Brede gets a shock and a letter
Brede’s heart sank into his stomach as a determined knock fell on his door. “She’s not worth it!” that nagging inner voice squealed again.
Estrid leapt up from his lap and pulled the top of her gown closed, her eyes wide with panic.
He shook his head to warn her to silence and then waved her into the corner, behind the arch, where she might not be seen from the door if one didn’t step inside.
He smoothed out his hair and his clothes and then went to stand before the door. “Who is it?” he called through the crack.
“It’s His Majesty has sent for you,” the voice whined. Only a servant! “His Majesty awaits you in his study.”
“I shall be with him in a moment!” Brede called, and he pressed his head against the wood to hear the feet shuffling back down the corridor before turning back to Estrid.
“Praise God,” she whispered.
“You said it.”
“Shall I wait for you?”
“Certainly not! I don’t know what he wants. The longer you wait here, the more likely you are to be found.”
“Oh, Brede!” she sighed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Kiss me first.”
“Oh!” he huffed, and then relented and kissed her before pushing her away. “Now, wait till I’m at least halfway there – I don’t want anyone to see you following me out, either.”
“When shall I see you again?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Ask Hilda. How do I look? I’m not a mess, am I?”
“No… you’re only a little breathless still,” she giggled.
“Oh!” He rolled his eyes and then caught her up for a last kiss.
“Behave yourself,” he admonished her, as he always did.
“I shall!” she promised.
Brede slipped out into the corridor and then trotted down through the hall and out across the court, cursing himself along the way.
One of these days Eirik would find the two of them together, and that would be the day… He didn’t know whether Eirik legitimately could – or whether he actually would – kill him, but sometimes he did wake at night from such nightmares…
“Good afternoon, Squire!” Sigefrith called cheerily. “Aren’t you looking rosy? Run all this way just to see me?”
Brede blushed. One never knew just how much Sigefrith knew.
“I’ve a letter here for you, runt,” he said, brandishing that document at the end of an outstretched arm. Brede stepped forward to take it, but Sigefrith snatched it away again and passed it delicately under his nose. “Smells like a Danish missive,” he said with a slow nod.
“What does a Danish letter smell like?” Brede asked with a laugh.
Sigefrith sniffed it again. “Like pickled fish and armpits.”
“Do you think the Danes carry their letters in their armpits?” Brede asked, trying again to grab the letter that Sigefrith was waving just out of reach.
“No, but I do think that that is where they pickle their fish. What about you, runt? Coming over here to wave your damned Danish armpits in your king’s face?”
“Give me my letter and I shall stop!”
“That is an unanswerable argument. Here you are. I hope it is good news.”
“As do I.”
“Well, you’ve been here for longer than nine months, so I suppose I know what it doesn’t say. You may take it away to read it, so you needn’t embarrass yourself by letting me watch you move your lips as you read.”
“I do not!”
“You don’t?” Sigefrith cried in surprise. “Surely such well-developed lips have been getting exercise doing something.”
Brede blushed again. One never knew…
“I should have known you weren’t merely locked away reading your Psalter on all of those evenings when you quit us so soon after supper,” Sigefrith sighed. “Get on with you, runt,” he said, waving Brede out the door. “I have better things to do than to lecture the likes of you, though God knows my lips could use the exercise.”
Brede laughed as he went out. He knew that the King was scarcely more successful than he himself had been in trying to kiss the fair Eadgith.
