Authors: Emily Murdoch
She leaned against the cool stone, and shut her eyes. Someone preferably handsome, she thought, and brave enough that instead of sending her amusing scraps of parchment, would actually speak to her.
“What do you have there, Catheryn?” a voice said from the shadows.
Catheryn almost screamed, but managed to stop herself before she brought the entire household to her aid.
The man lurking in the dark shadow of the doorway moved forward, and a pool of candlelight from one of the torches attached to the wall lit up his face to reveal him as her father’s steward.
“Selwyn!” She tried not to gasp at the shock. She had, in those few seconds, managed to convince herself that it would be Deorwine, about to claim her as his prize. “What are you doing out here? What do you want?”
Selwyn smiled to see Catheryn’s calm shattered, although the hint of disappointment that crossed her face did confuse him. Did she want that oaf Deorwine to be the one writing her those love notes? Why did she seem so surprised to see him?
“I merely wanted to check that you are feeling well, my lady” he said, formally, lowering his gaze as was befitting his lower station. Unfortunately, this meant staring at Catheryn’s waist, which did not help him regain any sort of semblance close to calm. Selwyn was deeply unsettled; he had not imagined the first time he spoke to Catheryn as an adult to be this awkward and strange.
Catheryn looked at the man, and relaxed. There was nothing to fear from him. If she closed her eyes slightly, she could still see the child that had been her closest friend.
“I am feeling quite well, thank you,” she said coldly. “I would just rather have some time to…”
Her voice trailed away as she realised that the steward was now pointedly looking at the piece of parchment that was neatly folded in her left hand.
“It is good to see you after so long.”
Catheryn blushed. It was difficult to tell after so long exactly what Selwyn meant by that – if indeed, there were any other meanings to his words.
“And you,” she said awkwardly. “It has been many years since you were here, but I know my father is glad to have you back in his service.”
Selwyn almost recoiled. Her words did exactly what he thought they would: put him back in his place as a servant. He said nothing, but looked pointedly at the note.
“It is nothing,” Catheryn said, moving her hand behind her back, hiding the offending parchment from view. “Just a note that I made for myself. For me. To remind myself of something.”
Selwyn had to hide his smile when faced with this blatant lie. “That you wrote yourself, my lady?”
Catheryn hesitated. She had no reason not to trust this man – he was, after all, immensely trusted by her father to do much of his business. Just because she did not know him as an adult did not mean that the trust she had had for him as a child was no longer valid. There was no harm in showing him the note, because it was not as if she had written so personally to a man! That indeed would have been reprehensible.
“Here,” she said, self-consciously, and hoping beyond hope that the darkness would cover her red cheeks. “You may read it, if you wish. I have been given it – and another too, of a similar ilk.”
Her graceful arm now reached out, bridging the space between him and her. Selwyn was suddenly terribly aware of the coarseness of his hands – working men’s hands – and the rough material that made up his cloak. Catheryn was all silk and elegance and softness. As he took his own note from her, he was careful not to touch her fingers.
He unfolded the note, and read the words of his favourite poem.
“No keener joy could come to his heart – ”
“Oh, please do not read it aloud,” Catheryn interrupted, turning away to look up at the stars that were starting to become visible. The sun had disappeared now, and the evening drew in its blackness. “It is bad enough reading it to oneself than having it read again.”
Her arm had fallen back to her side, and she shivered in the cold. A breeze danced around her veil.
“You do not like it?”
Catheryn shrugged. “It is not a question of like or dislike.”
Selwyn was surprised, and slightly irritated that she did not appear to be impressed with the poem. “Why does the poem displease you?”
“Do not misunderstand me…” Catheryn paused, trying to remind the tall man in front of her that she was a member of the house, and he was merely a steward. A servant. Despite their childhood, there was nothing to tie them together.
Selwyn smiled as he watched her struggle to forget their shared past. Why was she bothering? he wondered. There was nothing shameful in it. And now that she had grown into such a beautiful woman, it was almost a shame that she did not want to remember how they had swam together in the lake. His smile broadened.
Catheryn did not return the smile. “Do not misunderstand me, Selwyn; it is not that the love note does not please me. It is more that I do not understand the poem’s intentions…it is just so difficult to comprehend.”
Catheryn fluttered her eyelashes at him, breathing a sigh of pain as if it were the worst thing in the world not to understand such a marvellous love note. She saw the confusion in his eyes, and laughed inwardly. What a typical man – so quick to assume that she was a fool, and desperate to think her one as well. Catheryn raised her eyes to the note and stared piteously at it. If he wanted to see a stupid girl, then she may as well give him one.
