"Here, let me help you, my lady," the maid offered, setting the breakfast trencher on a low table near the bed. She straightened the camise about Anora's body, smoothing the myriad soft folds that fell almost to the floor. "May I suggest the blue tunic for the betrothal feast?" she asked, glancing over at the array of garments spread out on the bed. Lady Bronwen's seamstresses had worked many hours preparing the fine clothes for the wedding festivities, each seeking to outdo the other in their choice of fabric and decorative stitching.
Anora nodded her approval, sighing appreciatively as the silken fabric of the tunic was slipped over her head. The rich, sapphire blue silk felt cool to the touch, caressing her creamy skin. The neck, wrists, and hem of the tunic were stitched with fine embroidery of silver threads. After the tunic went a gray silk mantle fastened at the shoulders by two filigree silver brooches.
"Mistress, you are truly beautiful!" exclaimed the maid, clapping her hands together as she surveyed her handiwork. The gray silk of the mantle enhanced the emerald depths of Anora's eyes, which were dancing with anticipation.
Seating her on a cushioned chair, the maid brushed the few tangles from Anora's lovely hair. As a final touch she placed a finely etched silver circlet on her head, as a symbol of her maidenhood. After marriage, the circlet would be worn with a transparent veil to cover her hair. The maid then handed Anora a small metal mirror, holding her breath as she anxiously awaited a response.
A radiant smile lit Anora's face as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. "Aye, I truly feel beautiful today." She blushed, secretly hoping that Wulfgar would also find her appearance pleasing. Thanking the maid for her assistance, she gently dismissed her, wishing to be alone for a while.
As the maid shut the door behind her, Anora stepped over to the small window and gazed out into the courtyard at the busy scene below. Servants were bustling to and fro from the great hall on their varied tasks, some carrying great rounds of cheese, others laden with piles of fine table linens, and still others hurrying toward the kitchen clutching squawking chickens. Large barrels of ale and mead were being wheeled into the hall from the brewing house, guests were beginning to arrive, and the sounds of boisterous laughter could be heard all around.
Anora spied one of Wulfgar's men crossing the yard and her heart leaped to her throat. How she had yearned for this day! Wulfgar had left her for his lands near York a few weeks ago to make preparations for her arrival after their marriage. Knowing that he would soon return for her was consolation enough, but the days had passed achingly slow. The thought of him—his handsome face, and the memory of his strong arms around her —had filled her every waking hour. But it had been her dreams—veiled, breathless images of passion she had never before experienced—that had caused her to awaken trembling and flushed in the night, calling out his name.
How different she felt now, as if she had never known life without him, she mused, remembering with some chagrin the day her father had told her of his agreement with King Edgar concerning her marriage. Shocked by the abruptness of his announcement, she had retreated to her chamber in a flood of tears. Earl Godric, who had been at a loss as how best to present the news, realized he had failed miserably as he watched his daughter flee the hall. With a reproachful glance at her startled husband, Lady Bronwen rushed out after her. Shaking his head at the strange ways of women, he had slumped resignedly into his chair before the fireplace.
Sobbing miserably into her down pillow, Anora had felt that her childhood dreams were shattered forever. With her mother's comforting arms about her, she tearfully poured out her secret wish that she would one day marry for love. She knew the marriage of her parents had been decreed by others, but fortunately a great love had grown between them. Grasping a glimmer of hope that her mother would be able to make her father understand her feelings, she had watched through tear-dimmed eyes as Lady Bronwen hurriedly left the room.
Anora shuddered as she vividly recalled the loud voices she had heard resounding from the great hall. Never before had her parents raised their voices to each other! Feeling fresh tears burning her cheeks, she had rushed dazedly back to the hall to tell her father she would accept the proposal — anything to restore harmony. To her amazement she found her parents no longer embroiled in a heated argument, but wrapped in a tender embrace.
Her father had asked her to be seated, then explained the king's reasoning behind the marriage and his hopes for a continued peace in England. Glancing briefly at Lady Bronwen, he continued in a low, solemn voice. She remembered his words as if they had been spoken only yesterday: "Anora, 'tis my hope that you will honor the agreement between myself and King Edgar, and accept Wulfgar Ragnarson as your husband. But as your mother and I do not wish for you to be unhappy, we have agreed to allow you to decide for yourself if such a marriage would please you."
