Lady Of The Lake
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“I see that blood means nothing to you,” the Viking woman sneered.
“On the contrary, wife of my nephew,” Edon said with telling candor. “Blood means everything to me.”
Embla blanched. Her pale lips tightened and her chin jutted out in fury. Edon saw no gain in allowing Embla to think she retained any power now that he’d returned to his shire.
He was not ready to condemn her for the murder of his nephew, but he had his suspicions. So did his brother, Guthrum. Nor would Edon tolerate any direct challenge from her. Best she learn that now.
“Will we be killed in our beds?” Rebecca murmured fearfully from the near side of the table.
“No, we will not,” Edon said resolutely.
Theo turned to distract Rebecca from the commotion of Embla’s exit with her six foul-tempered guards. The newborn’s mewling became a soft undercurrent punctuating Sarina’s throaty growl.
The growling continued until Embla was gone from sight.
Edon realized that it was Harald’s wife the wolfhound took such great exception to, not the Mercian newcomer. He started to settle back into his chair, then realized that the newcomer had yet to take a seat. She had paused to greet Sarina and to speak to the two thralls manning the wine casket. Granted, they were only children that Eloya had selected from the compound, but Edon took umbrage that the woman chose to acknowledge anyone before she had made proper abeyance to him.
Blind Theo turned from soothing his wife and small son, chuckling, “So it begins, Lord Wolf.”
Ever quick to sense any change in Edon’s mercurial temper, Lady Eloya cast a knowing smile his direction. Then she did the unthinkable, speaking out in her clear contralto, in well-practiced Saxon. “Princess, Lord Edon feels ignored.”
Tala turned about so quickly she startled the thralls. Another blotch of wine splattered on the unvarnished floor. Sarina rose to her feet and ambled to the stain, sniffing it noisily.
As she gave ground to the wolfhound, Tala found herself the censure of all eyes. She didn’t know which was worse—standing still for a wolf to come close enough to devour her or confronting the dark Viking’s unfathomable eyes. Frissons of heat skittered over her neck, pebbling the skin on her arms as she turned around to face him. It was the same feeling that had overcome her that afternoon when he’d spied her in King Offa’s oak.
“Why did you call me ‘princess’?” She addressed the women at the table, not knowing which of the ladies present had spoken to her.
A very beautiful lady at the far end of the boards deigned to reply. “Because Lord Edon’s oracle, my husband, Theo the Greek, told us we would have a true princess dine at our table our first night in Warwick. We are in Warwick and you are the only visitor that has come to the hall.”
“Ergo, you are the princess.” Edon finished the theorem with simple logic. He saw no reason to add the dictum that the gold torque encircling her neck also proved the theorem valid. He came to Rig’s side and took hold of the woman’s hand. Her fingers were warm and moist, pale against his sun-browned skin.
“I am honored to be given such rank,” Tala replied. She dipped in a proper bow of respect to the lord and all of his guests at the table. “Forgive my interruption of your meal, but I was ordered to present myself at sunset.”
Edon blinked in surprise. This beauty standing before him was the bare-limbed nymph in the oak? He shook his head in denial. “You are not the girl I saw hiding in the oak.”
“And you said you never forgot a face.” She delighted him with a playful smile. “‘Haps I should have disobeyed your command and tested your memory, as well as your eyes.”
Edon looked closer, admiring the neatly tamed curls held by a net to her diadem. Her fair skin was kissed by the sun, warm and glowing. Wispy red curls escaped at her temple and brow.
“I did not command that you come alone,” Edon responded tersely. He felt slightly chilled at the idea of her facing Embla’s animosity unprotected.
“I did not say I came alone.” Tala chose her words carefully. “It is no matter at the present. You have ample swordsmen and warriors at your table to protect many ladies, be they princesses or not.”
Edon deliberately let his gaze move to the empty stairs. “Then summon the boy. He will sup with us as well.”
“What boy? I know no boys, lord.”
So she would spar words with him, would she? Did she think his eyes were as sightless as Theo’s? Edon motioned to Rig. “Have you discovered the princess’s name?”
A handsome smile lightened the planes of Rig’s lean cheeks. “Indeed I have, Edon. May I present Tala ap Griffin? Princess, this wolf in fine clothing is Edon Halfdansson, Jarl of Warwick.”
The dancing amber lights in the princess’s eyes dimmed slightly, as if she’d suddenly recalled a sobering thought. She removed her hand from Edon’s. “You are brother to Guthrum and son of Halfdan, late king of the Danelaw?”
“Guilty as charged,” Edon answered. He drew back the seat beside his own and placing his hand firmly at the small of her back, guided her to it. She stiffened at his touch, declining to take the seat immediately. By doing so, she wrested control of his hall from his hand. If she would not sit, he could not. If he did not sit, the food would grow cold and no one could eat.
“What ill do you bear my late father?” Edon asked, playing her game momentarily. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. His hand warmed to the sweet curve at the small of her back. “Halfdan has been gone to Asgard a score and five years. You are not old enough to have been ravished by him, and I know for a fact he did not venture this far south of the security of York.”
“Perhaps I am not from the south,” Tala countered.
“Ah, but you are, Princess. You are a royal Leamurian. The torque at your throat proclaims you that. Embla bears you great ill and openly calls you a witch. Has she reasons for her animosity, valid ones?” Edon asked silkily.