Shadow on the Crown. Patricia Bracewell

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СКАЧАТЬ cannot be true,’ Wymarc said. ‘Why would he regret it?’

      Emma sighed, exasperated. ‘I do not know why! I only know that he is in an ill temper, and it is directed at me. He all but threw me out of the hall.’

      ‘Dear God,’ Wymarc breathed. She exchanged a worried glance with Margot, then suggested hopefully, ‘Could it be that he is just a nervous bridegroom? He is so much older than you; perhaps he is afraid that he will disappoint you.’

      It was kind of Wymarc to look for an excuse for the king’s odd behaviour, but she had not heard Æthelred’s curt words. Emma took another swallow of the wine, thinking with dread of the bedding to come. If he had been so cold at the table, what would he be like in the bedchamber?

      Then she remembered the stricken look on the king’s face when he saw his sons. He had been more upset with them even than with her.

      ‘There was something else,’ she said, ‘something to do with his sons. They came late to the feast. When the king saw them he was so distracted that I thought he had been taken by some kind of seizure. He recovered himself in a moment, but it gave me a fright.’

      She described the undercurrent of tension between the king and his offspring. Even now it flayed her nerves to recall it. The king’s sons had been hostile, but Æthelred had not looked angry as much as frightened. His eyes had grown wide and his face had gone pale with terror, as if he were facing Death itself.

      ‘Mayhap it was one of their companions that frightened the king,’ Margot suggested.

      ‘That may be so,’ Emma said slowly, remembering the older man who had addressed the king. His face had been seamed and rugged, with a flat nose and small, mean eyes – a hard, nightmarish face behind a thick, black beard. But could even a man such as that strike terror in the king?

      ‘Oh, God,’ she said, pulling her knees up and dropping her face against them, ‘there is so much that I do not know.’ She raised her head and thrust her empty cup at Wymarc for more wine. ‘The man’s name is Ælfhelm,’ she said. ‘In the morning I want Hugh to discover everything that he can about this Ælfhelm and report to me. You must find Hugh tonight and tell him.’

      ‘Of course,’ Wymarc said.

      Emma sat back against the pillows, clutching the goblet with both hands, reviewing all the events of the day and trying to keep her thoughts away from what must occur next.

      ‘My lady queen,’ Margot said softly from her stool beside the bed, ‘do you know what to expect from the king tonight?’

      Emma laughed. Suddenly it all seemed funny to her. She looked at the cup in her hand and decided that it must be the wine, for there was really nothing funny about it at all.

      ‘My mother spoke to me,’ she said, ‘and Judith told me of her wedding night. I think, though, that my own experience is likely to be somewhat less,’ she groped for a word, ‘friendly.’

      Margot nodded. ‘Likely Judith knew her husband’s touch already before they were wed, as they were betrothed many months. It will be different for you,’ she said gently, ‘for you know nothing of your husband. May I give you a word of advice, my lady?’

      Emma nodded, eager for any counsel – anything to erase the appalling image of one of her brother’s fine stallions mounting a mare that came all too easily to her mind.

      ‘You must not be afraid,’ Margot said, ‘no matter what he says or what he does. He may be gentle with you,’ she took a little breath and looked hard at Emma, ‘or he may not. I have no knowledge of the English, or of kings, or of this Æthelred as a man. But whatever he does, it will go better for you if you are easy and calm.’ She smiled. ‘The wine will help with that, to be sure. But in this room, my lady, and especially on this night, you must make yourself go soft in every part of you, the better to accept his hardness, if you take my meaning.’

      ‘Yes,’ Emma said, ‘I think I understand you.’ It seemed an impossible task, though, given how brittle she felt, as if she might break into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch.

      ‘You must use your mind,’ Margot went on. ‘You may not have to, of course. He may be the kind of man who gentles a woman the way a good rider gentles a horse. If he does that, if he uses his hands to soothe you, it will be easy for you to respond in kind. Just follow his lead. But you are a horsewoman, my lady. You have seen some men, surely, who use their horses with a fury that has no gentleness in it. The more the horse resists, the harder it goes for him.’

      ‘She is no horse!’ Wymarc objected, her face stricken at the old woman’s words.

      ‘No, she is not,’ Margot agreed, ‘for she has a sharp mind, and she can use it. If need be, my lady, let it take you to whatever time and place you choose that will ease you. I hope you will not have to, but you must remember that your mind can provide you with refuge, should you need it.’

      The large, scored candle in the bedchamber had marked the passage of two weary hours before Emma heard the heavy door open. Margot and Wymarc scrambled to their feet as the king entered, escorted by six of his councillors. Emma watched Æthelred warily from her place on the bed, bearing Margot’s words in mind and trying not to stiffen. Still, she felt the pulse beat hard in her throat as the king made his royal entrance, crownless now, although still draped in the magnificent blue and gold cloak.

      ‘Leave us,’ he said peremptorily to the attendants, with a wave of dismissal. And in a moment the room was empty but for the two of them.

      Æthelred stood a few feet from the bed, looking down at her. Emma searched for telltale signs that he was somewhat the worse for drink. She knew well enough that wedding feasts often ended in debauchery, and she had allowed herself to hope that the king might be too overcome with ale or wine or mead, or all three, to want anything to do with her. But he did not weave or sway as he surveyed her, and it occurred to her that he might very well be more sober than she was.

      ‘Get up,’ he ordered, ‘and take off your shift. I want to see what I’ve purchased.’

      The command sent a wave of shock through her. Nothing that anyone had told her had prepared her for this. It confirmed her opinion that Æthelred regarded her as little more than chattel. She masked her resentment, though, and she tried to loosen her muscles, doing her best to follow Margot’s advice. Without a word she slipped off the bed, untied the ribbons at her throat, and let her shift pool on the floor at her feet.

      She blessed Margot under her breath, because the wine she had consumed made the task seem ridiculous rather than onerous. She had to stifle the urge to giggle. She had stood naked like this often enough in front of serving women who washed her from head to foot, and she willed herself to think of this as no different. The chamber was cool, though, in spite of the charcoal brazier, and she felt her nipples harden. She lifted her chin a bit and, giddy with wine, was sorely tempted to ask the king to disrobe so she could inspect him as well, but she thought better of it. It would be a new sight for her, and she had no idea how she would respond to her first glimpse of a naked man. In any event, he would have to undress sooner or later. She had but to wait.

      Æthelred gazed sullenly at his bride, desire warring with suspicion. It disturbed him that she had complied with his crude command so readily. He had spoken out of anger – at his councillors for inflicting this marriage upon him, at her brother for demanding a coronation, and at Ælfhelm, damn his soul, for turning his own sons against him. None of it was the girl’s fault, yet now that she had disrobed СКАЧАТЬ