The Chosen Queen (13 page)

Meghan rounded on her daughter, urgent fury in her eyes that she had not been party to this secret, but the Red Devil was towering over them, awaiting congratulations.

‘How wonderful,’ Meghan stuttered.

Griffin roared with laughter.

‘Fear not, dear lady, I shall take care of your daughter for she is very precious to me. On this great match a wonderful peace will be founded.’

‘And will, I hope, last,’ Meghan said primly but she was already swelling with the import of the moment and, no doubt, the thought of all the new gowns that would need to be
ordered.

‘When do we talk peace?’ Edyth asked hastily.

Alfgar rolled his eyes.

‘We have been talking peace for days, Edie. Peace, it turns out, is a complicated business.’

‘Poor Father. You have never liked formalities.’

‘True, true, but I am learning patience.’

Edyth reached up and kissed him.

‘I am glad of it.’

‘And we are nearly through, I think. Harold niggles away about the tiniest details but Griffin is standing firm.’

‘Harold?’ Edyth’s heart jolted. She glanced at Griffin. ‘The Earl of Wessex is here?’

‘For King Edward, yes. You know him?’

‘Oh, a little.’ Edyth could feel her heart pounding and put her hand to her neck to try and hide it from the watchful king. Griffin’s bright eyes narrowed.

‘How?’ he demanded.

‘How? Just, just because I know his wife, the Lady Svana. She holds lands in East Anglia near my father’s soon-to-be-recovered estates, is that not right, Father?’

‘It is,’ Alfgar agreed but Edyth could sense Griffin watching her intently.

‘Come within,’ he said now – an order. ‘I am sure your father wishes to settle your mother and the boys in their pavilion but perhaps then they will join us for a glass
of wine? I am getting quite a taste for the drink.’

He smiled but his hand was under Edyth’s elbow and his intent was clear to all. Meghan started forward but Alfgar steered her away, contenting himself with a guarded, ‘We will not be
long’, before leaving his daughter to Griffin’s mercies. As soon as they were inside the pavilion Griffin pulled Edyth roughly against him.

‘What is Earl Harold to you?’

‘Nothing, Sire, truly.’

‘Nonsense. I saw your eyes. You are hiding something.’

‘But not from you.’ Edyth quivered in his iron grasp. She had no idea what to do now, could see no way out of his jealousy, save the truth. ‘He caught me once, a while
back.’

‘Caught you? If he—’

‘Griffin, listen, please.’ He started at her use of his name and she pressed her advantage. ‘He caught me up a tree. I was watching something – two people. They were . .
.’

To her relief she saw a smile creep into Griffin’s eyes and his grasp relaxed.

‘They were what, Edyth? Tell me.’

‘They were, were rutting, Sire.’

‘Rutting?!’ Griffin threw back his head in laughter then clutched her in against him. ‘Rutting? And did you like the look of it, cariad?’

‘It surprised me, Sire.’

‘Griffin. Call me Griffin again. What surprised you?’

Edyth shut her eyes.

‘How big he was.’

‘Oh, my love. Oh, Edyth!’ He buried his head in her neck, pressing his lips against her skin. ‘Do not worry,’ he said throatily. ‘I will not disappoint you
there.’

Edyth pictured Lord Torr lazily stroking his member. She pictured the girl, bottom thrust eagerly upwards, begging for him to enter her. She tried to imagine herself like that but felt revulsion
nudge up against excitement in her gut. And still Griffin kissed her.

‘Sire, please, I . . . I’m afeared.’

He pulled back and looked down at her curiously.

‘Afeared? There now, you need not be. I will look after you. I am going to give you such pleasure, Edyth. Such pleasure.’

‘
What is life without pleasure, Edyth Alfgarsdottir?
’ Torr’s voice said, shivering up her spine, but now Griffin was taking her hand and, turning it palm upwards,
placing the gentlest of kisses into the curve of her fingers.

‘Trust me,’ he said softly. ‘Tomorrow I shall wrap up the peace talks. Let Earl Harold have his petty parcels of borderland for I have my prize and I want to take her home and
enjoy her as she, I swear, will enjoy me.’