And saw it he did. Selwyn couldn’t believe the outrageous display that she was exhibiting; but then, he hadn’t known her for many years. For all he knew, Catheryn was now an insipid and boring girl – she was, after all, the daughter of a man whose sole ambition was to know before anyone else what the king was going to wear that season. As Selwyn looked at her, he saw Catheryn’s beauty, but all he could imagine was that she used it just as a master swordsman would use his knife, or a master farrier would string a bow: to bring in prey.
“Selwyn?”
“I am sorry, my lady,” he almost stammered. Catheryn had asked him something, but he had been so lost in his thoughts, he had no idea what it was. “Could you repeat the question?”
Catheryn sighed. Another man that took one look at her, and thought she was an idiot when she opened her mouth for two seconds together.
“It matters not,” she said, waving a hand in front of her as if she could physically push away the words that she had spoken. “I shall retire to bed. You have clearly reached your own conclusions about me, and have decided that I am a fool. This bores me: it is not an unusual response, and I have met it before. It does not surprise me, but there we are. I bid you good night.”
“No!” Selwyn moved to prevent her from re-entering the house, but immediately realised that he should have said something further, should have explained himself better – for now Catheryn’s eyes were narrowing.
“No?” Catheryn said, scathingly. “You attempt to prevent my entering my father’s house?”
“No, no,” Selwyn tried to speak calmly. “I must apologise for what…I do not want you to think that – ”
“It matters not what you thought,” Catheryn said dismissively. “I had…I thought slightly better of you. But there it is.”
“I wished,” Selwyn said quickly, “to enquire as to the identity of your romancer?”
Catheryn snorted, and the unladylike action made Selwyn smile also.
“Romancer?” She said, with an almost bored voice. She would clearly have to spell it out to Selwyn – he was not as clever as she had supposed. “You clearly haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying. I do not know the identity of the man – if we assume it to be a man, and not a joke from my ladies – that has written me these notes.”
“And you do not wish to know?”
“Of course I do!” Catheryn said with a smile. “But what can I do to discover them? I refuse to make a spectacle out of myself by begging them to come forward and announce themselves, and I cannot imagine that they are brave enough to contact me or my parents directly. I suppose I shall continue receiving them,” she said nonchalantly, “and eventually the person sending them will get bored.”
Selwyn smiled. “I do not think so, my lady.”
Catheryn blinked. “What mean you by that, Selwyn?”
The man that she barely knew smiled, and it was only then that she noticed just how handsome he was. True, she had seen it before, and it could be the darkness hiding some of his bad features and giving splendour to the others, but he really was quite intriguing. The child that Selwyn had been had certainly been bright, and cheerful, but that was all that Catheryn could really remember. Now as she looked at him, she began to see him properly for the first time in years. Blond hair that he had grown long, as was the custom amongst the men of her kind, meeting strong shoulders which kept his masculinity close to the fore. His clothes were clean and simple, but spoke of real work and hard labour, and a well-earned rest at the end of the day. A thick leather belt cradled a strong build. To Catheryn’s horror, she was intoxicated.
“I mean,” Selwyn said, completely unaware of the scrutiny that he was under, “that you do not have to attempt to discover the identity of your romancer – or whatever term you would prefer – alone. I am willing to put my skills and thoughts at your service.”
Selwyn bowed. He had thought the bow may end up being too much, but as he rose he saw a smile of pleasure splash across the face of the woman in front of him, and recognised it as a perfect mix of ego and intrigue.
“You intend to help me find out who the writer is?” Catheryn’s tone was cautious, but interested.
Selwyn smiled his richest smile, the one he bestowed on family and those that he wanted something from. It lit up his face and drew anyone who saw it in, which is exactly what he intended. He would take this girl, and Catheryn would learn to trust him, to confide in him, and he would finally see if he could release the child that he assumed was still there, even if it was buried underneath years of decorum and curtseying.
“Yes,” Selwyn replied, his smile, if possible, broadening. “After all, the best part of a mystery is that it can be solved.”
Catheryn smiled. She, like all Anglo-Saxons, loved a good riddle, but Selwyn was right: the best part of a riddle was discovering the answer.
“Then I accept,” she said, with a shy smile. Selwyn’s physicality made her feel smaller, softer. “But can I request that we wait until morning until we begin our search?”
She gestured to the night that had fallen around them, and her sleeve fell back to reveal a slender, pale wrist.
