Love Letters
Authors: Emily Murdoch
© Emily Murdoch 2014
Emily Murdoch has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
“Catheryn!”
The clear voice called out across the courtyard. Heads turned, and faces smiled to see a familiar woman rush past them, dress swinging in the gentle breeze that the summer had brought.
But there was no smile on Eorwine’s face as she scanned the countryside outside her home for the daughter of the house.
“Catheryn, where are you?”
Catheryn could hear her, but she remained hidden below the dip in the field. She was lying on her back, glorifying in the sunshine that was pouring down onto her face. The winter had been long, and there was relief in every household that the summer had finally come to ripen their grain and to fatten their crops.
Her mother’s decorum had drilled into her the necessity of wearing her veil to cover her hair, but Catheryn, at only seventeen summers, was still desperate to have her own way. She had pulled her long green robe up over her knees, and was lying on the soft grass, smiling to herself as she felt the caress of the sun on her legs.
Being an only child was never easy, but for Catheryn it was somewhat more of a burden. Her parents, Hilda and Ælfgard, had gradually built what could only be described as an empire, and in the Anglo-Saxon realm of England, were becoming more and more important as their gold deposits and tapestry collection grew.
It had meant many an evening speaking with their steward about the next harvest, or bartering with merchants about wool prices until Catheryn’s eyes had been too heavy to keep open. She had retired to her chamber, but the debate would usually continue into the night. It meant that Catheryn could not remember a conversation that did not involve a sum of money, and that her parents were more knowledgeable about the continental need for silk than their own daughter.
Catheryn snorted as she remembered the evening before, when her father had given them all a lecture on just how important it was to be loyal to one’s king. Loyal to the King! Whenever she had seen the king – and it had not been many times at all – the most she had seen was a rather mature older man, who was quiet and preferred to be alone rather than process around his kingdom as he was forced to do. King Edward was not the sort of king that the Anglo-Saxons had expected. Their society was built on justice from the sword and honour on the battlefield; King Edward was more interested in fine cloths, prayer in his chapels, and quiet discussion.
But despite the slight disappointment that all the nobles felt in their calm and prayerful king, they had all, just as Ælfgard had, realised the importance of connections and loyalty. And at just seventeen, Catheryn knew exactly what that meant: attending the royal court, and trying to insinuate their family into the royal couple’s intimate circle.
“Catheryn!”
Eorwine’s head was just inches away from Catheryn’s, and Catheryn started when she opened her eyes.
“Eorwine!” Catheryn gasped, shocked to see someone’s face so close to hers.
“Catheryn,” she said disapprovingly as she pulled away from her wayward charge, veil flapping around her face. “You are fully aware of what is happening today, and you chose this afternoon to go missing?”
Eorwine was a lady on rather the larger side than the smaller side, and it took her a moment to catch her breath. She had evidently been running.
“I was not missing,” Catheryn replied languidly, closing her eyes again and making no attempt to get up. “I have been contemplating.”
Eorwine laughed through her panting, looking down at the wayward young chit. “You have your father’s wit, I see. Come on now – you must return with me, the preparations continue and we require your help.”
Now Catheryn laughed, and it was a light, sweet laugh that seemed to echo across the field. “Eorwine, the king is coming. But he is not coming to see me, it is my mother and father that are the ones that invited him, and they are the ones that he wants to see. I have no interest in the matter.” The laugh became an extravagant, and definitely false, yawn. “I will attend the feast tonight, and I shall be well-behaved, but I cannot see what business it is of mine to stand and watch my parents panic about not having enough musicians to entertain a man that would probably prefer to eat in silence.”
Eorwine raised her eyes to the heavens, and then sat down beside the disgruntled girl. Or rather, collapsed by the seated girl – her legs didn’t exactly give way, but they conceded the point to gravity.
“And anyway,” continued Catheryn, warming to her theme and finally opening her eyes and sitting up to face Eorwine, “if my presence is so desperately required at home, then why aren’t my parents themselves coming here to fetch me?”
