The Craftsman by Georgia Fox Page A

because he feared being overheard. Still, she doubted his claim of being virgin. It seemed incredible, ridiculous even. He must be playing a game with her.
    She tried to regain her breath. What came after that ? Nothing, if memory served. Usually Henry fell asleep soon after spending. After they’d both washed themselves off, of course. Henry was a very particular person and cleanliness was of the utmost importance.
    “I…we’ll see…what happens…,” she murmured, her lips oddly numb.
    “Emma, more wine?” Deorwynn had turned abruptly to look at her, the wine jug lifted in one hand. “You’re very flushed. Are you not feeling well?”
    She fanned herself with her own sleeve. “'Tis just this heat.”
    Wulf spoke up, “You should go inside where ‘tis cool.”
    Deorwynn’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her brother. “I hope you don’t think to send your wife off so you can retreat to your woodshed.”
    Emma finally closed her legs as his hand moved off her. “I wasn’t thinking that at all,” he said.
    “Good because you should pay attention to your wife today, brother.”
    “Oh I mean to.”
    Emma was surprised that his younger sister—eight years younger—should feel it her place to admonish him in that manner. Wulf did not shout at his sister to be quiet, which is what would have happened to Emma if she ever dared speak to one of her elder brothers thus. Of course, Deorwynn was the lady of the manor; perhaps that was why her brother did not remark upon her bossiness.
    She stole a thoughtful glance at her husband as he finished his meal. These Saxons were strange folk. Had Guy Devaux not taken over, Raedwulf would be the lord of this manor now, but he was displaced by the Norman who married his sister. How must he feel about that? Perhaps he was content with his wood working and had no higher ambition. Perhaps, like her, he made the most of the hand he was dealt.
    Emma picked up the jug that Deorwynn had set down and poured wine into her husband’s empty goblet. He looked surprised, pleased in his own quiet way. She smiled, glad she was there to pour his wine.
     
     

Chapter Five
     
    Later, when Raedwulf went off to speak with the blacksmith, Sybilia Bonnenfant approached Emma again.
    “I am relieved to have another of my kind here,” the woman exclaimed, standing too close and breathing in her ear.
    “Of your kind?”
    “A lady like myself, Norman and born of noble blood,” Sybilia replied. “These people,” she wafted a hand about as if to bat away flies, “are all so common. And Guy Devaux’s wife—the little Saxon strumpet—has no manners, no propriety.” She sniffed. “You know, of course, that Devaux was meant to marry me less than a year ago, but that little whore stole him away even as she pretended to be my friend. Crept into his bed the moment my back was turned and bewitched him. Thus I was pushed off onto his friend to make room for her. You can’t trust these Saxons. Most of them still think there is a war to be fought and they refuse to believe they lost it long ago.” She paused for a quick breath. “I am amazed the king sent you here to wed that dreadful Raedwulf. A Saxon and a former prisoner! He can barely form a sentence. Spends every waking moment shut away, making things with wood apparently. Perhaps that’s for the best.” She laughed harshly.
    Emma kept her gaze on the revelers—so many well-wishers who did not know her at all. She realized many of them were there only for the ale, but life was hard for most folk and she did not begrudge them this little pleasure. If she could be the cause of it, all the better.
    “I like the Lady Deorwynn,” she said softly. “She has been very kind to me so far. Everyone has been most welcoming. Including Raedwulf.”
    “So far,” Sybilia snapped. “You’ll soon find the novelty wears off.” She glared across the yard at her husband, Thierry Bonnenfant, who was laughing with two buxom young women. “You’ll be