Selwyn bowed his assent, and without waiting for Catheryn to speak another word, turned and went back inside.
Catheryn let out the breath that she had not been aware until that moment she was holding. Since when did she accept the help of her father’s steward – a servant – to track down mysterious note writers? And most importantly, would she be able to sleep if she couldn’t forget the smile that he gave her?
The next morning saw Catheryn and Selwyn walking side-by-side, although slightly awkwardly, along the edge of one of Ælfgard’s fields. After the previous evening, there was still some slight nervousness on Catheryn’s side – but for Selwyn, it was all going to plan. As long as he could ignore the feelings stirring inside him as he watched her delicately walking around a puddle, lifting up her skirts.
“And you truly have no suspicions as to who could have sent it?”
Catheryn shook her head. “I thought at first…” she hesitated, still unsure as to why she was telling this man everything about these notes, but then as she saw no harm in it, she continued. “I was told it was a thane of my father.”
Selwyn smiled at the lies that she was so easily swallowing. Why, she may look like a woman but in many ways she was still like a child, so happy to believe anything that she was told. Hopefully that meant that they could quickly return to the way that they were… unless, and the thought made Selwyn swallow, hard…unless there was another future that was possible for them. One that made childhood friendship look tame.
“Well, that leaves you five options,” he said, “although I think that some of them are more likely than others.”
Selwyn picked up a stick, and swung it around himself idly.
Catheryn laughed. “I agree with you there! Really, the only two thanes that I think would have sent the notes to me are Cuthbert and Deorwine. But then, neither of them are likely to have written it.”
“Why not?”
Catheryn bent down and plucked a length of grass from the side of the field. “Because,” she said reflectively, looking at the way the flowers around them had grown towards the sun, “neither of them have a poetic soul.”
Selwyn stifled a laugh. “What do you know about poetic souls?” He blurted out rudely before he could stop himself.
Catheryn paused, and Selwyn was forced to stop as well. She looked at him.
“Because,” she said staring straight at him, “that poem is beyond anything of beauty I’ve ever known. It is clearly of high quality, and someone with a poetic soul would not only know that, but recognise the beauty within it.”
Selwyn’s mouth fell open.
Catheryn stopped in her tracks and laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I see you are just like everyone else then,” she said sadly. “Always surprised that I have an opinion, have thought about something for more than a moment. I do read, you know.”
Selwyn tried to recover his equilibrium, and despite walking slightly ahead of her, turned to face her.
“I know that,” he said, gruffly. “I know that you have been educated as befits your station – ”
“But you assumed that I was forced into it, and learnt nothing, and retained nothing?” Catheryn focussed on the grass in her fingers rather than look at the man looking so strangely at her. She could feel herself going red, but it was anger rather than embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.
Selwyn did not know what to say. Everything that he had planned to say in this first proper conversation between them had completely escaped him, and no new words were filling their place.
A moment of silence passed between them. The rustle of the trees was the only sound, and Catheryn shrugged her shoulders. She started walking again, circling Selwyn as if he were merely a tree in her path.
“Whoever wrote those out for me probably just picked them out of a book at random because they sounded pretty.”
Catheryn stomped away, but Selwyn would not let her get away with such disparaging remarks that easily – not when it concerned his favourite poem.
“You think you know the intentions of the writer?” He said disbelievingly, but with a modicum of softness. He did not want to irritate her again. This fiery side of Catheryn – he could never have supposed it to still exist.
“Well, no,” Catheryn admitted. “It is more that for me, any poetry contains within it the motives of the giver or receiver. Without the knowledge of what the writer intends to impart to me, a part of the poem is closed. It is hidden. It is incomplete, and I cannot glory in an unfinished poem.”
Selwyn could not help himself: his mouth dropped open again.
Luckily for him, Catheryn had not noticed. She was more interested in speaking aloud some of her thoughts that she had found troublesome – but perhaps this Selwyn could tell her whether her approaches were good.
“Because whoever wrote this,” she continued, “must have a purpose for it. One does not idly inscribe poetry and give it to people – do they?”
Selwyn realised that she was expecting a response to her question, but unfortunately he had no idea what it was. He had been so amazed that something like rational thought had exited the beautiful lips in front of him that he had completely lost track of what Catheryn was saying. Which is ridiculous, he reminded himself. This entire game is to remind Catheryn of past times, not for me to look a fool.
“I suppose not,” he said eventually. “You seem to have given this much thought.”
Catheryn shrugged. “I like poetry,” she said, “like any other rational human being.”
