“Tell me something else, if you will.”
“Anything, of course.”
“Your brother is somewhere in his thirties?”
“A young-looking forty, my lady.”
“How come he is unmarried, at that age?”
“He was married. In fact that’s why he did not propose marriage while he was here in Cherbourg. But sadly his wife is no longer with us.”
“Ah.”
So that was it, Ragna thought. He couldn’t propose in July because he was married then.
Her head filled with speculation. Why had he been unfaithful to his wife? Perhaps she had already been ill, and her death anticipated. She might have suffered a slow deterioration, and been unable for some time to perform her wifely duty—that would explain how come Wilwulf had been so hungry for love. Ragna had a dozen questions, but she had promised to remain silent, and she clenched her jaw in frustration.
Wynstan said: “May I take home a positive answer?”
Hubert replied: “We will let you know. We must consider what you’ve said very carefully.”
“Of course.”
Ragna tried to read Wynstan’s face. She had the feeling he was not enthusiastic about his brother’s choice. She wondered why he might be ambivalent. No doubt he wanted to succeed in the mission his high-ranking brother had given him. But perhaps there was something about it that he did not like. He could have a candidate of his own: aristocratic marriages were highly political. Or perhaps he just did not like Ragna—but that, she was aware, would be unusual in a normal, red-blooded man. Whatever the reason, he did not seem unduly dismayed by Hubert’s lack of enthusiasm.
Wynstan stood up and took his leave. As soon as the door closed behind him, Genevieve said: “Outrageous! He wants to take her to live in a wooden house and be a prey to Vikings. She could end up in the slave market at Rouen!”
“I think that’s perhaps a little exaggerated, my dear,” said the count.
“Well, there can be no doubt that Guillaume is superior.”
Ragna burst out: “I don’t love Guillaume!”
“You don’t know what love is,” her mother said. “You’re too young.
Her father said: “And you’ve never been to England. It’s not like here, you know. It’s cold and wet.”
Ragna felt sure she could put up with rain for the sake of the man she loved. “I want to marry Wilwulf!”
“You talk like a peasant girl,” said her mother. “But you’re the child of nobility, and you don’t have the right to marry anyone you choose.”
“I will not marry Guillaume!”
“Yes, you will, if your father and I say so.”
Hubert said: “In your twenty years you’ve never known what it’s like to be freezing cold or starving hungry. But there’s a price to be paid for your privileged existence.”
Ragna was silenced. Her father’s logic was more effective than her mother’s bluster. She had never thought of her life that way. She felt sobered.
But she still wanted Wilwulf.
Genevieve said: “Wynstan needs something to do. Take him for a ride. Show him the district.”
Ragna suspected her mother was hoping Wynstan would say ordo something to put her off going to England. She really wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but she would entertain Wynstan and learn more about Wilwulf and Shiring. “I’ll be glad to,” she said, and she went out.
Wynstan agreed readily to the idea and together they went to the stable, taking Cnebba and Cat with them. On the way Ragna said quietly to Wynstan: “I love your brother. I hope he knows that.”
“He was anxious that the manner of his departure from Cherbourg may have soured any feelings you may have had for him.”
