Princess Emma reassures Synne

Synne found the Queen holding Drage high over her head, dancing around and around the room, and laughing nearly as breathlessly as the baby. This was not quite like Eadgith.

“Did you just finish dinner?” Synne asked once Eadgith had spun to a standstill.

“Good afternoon, Synn!” Eadgith giggled. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we just did.”

In truth, it was because she supposed the Queen was still giddy from her wine, and she felt a faint twinge of jealousy. Oh, Brede had a few casks of wine in the buttery at home, but those were for guests. Brede’s wife and Brede’s sister drank ale, and that in small quantities. Sometimes she and Estrid grumbled privately that living with Brede could be like living with a priest who swore all the time.

On the other hand, if the Queen was still a bit silly from her wine, then it might be a good moment to ask her the question that had been keeping Synne occupied lately when she should have been falling asleep.

So, after she had greeted the princesses and fussed over the laughing baby prince, she asked, “Eadie, do you remember the first time Sigefrith ever kissed you?”

“Oh, yes!” Eadgith sighed and dropped onto the bench. She closed her eyes and lifted her face rapturously, as if she expected that kiss to fall on her again.

Britamund giggled, for she had reached the age where such goings-​​on were a source of blushing mirth, particularly where they concerned her ancient father.

“When was it?” Synne asked.

“It was right after my father told him he could have me. To marry, I mean,” she tittered. “My father told him, ‘You may only kiss her lips!’” she growled, imitating her father. “‘And only with yours!’”

“Son of a serpent!” Emma added.

Eadgith fell back against the cushions and laughed.

“What else would he kiss you with?” Britamund asked, mystified.

“Oh, dear!” Eadgith sat up again and blushed. “Brit…”

Synne silently prayed that she would tell her, being a little uncertain of the answer herself.

“He meant not with his tongue,” Emma explained.

“Emma!” Eadgith gasped.

“What?”

“What do you know about that?”

“Because, when I asked Baldwin whether I might kiss him, he said I might, so long as I didn’t kiss him with my tongue as his Papa does his Mama.”

Synne laughed, but then raising Emma was not her responsibility.

“I don’t think you should be kissing Baldwin,” Eadgith told the girl.

“But why not? Papa says I shall marry him when I’m big.”

“Yes, but…”

“And your father said my Papa might kiss you after he decided you would marry him.”

“Yes, but did your Papa tell Baldwin that he might kiss you?”

“I don’t know…”

“I don’t suppose he did.”

“I don’t care to do it again, anyway,” Emma sighed. “I only wished to do it to see how it was done, and now I know.”

“Oh, dear!”

Synne laughed again, but with another slight twinge of jealousy. Emma was eight years younger than she, and yet she had already kissed a boy. She also recalled that Sigrid had been scarcely older than she was now when she was married, and she had already had Olaf in her belly for some time before. Synne did not envy her that, but all the same…

And Estrid had been married at fifteen, and she knew that Estrid’s adventures with Brede long predated that. Was she the only girl who had ever reached fifteen without having been kissed?

“How old were you, Eadie?” she asked.

Eadgith took a moment to recover from her shock over Emma’s announcements. “I… I suppose I was fifteen. I had just turned fifteen when he spoke.” Her dreamy smile came over her again. “Why – I was older than you were, Synn! What a looby I was!”

“Older than I was when?”

“I mean when first you kissed Murchad.”

“But I never have.”

“Wha– Ah…”

“Did your brother say he might?” Emma asked sagely.

“Oh!” Synne gasped, and her face lit up. “I don’t know!”

She had not considered this possibility. She had always assumed, thanks to Estrid’s guidance, that a boy would disregard any law, any menace, any threatening brother in his single-​​minded eagerness to kiss any girl he could reach.

But perhaps Brede had simply forbidden it, on pain of dreadful punishment, and Murchad had simply obeyed his wishes. Perhaps he wanted to, but he was too honorable to do it. That would be something!

Her initial fear that he would turn into a pitiless swarm of lips and arms and groping hands as soon as they were left alone had gradually been replaced by a fear that he did not desire her at all. But if this were true, it would be better than anything: he wanted her, but was too good, too honorable to try to take her.

“Shall I ask Sigefrith to ask Brede?” Eadgith asked.

“No!” Synne gasped. “I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t want Brede to think I wanted him to.”

“Oh, that’s true…” Eadgith said.

“Only think of what Brede would think of me!”

But Synne herself was not certain she wanted him to. Provided he wanted to, of course, she supposed it was just as well he did not. There were still over two years to run before she could “let him have what he truly wants,” as Estrid said. As soon as he kissed her, the long battle would begin.