Britamund says goodbye to the boy

Dunstan sat himself on the edge of the chest and looked around his room. It would still be called his room for a few hours, though he had already slept his last night in it. This night he would pass in prayer in the chapel on the hill, and tomorrow the room would be Cynewulf’s. Ever afterwards, until he came to this castle as lord, he would sleep in one of the guest rooms, like any visiting knight.

When the knock came, he guessed, “Father?” He knew he would be correct – whether it was the Abbot come to hear him confess or merely the Duke come to sniffle over his baby boy one last time.

“In a few weeks, runt!”

“Sigefrith!” he laughed.

The door opened a crack, and the King asked, “Are you sufficiently dressed for feminine eyes? I happen to have brought a pair.”

“Yes! Come in!”

He dared not hope – he had hoped all day in vain, so long that he had convinced himself that he had never hoped at all – but it was she. She had come.

The King muttered, “This Princess wanted to see you looking penitent for a change. But – just a moment, now… What did you call me?”

“Sigefrith,” Dunstan smiled. “Am I supposed to address Your Majesty otherwise?”

“Sigefrith will do nicely. For a moment there I thought you called me Beebee.”

Britamund giggled and sat herself on the edge of the bed – before he had the chance to kiss her hand.

“You’re getting nostalgic, godfather. I stopped doing that years ago.”

“I never thanked you for that, did I?”

“Don’t bother. I stopped to preserve my own dignity, not out of respect for yours.”

Sigefrith immediately punched him in the shoulder. “Should have taken advantage of the opportunity while you had it, runt. A knight may not permit himself to address his sovereign as Beebee.”

Dunstan punched his arm. “That’s what grandchildren are for.”

“You mean to teach them to call me Beebee, you ungrateful runt you?”

“Nothing will ever have sounded so sweet to your ears. It’s – that or Old-​​Papa.”

“If you put it that way… Speaking of papas, do you – suppose young Bertie will be making it tomorrow?”

“He had his baby this morning,” Dunstan said.

“I heard. A boy, was it?”

Dunstan let down his guard long enough to glance over at Britamund. What he had intended as a glance turned into a stare, however, for his betrothed was leaning wearily against the wall, and all he could see between the bed curtains was her breast, her long neck, her little chin, and her sweet lips…

For now he could only permit himself to kiss her mouth, but in a fortnight only, there would be the chin, the long neck, the breast…

He was jolted back to tonight by a sharp jab to the ribs.

“Alwy!” he blurted. “Cute little fellow.”

“That’s a good start,” Sigefrith said. “I told Bertie he ought to see that it get Alwy’s heart, Gunnilda’s head, and – Anna’s face, but knowing Bertie, I – feared he would mix it all up.”

“I don’t know how – clever he is – but he looks like his mother.”

He punched his godfather harder than he ought, in the hope of distracting him from talk of Anna, but his attack succeeded beyond his hopes.

Sigefrith rubbed his arm and grumbled, “All right! I can take a hint. I’m going, I’m going.”

“So soon?” Dunstan grinned.

“Someone needs to keep your father company emptying that pitcher downstairs.”

“I thought he was keeping it topped off with tears.”

“He might be,” Sigefrith chuckled. He grabbed Dunstan’s arm and yanked him against his body for a rough embrace. “I may keep him company with that, too, by God. The first baby born in this valley will be a man tomorrow. Makes me feel old.”

“It was your idea to hurry me along!” Dunstan protested.

“Well,” Sigefrith laughed awkwardly and smacked Dunstan’s arm. “Listen up, runt. Don’t get any ideas simply because I leave you in here with my daughter and a bed. Don’t forget, the next person to come to this door will be a priest, and I shall tell him he needn’t knock.”

“Understood,” Dunstan smiled.

“And don’t forget – the next time I see you, you will be on your knees, and I shall have a sword in my hand. I can cleave your skull as easily as make you a knight.”

“Understood!”

“And…” He opened the door and held onto the handle. “One last thing. This will be one of those nights when the Lord bothers to listen to insignificant young runts such as you, so make certain to ask Him for everything you still lack to be a good man.”

Dunstan knew how seriously he meant it by the fact that he said it with his back turned, on his way out the door.

“I shall.”

To Dunstan’s surprise, Sigefrith pulled closed the door behind him.

Dunstan had never been alone behind a closed door with Britamund except under circumstances of his own contrivance – and he had not so contrived since his father had begged him to be gentle with Britamund in her last weeks of girlhood.

He thought her all the more exquisite perched on the end of his bed, half-​​hidden behind the heavy curtains, still slightly out of reach.

“What do you still lack to be a good man, Dunstan?” she asked with her own sweet gravity.

