Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex by Lesley Jepson

Author:Lesley Jepson [Jepson, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: royal, Romance, Historical Romance, Wessex, Danes, Saxons, Judith of Flanders
Published: 2018-02-17T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 70

The hoofs of Baldwin’s horse thundered on the ground as he galloped away, corresponding with the thundering in his mind. He concentrated on the rhythm of the horse, matching the animal’s movements with his own until he could allow himself to think clearly. Slightly behind him, he could hear the breath of Gozfrid’s mount, and he knew his friend was allowing him time to calm himself before he spoke.

Baldwin slowed the pace; he didn’t want to exhaust the horses before they reached the quayside, despite the feeling that he could ride for hours and still not feel any better. He slowed to a walk and waited until Gozfrid caught up.

‘You want to stay.’ Gozfrid made it a statement, not a question, and Baldwin growled in the back of his throat.

‘I’d rather bring her home, Goz. I don’t want to stay in this damp, muddy grey land any longer than I need to. I want to see sunshine and green fields and apple trees in straight, regimented rows. And I want her by my side.’ Baldwin twisted his mouth ruefully and gave a shrug.

‘But she’s married, Win. And he’s the King of this grey land, as you call it. I don’t see what we can do.’

‘We wait,’ ground out Baldwin. ‘The King thinks himself invincible, simply because he is the king. Last night at the feast, he was telling me of his plans to keep his borders secure. I tell you, Goz, if he was to meet a real attack from the Danes, he’d melt like butter left in the sun too long.’ Baldwin rode in silence for a while, turning things over in his mind.

‘And I warned that mignon of his to persuade Ӕthelbald to keep his court in Sherborne as much as he could, so she could be free of him.’

Gozfrid chuckled and shook his head, ‘And why would he do that, just because you say so, Win?’

‘Because I told him I would tell the church what he was, and let them kill him for it.’ Baldwin’s tone was terse.

‘And he believed you?’ Gozfrid laughed.

‘Why wouldn’t he? I told him the truth. If they hurt or frighten her in any way, I will write to the Archbishop myself. God’s blood, I’ll write to the Pope if I have to.’

They curved their mounts around the broad track beneath their hoofs, and before them lay the river, a grey ribbon glinting in the watery winter sun. The ship was waiting for them, bobbing gently on the water and tethered by thick mooring ropes. Baldwin slid from his horse and unfastened the satchel from beneath the saddle, throwing it over his shoulder. Both men strode up the plank onto the boat, and Baldwin dropped silently onto the bench seat near the hull as the crew loaded the horses into their makeshift stalls on deck.

Gozfrid regarded the implacable expression on his friend’s face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ he asked in a surprised tone.

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