It was risky, though. She might displease her husband-to-be, and that would be bad enough; but worse, she might lose the battle, and a victory for Gytha at this stage could be permanent.
Cat handed her the armband she had bought from Cuthbert in Dreng’s Ferry, and Ragna slipped it into the leather purse attached to her belt.
She stepped outside. There was a faint silvery glow on the eastern horizon. It had rained in the night, and the ground was muddy underfoot, but the day promised to be bright. Down in the dark town, the monastery bell tolled for the morning office of Prime. The compound was just beginning to come alive: she saw a boy slave in a threadbare tunic carrying a pile of firewood, then a strong-armed maid with a pail of fresh milk that steamed in the morning air. Everyone else was out of sight, probably still warm in bed, eyes shut tight, pretending it was not yet day.
Ragna crossed the compound to Wilf’s house.
There was one other person in view. A young woman stood outside Gytha’s door, leaning against the wall, yawning. She caught sight of Ragna and stood upright.
Ragna smiled. Gytha was keeping her under surveillance, not taking any chances. As it happened, that suited Ragna’s purpose today.
She went to Wilf’s door, watched by the maid.
It suddenly occurred to her that Wilf might bar his door at night: some people did. That could spoil her plan.
But when she lifted the latch the door opened, and she relaxed.Perhaps Wilf thought that to lock his door at night might make him seem timorous in the eyes of his men.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the watching maid scurry inside Gytha’s house.
Wilf had another reason for feeling confident. As Ragna stepped inside, she heard a deep growl. Wilf had a dog to warn him of intruders.
Ragna looked toward where she knew the bed to be. There was a glow from the embers of the fire, and a faint light coming through the small windows. She saw a figure sit upright in the bed and reach for a weapon.
Wilf’s voice said: “Who’s there?”
Ragna said quietly: “Good morning, my lord.”
She heard him chuckle. “It’s a good morning now that you’re here.” He lay down again.
There was a movement on the floor, and she saw a big mastiff resume his position lying by the fire.
She sat on the edge of the bed. This was a delicate moment. Her mother had urged her not to lie with Wilf until after the ceremony. He would want it, Genevieve had said, and Ragna had known that she would want it, too. But she was determined to resist the temptation. She could not say exactly why this was so important, especially as they had already done it once. Her feelings had to do with how happy they both would feel about their marriage when at last they were able to yield to their desires without guilt or fear.
All the same, she kissed him.
She leaned over his broad chest. She grasped the hem of his blanket in both hands, keeping it in place as an additional barrierbetween their bodies. Then she slowly lowered her head until their lips met.
He made a low sound of satisfaction.
She ran her tongue around his mouth, feeling his soft lips and the bristle of his mustache. He buried one big hand in the thickness of her hair, dislodging her scarf. But when his other hand reached for her breast she pulled away. “I have a gift for you,” she said.
“You have several,” he said in a voice thick with desire.
“I brought you a belt from Rouen with a lovely silver buckle, but it was stolen from me on the journey.”
“Where?” he said. “Where were you robbed?” He was responsible for law and order, she knew, and any theft reflected on him.
“Between Mudeford and Dreng’s Ferry. The thief wore an old helmet.”
“Ironface,” he said angrily. “The reeve of Mudeford has searched the forest but can’t find his hideout. I’m going to tell him to search again.”
She had not meant to complain, and she was sorry she had angered him. She moved quickly to rescue the romantic atmosphere. “I got you something else, something better,” she said. She got up, looked around, and spotted the whiteness of a candle. She lit it at the fire and stood it on a bench near the head of the bed. Then she took out the armband she had bought from Cuthbert.
“What’s this?” he said.
She brought the candle closer so that he could examine it. He ran a finger over the incised lines of the complex pattern, engraved in the silver and picked out with niello. “It’s exquisite work,” he said, “but it still has a bold, manly look about it.” He slipped it up his leftarm, over the elbow. It fitted closely to the muscles of his upper arm. “You have such good taste!” he said.
Ragna was thrilled. “It looks magnificent.”
