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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ long train of retainers and under a fierce sun that had frayed his already short temper. A month spent in the bishop’s London palace had forced him into celibacy, and to make matters worse his high ecclesiastics had spent the time chastising him for ignoring his marital duties to his queen. He would rectify that soon enough, though. He would soon put her on her back, for she had kept him at bay for too long.

      It was nearing twilight when he dismounted in the palace yard and tossed his reins to a groom. There would be food awaiting him in the hall, but he had business with the queen first. As he made his way to her apartments a small crowd of petitioners surrounded him, every one of them yammering pleas, none of which would have interested him even if he could have deciphered the gabble. He forced his way through them, although not before some enterprising lout had thrust a bit of parchment into his hand, which he palmed and then forgot.

      He strode purposefully into the queen’s quarters, ascended the stairs, and flung open the chamber door. Emma and her priest sat at a table covered with letters. A knot of women sat off to one side, fluttering and clucking until they saw him and fell into silent obeisance.

      ‘Get out,’ he grunted.

      Emma had already risen to her feet, and she nodded to the priest, who scrambled to gather up the scrolls.

      ‘Leave those,’ Æthelred ordered.

      The chamber emptied quickly, and he turned to Emma. She stood her ground, facing him with that stiff little chin of hers angled upwards and one eyebrow cocked with curiosity.

      He had a matter to raise with her that would wipe that smug look from her face, but it could wait. Grasping her wrist he made for the inner chamber, tugging her after him.

      ‘Don’t pretend that you do not know why I am here,’ he growled, slinging her towards the bed that lay hidden behind lush hangings.

      He did not bother to ask after her health, for he wanted no excuses. The last time he had favoured her with his intimacy she had resisted him. He would have none of that today.

      He watched with satisfaction as she shed her gown and shift. Dropping the bit of rolled parchment he’d been handed, he discarded his belt, tunic, breecs, and hose. When he turned again to Emma, he was surprised at how quickly he was aroused by the sight of her lying naked on the sheets, her white thighs obligingly spread to receive him. He wasted no time, spilling his seed into her vigorously and swiftly. Afterwards, spent, he lay sprawled on top of her enjoying the scent and the feel of her woman’s flesh. Then he raised himself on his forearms to study her face.

      The light in the chamber was dim, for only a single oil lamp hanging from a chain near the door threw its glow across the bed. It was enough, though, for now.

      Emma shifted beneath him in an effort to push him away.

      ‘May I get up, my lord?’ she asked.

      ‘Nay, lady. We are not finished yet, you and I.’ Her pale braid had come undone during their coupling, and now he toyed with a long lock of her hair, wrapping it about his finger absently as he watched her face. ‘Tell me what you know of your brother’s new alliance with the Danish king.’

      She gave him a look as guileless as a child’s. ‘I know nothing,’ she said. ‘My brother has not confided in me.’

      He cocked an eyebrow, considering her reply. It might be the truth. His spies had not reported any missives from Normandy that spoke of an alliance with Swein Forkbeard. Still, he did not quite trust her.

      ‘Your brother has been remiss, then,’ he said, tugging at the blond tress so that she winced, ‘for he is, indeed, negotiating with Swein.’

      ‘Perhaps it is some matter of trade—’

      ‘Even so,’ he said, and now he pulled harder to make sure that he had her attention. ‘What do you think they are likely to trade between them? I shall tell you. Poor English folk dragged from their homes to be sold as slaves, shiploads of silver, and booty from English towns.’

      And there was the little matter of Swein’s revenge for the death of his sister on St Brice’s feast day. In London the bishops had railed at him interminably about the likelihood of the Danish king’s vengeance, and though he had made light of it, his own fear of Swein’s retaliation gnawed at his gut like an incurable, weeping wound.

      Emma was squirming beneath him now in a vain effort to ease the pain he was inflicting.

      ‘Stop it,’ she hissed.

      But he had no intention of stopping. With his other hand he twisted another bright strand about his fingers and pulled that as well. She would have clawed him like a she-cat, he guessed, but he’d taken the precaution of pinning her arms at her sides.

      ‘Earthly pain leads to greater glory in heaven, does it not?’ he asked. ‘Be submissive to life’s afflictions, lady, and you will find them easier to bear. I’ve told you that before.’

      ‘Tell me what you want,’ she said through clenched teeth.

      He smiled, but he did not ease the pressure. It would take far more than this to break Emma, but he would master her eventually, hopefully before her belly swelled again.

      ‘I would have you remember that you are the queen of the English and no longer a tool of the Norman duke,’ he replied. ‘You will write to your brother and remind him of his promises to me. It would be unfortunate if he should commit himself to an alliance that you, more than anyone else, might regret. Do you understand me?’

      There were tears in her eyes now, though she did not weep. She was cold, this one. Even in her pain, Emma did not weep.

      ‘I understand,’ she ground out.

      ‘Good. I shall expect to see the letter tomorrow.’

      To remind her of her task, he snagged the tender flesh beneath her ear with his teeth. When she flinched, he grinned. His queen did not have Elgiva’s taste for sexual adventure.

      He rather missed Elgiva, but there were other women at court to satisfy him.

      He rolled off his lady wife and watched, amused, as she slipped from the bed, drew on a robe, and stalked across the chamber and well out of his reach.

      ‘What were those letters I saw you poring over with the priest?’ he asked.

      ‘They are from my reeve in Exeter.’

      ‘Bring them to me. And light some candles. It is too dark in here.’ She lit a taper at the lamp, and one by one set all the candles in the room blazing.

      ‘You have not asked about your ailing son,’ she said.

      ‘What about him?’ He reached for the flagon beside the bed and poured himself a cup of wine. ‘His fever is gone, is it not?’ He tossed back the wine and poured more.

      ‘He tires easily. I am concerned for him.’

      He grunted. The children were her concern, not his.

      ‘He goes to Headington next week with the rest of them,’ he said. ‘He will be well tended there. Bring me those scrolls.’

      She fetched them, then began to dress СКАЧАТЬ