The Chosen Queen Read Free

shocked.
    ‘The Lady Matilda? But she is wed to Duke William of Normandy, is she not?’
    ‘Indeed she is. Duke William, who has been promised the throne of England.’
    ‘Nonsense.’
    Surprise had made her blunt and she bit at her tongue but Torr just laughed, then leaned further forward so his mouth was close to her ear.
    ‘It’s true, Edyth. He came to England and it was promised to him. He was here. Four years ago, in 1051, he was here for Christ’s mass. Do you not remember?’
    Edyth shifted uneasily as the other dancers wound around her. She’d been young then, just ten, but she
did
remember. It had been a strange Yuletide, stiff and formal, the
sharp-nosed Normans stiffing the usual exuberance of the Saxon celebrations, but there’d been no promise surely? No ceremony?
    ‘You do remember,’ Torr pushed, seeing her face. ‘I don’t though. I wasn’t here. None of my family were. We were in exile.’ He shook his head. ‘Forced
into exile by bitter men.’ He ran a finger down her cheek, flaming her skin. ‘It’s desperate in exile, Edyth, far away from all you know and love. No wonder Malcolm wanted to
fight for Scotland.’
    Edyth blinked. This whole conversation was still twisting like an adder and she felt caught in its coils.
    ‘No one concerns themselves with Duke William now,’ she managed as Torr steered her into the dance once more. ‘Whatever was said, it is past. No one thinks he is King
Edward’s heir.’
    Torr smiled, a slow, lazy smile that tore at her guts.
    ‘Duke William does. And tell me, who else is fit for the throne? Harald Hardrada, King of the Vikings, perhaps? There’s certainly no one from the lauded English line of Cerdic. The
king has no children, Edyth, no nephews even, just some distant cousin trapped in darkest Hungary. If Edward dies, England is wide open –
wide
open!’
    Edyth jerked away, stepping off the dance floor and onto the piled rushes at the edges.
    ‘You should not talk like that, my lord. It’s not right. The king isn’t going to die and even if he does we won’t have a Norman duke in his place. No one would allow
it.’
    ‘Of course not.’ He followed her so closely that she backed into the timber wall and felt her head clang against a shield edge. She put up a hand to ward away both the pain and her
partner but Lord Torr was not so easily rebuffed. ‘Hush now, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘Do you want your father to hear such talk on your lips?’ He pressed a finger
lightly against her mouth. ‘You should not fret. Let’s leave politics and think more of . . . pleasure.’
    He dipped his finger so that the tip grazed Edyth’s tongue and she felt the contact like a touch paper to a deep well of kindling somewhere uncomfortably low inside her. She fought to make
sense of it but could not think with him standing so close over her. It was much darker against the wall than out on the floor and with the whirl of dancers separating them from the others of the
court they were all but alone.
    ‘Pleasure, I am told,’ she managed, though her voice was annoyingly husky, ‘is a transient thing.’
    He leaned a hand against the wall above her, curving his hips towards hers.
    ‘Mayhap you are right, Edyth. Better, I am sure, to find love – real love.’
    ‘Like Earl Harold and the Lady Svana?’
    ‘Like Harold and his little handfast woman, yes, but then my brother is the steadfast type. Loyalty comes naturally to him along with responsibility and duty and all those boring
traits.’
    Despite herself Edyth giggled.
    ‘You cannot say such things – you’re a lord.’
    ‘For now.’ Torr’s eyes flicked briefly over his shoulder to the packed hall then shot straight back to her. ‘But you are politicking again and it is a waste. What is life
without pleasure, Edyth Alfgarsdottir?’
    His amber eyes met hers and Edyth felt herself pulled towards him. Her head swam. She felt as giddy as if she were still dancing and as blind as