laugh their arses off one day in recounting his description of his fierce Viking lass. Breanne would, too, for that matter.

“But she is a heathen Viking,” Dunstan protested.

“I told you afore that her family has been baptized.”

“Do not think that I am unaware of the Norsemen’s practice of being baptized as a convenience to travel in our lands.” Dunstan sneered. “They are no more Christians than camels.”

Good thing Rashid was not here. He would not like the maligning of camels.

“Have a caution whom you speak ill of, Your Eminence,” Eirik warned. “I am half Viking.”

Dunstan made a harrumphing sound.

“I understand the wench has a sizeable dowry,” Edgar said. “How much and how is it to be allocated?”

What he really meant was, how much would he get if he allowed the marriage? A marriage that would never be happening. What a mess!

“I have not even talked with her father yet. Until that happens, I cannot say.”

“What is this really about?” Eirik wanted to know. “The king, two thanes, an archbishop, and an ealdorman do not travel to the far reaches of the kingdom to discuss a betrothal that represents a pittance compared to the rest of the realm.”

Dunstan tapped his fingertips on the tabletop. “The murder of the earl of Havenshire…that is what this is about, and we have reason to believe his widow is the culprit.”