A skylark flew high above their heads, singing loudly.
“Oh, look!” Catheryn flung out an arm to prevent Selwyn from walking any further, and despite her slenderness there was strength in her. He looked at her, questioningly.
“Why have we stopped?”
But Catheryn only had eyes for the bird that was soaring above them.
“The skylark sings only when joyful,” she said, her eyes trying to follow the bird as it flew higher and higher and closer and closer to the blazing sun. “It is a bird that truly understands happiness.”
Selwyn wasn’t watching the bird, but instead the woman that had become so captivated by its song.
“You know, it is one of the few birds that never leave us,” Catheryn continued. “Despite the coldness of our winters, it does not desert us and spend the winter elsewhere, but instead remains to cheer us.”
Selwyn was caught off-guard when she suddenly looked down to stare into his eyes.
“Does it not make you feel…alive?”
Any words that Selwyn could have summoned at that moment were caught in his throat. The sunlight poured onto Catheryn, and she almost dazzled him with her beauty
. Her innocence, her love of a bird that probably had not even registered her presence, her belief in the poem as a vehicle of good – these were all things that he could not have expected in her. The woman that had glanced back at him with those wicked eyes seemed to have vanished, and left in her place the very opposite of what he had supposed existed.
“Selwyn?”
Catheryn’s voice was now full of concern, and he realised that he had been staring at her for a full minute.
When he did manage to find his voice again, he hoped that she could not hear the hoarseness that crept in unwittingly.
“Did you know that skylarks mate for life?”
A blush threatened to overcome Catheryn’s face, but that was not her only reaction. Heat flooded through her body, and every part of her began to tingle.
“I did,” she managed to say.
Selwyn stepped forward, a serious and intense look about him that Catheryn could not decipher.
“And do you think that all people do?”
Catheryn’s mouth was dry, but she managed to speak. “I would imagine that anyone mated to you would.”
Catheryn’s hand flew to her mouth at the shock of what she had just said.
Without warning, Selwyn was blind, and perhaps deaf. Had she really said that – had those innocent words when separated come together in that intimate and passionate order? He couldn’t see, was barely aware of himself and his surroundings. All he knew was that if she didn’t move soon, he would be the one to break the distance between them…
Catheryn stepped back, nervously. “You know,” she said ponderously, “you do seem to lose concentration every now and again. Do you feel well? Do you require some food, or some ale?”
“…Perfectly well, thank you.” Selwyn was relieved to find that his voice sounded just as strong as ever, although he could not say the same for his knees.
Catheryn cast one last look at the skylark, and then began the walk back to the house.
“Do you have any ideas as to who my ‘romancer’ could be?” she said. “I use your term out of deference, although I still maintain that it is ridiculous.”
Selwyn chuckled as he struggled to regain his place in the conversation. “Well, I think in many regards you are correct. Your father has five thanes, and three of those are extremely unlikely to send you such a note. The other two are unlikely to send you a note of such imagination and beauty.”
Catheryn nodded. “So where does that leave us?”
Selwyn looked over at the elegant woman by his side. “Right here, I suppose.”
Catheryn opened her mouth, but the next words that Selwyn heard were barked and from a much more irritated throat.
“Selwyn!”
The two of them looked over to see Deorwine running towards them.
Catheryn sighed. She had been enjoying her conversation with Selwyn, much to her surprise. She had assumed that his offer of help was made in order to promote himself in her eyes, and therefore her father’s – but he truly seemed to want to aid her in her puzzle. There was something about him…a moment between them that she could not understand, but could not escape.
“Selwyn,” Deorwine repeated, finally reaching them. “My lord Ælfgard has been waiting this full age for you in the stables. Did you forget your appointment?”
Selwyn cursed under his breath. He had been convinced that any conversation with Catheryn would be short and simple, but instead he had been drawn in by the way she spoke, and her elegant manner of explaining her thoughts. Some of her words had stirred him in a way that he had not expected. Selwyn had totally forgotten that he had promised Ælfgard to accompany him on a matter of business.
“I had not forgotten,” he replied coldly to the thane. “I was merely escorting my lady Catheryn back home.”
Deorwine cast a withering look at the servant, and then smiled greasily at Catheryn.
“In that case, I shall perform the deed that you find yourself unable to accomplish.”
Catheryn did not spare a glance for Selwyn, but beamed at Deorwine. “I would be glad of the company,” she said, and without a moment’s hesitation, began walking with Deorwine. Selwyn was left standing alone, with a stick in his hand.