‘What is it?’ he demanded, tense with foreboding.
‘I don’t know,’ she cried. ‘Something has happened. Margot!’
In an instant the old Norman dame appeared from out of the shadows and shooed them away from the bed. She bent over Edward, setting her ear against his mouth, then touching his neck with her fingers. Athelstan held his breath.
Dear God. Had his mortal thoughts somehow beckoned Death to his brother’s side?
When the old nurse called for a servant and turned to Emma, placing her hands on the queen’s shoulders, he felt a chill run from his spine to his fingertips. He closed his eyes, and through a fog of despair and grief he heard the old woman rattle something in a burst of Norman French. Although he could not comprehend her words, he knew that Edward must be dead.
He drew in a heavy breath and opened his eyes to find Emma before him, her face lit with joy and relief. She took his hand.
‘The fever has broken, my lord,’ she said. ‘God has answered our prayers at last.’
He looked past her to where Edward lay profoundly asleep, oblivious to the women who now went about the task of changing his damp, tumbled linens.
‘Can it be true?’ he asked, hardly daring to believe it. ‘Could the tide of his illness turn so swiftly?’
‘He is far from well yet,’ Emma murmured, ‘but Margot says that now he should begin to mend.’ She smiled, but her eyes were filled with tears. ‘Perhaps he heard you when you spoke to him, and it was your voice that drew him back to us. He would do anything for you. You are his hero; did you know that?’
He shook his head, wondering what else Emma knew about Edward that he did not. She still gripped his hands, and for his part, he had no wish to let her go. He wanted to pull her close and enfold her in his arms as if he had the right to do so. But he did not have that right, and the awareness of it tortured him so that he loosed her hands and frowned at her.
‘Edward’s recovery is none of my doing,’ he said. ‘It was your care that saved him, and so I will tell my father.’ He glanced again at the bed. ‘I will leave for London in the morning. May I visit him again before I go?’
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘but I cannot promise that he will be awake when you come. Can you not send a messenger to your father? It will do Edward good to have you here for a time, however brief it may be.’
‘I cannot stay. The king would have me return to London tomorrow.’ He saw that his curt reply had wounded her, but he could think of no way to dull the sharp edge of duty that must always lie like a sword between them.
‘Of course, my lord,’ she said stiffly. ‘I will bid you good night then.’
He nodded to her and walked quickly from the room. He was sorely tempted to stay, and that would be a grave error indeed.
In the moments after Athelstan left, Emma felt as cold and empty as a bell that has lost its tongue. She longed to follow him, to crawl into his arms and feel their warmth and strength, to feel the comfort of his touch once more. But there was no place for her in Athelstan’s arms, for he was not her lord nor ever would be.
A moment later Margot was at her side, urging her to lie down and sleep, but there was something else that she must do first. She wrapped her shawl close around her, called for a light bearer, and made her way behind him through several passages to the tiny private chapel that had been set up by Æthelred’s first wife. Emma did not like this place, for it was little more than a barren closet with nothing about it to offer comfort to a weary soul. Nevertheless, tonight she slipped inside and dropped to her knees before the altar. She whispered a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of Edward’s life, and she asked God’s forgiveness for her doubts and her sins. She offered Him a promise as well. She would no longer shirk her duties as Æthelred’s wife and queen, and she would shut her heart to temptation.
June 1003
Winchester, Hampshire
The king returned to Winchester at the head of a 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