The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

jolt of unease. She was so like her strong-minded mother, this youngest child of his, and as such he should not underestimate her. ‘I will consider finding a husband for you as soon as we are settled back at Tamworth,’ he conceded. ‘There are useful connections to be made. I need steady alliances with Northumberland. Or perhaps Kent. Leave it with me, sweetheart, and I will choose you a fine stallion.’ He roared with laughter, coughed, then called for his attendants. She was dismissed.

Prince Elisedd left his followers to wait for him at the foot of the ridge. He rode up the long trackway alone, climbing to the summit, threading his way between rocks and trees, and dismounting at the entrance to the fold. Leaving his horse with its rein looped over the gatepost, he wandered in.

Bea strained forward. She watched him stand looking round and she saw him sigh. He was every inch a prince today; he wore gold ornaments at his wrists and the heavy, ornately carved brooch to fasten his cloak. His horse stamped its hoof and pawed at the ground impatiently as he took a step into the shadow of the low stone walls and then another. He knew she wouldn’t be there. Bea could feel his resignation and his despair. He had lost her and as a poignant farewell he had come to revisit the magic of that encounter. She saw him turn away and again he sighed. He was looking straight at Bea, but if he saw her, he gave no sign.

Walking back, he unhitched his horse and led it slowly along the track. As the hill opened up he could see the countryside for miles in every direction. To the east the line of Offa’s great ditch ran up and down over the hills, a raw scar on the landscape, a clear message that here the Border March between Powys and Mercia was forever fixed.

He narrowed his gaze, staring east towards the triple peaks of the Malvern Hills, shrugging themselves into the evening haze. He knew deep in his heart that she could never have married him. She was destined for marriage to a king. She was not free to marry where her heart led, any more than her sisters were. His few short hours with her had been no more than a dream of what might have been. He hoped she would be happy. Mounting his horse with a heavy heart, he turned it back towards the west and began the long ride towards his own destiny.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Alfrida was watching her sister pace up and down the gardens, her face set with fury.

‘Papa has sent him away?’ Eadburh stopped abruptly. ‘He’s gone!’

‘Who’s gone?’

‘Elisedd!’

‘But why do you care? You’ve told us often enough that you despise him.’

‘I changed my mind. He’s a king’s son. He’s handsome and …’ Eadburh paused. ‘I like him. And you and Ethelfled told me you thought Papa intended him for me. You said we were as good as betrothed!’

‘I did not!’ Alfrida was indignant. ‘I never said any such thing. And Mama confirmed it. She said no way would Papa even consider it.’ She caught her sister’s arm. ‘Stop walking about and talk to me.’

Both girls were swathed in cloaks as a sharp cold wind swept in from the north. Ox-carts were being loaded in the courtyards, their beds dismantled, boxes packed. They were used to this regular change of residence as the peripatetic court of the king moved from palace to palace round his kingdom. As servants ran frantically here and there, the daughters of the king found it expedient to keep well out of the way. ‘I thought Papa had changed his mind. I was expecting the announcement.’ Eadburh knew she was being disingenuous. ‘It made sense for me to marry him.’ She turned desperately away to hide her tears. ‘I love him.’

Alfrida frowned. ‘Don’t be silly, you only think you do! You’ve scarcely talked to him.’ Her fingers tightened on Eadburh’s wrist. ‘Have you?’

Eadburh nodded. ‘Of course I’ve talked to him! We rode together. We … we talked a lot when we went to inspect Papa’s ditch.’

She felt Alfrida’s sharp eyes on her face and she turned away abruptly. ‘He’s gentle and kind. He told me stories of the dragons that live in the hills, and the saint who saved the life of a hare.’

Alfrida let out a scornful gurgle of mirth. ‘They told us he was a poet! He doesn’t sound like much of a man to me! I want to marry someone who’s a warrior! And preferably a king.’

‘Which will mean going far away from Mercia.’

‘So!’ Alfrida raised her chin defiantly. ‘That will be an adventure.’

‘And you would go to him without ever having set eyes on him? Supposing he’s ugly! And cruel!’

‘He won’t be. Papa would not send me to someone I couldn’t love.’ Alfrida’s confident tone faltered.

‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ Eadburh asked suddenly.

Alfrida shook her head.

‘Well, I have.’ Eadburh couldn’t hide her sudden smile. ‘It was so exciting! And wonderful! It makes your heart race, and—’ she stopped abruptly. She had been about to confide in her sister about what had happened and she realised, just in time, she could never do that.

But already Alfrida’s eyes had narrowed speculatively. ‘Does Mama know how you feel?’

‘No. No one knows.’

The sight of their mother walking towards them silenced Eadburh abruptly and both girls turned meekly as the woman beckoned them over.

Eadburh hung back and peered over her shoulder as her sister and mother disappeared into the hall. For a long moment she stood there as the rain began to fall and scanned the garden as though searching for someone.

Bea caught her breath as the girl looked straight at her and the air seemed to crackle and grow thin. ‘Who are you?’ Eadburh breathed. ‘What is it you want? You who watch me so carefully from the shadows. Do you think I haven’t seen you there, eavesdropping on my