The Emma of Normandy 2-book Collection: Shadow on the Crown and The Price of Blood. Patricia Bracewell

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      She held her breath. What if she had gone too far? Would he spurn her for presuming to tell him what he should do?

      She looked into his eyes and saw a sudden flicker of heat there, but it was not the heat of anger or desperation. Encouraged, she leaned forward and gently grazed her tongue against his lower lip, and he responded by pulling her fiercely against him.

      The coupling that followed was swift and rough. It gave her no pleasure, but she did not care. She had at last made her way into the arms of a king. She had roused him from his torpor, and surely he would reward her accordingly. Groa had predicted a royal destiny for her, and now she was certain that, before very long, all that she deserved would be within her grasp.

      Emma slept little the night of St Æthelred’s feast, for the Danish curses howled by the king’s assailant continued to echo inside her head. In the morning she asked to speak with Æthelred, and when she was denied, she grew uneasy. Why would he not admit her? Was he afraid of all things Danish now, including a queen whose mother had Danish blood?

      Throughout the day she tried to discover what was taking place in the king’s apartments, but she could glean nothing, and her apprehension grew. She felt as helpless as a mouse in a box, bereft of light and sound. She dared not speak to anyone about what had happened in the minster yard, for the king had forbidden it. She dared not even set her fears down in a letter to her brother, lest it should be intercepted.

      In the afternoon, weary from an endless chain of questions that her mind continued to spin, she went alone into the palace garden in search of respite. All she could do was pace, a victim to doubt and misgiving.

      She decided that she must find some way to speak with Athelstan. There was no one else to whom she could confide her fears, and surely he would know what was in the mind of the king. She longed to see him, to speak with him and draw comfort from his counsel.

      She longed for a great many things, she thought, that she could not have.

      Then she saw Athelstan enter the garden and approach her through the lengthening afternoon shadows, and it was as if some good angel had taken pity on her.

      ‘I hoped to find you here,’ he said, his voice urgent. He drew her into the small, sheltered copse in the garden’s furthest corner.

      ‘Tell me what is happening,’ she begged. ‘I have been able to learn nothing, and I am afraid of what the king may be planning.’

      But he ignored her question to ask his own.

      ‘You know what he said, don’t you?’ His eyes searched her face. ‘The man wielding the knife, you understood him.’

      She remembered her mother’s advice, to keep secret her knowledge of the Danish tongue. It will not endear you to your new lord, and may breed mistrust.

      When she made no reply Athelstan answered his own question.

      ‘Of course you understood him,’ he said. ‘Your mother is Danish. Jesu!’ He ran a frantic hand through his hair. ‘Does the king know?’

      ‘Only Margot knows,’ she said, ‘and now you.’

      He drew in a breath and released it.

      ‘Keep your knowledge of Danish secret, lady,’ he said. ‘Guard it carefully, do you hear me?’

      ‘What is happening?’ she asked again.

      ‘The man who attacked the king is mad,’ he said, ‘his wits as shattered as broken glass. I have said as much to my father, but he will not listen. He is convinced that his throne is imperilled by Danish enemies within the realm, and he is taking steps to thwart them. There is to be no Christmas court. Tomorrow the younger children will go to the manor at Cookham, while I am ordered to Headington with Edmund and Ecbert. My father wants us scattered, so that we are less of a target.’ He grimaced. ‘There is more – and worse, I fear.’

      She said nothing, waiting for the next blow.

      ‘He does not trust your Norman retainers,’ he said. ‘They are all to leave the court. Hugh will go to Exeter to act as reeve there for your dower lands. Your hearth guards are to accompany him, and your women as well, save one or two. You will be confined to the palace – to keep you safe.’

      He had confirmed her worst fears. They would leave Winchester, all of them, while she remained here, a prisoner at the mercy of the king. She would be powerless and friendless, suspected of some imagined infamy.

      She felt him grasp her shoulders as if to steady her, and she looked up into the now familiar blue eyes.

      ‘How soon?’ she asked.

      ‘Within the week.’

      She closed her eyes. How would she bear it? Without her own people about her, the winter ahead loomed long, lonely, and frightening.

      Without Athelstan, the days would be endless.

      ‘Emma,’ his voice was urgent again, and she opened her eyes to meet his. ‘I cannot be certain that this is all of it.’ He frowned, his expression grave. ‘There is a darkness in my father’s mind that I do not understand. You must promise me that you will be wary of him, that you will give him no excuse to cause you more grief. Promise me.’

      She was aware, suddenly, of the silence in the garden. Even the birds had fled, and for the first time, she realized, they were alone, without children or servants or attendants. There were no eyes to observe them, no tongues to interpret every gesture and expression.

      She lifted her hand to caress his cheek, with its rough, close-cropped beard.

      ‘I promise to be careful.’ She held her breath as he turned his head to press his lips against her palm. The tenderness of that touch made her heart dance with joy and her soul quail with terror. ‘You must go,’ she urged, ‘before someone comes. I pray God will keep you safe.’

      ‘Do you? I pray for something else – something that is a sin even to think about.’

      His hands tightened on her shoulders and he kissed her – a bruising kiss that was as fierce and angry and desperate as a curse. An instant later he was gone and she was left alone with her fear, with the prospect of the dark, lonely winter that lay ahead, and with a heart broken by hopeless yearning.

      One week after his feast day, the king summoned a select group of trusted councillors to a late-night meeting. The small chamber, wreathed in broad banks of candles, glowed with light, while the rest of the palace, and most of the people within it, slumbered in darkness. Half a dozen more candles burned amid a riot of drinking cups and pitchers of wine on the long table in the centre of the room.

      Æthelred, seated at the table’s head, watched the men file in. He read the apprehension on their faces as they glanced nervously at the clerks behind him, who recorded the name of each man who entered. He had given no hint as to the purpose of the council. They would find out soon enough.

      He bid the men seat themselves, and as servants moved among them to fill their cups, the mood in the chamber lightened appreciably. He drank little himself but watched, satisfied, as cups were emptied and refilled. Sober reflection was СКАЧАТЬ