“A good wife.”

She smirked at him. “I knew you would say that.”

“It’s the one thing that will do me the most good.”

“Are you perfect otherwise?”

“I doubt it. What would you change about me, Brit? To make me a better man.”

She was silent for a while, which gave him an opportunity to study her face. It fell serious again, like a wind-​​ruffled lake growing calm after a breeze. He knew she was thinking about the question, and she would answer it honestly. That was the sort of girl she was: the opposite of silly, the opposite of shallow.

“Besides making me taller,” he added.

She laughed. “I wasn’t thinking of that.”

He took her hands, and though he did not tug on them, she slid herself forward until her head and shoulders had emerged from behind the curtain and joined him on the other side.

“What, then?” he asked. “Too many to mention?”

“No… I can’t think of anything, Dunstan.”

“Nothing at all?” he smiled. “Are you saying I’m perfect?”

“No…” She still appeared thoughtful, but now she looked almost surprised at her own conclusion. “But your weaknesses are bound up in your strengths. If we took away what makes you weak, we would take away what makes you strong.”

Dunstan took a deep breath and held it. Baby Alwy was a cute little fellow, but Dunstan did not envy his friend Bertie. He did not envy his friend Malcolm. He did not envy his friend Eadwyn. Their wives were all quite beautiful, but they were only beautiful.

“What about me?” she asked.

He exhaled his breath in a long sigh.

Britamund stood and slipped between his body and the bedpost into the room. He followed, for he did not know how he could do anything but follow whenever she moved away from him.

“What would you change about me?” she asked.

“This, and this,” he said impulsively, and he traced a line above each of her brows with his thumb.

“My eyebrows?”

“No. There is a smudge of sad above them when you smile. And a little between them, too.” He touched the bridge of her nose.

She licked her thumb and passed it over her forehead. “Got it?” she grinned.

She had not. Her smile was brighter than ever, but what she did not realize was that this only made the wrinkles deeper. But he knew she was trying to hide them, to pretend she was as happy as she tried to appear, so for her sake he would pretend too.

“Now you are perfect.”

“Don’t you mean that my weaknesses can’t be separated from my strengths?”

“I love your weaknesses as much as your strengths,” he said. “To me, you are perfect.”

“Now you make me feel ungallant for not having said the same thing,” she pretended to grumble.

“Not at all. My weaknesses are surely not as easy to overlook as yours.”

She lowered her eyelids, and he realized that he had brought his head near enough to hers that she expected to be kissed. It was a pleasant idea, but he had another.

“Did you truly wish to see me penitent tonight?” he asked.

“That was my father’s idea. I simply wished to say goodbye to the boy Dunstan.”

“You will have done both. I have a number of things to confess before Father Aelfden, but I feel I should confess to you, too.”

“You don’t have to,” she murmured.

“I haven’t loved you well enough, I know. I have not always been aware of the treasure I possessed. Or shall possess, rather.”

He was not kissing her, but he could not resist holding his mouth close to hers as he spoke. He could almost taste it.

“Merely because I did not like being told what to do,” he continued. “I used to fight with my father over it. Brinstan used to threaten me over it.”

“He did?” she gasped and pulled her head away.

He laughed. “He reminds me that his father broke my father’s nose, and he says he will keep up the tradition if I don’t pay you the attention you deserve.”

“He does?”

“Well… he did. I haven’t seen him in ages. I suppose I won’t for a while.”

“Why not?” she whispered.

“Well, now that he’s away at Hamelan. That’s a few days’ ride.”

“He’s – where?”

“He’s staying with Lord Galan for a few years, until he and Galan’s daughter are old enough to marry. Or unless something happens to Theobald, heaven forfend. Didn’t you know?”

“No…”

“Poor girl,” he whispered. “Everyone must have thought you already knew, since you were such good friends.”

“Is he marrying Galan’s daughter?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know that! Your father is furious at him. Or at Theobald, rather. That alliance is no good for your father. He needed Brin to marry a girl from the valley. One of my sisters, perhaps. And he needed one of his own men to marry a daughter of Hamelan. This sort of thing is bound to pull Thorhold a little looser in its moorings.”

“I… understand…”

“But your father is looking beyond this ring of hills these days, so perhaps it doesn’t matter. What is Hamelan’s daughter to the daughter of Robert of Flanders? Ogive’s sister is – ”

She laid her hand across his mouth. “Don’t talk now, Dunstan,” she whispered.

His mouth smiled foolishly beneath her fingers. He had a few minutes alone with his beautiful bride, and he was wasting them chattering about other men’s alliances.

“No more,” he murmured.

When she lifted her hand away, he kissed her sweet lips.