Though there was an understanding in the family that Eirik would stand up for Murchad’s right to retain his Irish lands if ever his uncle, the King of Leinster, were dethroned by Whitehand, still the two knew that there was a chance that they would meet in battle someday.
And so, when they met now, it was always in that strange twilight between enmity and amity, in the netherworld of enemies whose ladies are sisters.
Sigrid knew that King Sigefrith had wanted Synne to marry Murchad precisely so that he could place himself in this no-man’s-land of alliances, but Sigrid and Synne could not take shelter in the same neutrality. Each would have to stand on the side of her husband, and yet they would always dwell together in the shadowy realm inhabited by sisters whose husbands are enemies.
“You’re still here,” Eirik observed without preliminary greetings.
“My brothers are here,” Murchad said. “We shall leave in a few days.”
“Do you need a ship?”
“We shall ride to my father first, and sail from the north on a Scottish ship.”
“I shall write a letter for you. It will get you across the sea unmolested. On your Scottish ship,” he added with a slight, mocking smile.
“I thank you,” Murchad said with a bow of his head and a slight smile of his own.
Only then did Eirik acknowledge the presence of his wife and sister-in-law in the hall.
“Ladies!” he beamed.
“Welcome back!” Synne smiled.
Eirik came to kiss Synne’s hand, and then he pulled Sigrid to her feet and embraced her tightly.
“I have had a difficult trip,” he murmured to her in Norse. “Be kind to me.”
Sigrid nodded, somewhat surprised to be so greeted.
He loosened his embrace enough to lean her back and study her face. “You look very… well,” he said finally, and he stroked a finger over her cheek just below her eye.
Murchad and Synne silently left.
Eirik pulled her close to him again and kissed her, but he turned her sideways, and one hand came down to hold and lift her breast, as if to reckon its weight. And then, still kissing her in small kisses all over her mouth and cheeks, he slid the hand down across her belly.
She knew what he was doing, and she quivered all over. She felt so vulnerable before him, and so helpless before fate, which had always been cruel to her, first by giving her Olaf, and then by taking her other babies away. She could not stifle a small cry.
At once the hand came around to the small of her back and pulled her hips sharply against him.
“Come upstairs with me,” he said hoarsely.
She thought he had not understood.
“But it’s… it’s all right,” she whispered, trembling in terror, for this was the moment she had been dreading for so long.
He stared down at her with a strange frown.
“The woman says it will be soon after Michaelmas.” Still he said nothing, and she began to be frightened for a new reason. “I know – I know – it means we can’t go home this summer – I’m sorry,” she babbled.
He squeezed her. “Siri, Siri, Silly Siri! I’ve had such a hard trip,” he said to her in English. “And now I’m here. And now you’re so kind to me!” He kissed her forehead reverently. “Come upstairs with me anyway. I go see your king later.”
Chapters
He's not the brute everyone though he was, is he? It's good news for the guy, coming home finding his wife pregnant.