Estrid is jealous

Estrid pouted into her plate.

Brede did not notice.

Lately it seemed that whenever Sigefrith and Eirik returned from the castle around supper time, they never failed to bring Brede with them.

It was all so transparent! Brede’s fawning attention to Lady Eadgith, which had the double advantage of making him seem worthy in the eyes of the mother and the daughter at the same time… The way that he mysteriously never came to supper on the nights that Eadie was dining at the castle… The way Eadie went from being her smiling self on the nights when they dined alone, to this blushing mute who stared at her food even while Brede kept glancing up at her…

Where were the glances he used to send her when they sat on opposite sides of the King’s table? The way he stared at her until she could not bear the blue of his eyes and looked away?

Oh, she had seen him since he had started coming to dine with them… but it had been she to arrange their meeting, and she didn’t like that at all. It were much better that he come to her… much better that he beg the favor…

But she would have to do it again. Oh, it was humiliating! She would have to try to whisper a word in his ear when they all got up to go sit by the fire – before he sat himself at the feet of Eadie and her mother.

It didn’t make sense. Eadie was no prettier than she. Less, perhaps, for Eadie’s face was all covered with freckles, and her hair was a drab brown alongside Estrid’s pale gold, which Brede had often admired.

The only explanation was that he had grown tired of her. Eirik often grew tired of his sweethearts after a while – all the faster, she thought, if they proved to be more virtuous than laundresses and milkmaids are supposed to be. She knew a man’s patience could eventually run out. She knew one had to slip in a Yes every few dozen No’s.

Was that what had happened? Had she pushed his hands away one too many times?

Surely he did not think that Eadie would be any more generous. Or was she? Sly little minx!

Estrid glanced up at Hilda, who was snapping at her husband.

Oh, Hilda! One look at that grouchy face, pale with the fatigue of waking three or four times a night to nurse baby Sigefrith, and Estrid was reminded how utterly important it was not to “go the way of Hilda.”

But surely a man couldn’t do much damage with his hands?