Free The Betrothed Sister by Carol McGrath Page A

baggy shirts; they probably hid sharp daggers beneath those broad belts that gathered the material into folds, even though her uncle never allowed weapons into his hall. She slipped around Edmund and around again, and as they stepped lightly she smiled at them all – her grandmother, the king, the queen, the ambassadors and old Bishop Vilhelm, whose face was as red as the embroidery on the napkin with which he persistently mopped his brow and who appeared uncomfortably smothered by his stiff decorated gown. In contrast, the Russian ambassador seated by her uncle looked ghostly pale, as if he were ailing.
    Afterwards, one by one the princesses presented their gifts to the ambassadors. These were four caskets each containing a different jewel. Thea stood back with her handsome brother watching this performance. Helene, the last princess to step forward, presented her golden casket. The tall, pallid ambassador stood to receive it, looking tired and pale as bleached linen. Suddenly he sneezed loudly. He instantly fell back onto his chair again, apparently choking. Elizaveta’s face creased with concern. She spoke to the Russian diplomat seated by her side who immediately lifted a goblet to his companion’s lips. The ambassador seemed recovered but he was gripping the arms of his chair as if he was about to collapse.
    Consternation and frowns of concern gathered on the other diplomats’ faces. The one with the tallest furred hat, seated nearest the king, leaned across Queen Elizaveta and said something to King Sweyn that she could not hear.
    Lady Eleanor nodded at Thea. She stepped forward and began to play her flute accompanied by Padar on his harp. Thea paused. Padar plucked his harp’s strings and sang a verse about love. She lifted her flute again and played the final notes of their song. From the corner of her eye she saw two pages help the ailing ambassador from his place and out through a side door. She bowed to Padar and returned to her seat.
    The evening continued as Padar recounted an old story of how long ago the Norse hero, Sigurth of Sweden, killed a dragon called Fáfnir and how Sigurth’s horse Grani cooked the dragon’s heart for him to devour. When Sigurth tasted the dragon’s blood he was miraculously able to understand the song of the birds in the trees above him. The sparrows warned him of a treacherous smith in their community. Forthwith the hero killed this smith too and by doing both these deeds he saved his people.
    Shortly after this, Lady Eleanor led the girls from the gathering. None of the princesses spoke to Thea as they hurried towards the outside staircase leading up to the women’s hall. Instead of joining them, Thea climbed a second narrow staircase up into the gabled end of the great building, far, far away from their glares and unkind remarks. She would stay away from the sewing room that evening. She would not attend Compline, the last evening service of the day to be observed in the chapel, and where, no doubt, the king and his guests would gather before retiring. Instead, she sent Gudrun down to the courtyard kitchen for a jug of watered wine and some leftovers. When the girl returned with a laden tray, Thea spoke of the afternoon’s events – the dishes she had hardly touched, the dancing and her concern for the ambassador who had collapsed during the presentation of gifts.
    Gudrun said quietly, ‘You will have impressed them all and I am sure the Russian ambassador will recover soon.’
    Feeling her appetite returned at last, Thea shared the small feast with her handmaiden.
    Until it was time to sleep Thea sat, dressed in her finery, by her window dreamily watching the moon rise, wondering if in one of his palaces, Prince Vladimir of Kiev, her raven-headed prince with his liquid brown eyes, was watching the moon rise too. For a while she practised her flute as Gudrun nibbled on a last chicken wing and listened.
    As the moon rode high in the