The Chosen Queen (11 page)

She turned back to see Griffin pounding towards her, copper-streaked hair flowing out behind him, muscles flexing as one with his stallion. Her own body rippled in response as if the sun had
dappled all its power across her as he came to a halt in a spray of sand.

‘Is it not glorious?’

‘Glorious,’ Edyth agreed. ‘I love it.’

‘I can see that and I am glad of it. There is not much for you to do in the palace, I fear.’

‘Only sewing.’

Edyth wrinkled up her nose and Griffin laughed.

‘You do not like sewing?’

‘No. I know I should but it is so slow.’

‘Unlike Môrgwynt.’

‘Yes.’ She stroked the mare’s long neck. ‘And I do so love being outside. It is so much less stiffing than the bower.’

‘I am sure you are right. One of the great benefits of being a man is avoiding the bower.’

Edyth giggled.

‘But you do have to go to war,’ she pointed out.

He sobered.

‘We do. I fear a sword pricks harder than a needle but in truth, Edyth, whilst I deplore the waste of life, I love a good battle.’

He looked out to his boats, riding the sea, and Edyth watched him.

‘You will do battle alongside my father – why?’

‘Why? Why not? The battle is there to be fought and alliances are useful. Land is useful, especially the fertile borderlands of the Marches. Besides, if I do not push at the edges of
England, England will push at me and I cannot have that. I have all Wales to protect now.’

‘What
is
all Wales?’

‘What indeed.’ He smiled. ‘Wales is four territories, Edyth, split apart by mountains. Gwynedd, up here in the north-west, is my heartland, my birthright – though my
bastard uncle stole it from me for too long.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘Nothing he didn’t deserve. Anyway, it’s mine now and it’s beautiful.’

Edyth swallowed but pushed on.

‘And Powys? Your half-brother holds that for you?’

‘Bleddyn, yes. My mother lives there with her second husband and my younger brother, Rhys.’

‘And in the south?’

‘The south!’ Griffin spat, his eyes darkening. ‘God save us from the south.’

‘Where the Lady Gwyneth comes from?’

‘Indeed. She’s from Deheubarth and the whole place is as troublesome as she. Her nephew, Prince Huw, is ever grumbling against me, though he dares do no more. Prince Caradog in
Glamorgan is just as bad and I have to watch them all the time – hence my soldiers, and my ships.’

He gestured proudly to the fleet. From here Edyth could see the sleek lines of the vessels, the long oars and the smartly furled sails. She could also see padlocked caskets of weapons and
barrels of provisions already stacked on board.

‘You are ready to sail?’

‘Always. You can never be too careful. Attacks can come out of nowhere.’

‘And with these you can escape.’

‘With these, Edyth, I can regroup and mount a renewed assault.’

‘I see.’

Griffin laughed.

‘Do not look so uneasy, my little English lady. The southerners avoid me, and I them.’

‘Your court does not, then, move around?’

‘Move around? Oh, as King Edward does. God bless you, no. It would be like sleeping in an adder’s den. Now that I have conquered the south my men will collect my dues each month and
I will hold court there twice a year.’

‘Do the people not want to see their king?’

‘Strung up maybe.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m sorry, Edyth – Wales is not like England, nor ever will be. My people admire my strength and respect my will. They accept my rule but they do not like it. They would not
line the streets to see me as they do the saintly King Edward.’

‘I’m sorry – you must think me very foolish.’

‘I think you wonderfully fresh and untainted by the world. Your innocence does me good.’

Edyth blushed.

‘You must be proud to have conquered all the territories.’

‘I am, Edyth. I truly am. It was my father’s dream.’

‘That you should be King of all Wales?’

‘That
he
should be. He used to tell me about it when I was a child, describe how it would be.’

His bright eyes had taken on a lost look and Edyth felt a breathless sense of intimacy.

‘And how
would
it be?’

‘Glorious, of course. All would bow before him and he would have a new crown fashioned with four great rubies for the four quarters of his country. He used to describe it so vividly that I
can almost see it now.’

Edyth looked at the crown Griffin wore – a rich but simple diadem.

‘You have not had it made?’

He shook his head fiercely.

‘It does not feel right. The jewels were the dream. The reality is wars and spies and man turning against man. The Welsh are not, I’m afraid, a naturally united people. Our land is
scythed into sections by the mountains that divide them and we cleave more readily to local lords than national ones. My father was murdered.’

‘Murdered?!’

‘Don’t look so shocked. It is the way for kings.’

‘Not in England.’

He snorted.

‘Nay, perhaps not in England – though you’ve had your share – but here it is to be expected.
I
expect it. Every day I expect it.’

‘And yet you live so . . .’

‘Recklessly?’

‘Fully.’

He smiled.

‘It’s amazing how alive you feel in proximity to your own death. I could be king for another twenty years, Edyth, or for just a few more hours. It is best, I find, to make the most
of all this wonderful life offers.’

‘But are you not afraid?’

‘Of course, but you cannot let fear stop you.’ He slipped off his stallion’s back and Edyth hastened to join him. ‘What really scares me,’ he admitted, ‘is
that I will lose it – the hunger. My father died when I was just ten. He was my god, Edyth, my world. I grew up with his dreams woven through me and all my life I have fought to achieve them
for him. It hasn’t been pretty. I have had to be ruthless – it is the only way – but I have done it. I am King of all Wales at last.’