Eorwine opened her mouth, finally hoping to speak, but Catheryn cut in before she could reply.
“Exactly. They are too busy with the arrangements, and they have not even noticed that I am away from home. I could be anywhere for all that they know. It is you that wants me to return, not them.”
Catheryn looked at her companion to argue against that truth, but she stopped. Eorwine had been a constant in Catheryn’s life for as long as she could remember; a nursemaid when a baby, a playmate when a child, a teacher throughout everything, a confidante when emerging into adulthood, and now…it was difficult to exactly place Eorwine now. Not servant, nor equal, she remained in the house because of past services, and was used occasionally to control Catheryn when her parents could not.
Eorwine sighed. “You are too clever for your own good, my lady,” she said, returning to the more formal style of address now that she had been out-argued. “You speak the truth when you say that the king’s visit is of the utmost importance to your parents. But that does not mean that it should not also be an honour for you.”
Catheryn looked puzzled. “Why should the honour be mine?”
Eorwine rose, heaving herself in a way that made Catheryn try to hide her smile, and smoothing her blue skirts around her. Before she spoke again, she readjusted the belt that was twined around what had probably once been a waist. “Catheryn, you are seventeen. You are an heiress, and if everything goes well tonight, you are practically a nobleman’s daughter. Do you not think it time that you considered marriage?”
Not waiting for a reply, Eorwine trudged back up towards the house, leaving Catheryn sitting alone.
Marriage? Catheryn had certainly thought about it in an abstract sense – she had heard many sagas of lovers determined to fight the fates, and had watched many of their servants try to navigate the delicate pathways of love. But she had never felt…there had never been anyone to fall in love with. Her parents had always been so determined to keep to what her mother called, “our people”, that Catheryn had met very few people her own age.
And anyway, if what Eorwine had said was true, she would soon be considered unmarriageable for many young men. If her parent’s status was raised much higher, the only men she would meet would be those arranged for her – and Catheryn was not sure that she liked the sound of that. If she had to remain with one person for the rest of her life, she’d rather have some say in the choosing.
Catheryn allowed herself to fall back onto the cool grass, but in deference to Eorwine, pulled her skirts back down to her ankles. She closed her eyes. The sun was so warm, and so comforting. Every year it returned the same, and with it its daughter the moon, that grew and died the same every month. The seasons never altered. Why should she?
As Catheryn lay musing in the field, one pair of eyes watched her from afar.
It was not Eorwine, who had eventually reached the house, and was again out of breath. She had rested against the cool stone, and longed for autumn to return again, and bring with it a cooler breeze that would allow her to walk throughout the day, rather than lie in a cool room at the peak of the heat. Eorwine had walked back into the house.
It was not Hilda. She was standing in the Great Hall, trying to explain to a troupe of musicians that although their presence was definitely required that evening to entertain the king, they would not be the only ones there to offer their gifts. Their reply – that they were the best musicians in all of England, and if there was any other entertainment that night then they would take it as a personal insult against their craft – was the problem that Hilda was attempting to solve. Hilda was not aware of her daughter’s whereabouts.
It was not Ælfgard, who was striding across his land barking orders to his thanes. They were being tested on what was and what was not permitted to be talked about during the feast that evening. Topics involving Normandy and the Queen’s inability to have children were primarily the ones that Ælfgard was desperate to avoid, and he pushed his greying hair back nervously. Offending the king would not be endearing, and would probably begin a feud that would outlast the children of his child. The lord and his thanes continued around the field. This entertaining of the king, of receiving him into their home, was the chance that he had been waiting for. There are only so many times that one can go to court and be ignored. This was their chance to catch the king’s attention, and he was not going to let it slip through his fingers. Ælfgard was not looking at Catheryn.
