The Chosen Queen by Joanna Courtney Page B

here, in a country clearly unbound by tedious conventions, her father had found a place where he could thrive.
    ‘I had little choice!’ Gwyneth shrieked.
    At this, though, Griffin held up a large hand.
    ‘That is not true, my lady. I have never forced a woman into my bed.’
    ‘Never needed to,’ someone called from the crowd and Griffin smirked and waved, as if acknowledging a great compliment.
    ‘Perhaps because I am King of all Wales!’
    At this, cheers rang out all around the great hall, the men roaring approval of their leader’s newly acquired status. Edyth looked around in wonder. Brodie had escaped their exposed
central group and sidled over towards a gang of lads and Edyth saw him beam as one of them clapped him hard but apparently welcomingly on the back. Meghan, meanwhile, had also taken the chance to
detach herself from her husband and usher the two wide-eyed younger boys towards the big doors where their nursery maid was cowering fearfully. The maid grabbed the boys and hustled them gratefully
away and Edyth saw her mother take a few steps to follow before forcing herself back inside.
    She returned her eyes to Griffin. He stood tall and proud, absorbing the adulation of his people as his right and Edyth had to admit that, gracious as King Edward always appeared, this was a man
who truly looked like a monarch. As she watched, he caught her eye and smiled.
    ‘You will think us very wild, Lady Edyth.’
    ‘Nay, Sire, you have won a great victory and should celebrate.’
    ‘You are right. How should we do that?’
    The room was quietening now and Edyth was horribly aware of many eyes turning her way again.
    ‘With feasting?’ she suggested awkwardly. ‘And, and dancing?’
    ‘Dancing – yes!’ Griffin bowed low. ‘And you, Edyth Alfgarsdottir, our most welcome guest, will do me the honour.’
    Edyth glanced to her father who nodded her forward.
    ‘The honour would be all mine, Sire.’
    Edyth took Griffin’s proffered hand and more cheers rang out as the king waved his courtiers back to clear a dance space around the hearth. Joy sang through her. The king, the sparkling,
rough-cut ruby of a king, liked her. Perhaps exile would not be such a bad thing after all?
    A turn of the hour-glass later, as Edyth was slammed into the wall of the ladies’ latrine, she wasn’t so certain of herself.
    ‘What do you think you’re doing, young lady?’
    Meghan had one hand on her curvaceous hip and one pinning Edyth to the cold wooden wall and was clearly boiling with rage.
    ‘Mama, what’s wrong?’
    ‘You know exactly what’s wrong. You’re not old enough for these sorts of games.’
    ‘What sorts of games?’
    ‘Making eyes at King Griffin. He’s forty-two – more than twice your age – and one hundred times more experienced.’
    ‘How d’you mean?’
    Edyth widened her eyes but Meghan was not as easily fooled as her husband by her daughter’s innocence.
    ‘You know what I mean. I’ve been making enquiries and they say the king will never marry. He has no need to; he ruts any girl that catches his eye.’
    ‘Mama!’
    ‘Don’t you “Mama” me, Edyth. You need to know. Can you imagine King Edward behaving this way? Or what he would say if he saw us caught up in such wantonness? Now, you
listen to me, you’ve had your flux for a year now and the last thing this family needs if it’s going to claw its way back into decent English society is a Welsh bastard in your
belly.’
    ‘Sssh, Mama!’
    Edyth looked around, horrified. They were the only ones in the latrine but the walls were thin and anyone walking beyond would be able to hear.
    ‘Don’t you sssh me.’ Meghan was even more riled now, though she did drop her voice to a strained hiss. ‘Do you think I chose to come here? Do you think I like living at
the mercy of some strange king who believes he’s God just because he’s conquered a handful of rebellious Celts?’
    Edyth bit her lip. There was a manic look in