Chapter 6, Part 3
Ambitions and Fears
← Previous | Table of Contents | Next →
The vestibule outside the Shaftesbury Abbey chapel was cold enough that each breath lingered for a moment before disappearing into the still air. Candles flickered against ancient stone walls, their light falling across a narrow table covered with parchments, ribbons, and pools of cooling wax.
A very pregnant Wynflaed stood beside the table, one hand resting unconsciously beneath the dark folds of her wool cloak. She was not yet thirty, but the weight of the past few years had settled upon her.
Across from her stood Edric, her late husband’s steward. He had served the household for decades and had long ago mastered the virtues of careful speech, sound judgment, and unwavering discretion.
Beyond the open chapel doors, a priest and several nuns waited patiently near the altar. No one hurried her.
“Let’s review it one more time,” she quietly instructed.
Edric inclined his head. “Once the vows are spoken, no man may compel you to remarry.” Wynflaed nodded almost imperceptibly. “Your husband’s lands remain under your protection until the child comes of age.” He paused before continuing. “The household will answer to you directly.”
“Until someone decides otherwise.”
“There will always be those who would prefer a widow surrender her authority to a new husband.” His voice remained matter-of-fact. “Being a vowess prevents that.”
Wynflaed clasped her hands together, then slowly unwound them again.
“Your husband’s kin have already inquired about portions of the western pasturelands,” he added
“Of course they have.”
“The vows strengthen your position considerably.” He gestured gently toward the child she carried. “Especially now.”
Almost without realizing it, Wynflaed rested both hands across her stomach. “And if the child is a daughter?”
Edric hesitated. “A daughter may still inherit.” He chose his next words with care. “Though certain matters become ... simpler with a son.”
Wynflaed lowered her eyes. “Or more dangerous,” she added wryly.
For the first time, the faintest hint of a smile touched Edric’s face. “Perhaps both.”
Silence settled once more between them. Wynflaed looked through the chapel doors toward the waiting priest and the quiet figures of the nuns. Everything was prepared. Everything except herself.
“You have secured the child’s future, Lady Wynflaed.” Edric’s voice was gentle now. “And your own.” Another pause. “Few women are afforded such certainty.”
“I am not certain of anything.” The words escaped her before she had fully considered them.
Edric said nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, “If I may, milady...” She looked up. “The past few years have been hard on everyone.” His expression softened. “I believe you have borne them with great dignity.”
Wynflaed lowered her eyes once more. “Thank you, Edric.” A small, grateful smile appeared. “Your guidance has always been a comfort.”
She stepped toward the chapel doors.
Inside, the priest moved forward just enough to meet her. “Are you ready, Lady Wynflaed?”
For a long moment she stood perfectly still. Then she drew a slow breath, gathered herself, and nodded. Without another word, she crossed the threshold into the chapel.
Edric remained behind.
As the chapel doors began to close, he quietly gathered the parchments from the table, carefully stacking each one before following her inside.
* * *
By the time the Lord Chamberlain passed by the Great Hall, the preparations seemed to have acquired a momentum all their own. He was nearly through the adjoining vestibule, his cloak already fastened for departure, when a familiar voice called after him.
“Lord Chamberlain!”
He slowed and turned. “Lady Aelfwynn.” His greeting was perfectly courteous. His expression became just a touch more cautious.
Before either could continue, Elle emerged from the hall. “There you are,” she said to Aelfwynn. Then she noticed the Chamberlain. “Oh! Lord Chamberlain.”
“Your Majesty.”
“Have you seen the preparations for our Christmas celebration?”
He hesitated. “I confess I have not.”
“Then you must.”
“Must I?”
“Absolutely,” Aelfwynn declared. “It will be a wondrous event.”
Neither young woman waited for an answer. Together they gently but unmistakably steered him into the Great Hall. The Chamberlain cast one wistful glance toward the exit. It somehow seemed farther away than before.
“The greenery was Master Arthur’s idea,” Elle explained.
“Of course it was.”
“And the candles,” Aelfwynn added.
“Naturally.”
“There will be a great feast,” Elle continued. “Auntie is having to use two neighboring kitchens while the repairs are under way.”
The Chamberlain stopped. “She surely knows how to prepare a good meal.”
“And Prior Duncan has enlisted the brothers from the monastery to celebrate Mass and provide the music.”
The Chamberlain looked once more toward the distant doorway. This time he allowed himself a small, resigned smile. “I look forward to it.”
At that moment Arthur appeared carrying an armful of decorations.
“There he is,” Elle said. She called to him. “Master Arthur, we were showing the Lord Chamberlain the preparations.”
Arthur’s face brightened. “My lord, have you seen the tree yet?”
The Chamberlain closed his eyes for the briefest moment. “There’s a tree?”