It was a very different pair of eyes that gazed upon Catheryn’s sun-drenched form. The body that they belonged to was not concerned with heat, or musicians, or the king’s arrival that evening – although the latter should probably have concerned him. For it was a him: he was Ælfgard’s steward, and his name was Selwyn.
His blond hair shone in the sunlight, but a bemused smile covered his face. He looked down at the girl that had become a woman that winter, and almost couldn’t believe how beautiful she was.
It had been years since he had last seen her – four or five summers at least. It seemed like an age since they had laughed together, played together in that very same field. Strange how childhood friends could become strangers as soon as adulthood was reached. They had named the field their fortress, and even though Selwyn was the elder, it had been Catheryn that had always taken charge. And now she had grown.
She shared his light tone of hair, but from what he had seen when her veil escaped her control, hers had grown longer and more tousled than his, with a curl that seemed to speak wild abandon as well as calm wonder. Her face had captured the best parts of both mother and father, and yet was something completely new.
Selwyn knew that he should join the rest of the thanes and his lord. He was getting left behind, and it would not do to be noted as the only one that was not paying attention. He was meant to be in that group, to listen to Ælfgard and learn what was and what was not said to the King of England, how to bow to the queen, and how to speak to her in a way that was respectful and yet welcoming. But once again, as he had been so often over these last few months, Selwyn had been distracted by the daughter of the house.
Their last meeting had been a bittersweet one; Selwyn, as the orphan of Ælfgard’s steward, had been raised as a child of the house but had at some point had to leave and be trained. There was no family honour to protect him, or gold to secure him with friends. He needed a skill, something to take him through life – but that would take him away from the family. Catheryn had cried, and gave the biggest tantrum that her parents had ever seen, but her father was adamant: Selwyn would not be able to grow into a man in the presence of a girl – a girl, moreover, that was of a higher rank than him, and would undoubtedly mock him throughout his steward training.
And so Selwyn had left them to go to Hilda’s brother’s house. He had learned much there, lonely as he was, and after a reasonable time, Ælfgard had sent for him. His need for a steward finally outweighed his reservations about drawing what was now a young man back into a world that had only known him as a child.
Selwyn had returned, and so much of his childhood home had remained exactly how he had remembered it. His vague memories of his parents were still there. The fortress was still there, and the wind crept through the doors into the hall just as it had when he was a child. But Catheryn…
Selwyn forced himself to turn away, and try to listen to his lord. There were five years between himself and Catheryn, but the years away seemed to multiply that time to create a vast distance between them. What he had seen of Catheryn had not endeared her to him, albeit in caught glances and snatched conversations with her servants or her parents. He had seen a petulant girl, a woman that was determined almost to a point of bullishness to get her own way in everything. He had heard the voice of laughter when addressing her father – her own father! Selwyn smiled bitterly. Why was it always the beautiful ones that were so self-absorbed and shallow?
Why had Catheryn changed, changed beyond recognition? The girl that he had played with, that had laughed with him, was almost a completely different creature. When they were younger, they had played jokes on each other all the time – rhyming puzzles, or sending secret notes to each other, hidden in nooks in the walls. But that time was over, and now it was as if she couldn’t see him.
With his own good looks, Selwyn had not been short of attention when he had arrived at Ælfgard’s door. But so far, he had avoided the advancing looks that had been sent his way. If anything, it was all he could do to wrench away his own gaze from the daughter of the house, a woman that looked more beautiful every day, but seemed so far removed from the wild girl that had once been his closest friend.
“Selwyn?”
He had responsibility higher than he had ever dreamed, but it had not prevented Selwyn from beginning to notice that Catheryn was fast becoming the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. But he had been living in the household now for months, and not a word had been spoken between them. They rarely even saw each other, except at meal times when the entire household came together – but she was never placed near him, and he spent most of the day out on the estate, whilst she stayed near the house. It was as if he didn’t exist, Selwyn thought as he clenched his fists unconsciously. As if she didn’t even see him.
