Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars #7)

Clerics, stewards, servants: he marked each one. He knew them all. Those who were new to his retinue were revealing their quirks and temperaments to him, day by day. Naturally, the only one missing was his beloved wife. He frowned.

“Anything,” Gerberga repeated. Her gaze dropped briefly onto her husband, and she flushed and waved a hand in the air as if to fan away a fly.

Ekkehard looked up. “Why must ’Cinda stay behind?”

That got their attention. Every head lifted. After a breath, or three breaths, most looked away but everyone continued to listen. Even Wichman stirred, opening his eyes. On a quiet night such as this, they had to enjoy whatever entertainment came their way.

“You are too attached to her, Ekkehard.”

Theucinda looked up at her sister, trembled, and said nothing. She was the youngest of Judith’s brood. Coming after the beautiful Hugh, the forthright and commanding Gerberga, and the blunt and combative Bertha, it was no wonder that she was a mouse.

“She is like a sister to me!” objected Ekkehard. “Aren’t you?” he said, pressing Theucinda, although it was obvious the girl would have preferred to remain silent. “Aren’t you?”

Something shifted in her expression. Perhaps, after all, she hid her stubborn Austran streak beneath that fragile, freckled complexion and rosy mouth. A pretty enough girl, but not at all to Sanglant’s taste. Thank God he had escaped marriage to her!

The diminutive creature spoke in a soft voice. “I don’t want to enter the church, Gerberga.” The words came out as if she had learned them by rote. She looked at Ekkehard, then blushed.

“I said I’d marry her!” cried Wichman, rallying from his stupor. He scratched his crotch, burped, and stared with incomprehension into his empty cup.

Gerberga snorted. “Let your cousin Sanglant find a suitable husband for you, Theucinda, and you will not have to enter the church. He means to do as much for Waltharia, so why not for you?” She smiled at Sanglant.

A challenge! He lifted a hand off the arm of his chair to acknowledge her request.

Theophanu had, after all, been listening. Her hand, poised to move her Castle, froze in midair as she looked over. How cool her voice was, yet her words scorched. “If there are any suitable men to be found, a circumstance I doubt. Yet I pray you, Theucinda, do not despair. You may not have to wait long. Perhaps an institution could be founded for you, as it was for my dear brother Ekkehard. Then after you have said your vows, you will be sure to be called to marriage.”

“That is the end of it,” continued Gerberga, soundly irritated now. “Theucinda remains with the king’s progress. We leave in the morning, Ekkehard.”

“God, I have to pee,” said Wichman.

Rotrudis’ son had tactical flair. It was just possible that he rose and made a scene of departing in order to break up the gathering, to allow folk to retire to their beds without battle being joined. Or it might be that he simply had to pee after drinking five or ten cups of wine. He staggered out, and in twos and threes they followed him. Sanglant remained seated, waiting, and at last he was alone with Waltharia. She handed her embroidery to a servant and raised an eyebrow, waiting in her turn. Coals were brought. The servingwoman folded up the tunic and stored it in a chest. A man gathered up cups and took them away on a tray.

He found that solitude, with her, made him uncomfortable. Without meaning to, he touched the gold torque at his neck, the one she had persuaded him to wear, and he felt heat burn in his cheeks and knew he was blushing.

She smiled. She knew him that well.

“I know where Liath is,” she said, rising.

“I thought she came up with us,” he complained, “but she has not been here this past hour. How do you know where she is?”

She chuckled. “She asked me about a certain person living in retirement here.”

The words stung him. They had secrets, Waltharia and Liath. They confided in each other. It was disconcerting and, in truth, a little irritating. But he said nothing, only stood and beckoned to Hathui, who was waiting by the door.

They came down the broad stone steps of the tower and passed through the dark hall where so recently the crowd of nobles had feasted. The lamp carried by a steward illuminated alcoves and benches in flashes. Here rumpled shapes slept, crowded together for warmth. A pair of dogs nosed along the floor, seeking scraps lost in the rushes. Sanglant could still smell the tantalizing odor of roasted meat, just as the dogs could. They barked, seeing a rival, but slunk away.

A door led onto the courtyard where the kitchen buildings stood far enough away from the hall to protect it from the ever present danger of fire. Waltharia led them past these to a tiny cottage set back by a well amidst a withered flower garden. She pushed the door open and they went inside. A pool of light created by a single lamp graced the room. Liath sat on a three-legged stool, bent forward to listen to an elderly woman who was propped up on pillows in her bed and dressed in a plain linen shift like an invalid. He recognized her lean, lined features, squared shoulders, and keen gaze at once, but the expression on her face as she spoke with Liath was not hostile, not as it had been when he had first met this old woman years before in Walburg. In those days, her hostility had been directed toward the old Eagle, Wolfhere.