Aye, it pleases me, Anora thought happily. It pleases me very much. The sudden creaking of the door startled her, and she whirled around.
"You have not touched your breakfast, my lady," admonished the maid as she bustled in the door. "It is almost midday, and your lady mother wishes to see you in the solar."
"I will try to eat something later," Anora replied, eyeing the buttered bread and honeyed wine with little appetite. Truly, she did not feel hungry at all, what with butterflies of excitement fluttering in her stomach!
Hurrying down the steps and into the corridor, Anora wondered how she would fill the long hours before the feast that evening. As she reached the solar, she heard laughter filtering through the heavy wooden door, and the voice of Edythe, her mother's lady-in-waiting, rising above the din.
"Aye, if I had a man such as Wulfgar to warm my bed, I might even marry again!"
"But he is a Dane!" a dissenting voice replied indignantly. "It matters naught to me. He fits his trousers better than many a man, be he Dane or Anglo-Saxon!"
Blushing heatedly, Anora pushed open the door, interrupting the merry conversation as the ladies-in-waiting sought to suppress their giggles. Lady Bronwen rose gracefully from her chair and quickly crossed the room to her daughter.
"You look lovely, Anora," she said approvingly, kissing her daughter's burning cheek. Taking Anora's hand, Lady Bronwen led her to an empty chair beside Edythe, who was suddenly very intent on the needlework before her.
A short, stout woman with a kindly face, Edythe had been married as a girl to an elderly, wealthy landowner who died shortly after the wedding. Vowing never to marry again, the rich young widow retired to her new estates, where it was rumored she amused herself over the years with many lovers. Now well past middle age, the thought of her dallying with a handsome warrior seemed unlikely, but one could never be sure. The twinkle in her eye and her flirtatious manner belied her advancing years.
Peering out of the corner of her eye, Edythe caught a ghost of a smile curving Anora's lips and seized the opportunity to make amends. "Pay no mind to an old widow, my lady, I meant you no harm. We are glad of your marriage to such a fine, handsome man!"
The other ladies nodded in agreement, including the one sour-faced dissenter, after receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs. Soon the room was once again filled with lighthearted talk of the wedding festivities as the women stitched at a magnificent tapestry that would one day grace the timbered walls of the great hall. Depicting a lively hunting scene, the tapestry told the tale of the giant boar that had been killed the past year by Earl Godric and his thanes. And, at her father's side, the small figure of Gwendolyn seated bravely on her dappled mare was immortalized in threads of every hue.
Lady Bronwen left the room quietly, assured that Anora would be kept busy the rest of the afternoon. Tradition demanded that she not see Wulfgar until the betrothal feast. Closing the door firmly, she turned her thoughts to the frenzied preparations taking place throughout the stronghold. "There is so much yet to do," she murmured to herself, as she walked down the wooden stairs that led to the kitchen.
Chapter 4
Locked in the throes of a vivid nightmare, Gwendolyn shook her head wildly from side to side. Dark, menacing trees were reaching out to snatch her from her mare, and their trunks were etched with leering faces that grinned demoniacally. She tried to fend off the grasping branches that scratched and tore at her, but she lost her balance and slipped off her mare's back. Rolling over and over down a steep embankment, she tumbled into icy, swirling water. The dark waves closed over her head for a moment. Then she surfaced, struggling and gasping for breath. Suddenly, rising up from the center of a giant whirlpool, a dragon creature loomed above her. She screamed as the apparition coiled its scaly tail about her body, but her voice made no sound. Once again she was dragged beneath the murky water. She felt herself sinking, sinking . . . surrounded by raucous laughter that rang in her ears.
"Nay!" Gwendolyn awoke with a start, her defiant cry echoing about the small room. Wide-eyed with terror, she felt her heart beating wildly in her breast. For a moment she could not remember where she was. Then a long, shuddering sigh escaped her throat as she recognized her surroundings. She shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming into her room from the high, narrow windows.