Eadgith sees her father

Eadgith smiled contentedly down into the drawer. She had more beautiful dresses now, at one time, than she had ever had in all of her life put together. Her mother said that she had had pretty dresses when she was very small, but of course she could not remember these, and so they did not count.

Her mother had often told her about the “good days” when the handsome castle at Hwaelnaess had been inhabited by her own cousin, and her father had been a great knight who was received by the king, and they had done nothing but dance and ride and feast and play. Work was something to be done by servants.

Eadgith could not remember those days any more than she could remember the dresses. She had thought that it was unfair to have been so young at the time. Her brother Sigefrith still remembered, and that was something. She had nothing, because she could not.

But now she knew what it must have been like. They were with her cousin again, and his castle here was even newer and nicer than the one at Hwaelness, and once again they danced and rode and feasted and played.

In the mornings she often went riding with the Princess. During the days she sat with her mother and the Queen and learned to do the fine embroidery for which she had never had the time or the silks or the candles when she was younger.

In the evenings, after they had eaten the sort of supper which was finer than even their Christmas dinners at Halsfield had been, she would be free to do what she liked. Sometimes she went to play with Britamund and the babies. Other times, when she was feeling more grown-​​up, she would sit with her mother and her cousin Sigefrith and the Queen in the hall, along with the guests of the evening, and listen to their talk.

And sometimes she would simply go away to be alone. It helped to be alone to think, and it seemed as if she had many things to think about these days. She would have a very different life from what she had grown to expect. She need never scrub another floor. There were no suitable young men here, her mother said, but there were cousins in Denmark… and who knew? Perhaps the Norman king would fall, and her cousin Sigefrith would return to court, and then…

A knock came at the door. A knock this early could only be coming from Britamund – although sleet was falling outside, and there could be no ride. “Enter!” she called.

The door opened and a darkly bearded face peered inside.

Eadgith stumbled backwards a step in her surprise. She was still wearing her nightgown – she felt so small and alone before him – she didn’t like her father seeing her in her nightgown. He was like a stranger to her – worse than a stranger, for she knew a few things about him now.

“Good morning, baby,” he said softly. “I’ve come home.”

“What do you want?” she stammered.

“I came to say good morning and see how you have been.”

“Where’s Sigefrith?”

“Your brother is still with his Norsemen. You have a little nephew now, Eadgith.”

“Is he staying there?”

Her father stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“I don’t know what he means to do,” he said. “Sigefrith has offered him a knighthood and some land if he returns here. Haakon would keep him, but I sense that the boy is restless under him and would like to try his hand at being his own master. You may see him before long. I hope you may. You will like your little sister-​​in-​​law.”

He sat in a chair and folded his hands upon one knee.

“I believe you’ve grown since I saw you last,” he said, looking her over. Again she felt embarrassed to be seen in her nightgown. Of course he was her father, but still…

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“You’ve grown fatter and rosier in any event. I believe that court life agrees with you. Are you happy here?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you happy with your mother?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“I have seen the little mare your cousin Sigefrith gave you. I have heard that you are become quite a horsewoman.”

“I go out with the Princess. She loves to ride, and she needs someone older to go with her.”

“I have already seen the Princess this morning. She seems to worship you, you know.”

“You seem to know a lot about me.”

“I have asked, of course. I want to know how well everyone loves you here. I want to be certain they are loving you enough.”

Eadgith thought that was a strange thing to say, and she did not know how to answer. She only stood and watched her father warily.

“Do you know what are your mother’s plans for you?”

“Have you seen her?”

“No, I have not. I have seen the King and you only. And the Princess, of course, who was with her father. Do you know, then?”

“Know? I don’t know. She thought to wait for Sigefrith to come home and then we would live with him.”

“But you won’t live with Sigefrith and his wife forever, my baby. Do you know her plans for your future?”

“No.”

“Do you suppose she has any?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed, seeming relieved. “That is just as well. I wanted to know whether she had taken advantage of my absence to betroth you to some… one.”

“Certainly not! I am not even fourteen.”

“Your mother was only fifteen when she was betrothed to me. The children of lords and ladies often find themselves betrothed even much younger than that. You are the daughter of a lord now, Eadgith. Remember that.”

She stood with her back to the chest of drawers and watched him. She still did not understand why, exactly, he had come, but he did not seem to want to speak of the one thing that was on her mind.

“Why don’t you come closer to your old father, baby? I don’t bite. The last time I saw you, you held my hand and laid your head on my arm.”

“That was before – ” She could not say before what. “Before.”

“What has your mother been telling you, baby?” he asked, gently and sadly.

“She didn’t need to tell me anything! Everyone could see what you did to her!”

“But I would never hurt you, baby girl. Have I ever? Could I ever? I have never regretted marrying your mother, merely because she gave you to me.”

“Then why did you never try to find us?”

“I told you, baby,” he sighed. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hands to her.

She came unwillingly, but she came and stood before him.

“I told you that, somehow, in my doltish head you were still the little baby girl I had left behind, with your dimpled face and your fat legs and your funny laugh… I thought that when I found you again, you would be as you were. Everything would be as it had been.” He took one of her hands and rubbed it gently between his two. “If I had truly realized that you had grown up meanwhile, I would not have wasted a moment. I have already lost so much of your life, Eadgith.” He lifted the hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t allow your mother to come between us now.”

“How can you blame Mother?” she asked, feeling close to tears.

“Then allow me to say: Don’t allow what happens between your mother and me to come between us. That is no concern of yours, baby. You and I can still love one another. I know you do love me, even though your mother would like to prevent it.”

“But you were so cruel to her,” she said miserably.

“That is between your mother and myself. Don’t let it come between us. I shall never, never, never hurt you. Nothing else matters.”

How could one resolve conflicting duties and conflicting desires? It was a question she often asked herself when she was alone. She had a duty to her mother, but a duty to her father as well – and she longed to love them both, and to know herself loved.

She began to cry. She cried so easily these days. Not the blubbering of a child, but silent tears that came with no more fanfare than a wrinkled nose and a trembling chin. The futility of castles and horses and fine dinners and pretty dresses was too often apparent to her.

“You even have dimples when you cry,” her father said, and he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed them.