“Selwyn!”
Selwyn realised that for some moments his lord had been trying to get his attention. Thank goodness his gaze had moved slightly, and he could not be accused of staring at Ælfgard’s young daughter.
“My apologies, my lord,” he said swiftly with a short bow. “I am afraid I was dwelling too much on the excitement that this evening will afford.”
Ælfgard returned the smile wearily. “It is indeed a wondrous thought: the King of England will tonight feast at my table. But I need your immediate concerns to be right here Selwyn – so much of this evening depends on you.”
“And I am grateful for the honour, my lord.” Selwyn bowed again, but not so low that he did not notice the irritated expressions from many of the thanes that Ælfgard kept at his table. It was customary for Anglo-Saxon noblemen to keep with them young men of high honour and repute. It rankled with many of them that a man like Selwyn, a man of no real birth or honour, was so trusted by their lord. Many had hoped that the young man that had left would never return.
Deorwine, a thane of a similar age to Selwyn, raised his voice.
“I think, my lord, you were instructing us
thanes
on the proper names for us to address the king and his court.”
He cast a malicious glance at Selwyn, who coolly returned the angry gaze with his own calm one. Deorwine, like many of the thanes that resided there, bitterly resented Selwyn’s presence at these gatherings, seeing their relationship with their lord Ælfgard as almost sacred. Selwyn tried not to laugh. As rich as Ælfgard was, he was not amongst that Anglo-Saxon class that typically had thanes live at his table. That meant that the thanes resident with them were not necessarily of the highest class either… something that he had never mentioned to Deorwine, although he had often wished to in the heat of an argument, or after another cutting and insulting remark.
“Yes, yes,” Ælfgard continued, “you see, our king prefers it if only certain titles are used, and of course it is very important for us tonight to fully comply with our king’s wishes. For those of us born within a certain level...”
Selwyn tried to follow what his lord was saying as they continued to stride around the field in which Catheryn lay, but the words slowed and eventually never reached his ears. It was as if he was the only one that realised that Catheryn was lying there, down in the rich grass, with her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sunshine. The sunshine that Selwyn was becoming more and more aware of as he grew hotter. He could feel his muscles tensing in his arms, and tried hopelessly to relax.
Catheryn shifted her position, and without opening her eyes, pulled her skirts up to her knees again so that she could feel the sun’s rays beat down on them.
Selwyn almost fell back as if he had been hit with something heavy. Although the distance protected her modesty to a degree, he could not believe how lax she was being with her person. The daughters of Anglo-Saxon men with more gold than glory did not lie around in fields, especially not in plain view of her father’s thanes and servants! He could not believe it, and yet against his better judgement he willed her to enjoy it, to pull her skirts just that little bit higher. Selwyn’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from her, from her perfect legs, from her skin that glowed, from her sparkling eyes.
Her eyes that had snapped open. Selwyn actually physically fell back this time – it would have been terrible for Ælfgard to have noticed him gawping at his daughter, but it would have been much more terrible for the daughter in question to notice his gaze.
The years had certainly changed her.
Catheryn rose, her skirt falling back down to the ground. Selwyn was relieved, and he tried to force himself to remember that she was a young woman that was not only ignoring him, but out of reach. She merely proved, once again, that all she could think about was her own entertainment, her own pleasure. She was probably a spoilt daughter now, Selwyn thought bitterly, and all her thoughts were centred on herself. She didn’t know what it was to come to a strange household, and have to once again earn the trust and respect of those around you. She would be adored and fawned upon her whole life. The Catheryn that he had known, that he had laughed with and trusted, had very likely disappeared a long time ago.
Selwyn watched her as she walked across the field towards them. The other thanes stopped their march to allow her to pass in front of them, bowing slightly as she crossed their path. Selwyn followed their lead, and was about to breathe a sigh of relief that he had escaped notice when Catheryn stopped. She turned, and cast a wicked smile at him, before turning back into her home.