“Good day, Malcolm,” the Duchess said coyly. “For me?”
Malcolm grinned up at her. “A gentleman would say ‘Aye, of course,’ but fortunately I am only a savage Scot and may keep my flowers for their original purpose.”
Gunnilda whisked off her apron and smoothed her hair before she went to the door. She was expecting Githa, and Githa always scolded her if she looked untidy.
She still didn’t know how Githa did it—it seemed they each did the same amount of housework, and each had a husband that was less than tidy, and they each had a girl of nine or so to help out. Of course, Githa had only one toddler while Gunnilda had hers plus the little rascal that was Beddy. But they both had once had more…
Brede’s heart sank when he stepped into the hall, but he would certainly not be seen turning tail and running.
Eirik stood by the fire warming his hands, although his flushed face and damp hair showed that he had probably only just come in from sparring with Sigefrith.
“Good morning, Sigefrith!” Sir Sigefrith beamed as he came into the King’s study. “Oh! Morning, Alred.”
His grin faded when it was met by only a faint smile from Sigefrith and a mere nod from Alred. Both men remained standing across the room by the King’s desk. Had he mistaken the message?
“What are you doing up here by yourself, my lonesome kitten?” Eirik asked Estrid as he came out of his bedroom.
Estrid was lounging on the wooden bench in the sparely-furnished sitting room at the top of the stairs. “What are you doing getting up only now?” she asked him. “It’s nearly time for dinner.”
Eadgith let out a great sigh of contentment before the fire. “How good it feels to get out for a nice, long ride after breakfast and then come in to a warm fire.”
Britamund sat on the couch and looked up at her back. Eadgith seemed to be in a much brighter mood this morning. All the time that her Papa had been here, she had seemed a little nervous and shy. Britamund wished she could make Eadgith understand that her Papa was a nice man, even though he was a king, but she had already observed that some people never could seem to feel comfortable around a king.
Leofric looked up from the fire as the King and the Princess were announced.
Ever since he had been told of their approach, he had been desperately trying to think of something to say to Sigefrith. But he could not decide what to say until he knew what Sigefrith meant to say—or why Sigefrith had come at all. His exile had lasted long enough that he had expected it to last a good deal longer.
“What are you doing, Princess?” Sigefrith asked softly.
Britamund was sitting in her room with her chair turned to face the window. “Only looking outside,” she sighed.
Alred was sorry to have to put Margaret down. He felt less awkward holding her, but she was desperate to play with young Bedwig and squirmed like an anxious piglet in his arms.
Gunnilda was smiling and didn’t seem troubled by his arrival, but then she didn’t know what he had come to ask her.
“Witch, you shall not take him with you to the grave.”
Chapters
Latest Comment