The town of Billingsley was of middling size – maybe a hundred occupants – and the lord’s great hall was not so very great. It was, at best, twenty paces long
and was already bursting with people when Alfgar and Griffin led their party into the negotiations next morning. Griffin had insisted Edyth be included in the deputation and Alfgar, flushed with
the raucous welcome the king’s betrothal announcement had received in their camp last night, had readily agreed. Edyth would have gladly stayed in her father’s gloomy pavilion –
and even taken up a needle – rather than face Earl Harold in negotiations but Lady Meghan was so delighted to be back over Ofa’s Dyke and on English soil again that she was agreeing to
anything.

‘Oh yes,’ Edyth had heard her telling two local ladies earlier. ‘I’m delighted at my daughter’s match. Rhuddlan is very grand and the countryside very beautiful and
King Griffin is the first man to rule the whole of Wales ever – is that not impressive?’ Edyth had stepped pointedly up to her mother’s side but Meghan hadn’t even flinched.
‘It’s so much more civilised there than you’d imagine but, then, the king is so very wealthy and so very, very strong.’

Edyth had not quite been able to see her mother’s face but could have sworn she’d winked and certainly the two ladies had giggled lasciviously.

‘And your daughter to be queen. You must be so proud.’

‘So proud,’ Meghan had confirmed, patting Edyth’s head absently. ‘Such an honour.’

And now they were walking into the hall and, despite the chill of the day, Edyth felt hot all over. Her arm was resting on Griffin’s and he was holding his own as stiffly as any English
courtier but he might as well have been gripping her waist for the clear implications of her appearance at his side. ‘
It’s not just an appearance
,’ she told herself
sternly as the English rose and bowed, ‘
it’s fact. You are betrothed to this man and you are proud of it
.’ Even so, she could not meet Harold’s eyes as he stepped
forward.

‘My lords – ladies. You honour us with your presence.’ First he kissed Meghan’s hand and then turned to Edyth. ‘You are much grown, Lady Edyth, since we saw you
last. You look well.’

‘I
am
well, thank you, my lord.’ Edyth could feel Griffin’s eyes tight upon her and still dared not look at Harold. ‘I have been kept most kindly at
Rhuddlan.’

She glanced at Griffin who clasped his other hand over hers.

‘Lady Edyth has graced my palace with her presence. So much so, indeed, that I have asked for her as wife and her father has been pleased to consent.’

The assembled men gasped. Alfgar shifted awkwardly but jutted out his chin.

‘It is an alliance, I am sure, that will serve us all well,’ Alfgar said stiffly. ‘Our two countries have enough enemies beyond our seas without fighting each other.’

Edyth blinked at her father’s sudden eloquence. How long had he been deliberating over this little speech? He sounded defiant, defensive even, as if expecting opposition, but Harold just
stood frozen to the spot staring at Edyth.

‘Which is why,’ Griffin prompted, ‘we should conclude the terms of our peace.’

Harold nodded but did not move. Edyth kept her eyes firmly on the floor and after a moment he clicked his teeth, as if to a recalcitrant horse, and wheeled away. Griffin escorted Edyth into a
seat next to him, Alfgar slid in on her other side and together they faced a now steely Harold.

‘Redistribution of land,’ he said crisply and reeled off a list of estates from a paper before him.

A lively debate ensued. Edyth knew she should pay attention but she was mesmerised by the sight of Harold in action. This was a man she had seen joking with his wife, fetching wine, chatting
with courtiers. Even at council he had always seemed calm and jovial, yet here he was, deeply serious, commanding his men with an iron certainty and a cold, driving will.

This was Harold the soldier, fighting for his country’s rights, and suddenly Edyth wished she hadn’t come, hadn’t had to see this. It was as if some of the magic of
Svana’s glorious husband was being sucked away and yet, at the same time, she could not help but be awed by his ruthless determination. They scythed through the many points at speed, each
side now apparently keen to conclude, until finally Harold drew in a deep breath.

