The Book of Dreams(34)

‘His regular bard is furious.’

Briefly I wondered if he had been furious enough to warn me off with something poisonous in my food.

‘Sigwulf is a nice name. It’s a pity that everyone calls you Patch.’

I wondered how she came to know this detail, but already she was reaching to remove my eye bandage.

‘That should be more comfortable.’

I felt vulnerable without the eye patch, almost naked. Then I remembered that she had been in the room when her father had commented on my different-coloured eyes.

Now she was looking at me with great interest, searching my face. She was so close I could see that her own eyes, which I had thought were blue, verged on grey like her father’s. The lashes were as blonde as her hair, the eyelids faintly freckled. Her broad well-shaped brow, fair skin and straight nose made her very attractive in the way the Franks admired. I found myself trying to decide whether she had used berry juice to add colour to her lips.

She sat looking at me without speaking. I kept my head turned towards her, scarcely daring to breathe. I wanted the moment to last as long as possible so that I could absorb exactly how she looked and would be able to recall it in every detail. She radiated a gentle warmth and softness that was overwhelming. I was captivated and hesitant, afraid to say anything, fearful of making a mistake, yet hoping that somehow she would read my thoughts.

With a confident, graceful movement she reached out one hand and touched a finger to beside my right eye, then my left.

‘You are a very remarkable person,’ she said.

I could not ignore the physical contact. I reached up and took the outstretched hand, opened the fingers and kissed her palm. This time there was the scent of oil of almonds.

Without a word, she rose to her feet, crossed to the door and put in place the little wooden wedge that locked the latch. In another two paces she had returned to my bedside. She undid her silver belt and peeled back the shoulders of her gown and let it fall to the floor. All that remained was a loose undershift, and she slid out of it with the same fluid movement that brought her beneath the blanket beside me. She was facing me, and I wrapped my arms around her and felt the soft pressure of those magnificent naked breasts. Her arms gathered me in, and after a long hungry kiss, I felt her hands removing my bed gown.

*

Later, as we lay side by side, I felt utterly content. What had happened was the most natural thing in all the world, yet it far surpassed any pleasure that I had imagined.

‘I have never felt like this before,’ I murmured.

‘I know,’ she said. She gave a slow, lazy smile and placed her hand across my chest. ‘It was the first time, properly.’

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘The girls at home steered clear of me. They thought I was bewitched.’

‘But not bewitching?’ She crooked her fingers so the nails dug lightly into the flesh, and then drew her hand slowly downward. ‘That was only a beginning.’

I thought I heard someone at the door and my heart jumped into my mouth. I seized her wrist to halt her hand.

‘There’s someone coming!’ I blurted.

She sat up, quickly but without panic. A moment later she had left the bed and was stepping into her shift. She pulled on her gown and fastened the belt with neat, sure movements. I noticed that her hands were steady. Even her long braids were undisturbed.

She leaned over me and gave me a brief but genuine kiss. For a moment there was a glimpse of the swell of those breasts that only minutes earlier I had enjoyed.

‘That was only the first time,’ she whispered, and then she straightened up, boldly stepped to the door and released the latch.

There was a brief pause, and when nothing happened, she opened the door. The corridor outside was empty. I cursed myself for being so nervous, for cutting short our time together.

Without a backward glance she glided out into the corridor and was gone, leaving me craving her.

*

I stayed another four days and nights in the king’s house, longer than necessary for my recovery. The reason, of course, was Bertha. I was besotted with her, and she came to my bed twice more. It turned me into an unusual patient, dreamy and distracted yet fretful, because when I was not longing for her return, I was worrying that our intimacy would be discovered. I could think of nothing else but the two of us. Eventually, when it was obvious that I was well enough to return to my normal quarters, Osric came with fresh clothes for me to wear. Only then did I remember to ask him what medicine he had given me.

‘I’ll show you next time we have archery practice,’ he said. ‘It’s the juice from a certain plant that grows near the menagerie.’

‘You knew it would cure my sickness?’