Not that it would bother her had he availed himself also of those accommodating women. He could and would do as he liked, as all men did, and she was expected to say nothing, not just because of their unique relationship, but because wives rarely if ever interfered in their husbands’ doings. A wife would be lucky if one or more of her husbands’ lemans didn’t live under the same roof with her.
Erika wasn’t going to break tradition and complain if she wasn’t one of the lucky ones. She would have to care to do that, to actually love her husband and expect more from him. Not likely on either account.
While her brother’s mood had risen to pleasant, Erika’s had decreased to just short of simmering. She could blame it on the day and all the lies she had told, even on the worrying she had done. She certainly didn’t blame it on Selig’s possible unfaithfulness.
“He has an amusing sense of humor, Rika,” Ragnar told her before they sat down to table. “But then, I am sure you have already discovered that for yourself.”
She had done no such thing, and was not likely to. Selig? Amusing? About as much as a frothing wolf.
Turgeis had gone back to Ragnar’s camp for the afternoon, but he returned for the evening meal. As was his custom, he sat with the retainers at another table. The seats around him were empty, the men here wary of getting anywhere near him. Even the servants were extremely nervous about serving him. Two accidents occurred because of shaking fingers.
Aware of it, this, too, annoyed Erika. Her friend had given these Saxons no cause to fear him, but they saw his size and looked no further. It did not help, of course, that he did a lot of glowering in Selig’s direction, and when Turgeis glowered, he looked quite fierce. It didn’t seem to bother Selig, however, so it shouldn’t bother anyone else.
But it recalled to Erika a conclusion she had reached and worried over in the past. Turgeis was a lonely man. The people of Gronwood had come to accept him, which meant they ignored him. None had ever befriended him.
Erika was, in truth, his only friend, which was sad indeed. She had tried to rectify that before. She had assigned Turgeis a squire, but the boy had run away. She had involved him in tasks with men his age, but nothing had come of it. She had even tried to interest the women ofGronwood in him, but they had either looked horrified by the notion or laughed it off. He was nigh two score in years. He ought to have a wife and family of his own.
She had one small hope that it might be different here in Wessex, with new people, including Norwegians like himself. Even the women here were already accustomed to Selig and Royce with their extreme height, and Turgeis was only a half foot taller than they. But from what she was already seeing, the hope was not strong.
At her own table, she sat between her brother and husband. For Ragnar’s benefit, Selig’s arm came around her shoulders quite frequently in a show of husbandly affection. He even leaned close at one point and kissed her neck, setting off all sorts of pleasant reactions in her body—which she didn’t appreciate one bit. It wasn’t as if he were going to do anything about what he was thoughtlessly causing her to feel.
She was ignored for the most part as the two men spoke around her of subjects she had no interest in, or with the others at the table. Selig’s family also made Ragnar feel welcome, which she was grateful for. It could have been an extremely uncomfortable meal for them both, but Ragnar enjoyed himself. So did Selig, for that matter. He laughed a lot. And he didn’t drown himself in ale as he had the previous night. Only Erika could wish she were elsewhere, though for her brother’s sake, her demeanor said otherwise.
When she was finally able to leave without undue notice, she was surprised to hear Selig make his excuses to depart with her. Not only that, but his arm went around her waist as he escorted her from the hall, again for Ragnar’s benefit but there nonetheless, and she was painfully aware of it, the fingers spread wide on the side of her ribs, holding her tight to his side. Nor did he release her once they reached the upper hallway and were no longer under scrutiny, though she made a subtle effort to move away from him.
“You must admit, wench, this serves nearly as well as your leash,” he said to her as he opened the door to his—now their—chamber.
She was able to jerk away from him then. After that remark, she would likely have clawed him to see it so. And she would have made a scathing reply if the clothes on the bed had not caught her attention and drawn her to them.
He had come right up behind her, though he didn’t touch her again. “My sister is generous,” he said.
She was indeed. There were three gowns there with matching chainses, and not one could be considered ready for charitable donations.
“Her generosity is for you, not me,” she replied a touch bitterly.
“How so?”
“So you will not be embarrassed by a wife wearing rags, of course.”
“And how would that embarrass me, wench?”
She heard the laughter in his voice. She turned to see it in his gray eyes. “So I am mistaken.” She shrugged. “As it matters not to me either, you may return these to your sister. My brother will be sending my own clothes, but if you prefer I not wear those either, you may lock them away, or give them away.”
“Or throw them out a window, as you did to my property?” he queried.
Immediately she looked for the chains he referred to, hoping she wouldn’t see them. She found them in a pile in her corner of the room, and her temper rose at the sight.
“I refuse to wear those again,” she said softly, but no less furiously.
“If I want you to wear them, you will.”
“Then you will have a fight on your hands,” she promised.
He actually laughed. “We already know the outcome of that, do we not?”
She met his gaze, one brow arching. “Do we? I was not referring to myself, Selig, but to Turgeis. He will go berserk if he sees me enchained.”
His amusement ended right there. “That damned giant—”
