wood carving. His artist soul demanded he pay her tribute in the only way he knew how.
She spun around and he hastily returned to filing an already smooth edge.
He heard her light steps moving over the sawdust. “What are you making here?” she asked, stopping to examine another of his projects.
He glanced over at it. “A crib for my sister’s babe. ‘Tis only just begun, but I’ll finish it when I’m done with this chair.” Wulf liked to keep several projects in progress at once so that he always had something to work on, something to keep his hands busy.
“Better make haste then. She’ll need this crib soon.”
“I’ve only been here four days,” he reminded her.
“Of course. It must be very strange, Raedwulf, to be back here again after so long imprisoned. To find things so changed since you were last here.”
Last night he hadn’t answered her question, this afternoon he shrugged and blew gently on the wooden chair seat, watching the dust fly. “Things change. I stay the same. Inside.”
The sound of her steps drew nearer. “You missed your sister all those years no doubt.”
“Aye. She was only six the last time I saw her, before our father sent her off to a convent. A year later the Normans came and I was imprisoned. Never thought I’d see my little sister again.” He stopped awkwardly. Sometimes his voice sounded too loud in his own ears. Why would she care what he’d been through? She was probably only asking to make polite conversation—like last night, when she put up with Deorwynn’s chatter at supper. His wife was a polite lady, well brought up. She would suffer in silence if he bored her.
“My brothers and I have never been close,” she murmured. “They all have busy lives and none of them need me. I’m sure they never think of me now.”
He paused his filing. “How many brothers?”
“Six. Four older, two younger.”
“All my brothers died at Hastings. Fighting the Normans.” As soon as he said it, he felt his face heat up.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Aye, well.” He returned to his work. “They never bothered much with me. I was the weak one, always stammering and tripping over things. Funny how I survived, eh? My poor father never recovered from losing his fine, strong sons and being left with me.” Again he bit his tongue. Why was he talking so much? He should shut his mouth, but something about her made it easy to spill his thoughts.
Emma stepped closer and touched his arm with her fingers. As he always did, he’d rolled his sleeve up to work, so her fingertips touched his skin. “I am very glad you survived, Raedwulf.”
He couldn’t tell if she was still being polite, proper and dutiful. Acting the part she was forced into. It was hard to imagine any woman finding him genuinely appealing, interesting company.
The door crashed open and Thierry Bonnenfant almost fell in, evidently drunk, but still at the happy stage.
“There you are! The newly wedded couple, hiding away from your guests.”
As usual he must be trying to avoid his wife, thought Wulf. His sister had told him their marriage was a difficult one. There was a child born a few months ago and it was not Thierry’s, a fact the entire manor knew. But Thierry had married Sybilia because Guy Devaux didn’t want her. It was an awkward situation when Guy fell in love with Deorwynn instead of the woman he was supposed to wed. Thierry had saved the day by marrying Sybilia. He had also saved her from returning to her family, pregnant and unwed, but Sybilia was apparently not thankful for this.
From what Wulf had seen of that woman she was a brat and once again he regarded Thierry with pity as the man slumped against his work bench and burped. “Well, Emma, how do you like your fine new husband?”
“I like him very well.” There was something in her voice—a cool warning. Puzzled, Wulf shot her a quick glance.
“Better than me, eh?” said Thierry.
Wulf dropped his file.
She spun around and he hastily returned to filing an already smooth edge.
He heard her light steps moving over the sawdust. “What are you making here?” she asked, stopping to examine another of his projects.
He glanced over at it. “A crib for my sister’s babe. ‘Tis only just begun, but I’ll finish it when I’m done with this chair.” Wulf liked to keep several projects in progress at once so that he always had something to work on, something to keep his hands busy.
“Better make haste then. She’ll need this crib soon.”
“I’ve only been here four days,” he reminded her.
“Of course. It must be very strange, Raedwulf, to be back here again after so long imprisoned. To find things so changed since you were last here.”
Last night he hadn’t answered her question, this afternoon he shrugged and blew gently on the wooden chair seat, watching the dust fly. “Things change. I stay the same. Inside.”
The sound of her steps drew nearer. “You missed your sister all those years no doubt.”
“Aye. She was only six the last time I saw her, before our father sent her off to a convent. A year later the Normans came and I was imprisoned. Never thought I’d see my little sister again.” He stopped awkwardly. Sometimes his voice sounded too loud in his own ears. Why would she care what he’d been through? She was probably only asking to make polite conversation—like last night, when she put up with Deorwynn’s chatter at supper. His wife was a polite lady, well brought up. She would suffer in silence if he bored her.
“My brothers and I have never been close,” she murmured. “They all have busy lives and none of them need me. I’m sure they never think of me now.”
He paused his filing. “How many brothers?”
“Six. Four older, two younger.”
“All my brothers died at Hastings. Fighting the Normans.” As soon as he said it, he felt his face heat up.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Aye, well.” He returned to his work. “They never bothered much with me. I was the weak one, always stammering and tripping over things. Funny how I survived, eh? My poor father never recovered from losing his fine, strong sons and being left with me.” Again he bit his tongue. Why was he talking so much? He should shut his mouth, but something about her made it easy to spill his thoughts.
Emma stepped closer and touched his arm with her fingers. As he always did, he’d rolled his sleeve up to work, so her fingertips touched his skin. “I am very glad you survived, Raedwulf.”
He couldn’t tell if she was still being polite, proper and dutiful. Acting the part she was forced into. It was hard to imagine any woman finding him genuinely appealing, interesting company.
The door crashed open and Thierry Bonnenfant almost fell in, evidently drunk, but still at the happy stage.
“There you are! The newly wedded couple, hiding away from your guests.”
As usual he must be trying to avoid his wife, thought Wulf. His sister had told him their marriage was a difficult one. There was a child born a few months ago and it was not Thierry’s, a fact the entire manor knew. But Thierry had married Sybilia because Guy Devaux didn’t want her. It was an awkward situation when Guy fell in love with Deorwynn instead of the woman he was supposed to wed. Thierry had saved the day by marrying Sybilia. He had also saved her from returning to her family, pregnant and unwed, but Sybilia was apparently not thankful for this.
From what Wulf had seen of that woman she was a brat and once again he regarded Thierry with pity as the man slumped against his work bench and burped. “Well, Emma, how do you like your fine new husband?”
“I like him very well.” There was something in her voice—a cool warning. Puzzled, Wulf shot her a quick glance.
“Better than me, eh?” said Thierry.
Wulf dropped his file.
Similar Books