Arthur answered with an expansive sweep of his arm. “A tree is a requirement. Follow me.”
The Chamberlain sighed with the quiet dignity of a man who understood resistance had become futile. Then he followed.
Elle and Aelfwynn watched them disappear into the hall. For a moment neither spoke. Then they exchanged thoroughly satisfied smiles. Without another word, they turned and headed off in the opposite direction, leaving Arthur to continue his enthusiastic tour.
* * *
When Saras reached Elle’s chambers, she slipped inside carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle and hurriedly pushed the door shut behind her. She turned and then stopped cold.
Wynflaed did not so much as startle. She was sitting quietly by the window. A thick shawl rested over her shoulders, a blanket lay across her lap, and an embroidery hoop sat forgotten in her hands. She looked as though she had been waiting for some time.
A quiet moment passed between them.
“Saras.”
“Lady Wynflaed.” Another pause. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I believe I am the one who is surprised.”
Before either woman could say another word, someone rattled the latch. Saras leaned her shoulder against the door.
“Saras!” Aelfwynn’s voice came as an urgent whisper from the corridor.
“Not right now,” Saras answered in a low whisper that Wynflaed could clearly hear.
“Let me in!”
“Not. Right. Now.”
Wynflaed watched the exchange without moving. “Saras.”
“Yes, milady?”
“Let her in.” There was no anger in her voice. Only certainty.
After a long moment, Saras stepped aside. The door flew open, and Aelfwynn stumbled inside laughing, nearly losing her balance before catching herself. Then she saw Wynflaed. The laughter vanished.
“Milady.” Her eyes flicked nervously toward Saras.
An instant later Elle hurried through the doorway behind her, equally breathless. She, too, stopped.
“Mother.”
Wynflaed rose slowly, folding the blanket over the nearby chair before setting aside her embroidery. “Aelfgifu.”
Elle recovered first. “It is wonderful to have you here.”
“Is it?”
The room fell silent. Wynflaed’s gaze drifted briefly toward the bundle Saras still held. “What, precisely, is going on here?”
No one immediately answered. But finally Elle spoke. “Aelfwynn and Saras are helping me.”
Wynflaed looked at her daughter. “Are they helping Aelfgifu of Shaftesbury ...” She let the question linger. “... or the Queen of the English?” The air seemed suddenly heavier. “Because this does not appear to be the conduct of a queen.”
“Milady—” Aelfwynn began.
“Aelfwynn.” Wynflaed stopped her without raising her voice. She looked at each of them in turn. “Saras,” she continued, “Would you two excuse us so I may speak privately with my daughter?”
Aelfwynn bowed her head immediately. “Yes, milady.”
Saras hesitated only a heartbeat. “Of course, milady.”
As Aelfwynn passed Elle, she murmured under her breath, “I’ll pray for you.”
Elle answered with a look that required no words. A moment later the door closed behind them. Silence settled over the chamber.
Wynflaed regarded her daughter steadily. “Were you just running through the palace corridors hiding something?”
“Mother—”
“Like a servant girl sneaking pastries from the kitchen?”
“That is hardly fair.”
“It is hardly proper!” The words landed harder than either of them expected.
Elle drew a slow breath. “Sometimes queens must do unpleasant things.”
“Queens must do difficult things.” Wynflaed’s voice softened, though her resolve did not. “There is a difference.” Another pause. “And the people closest to you should know better.”
“They are only trying to help.”
“How?”
Elle answered without hesitation. “By helping me become someone capable of more than smiling politely.”
For the first time, something flickered across Wynflaed’s expression.
“You are the Queen now.” Every word was measured. “Every choice matters.” She held her daughter’s gaze. “There is dignity in restraint.”
“There is also danger in standing still.”
“No one said you must do nothing.”
“Then what am I permitted to do?”
The question caught Wynflaed off guard. She opened her mouth. Nothing came. For the first time in the conversation, uncertainty found her. Finally she said quietly, “I only wish for you to be careful.”
“I am careful.”
Wynflaed’s eyes drifted toward the door through which Saras had just departed. “You are becoming bold.”
Elle met the observation without apology. “Is that truly so terrible?”
For a long moment, Wynflaed simply looked at her. She no longer saw the little girl waiting to greet a king outside a country manor. She saw a queen. She saw a woman becoming her own person. She also saw every danger that came with it.
At last she gave the smallest shake of her head. “No.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Only frightening.”
Silence settled gently between them. For the first time, Elle saw past her mother’s composure to the fear beneath it. Her own expression softened.
Wynflaed lowered her eyes. The moment had become more than she could bear. She crossed quietly to the door. “Please excuse me.” A pause. “I’ll be in the chapel.” She slipped into the corridor before Elle could answer.
Elle reached instinctively toward the closing door. “Mother!”
The door had already closed.
← Previous | Table of Contents | Next →