She looked at him now in disbelief. "And you trusted him to escort me from the convent even knowing about his reputation with women."
"How did you learn of such a thing, Margriet? Surely not from the nuns?"
"Men talk, Father."
Now it was her father's turn to look at her with an expression of incredulity. "I cannot believe that Rurik would speak of such a thing to you."
Margriet shook her head. "Nay, Father, he did not reveal that to me. The others were not so discreet though."
"Rurik has had his share of … involvements, Margriet, but he is a man of honor. I knew I could trust him with your safety and person."
Her father chose the wrong words, for they brought to mind images of Rurik and "her person," on the floor, wrapped around each other, skin to skin, in the throes of passion. Her breath became short and heat rose within her and she remembered the way his mouth touched-nay, possessed-hers and the way his hand caressed all the places on her body that … that …
"Margriet? Girl? Are you well?"
Her father's voice broke in to her memories of what had happened that night and she touched her face, feeling the heat in her own cheeks now.
"I am but a bit overheated," she said as she tried to think on something else and remove the image of his naked body, all golden skin, all muscle, all male strength, from her thoughts.
Someone called out to her father, which distracted him for the moment. Now, as she thought about that night, again, she realized that although she felt as though she was being overtaken by him, much as she felt when covered by the waves of the sea, completely washing over her and dragging her down into mindlessness, she knew Rurik was ever in control. Although filled with anger, so much that it could be felt and smelled, his touch was filled with desire and pleasure. And when that moment came, when she told him to stop, he did.
And that was why she never feared him, even then.
For he had shown himself trustworthy over and over on their journey. When he took notice of her distress while traveling. When he cared for her when she took ill. When he did not repeat the devastating kiss even though she wanted it as much as he did. All showed him worthy of trust. The trust she had given only in part.
Her father attended to other matters and Margriet lost herself in her thoughts for the rest of the day. She broke from her reverie when they approached the city of her birth and she found herself amazed at the changes to it since she'd last seen it.
Even though her memories were that of a child, she could see that it had grown in size and the number of buildings and streets. Still called Kirkjuvágr in Norn by the common folk or Kirkvaw or Kirkwall by the Scots, it was now the central city of the Orkneys and even Earl Erengisl had built a new palace here, not far from the Cathedral of St. Magnus, which rose above the rest of the city. She would stay with her father in the palace since his duties required his constant attendance on the earl and his concerns.
The size of the palace shocked her, for Erengisl had built it with the usual great hall of Norse castles and added not one, but three towers to that! As they approached it through the main gate, Margriet noticed that even the main part consisted of three floors, one beneath the ground and the great hall with its vaulted ceiling on the top floor. The extent of his wealth was displayed for everyone who visited here to see.
She must have been gaping, for her father laughed now. "Ah, I see you have no memory of this?" She shook her head. "And this is not even his most impressive castle, for that is Hultaby in Sweden."
The cart rolled to a stop and a swarm of servants surrounded them, unloading their belongings and helping her down. Brushing her tunic free of the dust from the roads, she followed them to her father's chambers. Expecting something else, she found he had several rooms together-a sitting room where he could entertain guests, a private area filled with his papers and books and records and two small sleeping areas. Though not each separate rooms, there were areas divided by curtains that hung from ceiling to floor that gave a measure of privacy within each section.
And in the middle of the one she was told would be hers sat a bed. Tempted to climb into it and not come out until morning, she waited for her father's instructions. He'd gone immediately to the earl when they arrived and he came back to his chambers in a state of excitement.
"Come, Margriet," he said, pulling her to her feet while Brynja fussed over her dress and her hair. "Lord Erengisl would meet you now and not wait for morn."
"But, Father," she said. "I look like something just dragged along the road. Can I not prepare myself for such an important meeting?"
Deep inside, Margriet was dreading this moment. Her father had described the earl's ability to discern the truth and not to be put off by appearances, and she feared that, without a father's love to blind him, he would see her truth before she could tell Gunnar.
Her father took her in his arms and held her close. "Fear not, Margriet. He will not find you wanting."
Knowing he would not be dissuaded, she let Brynja make some final adjustment and then she followed her father from the tower where their rooms were located down to the main floor and over to the larger tower where the earl lived. They paused at the doorway while a servant announced them.
After living in an austere convent for the last ten years, the luxury of the earl's chambers nearly overwhelmed her. The floors were covered in costly rugs and the walls displayed huge tapestries that both decorated and conserved the warmth in the room. Shelves held various treasured items such as gold and silver vases and bowls and cups. If she gaped then surely it was her lack of seeing such things at the convent all these years?
"Come, Gunnar, present your daughter to us."
Chapter Eighteen
The order, called out in a loud voice, brought her attention to the two chairs set in front of the large, glass windows on one side of the room. The earl and countess both sat there, watching her as she walked at her father's side. Margriet tried desperately to keep her hips straight as she progressed through the room. Luckily, only a few others stood observing her. When they reached her father's liege lord and lady, she sank in a low curtsy and waited for permission to rise.
The earl clapped his hands, calling for wine for all of them, and Margriet rose as her father guided her to stand. Now looking at the earl and countess, she was surprised at the obvious differences in their ages.
"Welcome to our court, Margriet Gunnarsdottir. I know your father has waited for this moment for a long time and am pleased that it has come."
Erengisl Sunesson's dark green eyes sparkled as he took a silver goblet from one of the servants and held it out to her. She took it and watched as he also handed one to the countess at his side. She recognized his eyes as the same color and shape as his son, Rurik's. And the nose and the angle of his jaw-all were traits passed on to his son. Only his coloring was not, for he had hair the color of the mahogany wood of his chair and not the pale blond color of Rurik's.
"I would make you known to my wife, Agnes of Strathern."
Margriet bowed her head to the countess and was surprised when the woman rose and came to her, taking her hand and welcoming her into their household. "Welcome, Margriet. I hope you are well after your long and arduous journey?"
Another surprise, for she would not have thought that the countess would be apprised of such details. "I am well, my lady," she replied.
"My husband's son told us of the adversities you faced along the way here from Caithness," Lady Agnes said. "And he told us of your resourcefulness in discerning and treating his men when the sickness came upon them. I am certain your father is proud of you."
"He did?" she asked, surprised at the countess's knowledge.
"There he is." The countess waved to someone behind her, someone she was not certain she was ready to see again. "Come, Rurik. I was telling Margriet how you told us of her actions when everyone took ill on your journey."
She'd seen him dressed in the plain garb of a soldier. She'd seen him dry in the light of day and wet from their fall into the stream. She'd even seen him naked. But nothing had prepared her to see him as he was now-arrayed in the finest clothes, wearing a sleeveless tunic of the finest cloth, with gold armlets and bracelets and a medallion bearing the earl's crest around his neck.