The Chosen Queen (12 page)

‘Just settle down, will you,’ she pleaded softly and felt a small but determined kick in response.

A girl – it had to be. She stiffed the thought swiftly, not daring to give it room to breathe in case it was not so. She longed for a daughter but until she was so blessed she
couldn’t suppress a tender, almost maternal feeling for Edyth, and the careful lines of the girl’s letter worried her.

‘Why has the king gifted her a horse?’ she asked her bump but no answer was forthcoming, save the stirrings of Svana’s own common sense.

Why did men ever gift women anything? Even dear Harold, who brought her presents mainly to see the happiness on her face when she unwrapped them, definitely enjoyed the earthier expressions of
gratitude once the lights were blown out. She grimaced at herself. Perhaps she was growing cynical with age? Perhaps the Welsh king just liked displaying his wealth? Perhaps he was courting Alfgar,
not Edyth, with his gift? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . . . Svana sighed.

‘Heavens, my love, not weeping again?’

She looked up to see Harold ducking into their plush chamber and brushed the tears hastily away.

‘It’s Edyth, poor girl.’ She waved the letter. ‘Heaven knows how long this has taken to find me down here; it’s dated over a month ago.’

‘How does she fare?’

‘Well, she says. Bored of ladies’ company but I don’t blame her for that.’

Harold laughed.

‘Well, my love, you will be glad to know that I can release you back to your lands.’

‘Oh no, Harold. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I am quite happy here with you.’

‘When you are with me, yes, but I know the rest is a trial and I love you for it. In truth, though, the court will be moving on in a day or two.’

‘It will? Why, Harry? What’s happened?’

‘It’s to do with your young correspondent or, rather, her father.’

‘Oh no. Don’t tell me you have to ride out to war?’ He looked to the ground, so like one of the boys caught doing mischief that for a moment Svana wanted to laugh, but this
mischief was deadly serious. ‘Why you? I thought Earl Ralf was leading the defences in the west?’

‘He was.’

‘He’s dead?’

‘No, no. He’s well enough. A little red-faced perhaps.’ Harold sank onto a stool beside Svana and took her hands. ‘As you know, Alfgar and Griffin have been besieging
Hereford. All Ralf needed to do was to hold out for a few more weeks and winter would have driven them to sue for peace but, oh no – the impatient fool decided to meet them in the field. Not
only that but he took his men out as cavalry.’

‘Cavalry? Into battle?’

Harold shrugged.

‘What can I say? He’s a Norman by blood and I suppose, despite what we’ve taught him, he still believed it was the best way. Maybe he wanted to prove that to us – to
me.’

‘It didn’t work?’

‘You could say that. The horses were churned up in the Welsh mud within minutes. Griffin’s forces were all over them. They had to retreat but the city was vulnerable. I am told the
Welsh have done much damage. They have secured not just a victory but a jest at our expense.’

Svana saw Harold’s jaw tighten and knew the wound ran deeper than his light tone was letting on. She clasped his hands tightly.

‘I’m sorry.’

He looked at her and puffed out his breath.

‘It is no great matter. If looking foolish is the worst that we suffer we should count ourselves fortunate but we cannot let it go at that. The king’s honour is at stake.’

The babe rolled suddenly in Svana’s stomach as if, like its mother, it was scornful of such ideas. Definitely a girl then. Svana’s hand closed protectively over it and Harold placed
his own on top.

‘It quickens?’ he asked and Svana nodded. ‘Perhaps, then, it will stop making you so sick?’

‘I hope so, though now fear for you will take its place.’

He looked reproachfully at her.

‘Nay, Svana, fear not for me. I know what I am about on the field and I train hard. I am well fed.’ He patted his belly ruefully. ‘And I have the best armour. It is late in the
year so this cannot go on long. I will return to you for Christ’s mass, I swear.’

‘At Nazeing?’

‘Svana . . .’

‘I know, I know. Christ’s mass is at Gloucester. Always has been and always will be.’

‘You will come? The boys too?’

‘If I am well enough.’

‘You are angry with me.’

She looked deep into his eyes and saw the faint amber rings glowing like fire around the soft pupils. She sighed.

‘Not with you, my love, just with all this . . . this warmongering. It seems so pointless.’

‘Maybe it is, Svana, but what can we do? England is a rich and prosperous land. Others covet it and if they attack we must surely defend ourselves?’

‘My fighting man,’ Svana said, stroking his face, and he smiled ruefully. ‘We cannot let foreigners prey on our land or our people, I suppose, but why must it always be
you
who does the defending?’

Harold shrugged.

‘The king seems to think I am the best for the job.’

He looked so very bashful, sat there before her with his skilful warrior’s hands clasped softly over her belly, that Svana could argue no further. She wound her hands around his neck and
kissed him fervently.

‘You
are
the best, Harold – the best for England and the best for me.’

He kissed her back.

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ he whispered, ‘but I prefer you.’

She felt her loins stir.

‘It is just a shame, then, that England is so very demanding. Do you have time to come to bed?’

His eyes darkened and he pulled her up into his arms.

‘I do, my love. I most definitely do. England can wait that long.’

Afterwards, as they lay in a tangle of blankets, Svana curled against him, trying to imprint every finger space of him onto her flesh to last her in the lonely weeks ahead.

