grateful for my friendship then.”
“Indeed I am grateful for it now, Lady Sybilia,” said Emma. “But you should know that I never judge others by their breed or race. As long as they do me no harm, I shall do none to them. It is not my intention to cause any rift here, nor will I talk badly about the people who have taken me into their home.”
There was a pause. “I see. Well then I shall say no more. I wish you luck for the future here.” This last sentence was muttered in a contemptuous fashion, suggesting there was little hope of it, and then Sybilia slithered away around the edge of the crowd.
Emma felt the sun’s warmth again and inhaled some fresh air, unspoiled by the Lady Sybilia’s overly-sweet perfume. She’d heard the rumors of how Deorwynn the Saxon came to marry Guy Deveaux, of course, but she was never one to pay much heed to gossip. And anyone who was markedly rude to her own husband, was not someone Emma cared to become intimate with. She wondered why Sybilia should presume they had anything in common just because they hailed from the same land. It was even more puzzling why she would think it permissible to slight a woman’s husband one moment and then try to befriend her in the next. She watched Sybilia gliding around the yard, speaking to no one, very much apart from the merry-makers, encouraging no one to approach her and ignoring anyone who made an attempt. If Sybilia had a shortage of friends here, it was clearly her own fault.
Sometimes one had to make an effort to belong.
She looked for her husband and saw him deep in discussion with Thierry Bonnenfant. What could they have to talk about so intently? Wulf appeared fascinated whatever it was.
* * * *
“Norman women need showing their place immediately,” Thierry assured him. “They get above themselves otherwise. Trust me, Wulf, I know. Don’t let her have her own way too often. Begin this marriage as you mean to go on. Never give her treats or flattery unless she does something to please you. Punish her at once when she disobeys.”
Wulf was amused. “Train her like a dog, you mean?”
“‘Tis much the same. All wild things must be tamed before they can be any use to a man.”
But Wulf didn’t want his wife tamed. He liked that spark of wildness in her eyes and he wanted to preserve it.
“The women of Languedoc are feisty, temperamental creatures. Worse even than your Saxon wenches,” Thierry added. “Never turn your back on her. Watch her closely.”
“I shall.”
“Make her bend to your rules, or she’ll be making her own.”
Wulf wondered if he should ask Thierry whether he followed his own advice when it came to sour-faced Sybilia. Then he saw her approaching through the crowd and swiftly decided to end his conversation with Thierry, slouching away to his workshop.
* * * *
Emma found Deorwynn, sitting with her feet up, fanning herself with one corner of the tapestry table cloth. She advised her new sister-in-law to go inside where it was cooler and Deorwynn finally agreed to leave the feast, taking the arm she was offered and lumbering upright with difficulty.
“I hope this babe comes soon,” she groaned as Emma helped her across the yard and up the castle steps.
“It will come when ready. Don’t be in haste. You should really lie down and be comfortable.”
“Yes, I know, but it’s hard to give in. I do not like to be weak. I like my husband to see I am strong.”
Emma sighed. “There is no dishonor in putting yourself and your child first. Many a strong man could not do what you’re doing.” And many a strong woman too, herself included, she thought sadly.
“I’m glad you’re here, Emma. There is something comforting about your presence. You seem so sensible, solid and steady.”
Sensible, solid and steady? She might as well have added— and dull . Emma knew there was little about her that might seem interesting to a young woman like Deorwynn. She was almost a decade
“Indeed I am grateful for it now, Lady Sybilia,” said Emma. “But you should know that I never judge others by their breed or race. As long as they do me no harm, I shall do none to them. It is not my intention to cause any rift here, nor will I talk badly about the people who have taken me into their home.”
There was a pause. “I see. Well then I shall say no more. I wish you luck for the future here.” This last sentence was muttered in a contemptuous fashion, suggesting there was little hope of it, and then Sybilia slithered away around the edge of the crowd.
Emma felt the sun’s warmth again and inhaled some fresh air, unspoiled by the Lady Sybilia’s overly-sweet perfume. She’d heard the rumors of how Deorwynn the Saxon came to marry Guy Deveaux, of course, but she was never one to pay much heed to gossip. And anyone who was markedly rude to her own husband, was not someone Emma cared to become intimate with. She wondered why Sybilia should presume they had anything in common just because they hailed from the same land. It was even more puzzling why she would think it permissible to slight a woman’s husband one moment and then try to befriend her in the next. She watched Sybilia gliding around the yard, speaking to no one, very much apart from the merry-makers, encouraging no one to approach her and ignoring anyone who made an attempt. If Sybilia had a shortage of friends here, it was clearly her own fault.
Sometimes one had to make an effort to belong.
She looked for her husband and saw him deep in discussion with Thierry Bonnenfant. What could they have to talk about so intently? Wulf appeared fascinated whatever it was.
* * * *
“Norman women need showing their place immediately,” Thierry assured him. “They get above themselves otherwise. Trust me, Wulf, I know. Don’t let her have her own way too often. Begin this marriage as you mean to go on. Never give her treats or flattery unless she does something to please you. Punish her at once when she disobeys.”
Wulf was amused. “Train her like a dog, you mean?”
“‘Tis much the same. All wild things must be tamed before they can be any use to a man.”
But Wulf didn’t want his wife tamed. He liked that spark of wildness in her eyes and he wanted to preserve it.
“The women of Languedoc are feisty, temperamental creatures. Worse even than your Saxon wenches,” Thierry added. “Never turn your back on her. Watch her closely.”
“I shall.”
“Make her bend to your rules, or she’ll be making her own.”
Wulf wondered if he should ask Thierry whether he followed his own advice when it came to sour-faced Sybilia. Then he saw her approaching through the crowd and swiftly decided to end his conversation with Thierry, slouching away to his workshop.
* * * *
Emma found Deorwynn, sitting with her feet up, fanning herself with one corner of the tapestry table cloth. She advised her new sister-in-law to go inside where it was cooler and Deorwynn finally agreed to leave the feast, taking the arm she was offered and lumbering upright with difficulty.
“I hope this babe comes soon,” she groaned as Emma helped her across the yard and up the castle steps.
“It will come when ready. Don’t be in haste. You should really lie down and be comfortable.”
“Yes, I know, but it’s hard to give in. I do not like to be weak. I like my husband to see I am strong.”
Emma sighed. “There is no dishonor in putting yourself and your child first. Many a strong man could not do what you’re doing.” And many a strong woman too, herself included, she thought sadly.
“I’m glad you’re here, Emma. There is something comforting about your presence. You seem so sensible, solid and steady.”
Sensible, solid and steady? She might as well have added— and dull . Emma knew there was little about her that might seem interesting to a young woman like Deorwynn. She was almost a decade
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