‘So why be afraid?’

‘Because what do I do now?’

She shrugged.

‘You have to keep it.’

‘I have to keep it.’ He nodded slowly. ‘You are right, of course.’ Suddenly he caught her in his arms and whirled her round. ‘You are right, Edyth Alfgarsdottir;
you are wise indeed.’

His arms were tight around her, his face close to her own, but his eyes were still on the sea and on the dreams he must see imprinted across the waves. He stilled.

‘Will you help me?’ He held her so that her feet dangled like a child’s, though her heart was beating a more adult tune. ‘Will you help me, Edyth?’

‘I will try,’ she whispered and now his eyes met hers.

‘You are a very special woman.’

He set her gently on her feet and pushed her hair back from her face, cupping her chin in his big hands. Then, very carefully, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. Edyth ran her hands
around his neck, meeting his kiss eagerly and Griffin moaned and pulled her against him. She felt the contained warmth of his body and the soft touch of his mouth melting her, but as she began to
truly enjoy the caress he prised himself away.

‘Nay, Edyth – you will undo me.’

She blinked up at him, confused.

‘I am too young for you? Too inexperienced?’

‘No! But I would not dishonour you, nor your father, for anything. If you will consent, Edyth, I will ask your father for your hand.’

Edyth felt the world start to spin.

‘You want me as your wife?’

‘Wife and queen, yes. Yes I do.’

‘But they say you will never marry,’ she stuttered.

‘They do? Then they are wrong – with your consent.’

Edyth looked up at the great man and saw his wise eyes searching her own, as vulnerable as a child’s. She tried to think of England with its elegant, mannered courts and its peaceful
countryside and Svana’s invitation to stay on her enchanted estate, but it all seemed terribly far away with the Welsh sea throwing itself at her feet, the Welsh birds circling her head and
the Welsh king looking down at her with such tenderness.

‘I consent,’ she whispered and now he pulled her fiercely against him.

‘You will be a great queen, Edyth,’ he promised, his lips whispering the words against her own. ‘You
deserve
to be a great queen – greater, perhaps, than a rough
king like myself can offer.’

‘No, Griffin, you—’

But he put up a finger to silence her.

‘No matter, cariad. It will be my honour to see you to your throne.’

And then his mouth covered hers and, for a sea-wisp of time, crowns and thrones and titles seemed as nothing.

They rode back towards the palace at a more sedate pace, newly shy with one another despite the intimacy of their promises. Griffin had kissed her only briefly, then handed her
back onto her horse before his ‘baser self’ took hold. Even so, Edyth felt as if he had stripped her naked there on the sand, so acutely did she feel his want, and she was sure every
man and woman of the court would see it too. She had no idea how she would face her mother without her reading all that had passed, but when she finally reached her, Meghan was too distracted to so
much as look at her.

‘They will ride to battle, Edie.’

‘I know.’

‘On the morrow.’

‘The morrow?!’

Edyth thought of Griffin’s words that any day might easily be his last and felt fear grip her. He had said nothing of riding out so soon, only that she should not speak of their marriage
until he had asked her father.

‘How do you know?’ she demanded.

‘Your father’s mercenaries have arrived and apparently they are too expensive to keep here so the king’s commander has ruled that they will ride immediately.’

Edyth ran to the window and looked out and sure enough the pasture behind the palace was teeming with men pitching rough soldiers’ tents and lighting campfires.

‘There must be a thousand of them,’ she exclaimed.

‘Two thousand,’ Meghan sniffed. ‘They cost a fortune but your father insists it must be done to prove . . . oh, I don’t know what to prove but he seems very
certain.’

Edyth watched the ant-like mass of fighting men and felt her stomach curdle. She and Griffin had ridden in through the small gates on the seaward side where all was still waving grass and
rippling water and romance but here, before her now, was the reality of Griffin’s life as king. Not dreams and crowns and queens, but conflict and battle.

‘They ride on the morrow?’ she repeated, chilled to her bones despite the heat of what had seemed such a beautiful day.

‘It is hard, I know, but if God is with us – as I’m sure he is – we will be able to go home.’

‘To England?’

‘To England, yes, Edyth. Where else?’

But to that, Edyth had no reply.

Bosham, October 1055

Svana looked over the letter twice until, to her horror, a tear plopped onto it, sending the ink scudding wildly across the vellum. What on earth was she crying for? It must be
the new child stirring in her womb. She put her hand to her stomach and felt it pushing against her.

‘Hello in there, trouble,’ she whispered.

This babe felt different from the last three. Perhaps it was because she was older but it was making her so tired and so wretchedly sick. She had tried all the remedies she knew – mint,
lavender, thyme and even an infusion of very expensive oriental ginger – but to no avail. She’d even agreed to join Harold, entertaining the court at his favourite manor of Bosham in
his Wessex heartlands, in the hope that the sea air would aid her nausea. The sniping and gossiping in the ladies’ bower, however, counteracted any health benefits nature offered.