‘You will be quick?’ she asked.

‘As quick as I safely can.’

She stuck her tongue out at him.

‘And you will broker a peace between King Edward and Lord Alfgar?’

‘I will do my very best.’

‘And you will bring Edyth safely home?’

‘Why would I not?’

‘I don’t know.’ Svana sat up and fumbled for the letter. It took her a minute to find it amongst the hastily discarded clothing but at last it emerged from beneath
Harold’s trews. ‘She says “
I hope to see you one day
”
.
’

‘As I’m sure she will.’

‘But why “one day”, Harold? Why not soon? And why does she talk of “all that has happened”?’

‘Girls prattle, my love. She is bored, you said so yourself.’

‘So why does she not write more?’

‘Perhaps vellum is scarce in Wales?’

‘Hardly, Harry. If the king can gift her a horse, he can afford a few sheets of vellum.’

‘A horse?’

‘Yes, a beautiful creature, Edyth says.’

‘But why . . . ? Oh, honestly, Svana, you have me questioning now. Look, the girl is in deepest Wales with her mother and King Griffin is at Hereford, knocking down walls and doubtless
making free with the local girls. Things may have grown flirtatious but that is over. I will ride forth and I will bring them to the table and we will all see you in Gloucester for Christ’s
mass.’

‘Promise?’

‘That’s not fair,’ he objected, kissing her.

Svana sighed.

‘So little is,’ she said wistfully but Harold stoppered her words with his lips and she gave in to his renewed caresses whilst she could.

Billingsley, December 1055

Edyth folded the letter carefully. It was creased and stained from too many readings but it had kept her comforted on the cold road into England, not least because she was
certain Svana would be delighted to hear she was riding to peace talks. A letter had come from Griffin a few days back inviting them to join him at Billingsley, just over the English border. Meghan
had hailed the news with almost ferocious joy and they had ridden out as soon as the chests could be packed.

Becca had begged to accompany Edyth ‘for her comfort’ and, noting young Lewys in the guard, Edyth had consented with a smile. She had been glad of the company for it had been a hard,
impatient ride but now she could see a line of tents on the horizon and knew they must be close to the Welsh camp. She tucked Svana’s letter carefully into her pocket and drew tighter on
Môrgwynt’s reins.

‘
Y ddraig
!’ came a sudden cry – the dragon.

Edyth followed the guard’s eager pointing and saw Griffin’s rampant dragon pawing the bright air as his standard snapped in the sharp December breeze. Her breath caught and
Môrgwynt skittered sideways. She had not seen the Welsh king for five months. She had told no one, not even her mother, of her tentative engagement and it had begun to feel as if she had
imagined it. Her hands shook on the reins. If her marriage were to happen she would not see Svana, or any of the English court, at Yuletide, nor any time soon after.

‘Come, Edyth,’ Meghan said jauntily, throwing her fur-lined cloak over her shoulder, ‘let us ride in to your father.’

Her head high and her face glowing, Meghan led them up to the edge of the Welsh camp. They were sighted from afar and by the time they approached the first tents, a rough guard had been hastily
assembled. They rode carefully up the line and then, suddenly, there he was – King Griffin. Framed in the doorway of his deep scarlet pavilion, he stood taller and stronger and far, far more
handsome than Edyth had dared to remember. His hair was fox-red in the low sunlight and his eyes, as he fixed them upon her, bluer than the winter skies. He might be closer to her father’s
age than her own but he radiated an energy and lust for life that set her heart crackling.

‘Lady Edyth. May I?’

He held out a hand to help her from Môrgwynt’s back and she slid from the horse and into his arms. He steadied her, his hand light but firm around her waist, and for a moment it was
as if no one was there bar him.

‘I have missed you,’ he murmured.

‘And I you, Sire.’

It was true suddenly and becoming more so with every moment he stood over her.

‘You are, then, still willing . . . ?’

She watched his lips form the words and longed to kiss away the unbelievable uncertainty in them. She could feel herself growing with every moment at his side, as if she were a plant that had
withered, unnoticed, and was now greedily sucking up spring rains.

‘I am yours to command, Sire.’

‘Oh, Edyth.’ Griffin’s voice dropped a tone. ‘I’d forgotten how you excite me.’

‘Then I am glad I am come to remind you.’

He groaned softly and Edyth felt a tingle of power but now Alfgar was upon them and they had to pull apart and face the world.

‘My dear girl, you are grown fully a woman. I am so glad you are here to share our triumph. King Griffin and I have fought such a campaign!’

Edyth caught Griffin grinning at her over Alfgar’s shoulder and she had to bite on her lip to stop herself laughing with him at her father’s enthusiasm. One glance at her
mother’s face, however, killed all her amusement.

‘Alfgar?’ Lady Meghan asked sternly, her eyes boring into Griffin’s hand, sat lightly but firmly around Edyth’s waist.

Alfgar grinned and tugged her keenly forward.

‘See our dear daughter, wife.’

‘I most certainly do. She appears very . . . comfortable with our host.’

‘As she should be, my sweet, for they are to be wed.’ Edyth saw Meghan’s eyes widen and shifted awkwardly. ‘It will be a match of great honour,’ Alfgar hastened on,
‘for she will be Queen of Wales.’