‘And finally – Billingsley.’ He looked around as if to take in the town itself. At the far end of the hall, on the public benches, the local lords shifted uneasily. ‘You
wish this town as your own, King Griffin?’

‘I do.’

‘Yet the town itself would choose to remain English.’

‘What has it to do with the town?’

A murmuring began at the back of the hall and Harold cleared his throat.

‘In England we respect the opinions of our people,’ he said.

‘In Wales our people respect the opinions of their king.’

Harold frowned and Edyth drove her fingers into the folds of her gown, willing this to be over.

‘We have conceded to your other demands, Sire,’ Harold growled, ‘but granting you Billingsley would extend the border further into the Marches than ever before.’

‘As seems only proper given our superior performance on the battlefield.’

‘There was no battlefield.’

‘Only because your Hereford cavalry turned tail.’

‘And you retreated into the hills.’

‘A man should always fight from a vantage point.’

‘But not usually from a cave.’

Harold’s voice was low and venomous and his men were looking at him with an ill-disguised horror that suggested this was not his usual style of negotiation. His eyes met Edyth’s and
he held them for a long moment, then suddenly he rose.

‘May I propose a solution?’ he asked.

Griffin inclined his head.

‘I shall make a gift of this good town to your betrothed. May the Lady Edyth take it as a wedding token and hold it as part of her dower lands to the honour of us both.’

‘What?’

The word burst from Edyth’s mouth before she could stop it and she coloured furiously at her own lack of grace. Griffin smiled indulgently as he rose and faced Harold. A stumble behind,
Alfgar shot to his feet too.

‘On behalf of my wife-to-be, I accept.’

Someone on the back benches cheered and, after a moment, his fellows joined in. Griffin stepped out to the fireside and Harold joined him. The two men clasped hands as Alfgar hovered next to
them.

‘Look after her,’ Edyth heard Harold say, soldier-fierce, before he clapped Griffin on the back. After announcing the peace was concluded, he was suddenly all courtier’s smiles
once more.

In an instant the tables were pushed back, the fire stoked and a great joint of pre-cooked boar hoisted over it to crisp. Barrels were rolled forth from the kitchen and the mood relaxed. The
party had begun and somehow, in the midst of it all, Edyth had become owner of a town – this town. She just had time to hear her mother say, ‘Well done, my sweet’ before Griffin
tugged her forward.

‘Come, let us dance!’

He whirled her into his arms, kicking up his feet in the sort of Welsh jig she had thrilled to dance back in Rhuddlan. Here, though, with the English thegns watching in bemused benevolence and
Harold stalking the dance floor as if he might whip out his hunter’s arrows at any moment, it was hard to recapture the mood. She was glad when, at long last, she could retire, but even in
the pavilion there was little rest.

‘Edwin says you are not coming home with us,’ Morcar whispered into the darkness.

Edyth swallowed.

‘Edwin is right.’

‘Why, Edie?’

She felt her covers lift and Morcar’s slender little body crawl in next to her. She clasped him tight.

‘Because I must return to Wales with King Griffin.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s going to be his wife, silly. Like Mama and Papa.’

The covers lifted on the other side and Edwin crept in too.

‘Oh.’ Morcar thought about this. ‘Will I see you again, Edie?’

Edyth stared into the darkness, pressing her eyelids as wide apart as they would go, willing the tears not to creep out and betray her.

‘Of course you will, Marc. You can visit me, I expect, and I will come to Gloucester at Yuletide.’

‘If the peace lasts.’

Shocked, Edyth turned her head in Edwin’s direction. It was too dark to see his face even this close up but Edyth could imagine his serious expression perfectly.

‘Why do you say that, Edwin?’

‘The Red Devil likes to fight.’

‘He does.’

‘And Earl Harold doesn’t like him very much.’

‘Well no, maybe not.’

‘So . . .’

‘So,’ Edyth said firmly, ‘it’s up to me to keep them friends.’

‘Like you keep me and Edwin friends?’ Morcar suggested.

Edyth thought of her brothers’ endless squabbling and sparring.

‘Yes,’ she said wearily, ‘just like that. Now, sleep.’