Sigefrith and Eadgith exchange secrets
Sigefrith found Eadgith sleeping on the couch before a dying fire, curled up protectively around the soft swell of her belly. It would have been a beautiful sight, he thought, but that her eyebrows were knit as if in pain or in worry.
He sat on the floor before her and stroked her hip until she woke. Her eyebrows lifted now in confusion.
“You fell asleep,” he explained.
“I was waiting for you,” she mumbled.
“Next time, please wait for me in the bed,” he scolded gently. “You might have fallen.”
“Oh, dear!”
She sat up, and he pulled himself up to sit beside her.
“You might have known I would be up late, with everyone here,” he said. “Even the sober Sir Brede had a few more cups than necessary.”
“But everyone wasn’t here, Sigefrith,” she said mournfully. “My father didn’t come for Hilda’s birthday, and now he didn’t come for Synne’s either.”
“Oh, well…”
“And I asked Sigefrith, and he said he didn’t know why, but I am not certain I believed him. And I waited up for you, because I wanted to ask you – and now you must tell me the truth, Sigefrith. Have you quarreled with my father? Or has my brother, or my mother, or someone?”
“Now, not at all, so far as I know…”
“Because he hasn’t come since Matilda’s – Matilda’s funeral, and he hasn’t stayed away so long ever since Dora was born. And now you must tell me the truth, Sigefrith, you must. Is my father ill?”
“No! You may reassure yourself of that, honey. He’s as strong as he ever was.”
“Have you seen him?”
“I have heard from him. He writes.”
“Has he written to tell you why he stays away?”
Her sleepy little face was as stern as she could make it. She could not know how the scattering of freckles across her cheeks took the edge off her gravity, or how her serious frown was tempered by the soft fullness of her lips, which were like her father’s – and like her baby sister’s. Even Sigefrith had seen that, so well did he knew that mouth. Perhaps her own baby would have such a mouth, he thought. He hoped it would! What a beauty it–
“Sigefrith?”
“I – ” He could not remember what she had asked, except that it had been a question he would rather have avoided.
“Has he told you why he doesn’t come?” she prompted.
“My dear…” He took her hands.
“There now!” she said with a laugh that threatened a sob. “Now I know there is something you aren’t telling me.”
“I don’t like to tell you things that hurt you.”
He saw in her eyes that he had just done what he did not like to do.
“But I’m your wife, Sigefrith. Can’t you tell me everything?”
“I think,” he said gently, “that the man has not yet lived who has told his wife everything. I assure you there are things in my world you would rather not know.”
She flushed. “But my father!”
“Your father is well, honey.”
“Then why doesn’t he come? I should like to see him. And to – to talk to him. I begin to think…” Her soft lip trembled. “I begin to think he doesn’t care about me or my baby so much. He has already had three grandchildren, and Hilda will have her baby before I – ”
Sigefrith smiled and embraced her. The things that worried her! What must it be to be a woman? It was no wonder they were unfit to do men’s work.
“Honey, I assure you that your father will love your baby until one of her arms hangs loose and the stuffing is coming out of her, like Emmie’s poor doll. Indeed, I shall be glad if he stays away at first so that I can hold her for a while before he steals her away from me forever.”
She wriggled out of his arms and wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.
“I shan’t let him steal her, or him,” she sniffed. “But you must tell me what you know. Otherwise I shall imagine all manner of dreadful things, and it might be much worse than anything you could tell me.”
Sigefrith sat back and looked upon her. In her innocence, he thought, the one thing she was least likely to imagine was the truth. He knew she would learn it some day. Indeed, he had already told her brother, since Sigefrith often rode out to see his father and would see the baby… And anyway, he was a man, and telling a man was different. Young Sigefrith understood how such things could be.
Eadgith could not possibly understand. On the other hand, she would learn someday, and he supposed it were better she learn from him, here, where she might be free to express her shock, and where he might be free to comfort her.
“Very well. I shall tell you, honey, but in the future I suggest you trust me to tell you what you need to know, and not trouble yourself with your imaginings. Especially not at such a time.”
She flushed and stared miserably into her lap.
“The truth is twofold. Your father does not come, in the first place, because he is caring for Matilda’s little daughter.”
“He is?”
“Hush, Eadgith. Allow me to finish. Your father does not come, in the second place, because he does not want to meet Alred. The reason for both of these is one: Matilda’s baby is his daughter.”
She stared at him, her face so blank that he began to wonder whether she were so innocent that she truly did not understand what he was saying.
“He is her father,” he explained, “and Matilda was her mother. She is your little half-sister.”
Her face did not change, but he could see by the rise and fall of her chest that she was breathing in short gasps.
“You see, it happened while we were away last summer, and your father was staying at Nothelm.”
“Does Leila know?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange, as if it came from a woman far older.
“She does now. It seems that the baby resembles Raegan and Aeri in some ways. And you and your brother, too, I think.”
“Leila knew he was – he was with some woman last summer.” Her voice had gone quite hoarse, and Sigefrith did not like the way she said ‘some woman,’ given that the woman was Matilda.
“I know you find it difficult to believe – ”
“Oh, no!” she choked. “I believe it! My mistake was in believing her!” she said bitterly.
“What’s this?”
“Don’t you remember, Sigefrith? At Emma’s birthday, shortly before we were married? I found my father in the nursery with a woman – do you remember?”
“Matilda…” he breathed.
“Yes! Matilda!”
“That was two years ago…” he said softly to the fire.
“She told me nothing – nothing – nothing like that happened, and she told me it would never happen again!”
“And Leofric tried to convince me to send him anywhere but to Nothelm last summer…”
“Oh!” she cried and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“It would seem that my wife does not tell me everything, either,” he muttered.
“Oh! If you had known – ”
“If I had known, I would have sent him to hell before I sent him to Nothelm!”
He stood and paced over to the fire.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered after a while.
“In the future, my dear, I hope you will trust me to tell you what you need to know, and tell me everything you know, and not the contrary. Else I shall be forced to believe that you think yourself wiser than I.”
“No, I…”
“Do you trust me?” he asked, turning back to her. She looked so thoroughly miserable that it was all he could do to resist running to her and kissing each of her freckles in turn.
“Of course.”
“Then you will do as I say. I hope you will be satisfied with knowing what I have told you, and not speak of this to anyone. Alred does not know – yet. Your brother knows, Malcolm knows, and of course Leila and your father know. But I do not wish them to know I told you. I shall tell your father the next time I see him, which will, I think, be very soon, given what you have told me.”
Her eyes held none of the defiance that Maud’s had always had. Maud had only known how to show humility by turning her eyes away. Eadgith could look directly into his face with eyes that were blue and humble and liquid with hesitant tears. She could err, but she was innocent. She was no Maud. She was no Matilda.
He strode back to her and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. She did not seem surprised that he would want to hold her after being disappointed in her. She did trust him – she had the same unwavering faith in his love as a child in its mother’s. He swore again that he would not disappoint her. God bless them both! He was no Leofric.
